LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘THANK YOU FOR coming to the last will and testament reading of Angus McLean.’

      The solicitor looked around the room at the various scattering of people, some locals, some not.

      Get on with it, thought Callan. He’d only come because the ninety-seven-year-old had been like a father to him. Thoughtful, with a wicked sense of humour, and a real sense of community about him. He’d taught Callan far more than his father had ever taught him.

      He wasn’t here to inherit anything. He could have bought the castle four times over. He’d offered enough times. But Angus hadn’t been interested. He’d had other plans for the estate. And after pretty much living there for part of his life Callan was curious as to what they were.

      The solicitor started reading. ‘Some of you are here by invitation. Others have still to be contacted. As you may well be aware Angus McLean had a considerable estate.’

      He started with some charitable donations, then moved on to the staff that had served Angus over the years—all of them left sizable bequests that would see them into a comfortable age.

      Then he cleared his throat and looked nervously around the room, his eyes deliberately skittering past Callan.

      Uh-oh. The castle. What has old crazy done now?

      ‘Most of Angus McLean’s friends and relatives knew that Angus was a bachelor. It was always assumed—at least by those of us who knew Angus well—that Angus had no children.’ He hesitated. ‘But it seems that wasn’t the case.’

      ‘What?’ Callan couldn’t help it. He’d spent most of his life around Angus McLean. Never once in all those years had Angus ever mentioned any children.

      Frank, the family solicitor, was clearly not designed for situations like this. His legalese seemed to leave him and he laughed nervously. ‘It appears that in his day Angus McLean was a bit of a rogue. He had six children.’

      Heads shot around the room, looking back and forth between each other aghast.

      But a few heads stayed steady—as if they’d already heard the news.

      Callan couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Six children? Who on earth told you that?’ This had to be rubbish. Was a bunch of strangers trying to claim part of the McLean estate?

      Frank looked him clearly in the eye. ‘Angus told me,’ he said quietly.

      Callan froze. Every hair on his body standing on end. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.

      Frank cleared his throat nervously. ‘As a result of Mr McLean’s heirs—and with some further research—we’ve discovered there are twelve potential inheritors of the estate.’

      Callan shook his head. No. Twelve people all wanting a part of Annick Castle. It would be sold without hesitation to the highest bidder. Everyone would want their share of the cash. Angus would have hated that.

      ‘On Mr McLean’s instructions, all twelve potential inheritors are to be invited to attend a weekend at Annick Castle.’ He bit his lip. ‘With true Angus McLean style, they are to be asked to take part in a Murder Mystery Weekend—with the winner becoming the sole heir of Annick Castle. After confirmation of their claim with DNA testing, of course.’ His eyes finally met Callan’s. ‘Mr McLean’s last wish was that Annick Castle stayed in the family and was inherited by one person.’

      The words chilled Callan to the bone. It was exactly the kind of thing Angus would have said—the only thing they’d ever argued about in this world. But Callan had always assumed there was no real family to inherit, at best, or worst, a few far-flung

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