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present. Coming from a generation that had all but abandoned the Church, China had no pretensions that she was religious. But as she touched her aunt’s bible, a shiver went down her arm, just for a second.
    “I used to bring her here every Sunday, as regular as clockwork, and most days of the week, too,” said Douglas, slipping into the bare wooden bench next to her. “She would lecture me on why I never stayed for the service all the way down in the horse and buggy, then moan all the way back about Reverend Fisher’s posh Edinburgh accent and how the day’s sermon had been rubbish,” said Donald, sitting down beside her.
    “I just remember the stories she used to spin to me as a child. She seemed to be a lot happier person in my memory.”
    “Thirty years ago she was. Living in that windswept house up on the hill blew the life out of her. In her last years nothing seemed to give her any pleasure. My Aunt Biddy used to take her meals up the path every day and they were always too hot, too cold, too salty, or too large a portion. People stopped visiting her because she usually sent them home with a flea in their ear about something and nothing. Then McKriven started to visit her over the last few months . . . filling her head with nonsense.”
    “Like what?”
    “Money-making schemes to save the Grange. Investments, I suppose, she told no one, not even her solicitor. That’s when the thief tried to trick her into signing the Grange away, I suppose. But without seeing this document, we have no idea how legal it is.”
    “Oh, it’s totally legal, I can assure you,” came a sarcastic voice from the back of the church.
    Both of them turned around to see the immaculately dressed James McKriven standing in the open doorway, looking around the ancient Kirk as if there was a bad smell under his nose.
    “Good grief. It’s been a while since I was in here. The place looks even more decrepit with the passing years.” He advanced on China, one gloved hand outstretched, a charming smile on his roguish face.
    “Apologies that we haven’t met sooner, my dear. James McKriven, at your service. And I honestly mean that. During your short stay on this little island, please do not hesitate in contacting me for any reason, any reason at all.”
    As China accepted the man’s hand, she felt Donald tensing up beside her. Oh, please, don’t kick off in here of all places, she thought grimly. But Donald Dart was trying his best to keep his temper.
    “The vulture has landed, I see. Couldn’t you wait until we see the poor woman off, McKriven?” He stood up in a fluster, fists clenched. The object of his rage hardly seemed phased.
    “You forget, I was born on the island too, Donald. It’s my duty to see a Stuart into the grave.”
    “Well I hope they counted the rings on her fingers if you went anywhere near the coffin!”
    The two enemies squared off against each other, with China caught in the middle.
    “I may be the atheist tourist here, but can out take the macho posturing outside, gentlemen? Your timing sucks!”
    Both men seemed to hold themselves in check. It was Donald that muttered something about seeing how his father was, exiting swiftly pulling at his shirt collar and loosening his tie as he went, his face like thunder.
    “Always had a short fuse, our Donald,” James preened, taking China’s arm. “Let’s walk a while and I’ll let you catch up with the story so far concerning the Grange.”
    They exited via a small side door that took them into the older part of the graveyard that surrounded the Kirk on three sides. Amidst twisted Yew trees, the ancient grave stones were leaning at all angles, some of them completely flat, all covered in dark green lichen and moss. There was an odd calm behind the shelter of the church, broken only by the crashing of the waves somewhere over the lip of the cliff.
    Barely thirty feet from the Kirk, a safety fence with yellow and black warning tape intertwined between the red