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Once Casper might have risen to the bait, but as a guardian angel he was forbidden from brawling except under the most extreme circumstances.

Casper said, “Allegra does all the thinking. I just help her out occasionally with physical stuff.”

But Douglas wouldn’t let the matter rest. “You must have an opinion. Or are you afraid to speak up?”

“I think,” said Casper, bending ever so slightly to Douglas’s will, “that the paranormal is involved.”

“Aye, tell me something I don’t know.” Douglas kicked a tuft of grass.

It was time I took control of the situation. “Let’s get back to the village. I want to speak to Mrs. Ferguson.”

When we reached the village, I asked Casper to come with me to Ferguson Cottage. Douglas wasn’t thrilled to be left out of the loop but he accepted the inevitable. He even made up some lie about having work to do at the pub.

Mrs. Ferguson made us tea, which Casper likes a lot more than I do. He takes it with too much sugar and lots of milk.

“Delicious,” he complimented our host. “It’s the best tea I’ve drunk in years.”

Mrs. Ferguson took a sip from her own cup. As she returned it to its saucer she said, “I’ve heard a rumor that Angus McEwen is dead.”

“Drowned,” I confirmed.

She nodded. “I had a very bad dream last night. About drowning in the loch. It was worse than the other dreams I’ve had. I probably dreamed it as it was happening.” Her voice was astonishingly calm. “You’ll think me awful for saying this, but in a way I’m glad it’s over. The dreams will stop now.”

I couldn’t blame her for being relieved. There was nothing she could have done to prevent McEwen’s death, and if her sleep was now more peaceful I didn’t think anyone in the village would have wished it otherwise.

“Mrs. Ferguson, was there anything in your dream that indicated how McEwen drowned?”

“Only feelings,” she said, “nothing concrete.”

Casper said, “Feelings are good.” He had certainly come a long way from his days of raping and pillaging. “Please tell us about your feelings, Mrs. Ferguson.”

“Very well, dear.” She had apparently taken a liking to Casper. “My feeling is that evil has come to the village of Furness.”

“The village, not the loch?” I asked, remembering the seething water I had seen last night. Had I unknowingly witnessed McEwen’s death?

She stared at the tealeaves in the bottom of her cup as though they might provide an answer. Finally she said, “Aye, the village. No need to go poking around in the loch. There’s nothing of interest there.”

“What about something near the loch? I’m thinking McEwen might have desecrated an ancient sacred site.”

“Possibly, but I’ve lived here a long time and I cannae think of any such sites.” She turned to Casper. “More tea, dear?” There was no doubt he’d won Mrs. Ferguson’s heart.

I glanced at him and pointedly raised my eyebrows. He blushed. It was cute. I thought how handsome he looked without his thick unruly beard. I was glad I had talked him into shaving it off.

Casper gave Mrs. Ferguson a shy smile and declined more tea.

“We should be getting back to Mac’s,” he said.

Mrs. Ferguson showed us to the door. She whispered something in Gaelic and then explained, “It’s a wee blessing, to keep you safe.”

We’d probably need it. Or I would. Casper had no need of earthly blessings.

As we made our way down the garden path, Mrs. Ferguson suddenly called out, “Wait!”

We turned back to see her hurrying down the steps.

“I forgot about Leith’s Cairn,” she said. “It’s not exactly a sacred site, but it’s…” She seemed not to know how to continue. Finally she said, “It might be best if Jenny Clark tells you the story. She knows it well.”

“Where does Jenny live?” I asked.

“In the village of Beag Glen. It’s down Loch Road to the east.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Casper. “Now go inside before you catch cold.”

“Go inside? No. I think I’ll put on my walking shoes and take a stroll along the loch.”

I didn’t tell her to be careful. She’d survived ninety-nine years on the planet, she could probably teach me a thing or two about survival.

As Casper