Death of a Liar

by M C Beaton

  “So you would want to see a grand man like Dr. Williams shackled to a nutcase?”

  “No, but you nearly caused Samantha Trent to have a heart attack. You’re a wicked, interfering old scunner!”

  “Great, isn’t it? Now push off, Hamish.”

  Hamish wrestled with his conscience and finally phoned Dr. Williams. “How is she?” he asked.

  “Woke up a bit ago. But she’s packing up. She’s determined to get back to Edinburgh. Why did that seer tell her such a load of rubbish?”

  “Because he thinks you’d be better off with his niece, Bella Macdonald.”

  “I remember her. Nice lady, but she’s got a bit of a moustache.”

  “She can shave, dammit!” said Hamish, suddenly fed up with the whole business.

  That night, the old dog fox roused himself to go hunting. He was tired and hungry. His family had been trapped and killed long ago. He sniffed the air. He slunk down to the nearest garden, where he could smell roast chicken. To his amazement, a whole roast chicken was on a plate near the hedge. He gobbled it up. Now there was the scent of beef in the air. In the next garden, he found a slice of steak.

  And so it went on. Each superstitious villager was convinced the old fox held the soul of a lost loved one.

  When he was found dead six months’ later, the villagers gave the old fox a Christian burial, even having a coffin constructed, which had to be quite large for a fox as the animal was very fat indeed.

  Hamish, finding his life was tranquil once more—and because it was Sunday and he knew the bakery would be closed—went to Braikie to pay a call on Dick and Anka.

  Dick gave him an enthusiastic welcome. Because he had lost weight with all the work in the bakery he did not look at all like the old Dick, but Anka was breathtakingly beautiful as usual.

  When Dick had gone through to the kitchen to fetch coffee and cakes, Hamish asked Anka if she would have dinner with him one evening.

  “I don’t think so,” said Anka. “Apart from Sunday, I do not have any free time. Maybe later, when we hire more staff.”

  Hamish brightened. She hadn’t said no. But when Dick came back with a laden tray, Anka said, “Hamish has said he will take us out for dinner one evening.”

  “That’s great,” said Dick. “We’ll let you know.”

  We, thought Hamish sulkily on the road home. His pets were in the passenger seat beside him. Sonsie put a large paw on Hamish’s knee.

  “Aye, you’re a grand cat,” said Hamish, “but no substitute for a nice lassie.”

  His thoughts turned to Christine Dalray. Hugo Bryan had promised Hamish a free meal for himself and a friend anytime he cared to come over to the restaurant.

  At the station, Hamish phoned Christine, but she said she was busy.

  He went out to the waterfront, followed by his animals. Archie Maclean came to join him. “Do you understand women, Archie?” asked Hamish.

  Archie jerked his hand towards his cottage, from which came the sounds of ferocious cleaning. “Me? Havenae a clue,” he said.

  Hamish looked down at Archie’s tight tweed suit. “I thought your missus had stopped boiling your clothes and making you wear tight stuff.”

  “Herself boils everything,” said Archie. “Do you need a bit o’ sex?”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “I’ll gie ye the address o’ this wumman over at Lairg. She’s no’ expensive.”

  “Archie! I’m amazed. A prostitute.”

  “Och, no. Just a nice widow woman who earns a bit on the side. I’d better get indoors. Here’s Angela.”

  Angela Brodie came up to join Hamish. “Does life seem dull after all that excitement?”

  “How’s your man?”

  “He’s away at a medical conference in Edinburgh.”

  “Tell you what,” said Hamish. “I’ve been offered a free meal at thon restaurant in Golspie. Care to come with me tonight?”

  “Oh, I’d like that.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock this evening.”

  And at seven that evening, Nessie Currie twitched the net curtains on her front window which overlooked the waterfront and let out an exclamation of surprise. She was joined by her sister, Jessie.

  Hamish Macbeth in his best suit was getting into Amanda Brodie’s car. Nessie, as usual, thought the worst. “The doctor’s away. Macbeth is at it again with his philandering ways.”

  She was so upset, she ignored her sister’s usual chorus of her last words.

  “He must be stopped,” she said firmly. “He’ll be taking her somewhere for dinner and plying her wi’ wine.”

  With a research diligence worthy of Hamish Macbeth, Nessie sat down by the phone and began to contact every restaurant she could think of, at last finding the right one.

  Grimly, the sisters put on their coats and hats and set out for Golspie.

  Christine and her partner for the evening had a table at the restaurant window. Her partner was a small, clever man called Phil Murchison from the DNA lab in Glasgow. He was in his forties with the disadvantages of a large nose and a gleaming bald head. But he was amusing and witty.

  Christine saw Hamish Macbeth arriving outside and gave an exclamation. “What is it?” asked Phil.

  “It’s that police sergeant, Hamish Macbeth. He’s standing out there with a clothes brush, brushing some woman down.”

  Angela was wearing a black trouser suit. Hamish had pointed out it was covered in cat hairs from Angela’s many cats. Angela had found a clothes brush in the backseat and had told him to get rid of the hairs before they went into the restaurant.

  “You’ll do now,” said Hamish. “Come along. I’m hungry.”

  The first person Hamish saw when he entered the restaurant was Christine. He nodded to her and would have walked past but Phil jumped to his feet and cried, “Hamish Macbeth! I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Hamish introduced Angela, and Christine introduced Phil. No competition there, thought Christine, surveying Angela’s wispy hair and vague face.

  The owner came hurrying up. “Do you all want to sit together?” he asked.

  “No,” began Hamish, but Phil said, “Would you mind, Hamish? I want to hear all about your adventures.”

  “All right,” said Hamish, wondering how he could possibly have forgotten that Christine was so attractive.

  They were all ushered to a table for four. A waiter came hurrying up with a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of the management,” he said.

  “We’d only arrived a few minutes before you,” said Christine. “We’ll talk after we order, yes?”

  Hamish leaned forward and whispered to Angela, “Remember, I’m not paying for this, so order anything you want.”

  Angela smiled up at him. That smile of Angela’s transformed her face.

  Hamish had thought nouvelle cuisine with all its decorated pawky portions had gone out of fashion. Angela had ordered scallops but only got two decorated with rocket. Hamish’s venison pâté was a small cube with a sliver of toast. Christine and Phil had both ordered prawns Marie Rose, which came in small metal bowls of the kind that used to be used in ice cream parlours. Angela said to Hamish that she would confine herself to one glass of champagne, as she was driving.

  Phil and Hamish were soon deep in conversation. “Have you known Hamish long?” asked Christine.

  “Yes. I live in Lochdubh,” said Angela.

  “And do you and Hamish often go out together?”

  “Sometimes. When my husband is away, of course,” said Angela innocently.

  So the rumours of Hamish being a philanderer were true, thought Christine. Thank goodness she had never taken him all that seriously.

  Christine could sense a closeness between Angela and Hamish, not knowing that closeness was caused by friendship.

  The door opened and the Currie sisters walked in, the candlelight shining on their thick glasses.

  At first, they looked taken back to see Christine and Phil as well as H
amish and Angela. But Nessie knew where her duty lay.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Brodie,” she said in a loud voice.

  “Ashamed. Brodie,” chorused her sister.

  “I am simply trying to enjoy a dinner with Hamish and his friends,” said Angela.

  “‘As water spilt upon the ground, that cannot be gathered up,’ so it is with your reputation,” said Nessie.

  “Reputation,” intoned Jessie.

  Hamish took out his phone and called Dr. Brodie on his mobile. “Talk some sense into the Currie sisters,” he said. “They’ve just arrived in the restaurant to accuse poor Angela of having an affair with me.”

  “Oh, let me speak to them,” said Dr. Brodie.

  Hamish handed the phone to Nessie. Hamish heard her exclaim, “You knew?”

  When Nessie finally rang off, Hamish said severely, “I think the pair of you should go home and scrub your brains out with soap.”

  But Nessie was not to be defeated. “I’ve heard of wife swapping,” she said, “but what’s worse, Macbeth, is you haven’t even got a wife to swap.”

  “Outside!” ordered Hamish, and thrusting them before him, he got them out of the restaurant.

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” he said to Nessie.

  Nessie quailed. She knew she had gone too far.

  “I felt it was my Christian duty to save Mrs. Brodie’s reputation.”

  Hamish ignored her sister’s bleating chorus. “The only people damaging Angela’s reputation and mine are you and your sister.”

  “No lawyer,” said Nessie in a frightened voice. “We’ll go back in and apologise.”

  “No! Chust go away!”

  When Hamish went back in and sat down, Phil said, “And here’s me thinking that life in a highland village would be quiet and peaceful. But it’s all murder and mayhem and madwomen.” He turned to Angela. “How does it feel to be a scarlet woman?”

  “It’s rather fun,” said Angela. “But surely you have a lot of excitement in a big city like Aberdeen.”

  Phil began to tell several very amusing stories. Hamish had ordered fillet of sea bass. He got what he estimated to be half a fillet, three boiled potatoes decorated with parsley, and half a tomato.

  “Excuse me,” he said. He picked up his plate and went into the kitchen where Hugo was sitting at a table in the corner. “Look at this wee bittie o’ fish,” said Hamish. “Are you trying to starve me?”

  “It’s the new chef. He says folk like artistic food.”

  “I didnae see any locals in the dining room,” said Hamish. “Come the winter, you’ll find you’ll get few customers unless you feed them. I know I shouldnae complain, seeing as I’m not paying, but you do need some advice.”

  Hamish returned to the table and moodily ate his fish.

  But Hugo had taken Hamish’s words to heart. The cheese board when it appeared was enormous. There was a presentation bottle of port.

  “I hate to sound like a policeman,” said Hamish. “But are you and Christine going to drive?”

  “No, we booked rooms at the local hotel. We can walk along.”

  Hearing that Angela was a writer, Phil began to question her about her books.

  Hamish turned to Christine. “I gather there’s been no sign of Dubois’s body?”

  “No. They searched and searched. But the coastguard people say that the currents off those cliffs are so strong, the body could be halfway to America by now.”

  Hamish felt happy and slightly tipsy on the road home. For the first time since Dick had left, he really began to relish the idea of having his station all to himself.

  He got out of Angela’s car and strolled towards the police station. Then he stopped and frowned. His usual parking place at the side of the restaurant was blocked by a large, dusty Jeep Cherokee. He approached cautiously, wishing he were in uniform and had his belt with the stun gun on it with him.

  He looked in the driver’s window. A giant of a fair-haired policeman was asleep at the wheel.

  Hamish rapped on the window. The policeman started awake, opened the car door, and got out. Hamish was six feet, five inches in height. He estimated this giant topped him by a couple of inches.

  He beamed at Hamish. “Charlie Carter, sir.”

  “What’s happened?” asked Hamish.

  “Didn’t they tell you? I’m your new policeman.”

  “No, they didn’t,” said Hamish. “You’d best come in until we discuss it.”

  In the light of the kitchen, Charlie was revealed as having broad shoulders and very large hands and feet. He had a big head, thick fair hair, and bright-blue eyes in a square pleasant face.

  “Sit down,” said Hamish, feeling crowded. Charlie sat down, and the chair creaked under his weight. The flap on the kitchen door opened and Sonsie and Lugs slouched in. To Hamish’s surprise, they paid no attention to the newcomer. A wild cat and a dog with large ears and blue eyes made a strange pair, but Charlie did not seem to find them odd.

  “So,” said Hamish, sitting down opposite Charlie, “how long have you been in the force?”

  “A week,” said Charlie. “I left the Scottish Police College and got a posting to Strathbane.” His voice had the soft fluting tones of the Outer Hebrides.

  “Do you know why they sent you here?”

  “They said you were in need of a policeman,” said Charlie.

  “Dick Fraser, the policeman who was here before, left his bed and some furnishings, but I doubt if the bed will be big enough for you.”

  “I’m good at the carpentry,” said Charlie. “I’m sure I can fix something.”

  “Well, bring your things in and we’ll see you settled.”

  Charlie stood up and snagged his head against the overhanging lightbulb, knocking it out of its shade and plunging the kitchen into darkness.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He trod on Hamish’s toes and Hamish let out a yelp of pain. “Go away!” said Hamish. “I’ll fix the light.”

  When Charlie eventually went to bed for the night, Hamish stood outside the police station and phoned Jimmy. “Whassamatter?” demanded Jimmy. “You woke me up.”

  “Tell me about Charlie Carter.

  Jimmy began to laugh. “Clumsy Charlie. He tipped a cup of hot coffee into Blair’s lap, he tripped over his large feet and crashed into one of the computers and broke it, a drawer on one of the old filing cabinets was stuck and he jerked it open so hard that the whole cabinet fell on him, he…”

  “Enough,” said Hamish. “I’ll figure out a way to get rid of him.”

  “Mind you,” said Jimmy, “he graduated police college at the top o’ the class.”

  But the next day found Hamish warming to the large police­man. He was so good-natured. His clumsiness did not extend to animals and he deftly helped Hamish dip his sheep. Sonsie and Lugs seemed to adore him.

  Hamish then took him round the village and introduced him to various people. At one point, Charlie paused and looked over the shining sea loch and then at the row of whitewashed cottages along the waterfront.

  “This is paradise,” he said.

  He’ll do, thought Hamish happily.

  But something happened that made him decide the tall policeman had to go.

  The following day, he told Charlie to look after the station because he was going up to Cromish to find out if Samantha was all right.

  Charlie said the front garden needed a bit of weeding and he would pass the time doing that.

  Shortly after Hamish had left, he heard a female voice outside shouting, “Anybody home?”

  He lumbered round to the kitchen door and stood there with his mouth open looking down at Priscilla.

  “Have I a spot on my nose or something?” demanded Priscilla.

  “Oh, no,” breathed Charlie. “I’ve never seen a lady as beautiful as you off the television.”

  Priscilla smiled up at Charlie. “I came to see Hamish.”

  “He’s gone up to Cromish.”

>   “I was going to take him to lunch.” Charlie was standing holding a trowel. He was not in uniform.

  “Never tell me Hamish has employed a gardener,” said Priscilla.

  “No. I’m his new policeman.”

  “Well, welcome to Lochdubh. I tell you what, I’ll take you to lunch instead.”

  “I’ll just give myself a wash and be with you,” said Charlie happily.

  In the Italian restaurant, Charlie pulled out Priscilla’s chair as she was about to sit down. Unfortunately, he pulled it out too far and she fell on the floor. He picked Priscilla up in his arms, hooked the chair upright, and sat her down.

  He sat down opposite, his face flaming. “I’m right sorry.” He waved his arms and sent the water jug crashing onto the floor.

  More flustered apologies and a lecture from waiter Willie Lamont.

  Priscilla thought Charlie as like a big child. She asked him questions about his family. He said his father was a crofter in Lewis and that his mother was dead. He had no brothers or sisters. All the time, he gazed at Priscilla with such open admiration that she began to feel he was the nicest man she had met in ages.

  She asked him how he was settling in at the police station and he said it was fine but that he would have to get to work on the bed because it was too small.

  “I seem to remember,” said Priscilla, “that we have a long single bed down in one of the storerooms at the hotel. If it’s still there, you can have it.”

  Willie Lamont uneasily watched the couple. He went back into the kitchen and said to his wife, Lucia, “I should phone Hamish. Thon new copper’s a right canosovas.”

  “A Casanova, you mean,” said Lucia. “Leave them alone.”

  By the time the meal was over and the bed had been found for Charlie and delivered to the police station, Priscilla and Charlie were firm friends.

  In Cromish, Hamish found Samantha’s cottage was empty; there was a FOR SALE board outside. He called on Dr. Williams.