Gabrielle tottered in, shivering beneath a double layer of athletic fleece. "Bad news. The stove, it breaks."

"Not again."

"Yes, again. Also bad, we have enough milk for two days. Eggs for only one."

Hope shoved back her hair, wishing she had slept more than an hour the night before. Her eyes were gritty and she just managed to hide a yawn. But she had to smile at the memory of MacLeod's very distinctive manner of saying hello in the morning. "I thought we had enough basics on hand for three or four days."

Gabrielle swept a hand through the air. "The chocolate souffles yesterday used a great part of it. I did not know there would be so much snow." The chef glanced out the window at the unbroken world of white. "And snow and snow and snow..."

"We'll have to manage, Gabrielle. Stretch everything out. You have beans and sausage for a cassoulet?"

Gabrielle tapped her jaw, considering the possibilities of the savory, simmered casserole crusty with sausage, cheese and beans. Her face brightened. "A very good idea. Perhaps cooked long with just this much cheese, and then a hot bread and some wine to go with it. Yes, it will do." Suddenly her eyes narrowed. "Your face is burned?"

Hope cleared her throat, trying not to remember exactly how her face had gotten burned. "Must be a trick of the light."

Jeffrey appeared at Gabrielle's shoulder, his hair dusted with snow. "Bad news. The roads are officially closed. All deliveries to Glenbrae are canceled until the weather clears."

"Grand." Hope sighed. "Now we've got no way to restock supplies."

"At least one meal is covered. The Wishwells have invited everyone up for lunch. They have plenty of supplies and stew enough for an army, they said."

Hope frowned. "I wonder why they prepared so much."

"Beats me." Jeffrey grinned. "And they really do have enough. When I brought them some firewood, they insisted I stay to eat." He whistled appreciatively. "I haven't had stew like that since our old cook retired." He brushed Gabrielle's cheek. "Except for yours, of course."

"Hmmph. Wait until you taste my cassoulet," Gabrielle charged.

"That will take care of lunch, and cassoulet for dinner. Meanwhile let's pray for sunny weather and lots of melting snow," Hope muttered.

"Speaking of snow, there was a man walking up from the village when I came back. He said he'd wait in the library," Jeffrey said.

"Not another unexpected guest, I hope."

Jeffrey scratched his head. "He said he was just up from Edinburgh. Some kind of policeman, I think."

"Detective Sergeant Kipworth?" Hope leaped to her feet. "He's here? Oh, Lord, I forgot all about him."

"He seemed quite keen on that manger of MacLeod's. Said he hadn't seen anything like it in his life."

Hope started down the stairs.

"Wait. There's one more thing." Jeffrey glanced at Gabrielle, who nodded, color in her cheeks.

"It is for you to tell, Jeffrey."

He shifted from foot to foot. "We, uh, we didn't expect it, not a bit. We hope you'll be happy."

"Happy about what?"

Gabrielle took Jeffrey's hand. "That we will be married. Jeffrey asks me last night and I finally agree. With this snow, it is very quiet, very romantic. But I would marry him in any weather or any place."

Jeffrey flushed beet-red, but managed to look entirely delighted. "I still can't believe she said yes."

"You two." Hope drew a shaky breath, feeling a pang of sadness. Ah, well, nothing ever stayed the same, she told herself. "I'm so happy for you. Gabrielle can find a wonderful spot in a swank restaurant in London, and you'll soon be a star set designer, Jeffrey."

"No," Gabrielle and Jeffrey said in the same breath. "At least not right away," Jeffrey explained.

"We rather thought we would stay here and help you. I've got some ideas about a local theater.

Nothing too adventurous at first. A few small productions with visiting troupes from Edinburgh or Manchester."

Hope sat down shakily. "Stay here? I can't let you. There's nothing here in Glenbrae to compare with London or Oxford or..."

"So now you tell us how to run our lives?" Gabrielle took Hope's hands. "We stay because it is our choice. Not for work or money, but because of friends like you. Because of the beautiful mist that covers the loch at dawn and because Glenbrae will be a wonderful place to make a family." Again she colored.

"You're sure?" Hope felt her eyes blur with sudden tears. "Really sure, you two? There is so much more you could have."

"Nothing so important that it can't wait," Gabrielle answered for both. "So you do not get rid of us so soon, Hope O'Hara."

"I don't want to get rid of you. But think what you're giving up."

Hope's protests were cut short by a raucous shriek. "A drum. A drum! MacBeth doth come."

"Ho, Banquo, what speech is this?" Jeffrey called, ducking as the parrot streaked past in a blur of gray wings.

"Eye of newt and toe of frog." Banquo settled down on the edge of Hope's desk and fluttered his feathers. "Wool of bat, tongue of dog."

"Good Lord," Jeffrey muttered, "the crazy bird is actually quoting Macbeth. Where did he learn that?"

"I don't know. He was living in the stables when I bought the house. Rather a local mascot, I was told." Hope frowned. "He must have learned the lines in a theater or with a traveling troupe. He looks fairly old, come to think of it, but with parrots, who knows? I remember reading that they can live for decades." She stroked the bird gently. "What do you have to say, Banquo? Where do you come from?"

"Fair is foul. Fair is foul."

Hope sighed. "No help there. I suppose I'd better find Officer Kipworth before we're all clapped in irons."

Jeffrey was still staring at Banquo. "All the same, it's odd. Bloody odd."

"That he can speak?" Gabrielle took his arm. "Many birds can do this."

"No, it's what he says that bothers me. I happen to know Macbeth exceptionally well, and I've never heard some of those lines."

Gabrielle shrugged. "Maybe he's confused."

"Maybe. All the same, I'm going to do some checking. One or two calls should be enough." His eyes narrowed. "Assuming the phone lines are still working."

Hope raised the receiver, then muttered an oath. "Out cold. Damn and blast."

"I'd better check on Archibald and some of the others." Jeffrey tugged on his coat and scarf. "If anything happened to them, there would be no way we'd know."

"Bless you, Jeffrey. I didn't even think of that. Maybe I should come along." Hope looked out at the snow, which showed no signs of slowing.

"I won't hear of it. Besides, your detective sergeant wouldn't look kindly on his chief witness skipping out the back door."

Hope felt a pang of uneasiness. "I think Wyndgate still considers me a suspect."

"Only because he is a fool. Do not worry." Gabrielle held open the door. "Shall I go along for moral support?"

"I'll manage. All I have to do is tell the truth, after all." Hope hesitated. "I don't suppose you saw MacLeod when you were out?"

"He was down at the stables feeding that great beast of his." Jeffrey pulled on his heavy knit cap and looked questioningly at Hope. "I'll fetch him if you like."

"There's no need to bother him." Hope lowered her head to hide the color that filled her cheeks. She remembered how she had awakened in his arms. Her hands had been fisted in his hair, the sheets shoved on the floor, and she had been draped over him like wrapping paper on a gift box.

And he had been wide-awake, enjoying every sinful second of it.

The rest didn't bear remembering.

Not in mixed company.

"I should be able to handle Detective Sergeant Kipworth just fine. After all, it's just a few questions," she said firmly.

James Kipworth was fit and ruddy, with long arms and pale green eyes that missed nothing. After showing Hope his ID, he declined a cup of tea and got swiftly to business. "You are not currently a suspect, Ms. O'Hara, but until I finish my inspection, I can say nothing more."

"Inspection?"

He surveyed the sunny room. "A crime has been committed, and it is my job to follow every lead, Ms. O'Hara. You must understand the importance of that."

Hope hesitated. "But I still don't understand why someone's been sent all the way from Edinburgh."

"We have reason to believe the stolen brooch was resold there. That brings the case under our jurisdiction." He fingered a row of books, frowning. "I suppose you've noticed that the phone lines are out."

"We just found out. I'm praying the weather clears by tomorrow."

The sergeant stared northward and shook his head. "Not much chance of that, I'd say. More snow is my guess. Two, even three days of it."

"I hope you're wrong. Meanwhile, I expect you'll need a place to stay. You won't be getting through the mountains in this weather."

"A room would be most appreciated." His eyes narrowed as he picked up some of the figures from MacLeod's manger, now ensconced on Hope's desk. "Do you collect old mangers, Ms. O'Hara?"

"That one is only a replica, actually."

"Someone local, I understand."

Hope nodded but hesitated to say more, suddenly aware of a world of questions that threatened.

What if he asked for MacLeod's papers or proof of some identity? There would be nothing to show, and that would lead to even more questions.

"Is something wrong, Ms. O'Hara?"

"Er...no. I was just worrying about the weather." She knew she was pale and turned away to conceal it.

The officer set the figure carefully back in its place. "Whoever your carver is, he's got a light hand."

Without pausing, he slid a small, dog-eared notebook from his front pocket and smiled broadly.

"Now, perhaps you will show me where you first found the brooch."

There was no change in his voice, no break in his matter-of-fact manner.

The man would be one killer interrogator, Hope realized. A person would be answering questions before he even heard them, blurting out secrets and confessing to crimes he never knew he'd committed. "It's just down the hall."

"Fine, fine. After that, I'd like to have a look through the rooms."

"Rooms? I don't understand."

"I'll need to search everything, both public and private areas. Standard procedure, you know."

Beneath his calm tone, Hope detected a will of iron.

She thought of the explanations to the guests, who would be rightfully upset at the intrusion. A current police investigation would hardly help her business. Hope frowned. "You don't really think the thief is here, do you?"

Beyond the leaded windows, more snow fell, heavy and silent, swept up in eddies by the wind.

The detective sergeant opened his notebook and chuckled softly. "I believe that I am supposed to ask the questions, Ms. O'Hara. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can be on my way, which is what we both want."

Pages riffled and Kipworth cleared his throat. Hope hated the uneasiness uncoiling through the pit of her stomach.

"I would like to start my examination after you answer a few questions."

"Of course."

The pale green eyes were deceptively keen as they flickered over the desk and bookshelves. "You were the one who found the brooch?"

Hope swallowed, remembering that night on the stairs. It seemed like a century ago. Everything had changed since MacLeod had come to Glenbrae.

Or maybe it was simply that she had changed. Suddenly she had someone to laugh with, someone to plan and share with.

"Ms. O'Hara?"

"Sorry. What did you say?

"I was asking about the brooch." He closed his notebook with a snap. "Why don't you show me exactly where you found it."

GABRIELLE PEEKED INTO Hope's office an hour later, her expression wary. "Should I swing my heaviest pan and knock him senseless?"

Hope rubbed the knot of muscles throbbing at her neck. "No need. He was nice enough. He'll be looking through the inn, starting with the public rooms. After that he'll be checking the guest rooms and living quarters."

"He suspects us?"