I like to think that, when feeling my way carefully through the rituals of passion, the lady in question has pretty much my full attention and very few things will distract me from the job in hand. A murder just outside is one of them . . . The victim, and two other antiques dealers who also came to a sticky end, were all working the same Scottish connection that I had been cultivation, so I decided to make myself scarce for a while. Where better to hide than at the root of the problem in the wilds of Scotland? There may be nothing very Scottish about me but, when my life's on the line, I can blend into the Highlands like a haggis in the heather. It was also the best place to find out why the antiques trade down south had become such a dangerous business.
I don't much like working for clients. It means that I have to follow someone else's instructions, and I've never been too good at that. When those instructions came from a spirit guide at a seance, I just had to laugh. Well, you would, wouldn't you?
The rather attractive young woman whose husband the spook had said I should help her to fine took me on a quest that turned into a trail of lucrative antiques deals, spoiled only when the police came plodding in and I found myself up to my neck in forgeries and murders. Situation normal, really.
Then the killer turned his attentions to me, just as the spirit had said he would, and I certainly wasn't laughing an more.
