by M C Beaton
As Priscilla and Hamish were walking towards the restaurant, they stopped to watch and listen.
“Would you chust look at the auld fool,” said Hamish. “He’s wearing white robes.”
“Looks quite biblical,” said Priscilla and Hamish laughed.
In the restaurant, Willie fussed over Priscilla, and cleaned the table with so much detergent that Hamish got a sneezing fit.
“Some things never change,” said Priscilla. “Tell me all about the murders.”
Hamish began to speak. He had forgotten what a good listener she was.
Dick, strolling past with the dog and cat at his heels, saw them through the restaurant window. “Please God,” he muttered, “let him fall in love with her again.”
When he got back to the police station, he was just in time to take a call from Elspeth. “Is Hamish there, Dick? I rather had to cut him off the last time.”
“He’s gone to the restaurant for lunch.”
“Alone?”
“No, Miss Halburton-Smythe is with him.”
“I’ll phone him there. Goodbye.”
Elspeth felt a sharp stab of jealousy. She remembered all the times when it looked as if she and Hamish had been about to get together at last and then Priscilla had appeared on the scene and he had promptly forgotten about her. Then as she looked at the television monitor, she saw film of Angus’s waterfront interview, and, as she watched, there was a clear shot of Hamish and Priscilla, standing and watching. Priscilla said something, Hamish laughed, and they walked on.
She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. How dare he look so happy and carefree? She was about to phone until she was reminded she was about to present another bulletin.
Hamish found it therapeutic to talk about all the murders with Priscilla, ending up with the horrible death of Heather.
“We’re closing up,” said Willie.
“Pity,” said Hamish. “I havenae talked so much in ages.”
“We needn’t stop,” said Priscilla. “Let’s go up to the hotel. We’ll take my car. I’m leaving in the morning. This is just a flying visit so let’s make the most of it.”
The phone in the restaurant rang just after they had left. Willie tried to sound like an answering service. “The restaurant is now closed,” he said, “but if you’d like to leave…”
“Willie, it’s me, Elspeth. Is Hamish still there?”
“No, he and Miss Halburton-Smythe have just left. My, they were talking so long I had to throw them out. I heard Miss Halburton-Smythe inviting him up to the hotel. You’ll get him there.”
The highlander that was Elspeth thirsted for revenge. How could Hamish forget about her so easily? She was damned if she would go on chasing him on the phone.
It was a long bitter day, and at the end of it as she was taking off her television make-up, a young researcher, Patty Klein, put her head round the door. “We’re all off to the pub with the Sheratons. Coming?”
“Be right there,” said Elspeth.
The Sheratons were like the Chippendales, a group of hunky young men who did a striptease performance for audiences of screaming women. They had been interviewed earlier in the evening.
When Elspeth entered the pub, she got a noisy welcome. All of a sudden, she just wanted to drink and drink and forget Hamish Macbeth.
Hamish had dinner with Priscilla that evening. Afterwards, she ran him back to the police station.
He found Heather’s brother, Luke, waiting for him. “I’m trying to find out how my poor sister really died,” he said when he saw Hamish.
“It appears Brenda was struck a blow on the head,” said Hamish soothingly, “and…”
“I’m not talking about Brenda, I’m talking about Heather.”
“Heather received bad burns when she tried to commit suicide by running into the flames of the burning factory,” said Hamish. “On her last escape from hospital, she went to Angus Macdonald’s cottage where she used a stun gun on a policeman on guard before hitting him. She then stabbed Angus. He shoved her to protect himself and she fell in the fire. That was when she died.”
“I don’t believe this. I think she died as a result of police brutality.”
I wonder if there’s madness in this family, thought Hamish wearily.
“Look,” he said, “take the matter up with headquarters in Strathbane.”
“I have already done so. They gave me the same load of rubbish you have just done. I had hoped for honesty from you.”
“And you got it,” said Hamish coldly. “Your sister was a stone-hard serial killer.”
“You will all be hearing from my lawyers!”
“Do that.”
“You haven’t heard the last of this.”
He stormed off.
Hamish shrugged and went into the office to phone Elspeth. She didn’t answer her home phone and her mobile was switched off.
Elspeth awoke the next morning. Her head was hammering and her mouth was dry. Bits of the previous evening came back to her in flashes of memory. She remembered flirting with the leader of the Sheratons, Steve Bunty.
Elspeth looked up at the ceiling and stiffened in horror. She was looking up at a reflection of herself and beside her on the bed was a naked man, lying on his back. It was Steve Bunty.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She was fully dressed. I must have passed out, she thought in a panic. I’d better get out of here before he wakes up. Thank goodness Hamish is up in the Highlands. If he ever got to hear of this, we’d be finished. She glanced at her watch. It was noon. Barry Dalrymple must be looking for her.
Hamish strolled along to Patel’s late the following afternoon to buy a copy of the Scottish Evening Bulletin. He liked settling down with the crossword, which was easy and made him feel clever.
“Haven’t got a copy left,” said Mr. Patel.
“How’s that? Good story?”
“Mr. Fraser bought every copy in the shop.”
Hamish laughed. “Must be some sort of competition in it, although why he wants the whole lot, I can’t even begin to imagine.”
He could not find Dick in the police station but smoke was drifting from a bonfire up at the back.
If that’s Dick, what on earth is he doing? wondered Hamish. He’ll choke my sheep with all that smoke.
He ran up to the field at the back. Dick was stuffing piles of newspaper into a fire in an old oil drum.
His back was to Hamish and he did not hear him coming. Hamish seized a newspaper from a pile on the grass. There on the front page was a large headline: ELSPETH GRANT GETS CARRIED AWAY.
Below it was a large photograph of Elspeth flung over the shoulder of a naked man who was wearing nothing but a leather thong. Dick turned round and saw Hamish and hung his head. He had been feeling guilty at trying to break up Hamish’s engagement and had been trying to make amends by hiding the news item from him.
Elspeth suffered a lot of teasing at the television studios. What was a drunken horror to her seemed to be a great lark to the rest of them. They had all got very drunk and Steve had performed an impromptu striptease. He had then grabbed Elspeth who hardly knew what was happening and had run off with her. With a large number of the public now having phones that took photographs, they had been snapped outside just as Steve was getting them both into a taxi.
Elspeth looked dismally at her mobile phone. Hamish again. What on earth was she going to say to him?
At last, she finally answered and said in a small voice, “I suppose you’ve seen the newspaper. I didn’t do anything. I just passed out.”
“I don’t think that really makes it all right,” said Hamish slowly. “Your life down there seems foreign tae me. I don’t think I really know you, Elspeth.”
“What about you, Mr. High and Mighty?” demanded Elspeth. “Yes, I went out to get drunk because every time I phoned Lochdubh all I heard was that you were wining and dining Priscilla.”
“That’s different. She’s an old friend.
”
“Like hell she is!”
“So it’s my fault you’re smooching a stripper?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re mad.”
“I suppose you want your ring back?”
“Keep it. It’ll remind you of dear Steve.”
Elspeth rang off. Hamish sat for a long time with his head in his hands. Then he went into the living room where Dick was sitting sadly looking at a catalogue of caravans.
“You can put that catalogue away, Dick,” said Hamish quietly. “The engagement’s off.”
“Och, Hamish, I’m right sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, find something on that TV of yours. I don’t want to think.”
Dick scrolled through the selections on the menu and settled on an American cop show.
Hamish stared at it blindly for ten minutes and then said abruptly, “I’m off for a walk.”
He met Angela Brodie on the waterfront. “I saw the evening paper,” she said.
“So Dick didn’t manage to buy up all of them?”
“I’m afraid not. Unfortunately, the Currie sisters got hold of one first. It’s all over the village. Poor Elspeth.”
“Why poor Elspeth?”
“It must be awful being a celebrity.”
They leaned on the waterfront in silence. Angela looked sideways at Hamish’s downcast face.
“I think that news item really upset you, Hamish.”
“It did. The fact is, we were engaged to be married and now it’s all off.”
“Oh, Hamish, did she explain?”
“She heard I’d been dining with Priscilla and went out to get drunk.”
“I can understand that, Hamish. Everyone knows you’ve always had a yen for Priscilla.”
“Yes, but I know nothing of Elspeth’s lifestyle down there. Her friends would probably think I was some sort of hick from the sticks. She’d only be able to see me at week-ends. What happens if we have a row? She’d probably end up in another scandal.”
“That’s a bit hard.”
“I’d neffer be able to trust her again.”
And she won’t be able to trust you, thought Angela sadly.
“What about the Palfours?” she asked.
“The case comes up in a month. I’ll have to go to the High Court to testify.”
“Have they arrested anyone else who worked at the factory?”
“No, why?”
“There was something about a lot of money in the safe. Why wasn’t it in the bank?”
Hamish told her.
“But surely the accountant was in on it. Or Gilchrist’s secretary.”
“He evidently persuaded his Polish accountant that he liked to keep a certain amount of cash out of the bank because he didn’t trust banks. He said he would eventually declare it and pay taxes on it. She desperately needed the work and so she went along with it.”
“I suppose no one trusts banks these days. That lot from the bank who were wining and dining at the hotel were ordering the most expensive wines, despite the fact that the bank had to be bailed out with taxpayer’s money. Oh, here’s the minister. I think he’s looking for you. See you soon.”
Angela walked off as the minister, Mr. Wellington, came up to join Hamish. “I just wondered if you were in need of some spiritual help,” he said.
“No, no, I’m chust fine,” said Hamish, embarrassed.
“I always find forgiveness is the thing,” said Mr. Wellington solemnly. “God will help you forget the horrors of murder.”
“Aye, well, I’ll remember that,” said Hamish, shuffling his boots. “Got to go. Got a report to write.”
“Remember! Forgiveness!” called the minister after him.
Odd wee man, thought Hamish. But living with that bully of a wife is enough to make anyone strange.
When Hamish returned to the police station, Dick said, “Sit yourself down and I’ll get your supper.”
Hamish looked around the cosy kitchen. Time to count my blessings, he thought. The murders are solved, life is quiet again, and I’ve still got my police station.
And somewhere out there, there’s some girl who would make a grand wife. All I have to do is wait…and hope.
Previous Hamish Macbeth Mysteries by M. C. Beaton
Death of a Kingfisher
Death of a Chimney Sweep
Death of a Valentine
Death of a Witch
Death of a Gentle Lady
Death of a Maid
Death of a Dreamer
Death of a Bore
Death of a Poison Pen
Death of a Village
Death of a Celebrity
Death of a Dustman
Death of an Addict
Death of a Scriptwriter
Death of a Dentist
Death of a Macho Man
Death of a Nag
Death of a Charming Man
Death of a Travelling Man
Death of a Greedy Woman
Death of a Prankster
Death of a Snob
Death of a Hussy
Death of a Perfect Wife
Death of an Outsider
Death of a Cad
Death of a Gossip
A Highland Christmas
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Contents
Welcome
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Previous Hamish Macbeth Mysteries by M. C. Beaton
Newsletters
Copyright
All characters in this book are fictional and bear no relation to anyone living or dead.
Copyright © 2013 by Marion Chesney
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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ISBN 978-1-4555-1755-8
