by M C Beaton
“She left yesterday,” said the doctor. “I should have known the woman wasn’t right in the head. But she seduced me and I’d been celibate a long time. You know how it is.”
“I do indeed,” said Hamish bitterly. “Have you contacted the seer’s niece?”
“Not yet. Maybe not. I don’t like being manipulated. How are things with you?”
“I’ve been given a new policeman. He’s a clumsy sort of giant but he’s kind and a hard worker. Makes a change from Dick Fraser, my former copper. I hope this one doesn’t desert me for food. My first policeman married the daughter of a restaurant owner and now waits table, the second is chef at the Tommel Castle Hotel, and the last one, Dick Fraser who you met, is running a bakery in Braikie.”
“Does the latest one show any signs of liking to cook?”
“No, I’m back to cooking the meals. I’ll drop by the shop and get some baps to take back with me.”
“Next time you see Angus Macdonald, tell him from me that he’s a bastard.”
“Will do.”
When Hamish returned in the afternoon, he heard hammering coming from the back of the police station and went to look at what was happening.
“I’m just dismantling this bed,” said Charlie. “Priscilla gave me a new one.”
“How did you meet Priscilla?”
“She came to ask you to lunch but took me instead,” said Charlie. “What a beauty! Then she took me up to the hotel and got me this nice long bed out of storage.”
From that moment, it seemed to poor Charlie that the normally amiable Hamish had taken a dislike to him. Nerves made him clumsier than ever.
The next morning, Hamish gave him a list of places to visit on the extensive beat of Sutherland, and when Charlie had driven off, Hamish went up to the Tommel Castle Hotel.
Priscilla was in the gift shop, helping the assistant open boxes of newly arrived goods. She smiled at Hamish and said, “Come over to the hotel. I could do with a coffee.”
Once they were seated in a corner of the hotel lounge, Priscilla immediately began to sing Charlie’s praises. “You’re so lucky, Hamish, to have such a good-natured sidekick.”
“He’s too clumsy, Priscilla. He’ll have to go.”
“Oh, Hamish. That would be so cruel. He loves it here.”
“I don’t love him here. The police station is not big enough to have an ox like Charlie blundering about.”
“Not jealous, are you?”
That unfortunate streak of highland malice in Hamish’s character reared its ugly head.
“What on earth is there to be jealous about?” he said nastily. “It’s not as if I have any interest in you.”
“A man like Charlie,” said Priscilla in a thin voice, “has the knack of making a woman feel admired and cherished, something you are never able to do.”
“Pah!” said Hamish. “He’s going.”
As if to suit the black mood in the police station that night, a storm had risen. It shrieked round the station as Hamish told Charlie he was getting rid of him.
Charlie simply bowed his large head and said nothing. The cat crawled up onto his lap, and he stroked her soft fur.
Hamish woke the following morning. The wind was still blowing in great squally, tearing gusts. At first he thought he had a hangover and slowly realised he felt sick with guilt.
He decided to go up to the cliffs where Dubois had tried to kill him. He had often gone there in the past when he felt he needed the tumult of wind and waves to clear his brain. He ordered his pets to stay, walked past Charlie who was sitting at the kitchen table, and went out into the storm.
Charlie sat with his large hands clutched round a mug of coffee. He suddenly decided to follow Hamish and see if he could make Hamish change his mind.
It was as if the whole countryside was in motion. It whistled through the ruins of the old hotel at the entrance to the harbour. It sent whitecapped waves racing down the loch as if they were trying to flee the Atlantic breakers beyond the cliffs.
Ragged black clouds tore across the sky above, and as Hamish approached the cliffs, he could hear the clamour of the ocean. The wind was too strong even for the gulls, who were no doubt sheltering on their ledges, and the puffins were down in their burrows.
Hamish took the steep path leading up to the top of the cliffs. Several times the wind almost blew him over. As on the night when he had nearly been killed, great waves were rising up above the cliffs. He remembered the horrible scene. It was suddenly infinitely precious to him that his police station was secure and that the village of Lochdubh had returned to its normal placid existence.
One great wave rose high above the cliff and crashed down over the top. Seawater flowed down over the heather. Apart from the night Dubois was swept away, Hamish had never seen such a huge wave. He squinted at his watch. High tide was nearly over.
He was unaware that Charlie was standing some paces behind him, trying to summon up courage to speak to him.
Hamish was about to turn away when another giant wave rose above the cliffs. He stood mesmerised. It hurtled a great object at his feet and then drew back through the heather with a hissing sound.
Hamish looked down and clutched his hair. Lying at his feet was what remained of the body of Dubois, barely recognisable. The gaseous body has been torn by the rocks and the eyes eaten by sea creatures. Two empty sockets stared up at him.
“Is that Dubois?” said Charlie, coming up to stand beside him.
“That,” shouted Hamish, “is weeks o’ paperwork and interrogations and more paperwork. Why couldn’t the man stay lost?”
Charlie looked at Hamish. He looked down at the body.
With one swift movement, he bent down and picked up the carcase and ran to the top of the cliffs.
“Come back!” yelled Hamish. “You’ll get washed away.”
But before the next wave rose up, Charlie hurled the body over the cliffs.
He came back to join Hamish. “I don’t think you need to bother about paperwork now, sir.”
Hamish looked at Charlie in open admiration. “Come to the pub and I’ll get us a drink.”
Outside the pub, a wheelie bin came racing along. Charlie caught it, took off his oilskin, stuffed it inside, and threw the bin in the loch.
“Smelled o’ dead body,” said Charlie.
They went into the pub. “It may be early for a dram, but I need one,” said Hamish.
“Me, too,” said Charlie.
“Get that table by the window and I’ll get the drinks,” said Hamish.
He returned with two double whiskies and sat down opposite Charlie.
“I owe you an apology, Charlie,” said Hamish. “I was that jealous o’ you.”
“Me?” said Charlie amazed. “No one’s ever jealous o’ me.”
“I used to be engaged to Priscilla,” said Hamish.
“Oh, dear. Why did she call it off?”
“It just didnae work out,” said Hamish, “but when I heard her singing your praises, well, I got nasty and spiteful. Of course you can stay.”
“No one told me about Priscilla,” said Charlie. “When I was out on the beat, some folk said they thought you might be going to marry that television presenter, Elspeth Grant.”
“I have no luck with the ladies.”
“Don’t worry about me, sir. Priscilla is just friendly-like. She doesn’t fancy me one bit.”
“The storm’s dying down,” said Hamish. “Thanks for getting rid of that body.”
Charlie grinned. “What body? I never saw any body at all.”
They went back to the police station together and then set off in the Land Rover to call round places on their beat and make sure the old people in particular had not had their properties damaged by the storm.
When they returned to the station, Hamish found he had a message from Christine. “This is my last invitation to dinner, Hamish. Phone me if you’re free.”
Why not, thought Hamish. He phoned her back an
d arranged to meet her in a restaurant in Strathbane the following evening.
He suddenly remembered Heather Green down in Beauly and wondered how she was getting on. He told Charlie about her and suggested that the next morning they should go down to Beauly and see how she was coping with life.
But when they called at her home, a stranger answered the door. He said he had recently bought the house and that Heather Green, he believed, was living in sheltered housing at the far end of the village.
Hamish felt depressed. He was sure Heather would be grieving for her lost home. They found out where she was living and knocked at the door of her flat.
A healthier-looking Heather answered the door, smiled at them, and ushered them in. It was a very small flat, but warm and comfortable.
“I’m sorry you had to sell your home,” said Hamish.
“Oh, I was so silly about that. A friend took me to show me these places. There’s even a warden to do my shopping if I want. I got an awful lot of money for the house and so I’m well set up. Now, I’ll make tea and then you must tell me of your adventures. I not only have the television now but a phone as well!”
When they left an hour later, Hamish had a feeling of being at peace with the world.
When they returned to the police station, they found Jimmy waiting for them.
“You remember Barney Mailer?”
Hamish searched his memory. “I have it. The chap who was supposed to have been romancing Liz and moved to London?”
“That’s the one. We couldnae seem to find him but it turned out he had moved to Thailand. He contacted us and we spoke to him on the phone. He said she showed him that ring and said she was a member of a gang and that was the way they recognised each other. He thought she was mad so he cleared off.”
“Such a childish thing to do,” said Hamish, “but probably Gaunt had some of them try to con people out of their money. Tell me, Jimmy,” he went on, “why does Daviot keep that horror Blair in his job?”
“You know why. Blair creeps and cringes. Daviot’s a weak man. I sometimes think of getting a transfer.”
“Don’t do that!” said Hamish alarmed. “If you went, I’d never learn anything at all. This is the first time you haven’t asked for whisky.”
“Got a stiff warning from the doctor. But man, it’s hard.”
The following evening, Hamish, dressed in his best, set out for Strathbane. As soon as he had gone, Charlie drove up to the hotel to see Priscilla.
Christine’s choice of restaurant was a steak house. In the soft light of the restaurant, she looked more attractive than ever. As they talked shop, Hamish covertly studied her and wondered if one really needed to be in love to get married. Folk said passion didn’t last. It was compatibility and friendship that mattered in the long run.
Christine had said he could stay the night in her flat and so they shared a bottle of wine.
I’ll do it, thought Hamish. I’ll ask her to marry me.
“There you are!” cried a female voice. A tall woman was smiling down at them.
“Fiona!” cried Christine. “Hamish, this is my sister. Fiona, Hamish Macbeth. Join us. When did you arrive? I didn’t expect you until Saturday.”
“Came earlier, that’s all.”
“Hamish, you’ll need to sleep on the sofa. My sister is staying with me,” said Christine.
The two women plunged into family reminiscences. Hamish suddenly wanted to leave. What madness had possessed him to even think of proposing to Christine?
Fiona suddenly turned her attention to Hamish and demanded to be told all about murders.
“Excuse me,” said Hamish. “Back in a minute.”
He went to the loo and phoned Jimmy. “Don’t ask,” he said. “Phone me in five minutes’ time and tell me I’m wanted at headquarters.”
He returned to the table. He knew immediately he had been discussed. Fiona gave him a sly look. “How long have you and my sister been…er…friends?”
“We’ve worked on a few cases,” said Hamish.
His mobile rang. He answered it, listened, and rang off.
“That was Jimmy, Christine. I’ve got to go to headquarters.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, I’ll phone if it’s anything important. I’ll pay for this on the road out.”
Hoping he wouldn’t be stopped and breathalysed, Hamish drove slowly to Lochdubh.
He felt all the strains of the murder cases and the attacks on his life fading away.
He was going home, and he was suddenly happy again at last.
About the Author
M. C. Beaton has won international acclaim for her bestselling Hamish Macbeth mysteries, and the BBC has aired twenty-four episodes based on the series. Also the author of the Agatha Raisin series, M. C. Beaton lives in a Cotswold cottage with her husband. For more information, you can visit www.MCBeaton.com.
Previous Hamish Macbeth Mysteries
by M. C. Beaton
Death of a Policeman
Death of Yesterday
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
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
Previous Hamish Macbeth Mysteries by M. C. Beaton
Newsletters
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Marion Chesney
Cover design by Griesbach/Martucci
Cover copyright © 2015 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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 constitute 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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