“Were you sleeping on my chair?” I asked Owen. His whiskers twitched, as though he were thinking about my question. Then he gave a sharp, short meow. I reached for the little clump of cat hair. “Okay, so you might not have been sleeping,” I said. “But I know you were up here.” I turned around and discovered I was talking to myself. Hercules kept me company while I made supper, and Owen prowled the backyard, poking around the flower beds and chasing the odd bird. While I ate, I told them what I’d learned from Marcus about the Scott brothers. “How are we going to figure out who killed Mike Glazer?” I asked them. Hercules meowed softly. I leaned sideways to see what he was looking at. I’d brought home two books and a DVD from the library. They were sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, which Hercules seemed to be staring at. “You think a book on Scottish history would help?”
