by M C Beaton
Then he put more peat in the stove before pouring himself a cup of coffee, going into the office, getting his notes, and once more spreading them out on the kitchen table.
The snow meant that he would have at least the whole of what was left of the day free from interruptions. Then he remembered Catriona’s funeral. Surely it wouldn’t take place on such a day.
He phoned Mrs. Wellington. “No, of course not,” she said in answer to his query. “Mr. McBride is unable to get further north because of the snow and we are going to wait until he arrives.”
“What . . . ?” began Hamish when the phone went dead.
He went back to the kitchen and tried the lights. No success. The snow piling up against the kitchen window was cutting out any light.
He lit the lamps and hoped that his sheep were safely in the shelter he had built for them. He suddenly cursed, remembering he hadn’t given them their winter feed.
Hamish strapped on his snowshoes and collected two buckets of feed he had ready by the door. He put on a coat and woollen hat, opened the door, and plunged into the roaring white storm outside. He felt a superstitious shudder as he made his way up the hill at the back.
The wind was screaming and howling. It was as if the old gods had decided to take back Sutherland, take it away from the petty grip of man and restore it to a wilderness.
He was pleased that the low wooden shelter he had built for the sheep was holding up. He poured their feed into a trough, stood for a moment watching them, and then headed back to the station.
Elspeth and Perry struggled back to the hotel. “We’ll never get out of here,” said Perry. “Not that I care much.” But that charming smile of his was not only for Elspeth but also for Priscilla, who had come to meet them.
“Clarry’s made some mulled wine,” said Priscilla. “Like some?”
“Lovely,” said Perry. “Wait till we get out of these wet clothes. My feet feel like two blocks of ice and we’re dripping melted snow all over the place. Come on, Elspeth.”
Priscilla watched them go. Was there anything going on between them? Her father had got on the phone to friends in the south and had found out all about Perry’s impeccable background and had started nagging his daughter to “do something.”
Usually that would have been enough to put Priscilla off, but she was becoming more and more fascinated by Perry.
The hotel generator could be heard faintly through the noise of the storm outside. She paced up and down the hall. What was taking them so long? Had they gone to bed together? Perish the thought!
Priscilla decided that she had better retreat to the lounge and look as if she were reading a magazine.
It was a full half hour before they both appeared.
“I’ll get the wine,” said Priscilla.
“Don’t you just ring the bell?” asked Perry.
“Only a few of the staff live in, and they are cleaning the rooms.”
“She moves like a dancer,” said Perry appreciatively. “Very graceful girl.”
“I brought down my laptop,” said Elspeth in a dull little voice. “I thought that after we have our mulled wine, we could go though everything. There might be a clue somewhere.”
“All right. At least if someone wants to kill you, they won’t get anywhere near the hotel in this weather.”
“Something’s up!” Elspeth cocked her head to one side like a bird. Then she ran out of the lounge, through the hall and out the open door. Very faintly, muffled by the roar of the storm, she heard the church bell. But it couldn’t be ringing for Catriona. She had already checked that the funeral was off. The bell, apart from Sundays, was only rung for an emergency.
This she told to Perry who had appeared beside her. “I’d better get back down there,” she said. “There might be a story. I’ll get the photographer.”
“Elspeth, I am not going out into that screaming wilderness again.”
“Suit yourself.”
The emergency was that Mr. Patel’s small son, Bertie, had gone missing. In answer to his frantic cries for help, Hamish had rushed to the church and rung the bell, telling the village men who had struggled to answer its summons to start searching. He then did a quick check of the bedroom that Bertie shared with his brothers. On Bertie’s pillow was an open book, the story of the Ice Queen.
Bertie was only six years old and a dreamy boy. Had he gone out to look for the mythical queen?
Priscilla came back with a tray of mulled wine. “Where’s Elspeth?”
“Our intrepid reporter thought she heard the church bell ringing. Her photographer is refusing to move.”
Priscilla put down the tray. “I’ll go after her. She shouldn’t be on her own. And something serious must have happened.”
“Now I feel like a heel,” said Perry. “I’ll come with you.”
Elspeth skied towards the village. She was halfway there when she realised the wind was slacking. She dug her poles in and came to an abrupt stop. Something was lying on the road.
She went forward. It was a child. A faint whimper escaped it.
Elspeth dragged the child to its feet. A tear-stained brown face looked up at her.
“You’re Patel’s boy,” said Elspeth. “What are . . . ? Never mind. I’m going to stoop down and I want you to get on my back. Right. Now hang on very tightly and I’ll get you home.”
She dug in her poles and sped down the road, nearly taking off at the humpbacked bridge.
Elspeth went straight to Patel’s. Mrs. Patel burst into tears as her boy slid down off Elspeth’s back.
“Get blankets,” said Elspeth. “I’ll go and get Dr. Brodie.”
Word spread rapidly that the boy had been found. Matthew Campbell had taken a photograph of Elspeth as she sped into the village with the boy on her back. He would add it to his stories about the blizzard and send a copy out to the nationals.
By the time Elspeth returned with Dr. Brodie, the shop was full of people, including Perry and Priscilla. A grateful Mr. Patel hugged Elspeth, tears of gratitude running down his cheeks. “Bertie had been reading a story about the Ice Queen. He asked me where she lived. He said he had seen her in the shop. He meant you, Miss Halburton-Smythe, because you look like the pictures in his book. So I said that she lived in that big castle up on the hill.”
“Take me upstairs to the boy,” said Dr. Brodie.
Hamish had been standing listening. He suddenly laughed. “The Ice Queen! That is a verra good description.”
“Shut up!” said Priscilla and walked out of the shop.
The following morning Hamish went back to studying his notes and reports until his head ached. If the murderer was a woman, then he was looking at someone in the village. He went back to the old guest list for the hotel. No hope there.
Then he went into the office and looked at the chart on the wall. Four murders all leading down to the sign that read sex.
Wait a minute, he thought. Have I been missing the obvious? The one person with a clear motive is Fergus. What if Sky in the café had been lying? Or what if she wanted a bit of the limelight? That was the trouble with so many reality programmes on television—everyone wanted fame these days without necessarily working at anything to achieve it. Maybe she had seen herself called as a witness at a murder trial and being photographed afterwards.
Hamish wondered if the roads had been ploughed all the way over to Cnothan.
He dressed warmly, got into the Land Rover, and drove off. He was in luck. The roads had been ploughed. The sun was low in the sky. It never rose very high in the winter. He parked in the main street and entered the café. The owner said it was Sky’s day off, but that she lived in the last house at the top of the main street.
Hamish went there and rang the bell. A thin, faded blonde woman wearing too much make-up answered the door. “I am Police Constable Macbeth from Lochdubh,” said Hamish. “Might I be having a wee word with Sky?”
“What’s she done?”
“Nothing as far as I k
now,” said Hamish mildly. “Am I talking to Sky’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“When’s her birthday?”
“Tenth o’ June. Why are you asking?”
Hamish’s heart felt suddenly heavy. “Never mind. Just call her.”
“Go in and have a seat. I’ll get her.”
After a few moments, Sky slouched in. She was a sulky-looking girl, chewing a great wad of gum. Her hair was dyed an improbable red and she was thin to the point of anorexia.
“You lied to me,” said Hamish severely.
“I did not. I ’member that fellow fine.”
“It was not your birthday for a start. Your birthday was in June.”
“I just said that to make you believe me. But he was in that day, honest.”
“So what makes you sure it was that day?”
“I was going to go clubbing in Strathbane that evening but the mist got so bad, me and my friends didn’t go.”
“There have been other foggy days,” said Hamish severely. “You shouldnae ever lie to the police. If I find out Fergus wasnae in your café, I’ll be back to arrest you for wasting police time.”
Hamish drove back to Lochdubh. He parked on the waterfront and walked up to Fergus’s cottage.
Fergus ushered him in. “A dram, Hamish?”
“No. This is serious. That girl at the café, she lied about the day she saw you being her birthday. Did you get to her in any way? Pay her?”
“Hamish, what are you talking about? I was there!”
“I’m right worried, Fergus. The one thing that connects the four women in a way is you. You stood to gain money if your husband-beating wife died. You visited Catriona and Fiona.”
“Och, Hamish. Will this never end?”
“I’ll need to go over all your alibis again. I’ll go to that paper mill tomorrow and warn that foreman if he’s been lying for you, I’ll have him arrested.”
Fergus looked weary. “Do what you must. I’ve had enough. I’ve protested ma innocence over and over again. I’m going to phone the lawyer. I need protection.”
“I think you do.” Hamish turned in the doorway. A sudden thought struck him. Looking back at Fergus, he couldn’t believe the man guilty of anything.
“Fergus, do you know of any other man in Lochdubh who’s being beaten by his wife?”
Fergus gave a harsh laugh. “Try next door.”
“What, the Framonts? Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“It’s husband beating. It’s no’ murder.”
Hamish stood outside Fergus’s house. Could it be? Could it possibly be?
He went to the Framonts’ and rang the bell. Colin answered the door. He had a burn mark on the side of his face.
“How did you get that burn?” asked Hamish.
“Got it at work,” said Colin.
“Can I come in? I’d like a word with you and the wife.”
“Tilly’s not here.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s gone up to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“Women’s stuff. She wants Elspeth Grant to read her horoscope.”
Hamish stared at him and then wheeled about and began to run down to his Land Rover as fast as he could.
He drew out his mobile phone as soon as he got into the vehicle. No signal. He put on the siren and raced off out of the village.
Mr. Johnson phoned Elspeth, who was working in her room. “Mrs. Framont is at the reception. She wants to come up and see you.”
“Why?”
“She wants her horoscope read.”
Elspeth felt gooseflesh rising on her arms. “Tell her to wait in the lounge. I’ll be down soon. First, has the colonel got an old flak jacket anywhere?”
“He’s away but I’ll ask Priscilla.”
“Tell her to phone me if she’s got one.”
“What . . . ?”
“Please just do it.”
Elspeth waited nervously. She tried the phone. Still dead.
Then there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” she called.
“It’s me, Priscilla.”
Elspeth opened the door. “What do you want with this?” asked Priscilla, holding out an old flak jacket.
“Help me on with it and I’ll tell you.”
Elspeth entered the lounge. She was wearing the flak jacket under an old sweater. Fortunately the colonel had last worn his flak jacket years ago when he was a slim young officer.
“Miss Grant,” said Tilly. “I’m right sorry to bother you but I mind you from the days when you did the horoscopes for the Highland Times and I wonder if I could have a reading.”
“Please sit down. No, sit opposite me. I don’t do readings.” Elspeth had a sudden inspiration. “But I read palms. Hold out your hands.”
All the while Elspeth was thinking, She can’t be a murderer. She looks so small and inoffensive. But Tilly’s eyes were glittering with an odd light. She held out her hands.
Hamish had nearly reached the hotel when he saw the lights of a car racing towards him. He slowed down and saw that Priscilla was the driver. He stopped. She climbed out of her car, shouting, “Tilly Framont’s at the hotel getting Elspeth to tell her horoscope.”
“I know,” Hamish shouted back. “Let me past.”
Priscilla swung her car to the side of the one-track road and Hamish roared off past her.
Elspeth stared down at the pair of housework-reddened hands and said, “I see violence and murder in your hands, Mrs. Framont.”
Three guests came into the lounge. Tilly snatched her hands away. “You’re nothing but a fraud,” she said. She got up and began to march away. Elspeth followed her. She desperately wanted Tilly to do or say something to betray herself. Tilly went out of the hotel and walked towards her car.
“Well, good night,” said Elspeth, and she turned to walk back into the hotel.
A police siren sounded. Driving into the hotel, Hamish Macbeth thought he would never forget the sight that met his eyes.
As Elspeth turned away, Tilly took a pair of scissors out of her pocket, ran forward, and stabbed Elspeth viciously in the back.
Elspeth fell face-forward in the snow.
Hamish jumped down from the Land Rover and grabbed Tilly and threw her to the ground. She screamed and clawed at him. He finally got handcuffs on her. Mr. Johnson came running out. Priscilla drove up and got out of her car. She and Hamish ran to Elspeth.
“Help me up,” said Elspeth.
“Let’s get you to the hospital fast,” said Hamish.
“It’s all right,” said Elspeth. “She didn’t get me. I’m wearing one of the colonel’s old flak jackets.”
Hamish rounded on Mr. Johnson. “Why was Elspeth left alone with this woman?”
“I told them to,” said Elspeth. “I thought I would be safe.”
Perry came running out. “What’s happened?”
“Oh, Perry,” said Elspeth and burst into tears. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Hamish, the phones are back on,” said Mr. Johnson.
“Right. Help me get her into the office and I’ll get Jimmy ower from Strathbane.”
In the office with ex-policeman Clarry taking notes, Hamish switched on the small tape recorder he always carried with him and charged Tilly with attempted culpable homicide. She had subsided into a mutinous silence.
Hamish tried question after question but she just stared at him defiantly.
At last Hamish picked up the phone and, consulting his notebook, dialled Colin Framont’s number. “Colin, I have arrested your wife,” he said. “Come up to the hotel.”
“No,” said Tilly. “You have no right to bring him here.”
“I have every right.”
“Filth. You’re all filth,” said Tilly.
“What, men?”
“Aye, the lot of you, and you will roast in hell for your bestial lusts.”
“Confession is good for the soul,” said Hamish. “Why don’t we beg
in at the beginning? Let’s start with Catriona Beldame.”
“He went to her. My Colin. He’d never even disobeyed me before. He had to be stopped. Oh, she looked that startled when herself saw me, lying naked in her sinful bed. But I shut her up for good.”
“You could have been caught lighting that fuse,” said Hamish.
“Not me. The Lord was with me that day.”
“But Ina? Why Ina?”
A tear ran down one of her cheeks and she brushed it angrily away. “She was my best friend. We were always agreed on everything. Keep the men in their place and if they won’t stay there, give them a good whack. I thought she’d be pleased but she said it was on her conscience and she felt she ought to tell the police. The Lord was watching over me again and he sent down a fog to cover me when I darted into Patel’s and killed her.”
“And Ellie Macpherson?”
“I couldn’t take a chance. She had to be silenced. The Lord told me she had to be silenced.”
“And Fiona McNulty?”
“That hoor. I made Colin tell me about her. He said Fergus had been seeing her. My Ina’s husband betraying her by going to a hoor?”
Jimmy Anderson came in flanked by Harry MacNab and a policewoman.
“I have her confessions on tape,” said Hamish wearily. “You’ll find Clarry has excellent shorthand notes as well. Take her away and interview her yourself, Jimmy.”
Hamish found Colin Framont in the hall. He turned his head away as Tilly was taken past him.
“You as well,” said Jimmy, taking Colin’s arm. “Hamish, file a full report.”
Colin was led out protesting that he knew nothing about it.
Hamish went back to where Priscilla was looking blankly at the stairs. “Where’s Elspeth?”
