Summary: After the death of a wealthy man, the family gathers in a Scottish manor. During a raging storm, the first murder happens and the unwanted adopted family-member ends up having to solve the crime.

Rating: T, since I'm not going to get too detailed with my murders, I'll put the rating up if necessary.

Warning: Surprisingly enough none, since this isn't a slash-story, but it will contain several murders.

Claimer: All mine, from the characters to the twisted, sick plot.

Reviews: … are very welcome. Even though the story is already penned out (but not completely written), I'll be very happy to take a close look at all suggestions I get and – if possible – include them.

A/N: Um, hello again. I've been lazy lately, but that was partly due to the fact that I've spent the last couple of months nursing an injured knee and even had some surgery done. I could hardly sit at my computer, much less really write. The story-line is already completely done, though, so I should be able to finish writing and posting it in an appropriate amount of time. It's penned out for 27 chapters and unless something really important happens, 27 chapters it will be, I swear it.

This is a crime story I've come up with some times ago. I might start working on a second crime story (currently it's titled "The Cornwall Vampire Case"), but I promise I will finish this one (and post the other one). The two stories will be quite different from each other since the other one takes place during the Victorian Age and has, of course, a completely different host of characters.

In addition – for the few people who read "Royal Wedding" and asked for a better story – I've worked out a longer version of this already posted story which I will also post once I get around writing it. It's much better and surely not PWP, even though unlike my crime stories it will contain slash.

The guys from "Phoenix Song" will take a longer vacation, even though I will write another story about this vampire hunting band – provided the muses grant me ideas for one apart from the ideas I've already gotten from my reviewers, of course.

The three stories I'm promising here are already penned out, so it will only be a matter of time to write them. It might of course work out faster if I get reviews to motivate me. ducks because of the obvious blackmailing So if you like my story – and/or have ideas how to make it better – please, please, please tell me!

Chapter 1

On May 24th of 2004 died far too early

Edward Gregor Hunter

in the 93rd year of his life.

His family and friends are in mourning.

He was a man of principles and faith.

Ashton Hunter found it difficult not to spray his morning coffee over his desk in the office of the "Paranormal Gazette" when he read the obituary notice of his grandfather, whom he had never met in his life, in the London Times of May 26th.

"Hey, Ash, what happened to you?" his colleague Shane O'Leary asked while grinning broadly. "Did you see a ghost? The boss would like that for sure."

"If I were you, I'd take care of my abilities as a clairvoyant first," Ashton countered after he had managed not to have a coughing fit and spray coffee throughout their small office. "But it could happen some time today, my grandfather died the day before yesterday."

"And? Are you going to inherit loads of money now?"

"Naw, my grandfather didn't see me as his grandson, 'cause I'm adopted and no real Hunter."

"Then you don't have to care about it, have you?"

"Not really, but I didn't hear or read the name since my father died. I thought the old geezer had died years ago. Not many people live up to the age of 93."

"Right."

"'He was a man of principles and faith,'" Ashton cited with a sneer on his face. "That means nothing else than: He was stubborn as a mule and thought he couldn't be wrong. And this one: On May 24th of 2004 died far too early… For a man of his age every day he lived ought to have been more surprising than the day he died, right?"

"Of course," Shane agreed. "But if they had written 'On May 24th of 2004 Edward Gregor Hunter finally died' and 'He was more stubborn than a mule' people would have been offended. Obituaries need piety. Believe me, I worked at the local newspaper of my hometown as a teen and did the society stuff. People expect certain empty phrases, even though it's stupid."

"I know about that." Resolutely Ashton put the paper aside. "Change of topic! Do you think the boss will get the article about the Chupacapra in time for the next edition?"

"Only God knows. But since Juan is absolutely unreliable, I wouldn't bet on it. The day after tomorrow at the outmost, the boss will drop in here and make us run in circles to get a story to fill one page."

"That sounds about right. How about some new supernatural bogus?"

"Unfortunately, right at the moment everything is absolutely calm. But you could write something about the ghosts of the ancients."

"Shhh, keep it down, will you? The boss might hear about it otherwise. Ghosts aren't my cup of tea, you know that."

"Is there something to inherit from your uncle at least?" Shane asked after a couple of minutes of silence.

"Are you joking?! That man was the blueprint of a Scotsman, rich and mean. Scrooge McDuck could have learned something from him."

"And now you're not getting any of it, too bad."

"That can't be changed. But I've still got the money from my father and the boss isn't paying that bad either."

"You're absolutely right. Considering how small our magazine is and how few editions we put out, the pay surely is okay."

Ashton returned to his small one-room apartment late that night. While emptying his letter box, he was surprised to find – between various advertisements and two bills he'd been waiting for – a letter from a complete stranger. After he had entered his rooms, he put all the other pieces of paper and letters on a small table close to the door and went on a search for the mini-katana he used as an opener for his envelopes among the pictures and papers littering his desk. He slit the letter open and pulled the contents out. A smaller piece of paper fluttered out and landed on the floor, so he picked it up – it turned out to be a train-ticket to Glasgow. Rather bemused he examined it further; it was for a train leaving on the late morning of the 28th of May, the week's Friday. Now Ashton really wanted to know what this was all about, so he unfolded the thick and obviously expensive paper and read the letter:

Willow Creek, the 25th of May 2004

Dear Mr. Ashton Hunter,

I regret to inform you that your grandfather, Mr. Edward Gregor Hunter, died yesterday.

According to his Last Will I was told to invite all of his relatives and all people at least betrothed to them to the house of the Hunter family, also known as Blackstar Manor.

Your are asked to arrive there until the evening of Friday, the 28th of May; a ticket to Glasgow has been included in this letter. Should you require transportation to the Manor, please let me know until the morning of the 28th, the number is displayed at the head of this letter.

Please not that the opening of the will shall be held at the morning of Monday, the 30th of May.

Should you suffer losses because of following this invitation, you will be compensated for them independently of your possible inheritance.

Yours faithfully,

Alex McLeod, executor of the will

Perplexed Ashton read the letter for a second and even a third time, before he finally believed its content. For some reason he could not fathom, his grandfather wanted him present during the opening of the will and was ready to pay for the trip to Scotland – although post mortem.

The young reporter realized he would have to talk this over with his boss, otherwise he wouldn't be able to take the train on Friday morning. But on the other side he was already getting some good arguments to justify the trip. First there were personal reasons of course, how often a close relative of his would die, second he still had some free days from the last year left he hadn't been able to take and finally he could easily write a series of articles about haunted mansions in Scotland for the "Gazette" while he was there. The area around the his families manor would be ideal for it. He would take his camera with him and make some good photographs to go with the story as well.

Now about the next problem… He would need his best clothes for the trip, that much was for sure. The journey on the train was the least of his problems, a pair of khakis, a shirt and a jacket would be good enough for that, but he had to prepare for dinner which meant taking his best suit along as well. Quickly Ashton opened his wardrobe and started searching around inside it. The suit was fresh from the laundry, still in the plastic cover in which he had picked it up, but he was short in general clothes and underwear, the laundry basket was pretty full. By the looks of it he would have to spent some time in the basement this evening and wash and dry a few machines. And he would have to iron the shirts as well…

Ashton usually didn't have many problems with his housekeeping in general, but he hated ironing which was because he usually waited until he had reached the last clean shirt. Nevertheless he didn't have the money or the time to get all his shirts cleaned and pressed; right at the moment he didn't have the time either.

Without a minute's hesitation he put a TV-dinner into the microwave and punched in the right numbers, then he spent the three minutes the stuff took to warm up hunting for dirty laundry. He stuffed everything into the basket and put it besides the door, before picking up the dinner from the microwave, burning his fingers and cursing loudly. He wolfed down the food without enthusiasm and wished for a new girlfriend.

Relationships and journalism didn't go well together, at least in his experience. Only very few women were fond of a relationship in which they couldn't be sure where in the world their boyfriend would be roaming about during their next date. And a girlfriend who was a reporter herself was even worse, because in this point both could not be sure where they would be during the next date.

Jenna, Ashton's last girlfriend, had only lasted for three weeks. Admittedly he had been in Central America, China, Japan and Alaska during that time – a rather stressful time even by his own standards. Jenna had left him two things: a rather trashy photograph of herself in some lingerie and the advice to eat less microwave-food. Up till now Ashton had not been able to muster the energy to put this advice to good use.

Ashton put on an old pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt before leaving his flat with his laundry – the basement was always rather cold and it would take at least three hours even if he managed to hog two or three machines at once. After making sure he had not forgotten the washing powder again, he closed and locked the door and walked to the lift. He was quite athletic, but five stairs with a basket full of laundry were a little too much training for him.

At least he wasn't alone in the basement; Paul Wilson, a young lawyer working for a well-known law firm, was about to take care of his mountain of laundry as well.

"Hey, Ashton, how are you?" the young man who lived on the same floor asked him.

"Great, even though something strange happened today."

"Really? Come on and tell me."

"Wait a moment."

Ashton spotted three empty machines in a row and filled them with his laundry – two for the shirts and the other light-coloured stuff and one for the rest. The mistake he'd make at the beginning of his life alone – putting everything in together – was surely something he was not going to make again. Finally he filled in the washing powder and started the machines.

"Now it's going to wash for itself." He sat down besides Paul on one of the benches the inhabitants of the apartment complex could use to watch their laundry getting done. "You know I'm just adopted, I'm not my father's 'real' son."

"Yeah, I think you mentioned that once or twice."

"Well, my grandfather never accepted it. From his point of view I'm not a member of the family because I don't share their bloodline. When I was a kid, my father once took me to Scotland to introduce me to his father, but the guy refused to even let me set a foot on the grounds."

"That's really bad."

"Yes, it was. I stood in front of the iron gate alone and had to watch as my father entered the house and came out shortly afterwards, rather angry. Anyway, neither he nor I had any contact with the family from that time on, at least until he died four years ago. None of the came to the funeral, they only sent some letters of condolence."

"And?"

"This morning I read my grandfathers obituary in the Times. He died on Monday. I didn't really think about it, I didn't know him and wasn't going to inherit anything after all. But when I came home this evening, there was a letter from his lawyer in the mail. I am invited to the opening of the will in Scotland, my costs and losses in job will be covered."

"Maybe," Paul mused, "the old man changed his heart in the end and wanted to do something nice for you. It's possible he could have left something to you."

"You think I should go there?"

"If you don't get into trouble with your boss because of it."

"I guess I can convince him of that trip to Scotland. A series about Scottish ghost stories would surely be interesting for the "Gazette"."

"Just go there, then. If you inherit something, you can be happy about it, if not, you at least have had a full paid vacation and a chance for a new story. That's not a bad thing, is it?"

"Right. Say, you're a lawyer…"

"A long as I'm not caught doing something illegal."

Ashton smirked. "Can I get into problems if I take that invitation? Am I indebted because of it?"

"What exactly did that lawyer write to you?"

"That my grandfather died, that all relatives with their spouses or fiancées are to arrive there on Friday, that I'm invited as well, that the opening of the will shall take place on Monday and that all my expenses will be covered, no matter whether I inherit something or not."

"Then you're not indebted because you go there. Your grandfather wanted you to come and therefore all your expenses will be covered by his fortune."

"In that case I just have to make sure my boss buys that new series or take two days of vacation. I've got enough of them left anyway. Thanks for the legal advice."

"If we weren't friends, Ashton, I would be force to make you pay for it."

They both laughed about the last remark and spent the next two hours talking about other stuff: politics, sports, movies and so on.

The next morning Ashton had come up with a strategy to convince his boss how much he needed to travel to Scotland. A few minutes after he'd come to work that morning, however, it turned out he would need that strategy. Mr. Harry Anderson, owner and publisher of the "Paranormal Gazette" was close to an outburst of fury.

"That bloody dick!" he yelled through the office. "For four weeks he I've been waiting for that story about the Chupacapra and again and again he has assured me everything was alright and I'd get in a couple of days per mail or over the internet and now – a bloody week away from the deadline – he tells me he can't deliver in time!"

Silently Ashton was outside himself with joy, but he hardly could tell his boss he'd been expecting that. He leaned back in his seat and waited for the question that would inevitably turn up sooner or later. Actually hardly five minutes passed before their boss turned up on the doorstep.

"Okay, you two are the only reporters in at the moment. Can one of you deliver anything useable until the end of next week that fills a page and is slightly interesting to our readers?"

"I've already got an idea, boss. Actually I wanted to ask you whether I could go on a trip to Scotland till next Tuesday."

"Scotland?"

"My family comes from there. I've got to attend the opening of a will there on Monday, my grandfather died on Monday this week. While I'm there I could do some research for a series about Scottish ghost stories. The first part would surely be ready by the end of next week, with pictures of cause. The next parts could come in handy whenever we're short of a page. What do you say?"

Anderson looked rather content. "Mr. Hunter, that's exactly the kind of thing which could save our next edition. Apart from that such a series, especially with pictures, could easily be sold to other magazines once we've completely published it."

That was one of the tactics with which the "Gazette" was kept out of the deep red numbers. A lot of the stories and series which weren't too specialized were sold to other papers, quite often to lifestyle-magazines. Anderson could keep the price of the "Gazette" low that way and could pay the wages of five hired journalists and one secretary.

"I would start my research today and continue it once I've reached my family's manor. Even in case we don't have a suitable ghost story, there's bound to be at least one in the area. On my way back I could visit an old acquaintance of mine in Glasgow who went to university with me and deals with such stories on a daily basis."

"Great. Where are you going to start?"

"Today in the British Library. Tomorrow I'm going to pack my stuff and travel to Scotland, during the weekend I'll do the first script and after my return I'll write the finished article."

"I'll take over your expenses."

"There's no need for that. My grandfather made sure my expenses were covered by his fortune. I'll make the trip to his manor for free anyway. About the costs for the trip back, should my grandfather's lawyer not accept my plans, I can call you on Tuesday."

Mr. Anderson nodded happily and left the office.

"Great plan, Ash," Shane commented. "At least it spares me the trouble to put myself in mortal danger again."

"And it spares me the trouble of asking for two days of vacation." Ashton stood up and grabbed his jacket. "I'll be at the British Museum for the rest of the day. Tomorrow I'll be in for a couple of minutes before I start my trip."

"I'll tell the boss if he should ask for you."

"Thanks, Shane."

Ashton spent the remainder of the day comfortably tucked away in the library of the museum which he knew by heart. Like any reporter he actually had badges for a couple of libraries, but none of them could top the old-fashioned charm of this one in his opinion.

He started with the catalogues and ordered a lot of books from the stack-rooms. A normal user would have gotten into trouble for doing this, but Ashton was well known to the librarians and therefore was allowed to stretch the rules sometimes. At his favourite table in a secluded corner he started looking for possible topics for his new series. He didn't want to bring up the old, well known cases which had figured in many books and articles, but find less known, equally interesting ones. In addition the surroundings should look good on photographs to make the whole series more sellable. Magazines often bought stories solely for the pictures and he knew it. Ashton was mainly a reporter, but while working for a small magazine he had learned the basics of professional photographing as well. It was never wrong to be able to do a few good pictures on his own, especially since his boss rarely sent out two or more reporters for one story.

Except for a short break around two p.m. he rarely left his table. Only when the library was about to close, he put the books back and returned to his apartment with a full note pad – he'd even written on the back of it.

There he warmed up another TV-dinner and wondered about how he would fare with his relatives while eating it. He couldn't imagine the whole Hunter family being happy about yet another potential heir. And he couldn't imagine his grandfather, who had been a man of principles, changing his mind so suddenly and seeing him as a member of the family. He had probably been added to the list because he was the only descendant of Benjamin Hunter, his foster father.

After dinner he stopped worrying in favour of some more work and called the lawyer whose number was listed on his letter. He hadn't had time to call during the day and still had to organize the last part of his trip to the manor. Although it was quite late already, someone picked up the phone, obviously the lawyer himself:

"Alex McLeod."

"Ashton Hunter speaking. Mr. McLeod, I got your letter yesterday and haven't had time to call you before. If it's manageable, I'd like to get picked up tomorrow in Glasgow, I've only been to Scotland once before and I was a small boy then."

"Not a problem at all. Your grandfather's driver will be picking up a couple of your relatives tomorrow anyway, I'll just tell him to wait for you as well."

After his last problem with the trip was solved, Ashton started to pack his stuff together. He decided to carry the suit as it was, still in its cover from the laundry it should survive the trip easily. Everything else he packed quite professionally – as a reporter he was used to travelling a lot and often on a short notice. First he put in the shoes, then the normal clothes, the shirts and finally the small stuff like cravats and suchlike.

His own notebook was packed into a special bag together with his full note-pad, a new one, a couple of pens, his camera an a few other useful odds and ends. After he had placed his wallet, his id-card and his tickets where he would easily find them, he spent two hours in front of the TV and went to bed early to be in good shape for the trip the next started early for Ashton since he still had a few things to take care of before he had to be on the platform at eleven a.m. First he went to the office to officially say good-bye to his boss, then he picked up a few small things for the trip and finally went back to his apartment to get his bag, his suit and his notebook. With that much luggage to take care of, he took a cab to the train station and arrived early enough to make the way to the right platform in peace and wait for his train.

Judging by the ticket he would be travelling first class which surely couldn't be bad on a trip from London to Glasgow. It was a long trip, but seated comfortably in a first class compartment with a lot of magazines and two books he'd wanted to read for month it shouldn't be a boring one.

The train was on time and relatively empty. Ashton found himself an empty compartment in first class, put his bags away and sat down in a seat by the window. As the train was leaving the station, he was already immersed in his first magazine.

On the second stop an elder couple came in, but they were occupied with talking about their fist trip to Glasgow years ago. Ashton listened every now and then and learned this way that it had been their honeymoon. But they were talking softly and didn't disturb his reading.

After about half of the trip he went to the dining car for a lunch and two cups of coffee. The train still seemed relatively empty, but since most of the people who would be leaving London for the weekend were still at work, that wasn't surprising. He went back to his seat and took out the first book, The Cabinet of Curiosities, to start reading. Soon he mentally left the train and travelled to New York and an old crime with modern consequences.

The train reached Glasgow in the early afternoon. Ashton had stopped reading in time and put everything together. Now he left the train, carefully carrying his suit to make sure it didn't meet with an accident on the very last moment. The platform emptied pretty fast until only Ashton and a man in his late thirties or early forties were left. The man wore a slightly old-fashioned uniform and seemed to be looking for someone. Finally he approached Ashton.

"Are you Mr. Ashton Hunter?" he asked.

"Yes."

"My name is Andrew, I was told to take you to Blackstar Manor."

Ashton had to admit that it was a new experience for him to be let across the great hall of the station by a man who carried his luggage. Outside they were approaching a wonderful old Rolls Royce. Up till then Ashton had only dreamt of riding such a car one day.

Now he was seated comfortably in the back seat and looked out of the window while the streets of Glasgow were slowly passing by. A car like the Rolls wasn't build for high velocities, but to be driven slowly, after all.

Outside Glasgow Ashton soon had a feeling as if he were travelling back in time. His family's manor was far off from the big tourist centres and the landscape still looked a bit primitive. The photographer inside Ashton was happily clapping his hands while looking at the old, gnarly trees, the treacherously green swampland and the little villages they passed by. Since the Rolls Royce had very comfortable seats, he didn't mind the bad roads they were driving on either. After a little over three quarters of an hour they passed the first sign mentioning Willow Creek.

"It's about another thirty minutes to the manor now," the driver told him.

"The area looks very much like a swamp."

"Most of the swamps were drained during the last two hundred years," the man answered Ashton's indirect question, "but after a heavy rainfall there are still some spots were one can easily get stuck or even sink."

Fifteen minutes later they passed a road by which a signpost with the words 'Willow Creek' was standing.

"From this point the road is more or less a private driveway," Andrew spoke again, "since it only leads to Blackstar Manor and ends there."

Ashton nodded and looked outside again. Even dry most of the area outside looked very much like a swamp to him. Then he realized they were driving into some kind of gorge.

"What's that?"

"The path between those rocks was always dry land and therefore the road was let through here when the manor was build, even before the swamps were drained. It stays save even throughout the most heavy rainfalls."

The first trees became visible and Ashton remembered the small wood around the manor. It didn't look as if one tree had been cut since his last visit. For a few minutes the road wound through the forest, then it suddenly opened to allow the first look at the manor. The buildings rose out of the plain like a man-made mountain. The medieval-looking manor of the Hunter Family even had battlements and a central structure reminiscent of a keep. The light-grey stones of which the manor was build were clearly visible against the dark-grey, sinister-looking clouds in the stormy sky.

"Have you been here often before?" the driver, who had clearly seen Ashton's surprised face in the rear view mirror, asked.

"Only once," Ashton answered honestly. "And then I wasn't even allowed to pass through the gates."

"Inside the buildings are much more modern than the outside suggests. Sir Edward always made sure he was comfortable. By the way, you're the last guest I picked up, the others have all arrived before you."

Ashton didn't answer this time, he was far too nervous. In a few minutes he would be facing his family, who had never accepted him as a member, for the first time. As the car came to a stand-still in front of the main entrance, he climbed out and left everything apart from his notebook to the driver to take inside. No reporter parted with the tools of his trade, if he could avoid it.

A/N: Okay, so this is the first chapter of my new story. The next one may take a little over a week since I've got a lot to do next week and two late shifts, but I'll try to update regularly once a week in the future. The first murder will happen in the third chapter since I need the second one to establish the rest of the characters and the surroundings.

I'll also put up my new homepage today, the link can be found in my profile.

I'm still not able to put in some empty lines in order to keep the scenes apart. Any help on this matter would be appreciated.