by M C Beaton
“But didn’t they think it peculiar when they didn’t find even one pin? I wore my hair up last summer and the house is still full of pins. They seem to get everywhere. What did she say when they asked her why she didn’t even have any pins of her own?”
“They didn’t. I wanted to put in a report suggesting they do just that but Jimmy Anderson told me to forget about it.”
“Not like you to drop a case whether or not you’ve been told to, Hamish.”
“Well, I’ll leave it for a bit. I’ve got a nagging feeling now that I made a mistake, thinking it was her. I’ll wait until the police do some more ferreting around in Crystal’s background and then winkle the information out of Jimmy. I’d best be going, Angela. I’ve got a date.”
“With Elspeth Grant?”
“Yes, how did you guess?”
“She’s been seen calling at the police station. Attractive girl. Take your mind off…” Angela bit her lip. “Bye, Hamish.”
He stood for a moment watching her hurrying away along the waterfront through the round pools of light cast by the lamps. “The trouble with living in a village, Lugs,” said Hamish, “is that everyone knows your business. ‘Member that tourist from New York? He said we were lucky up here because in the cities, you could live next door to someone and never know him. He didn’t know how lucky he was.”
Hamish decided as he entered the restaurant and saw Elspeth sitting there that she could not be romantically interested in him. She was wearing a washed-out black T·shirt under a droopy wool cardigan and a shapeless skirt. He had put on his one good suit, striped shirt, and silk tie, and his newly washed red hair gleamed in the candlelight.
“You look very grand,” said Elspeth. “You’ll need to forgive my outfit. I came straight here from the sheep sales.”
“Prices bad?”
“Really rotten. But there’s one mystery. Johnny Liddesdale is getting rid of all his sheep. Practically giving them away. The other crofters told him to hold on, that the government was coming up with subsidies, but he said he was going into the carpentry business full-time and couldn’t be bothered with sheep.”
“He makes good furniture. Probably found a buyer,” said Hamish, and then, anxious to change the subject, he went on. “Why is it always you that’s out reporting? I thought there was that reporter.”
“Malcolm Dinsdale? He didn’t last long. Sam sent him to a rehab in Inverness to dry out. It’s only a weekly paper, so Sam and I can do all the work ourselves with the help of freelancers.”
“You seem to have long hours.”
“I enjoy it. It’s a hobby as well as work. So how’s the case going?”
“It isn’t,” said Hamish, and told her the latest.
“This feeling you’ve got about Felicity. Have you had these hunches before?”
“Sometimes. But never as strong as this.”
“And are you always right?”
“Most of the time.”
“And are you still sure it’s her?”
“Frankly, no. I’ll bide my time for a bit and see if something comes up.”
She looked steadily at him. “Like another murder?”
Hamish gazed at her, startled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Willie Lamont bustled up with menus and stood over them until they had made their choice.
When he had gone, Hamish said, “You’re making me feel uneasy. Why did you say another murder?”
“Just a feeling. I sometimes think that for every one who commits a murder, there’s at least one person who knows something about it, and that person could be in danger.”
“Your psychic powers tell you?”
“My common sense tells me.”
“Don’t you get lonely up here?”
“Away from the bright lights of Inverness? No, I’m too busy to be lonely.”
“What about boyfriends?”
“None…yet.”
“Don’t tell me you never had any!”
“A few, in the Inverness days. I was even engaged to be married.”
“So what happened?”
“We went away on holiday together and he got on my nerves. He was keen on diets. We were in Italy, in Tuscany, and the food was marvellous, but each restaurant meal was a nightmare. I had to wait while he combed through the menu for what he considered nontoxic food. It was when he started ordering the same lousy food for both of us without consulting me that I told him it was off.”
“Women!” said Hamish bitterly.
She looked at him in surprise. “You mean I should have married someone like that?”
Hamish blushed and fiddled with his fork. “Well, no, not exactly.”
“You should not inflict your own bad experience of women on me, Hamish Macbeth.”
Fortunately for Hamish, at that moment their food arrived.
“So what’s in my stars tomorrow?” asked Hamish.
“I forget,” said Elspeth.
“Now why do I get the feeling you haven’t forgotten at all?”
“I don’t write Libra horoscopes just for you.”
“We’ll see,” said Hamish. “What’s your star sign?”
“Gemini.”
“Is Angus upset at not getting the job?”
“Yes, he came to the office and told Sam I was a charlatan.”
“He can be nasty.”
“So I gather. To get back to the murder and forgetting Felicity for the moment, you must be wishing it turns out to be someone in Strathbane.”
“Why?” asked Hamish.
“You wouldn’t want it to be someone in the village. Who else could have done it?”
“This is all off the record,” said Hamish sharply. “I don’t want to see everything I’ve said to you published in the Highland Times.”
“I promise it’s all off the record.” Elspeth smiled at him. “It’s a weekly paper, Hamish, not a big national. By the time I got it in the paper a week on Monday, all sort of other things could have happened. Someone could have been arrested. So who else do you think could have done it?”
“It would be easier for me to make guesses if I’d spent more time at the television station. She’d been having affairs with a couple of bosses, but somehow I can’t think it’s one of them. They both look like serial philanderers.”
“But what about the wives?” asked Elspeth. “Maybe one of them philandered just that once too often and one of the wives cracked.”
“What I’m really worried about is that it might turn out to be the sort of person who won’t get found out.”
“And what sort of person is that?”
“Oh, just someone who works in the canteen or one of the cleaners, some psycho she snarled at who suddenly decided in a fit of madness to get rid of her.”
“You know what I think?” said Elspeth. “I think you’ve all been forgetting that behind-the-lace-curtains programme.”
“No, I got the list from the other researcher, Amy Cornwall, and checked them all out.”
“I can’t think a bully like Crystal would use just the one researcher and leave the other in peace.”
“She didn’t. She had Amy working on the one programme and Felicity on the other.”
“But the police programme was a last·minute decision,” said Elspeth eagerly. “What if Felicity had a list as well?”
Hamish sat back in his chair and looked at her in surprise. “You may have something there,” he said slowly. “Och, if I suggest anything to do with Felicity again, they’ll tell me to get lost.”
“You forget, there’s me!” said Elspeth triumphantly. “I’ll ask her. And I’ll be sympathetic about the police searching her flat and I can ask her about the missing hairpins.”
“You could do that,” said Hamish cautiously. “But remember, it could be dangerous.”
After the meal, Hamish walked her to her flat. She turned in the doorway and smiled up at him. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Hamish.”
Her eyes glowed like starlight. He sudden
ly wanted to kiss her but stopped himself in time. He was fed up making mistakes where women were concerned.
The following morning, he opened his copy of the Highland Times and turned to the horoscope. Libra. He read:
You are a shrewd and clever man when it comes to business, but you fail in romance because you never see what is under your nose. This will be a quiet week for you, but you will have a headache on Saturday due to an overindulgence of whisky the night before.
He looked at Gemini and read:
You are chasing after a man who is on the rebound. It’s a waste of time. It is probably no use telling you this, because Geminis are impetuous and will not listen to reason in matters of the heart. This will be a busy week. Do not kill your sheep or sell them cheap. Government subsidies will soon be coming if you can hang on.
Am I the man on the rebound, thought Hamish, or am I just like everyone else and think Elspeth’s daft predictions apply to me?
The phone rang. It was Ian Chisholm to say that the machines in his laundrette had been broken into and all the money taken. Hamish headed for Braikie. At least it was something to take his mind off murder.
On Friday, Bessie Macpherson, a girl in the village, was getting married, which meant the whole village was invited. Hamish had heard nothing from headquarters. He had heard nothing from Elspeth. So he put on his good suit in the afternoon and headed for the church.
He met Elspeth and Sam on the church steps. Sam was holding a camera. Hamish drew Elspeth aside. “Did you find out anything from Felicity?”
“Not much. I’ll tell you after. Here comes the bride. You’d better take your place in the church.”
Hamish sat at the back of the church with the other villagers. Bessie came up the aisle on the arm of her father. She was a plump little girl of no great beauty, but she looked so excited and happy in her white gown and veil that she seemed to carry up the aisle with her a sort of radiance. Her groom in full Highland dress stood at the altar.
As women around him began to sob, Hamish’s mind drifted back to the murder case. Ian’s problem hadn’t taken up much time. Two schoolboys had been seen late at night, fiddling with the machines. He had arranged with the parents that the stolen money be returned to Ian and that they wash the laundrette floor twice a week. He had not charged them, having a reluctance to condemn two schoolboys to the juvenile court for a first offence.
When the service was over and everyone filed out after the bride and groom to walk the short distance to the church hall where the reception was to be held, he searched for Elspeth and then saw her. Sam was taking photographs and Elspeth was noting down names. A local paper did its best to get in as many photographs and names as possible, knowing that it would boost sales.
There was a buffet meal. Hamish queued up with the rest and helped himself to a plate of food. May as well eat something until Elspeth was free.
Then there were speeches and then it was announced that the Lochdubh line·dancing group would entertain them. Hamish stared as the men and women emerged headed by the massive figure of the minister’s wife, Mrs. Wellington, wearing a fringed skirt, checked shirt, and a large white Stetson. Then came the Currie sisters, in identical cowboy boots, shirts, and jeans. And then, leading the rest, came the diminutive figure of fisherman Archie Maclean, with two toy six-shooters at his belt.
“Yee-haw!” yelled Mrs. Wellington as the music started. Hamish could feel laughter bubbling up inside him. He stumbled to his feet and fled out of the hall and rolled on the grass outside, shrieking with laughter.
“Hamish, Hamish,” chided a voice above his head. He sat up and looked into the laughing face of Elspeth.
“I couldnae believe it,” said Hamish, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his eyes. “Do they know what they look like?”
“They all think they look like real western dudes, even the Currie sisters. It’s the best fun they’ve had in ages.”
Hamish stood up. “I can’t go in there again until they’ve finished or I’ll disgrace myself. So what about Felicity?”
“Well, I interviewed her and then took a few photographs. She said she had only been working on the police programme, not the other.”
They walked down to the waterfront and leaned on the wall. A pale sun was glinting on the waters of the loch.
“And what about the hairpins?”
“That bit was tricky. She’s now got her hair cut short. But she said that when the police arrived, any hairpins she had were in her head.”
“Damn, and they wouldn’t even think to ask her to take her hair down to look for blonde pins. And she’s got thick hair. She could have buried them in there somewhere.”
“Hamish, you’re getting carried away. If she committed the murder, she’d have taken out those pins and thrown them in the heather, anywhere between Strathbane and Lochdubh. But I’ve got one little thing for you.”
“What’s that?”
“The minute I brought up that business about the hairpins, she went off me. Up till then, she was delighted to be interviewed. But immediately she had explained about the pins in her hair, she said sharply that she was busy and terminated the interview. Up till then, she could have talked all day, she was so happy to be in the limelight.”
“I’m going to put in a report,” said Hamish. “I don’t care what Jimmy says.”
“You do that. But it’s a wedding. I’ve finished my work. We should go and have fun. Will you dance with me?”
“Of course. Is the line dancing over?” He cocked his head to one side. He could hear an accordion band playing the strains of an eightsome reel. “Yes, the dancing’s started. Come on.”
Earlier that day, Felicity Pearson received a phone call. She listened to the voice in utter amazement, her heart beating hard. Then she said, “Yes, I’ll meet you. Where?” She scribbled something down on a pad.
When she rang off, her eyes were glowing. Success was coming her way at last. Rory had said they had decided to give her a break as a presenter. They were going to start a new series of Highland Life, and as some of the research on the lace-curtain programme had been done, they would start with that. The voice on the phone had promised to talk about something dramatic, and if Felicity got that person behind the camera, it would mean she would be on national television.
She debated whether to tell Rory and then decided against it. What if this person did not turn up?
Hamish checked that he had remembered to lock up his hens for the night and refused Lugs food, for the dog had already been fed before he went out. He felt restless. Did Elspeth fancy him? Should he bother? He walked over to the waterfront wall and looked down the loch. He could feel a puff of dampness in the light wind against his cheek. He looked up at the sky. A thin veil of black cloud was crawling in from the west to cover the stars.
Hamish shivered suddenly. There was something in this murder case that he had missed. He had a bad feeling.
Then he laughed. An evening with Elspeth was making him superstitious and fanciful.
He turned and walked back to the police station.
Felicity Pearson parked her car outside what used to be Dock Number Two, edged her way between the high rusty gates, now never closed, and walked towards where she had to meet her informer.
Empty warehouses stood behind her as she walked towards the sea, mute testimony to the days when Strathbane had been a prosperous port. The wind had sprung up, and somewhere a loose bit of metal clanged with the monotonous regularity of a tolling church bell. The sea heaved in great oily swells, covered in filthy debris.
She had not heard anyone approaching and jumped nervously when a voice said, “There you are.”
Felicity swung round eagerly. “What have you got for me?”
“This.”
The shotgun blast at close range blew a hole in Felicity’s chest. Seagulls wheeled and screamed, and then there was silence again apart from the sound of the clanging metal and the sound of brisk, retreating footsteps.
EIGHT
As some divinely gifted man,
Whose life in low estate began
And on some simple village green:
Who breaks his birth’s invidious bar,
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance,
and grapples with his evil star.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
No one from police headquarters phoned Hamish to tell him of Felicity’s murder. He was cruising out of Lochdubh the next morning to check that Ian Chisholm was all right and had experienced no more trouble when he heard it on his police radio.
At first he simply couldn’t believe it. Then he swung the Land Rover round and headed for Strathbane.
He checked at police headquarters and learned that Jimmy Anderson was with Carson down at Dock Number Two.
When he arrived at the dock, an ambulance was just leaving. Forensic men in white suits were combing the dock for clues. Carson, followed by Jimmy, other detectives, and policemen, came walking towards him. Carson scowled when he saw Hamish.
“What are you doing here, Officer?” he demanded.
“I heard about it on the radio. What happened?” asked Hamish.
“Firstly, you will address me as ‘sir’ at all times. Secondly, your place is back on your beat, and I suggest you get there before I suspend you for dereliction of duty. If it had not been for your mad ideas, sending us off in the wrong direction, then that woman might still be alive. Get along with you.”
If I were a dog, thought Hamish, my tail would be between my legs. He meekly went off. He felt he deserved the reprimand. What on earth had caused him to focus all his attention on Felicity?
He drove round by police headquarters, hoping to see a friendly face, and then saw the policewoman who had been present at the television station when Carson was interviewing everybody. He screeched to a halt and waved her over.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Hamish awkwardly, “but I wondered if you could fill me in on this murder.”
