Death of a Maid hm-23

by M C Beaton

  “I know. If she’d shot higher or lower, I might not be here now.”

  Hamish collected his dog and cat and drove the short distance to the police station.

  Home, he thought. Safe home.

  He cooked himself a meal of sausage and bacon, ignoring Lugs’s insistent paw on his knee and the yellow glare from Sonsie, sitting up on a kitchen chair opposite.

  Then he undressed, washed, and fell into bed and straight into a long and dreamless sleep.

  ♦

  A hammering on the kitchen door awoke him late the next morning. He struggled out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and went to answer it. A furious Elspeth stood there with Luke behind her.

  “Why didn’t you phone me?” she shouted. “We’ve been to a press conference in Strathbane, and we’ve only got what all the other papers have. You’ve just used me as you’ve used me before as a sort of Watson. I never want to see you or speak to you again!”

  She stormed off, deaf to Hamish’s apologies. Luke followed. He turned at one point and gave Hamish a mocking smile.

  ♦

  Elspeth and Luke drove back to Strathbane to see if they could pick up any more information before driving to Styre to get the reaction from the few locals.

  Luke then suggested they should go back into Strathbane and treat themselves to a slap-up meal at the Palace Hotel. They had cocktails and then a bottle of wine each to go with their lunch. Elspeth usually didn’t drink so much, but she wanted to drown out the pain of what she saw as Hamish Macbeth’s cynical and self-seeking behaviour.

  Luke set himself out to be charming and amusing. He told Elspeth she was the most attractive woman he had ever met. Tipsy, and feeling happier, Elspeth reflected that Hamish had never said one nice word about her appearance. On the contrary, he usually criticised what she had on.

  Over coffee and large brandies, Luke reached over the table and took her hand in his.

  “We make a good team, Elspeth,” he said. He rose and got down on one knee beside her chair. Still holding her hand, he looked up into her face and said, “Beautiful Elspeth, light of my life, will you marry me?”

  The other diners fell silent. Elspeth thought of her lonely flat back in Glasgow. She thought about how stupid she’d been to ever have fancied such as Hamish Macbeth.

  “Yes,” she said.

  The diners cheered. Luke rose and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go and get the best ring Strathbane has to offer.”

  ♦

  Unbeknownst to them, Hamish Macbeth had just left the main jewellers’ shop before they arrived, a sapphire and diamond ring in his pocket. He had at last decided that if marriage was what Elspeth wanted, then marriage was what she would get. As he drove back to Lochdubh, he conjured up happy pictures of Elspeth working in his kitchen with a small son at her heels.

  But when he arrived at the Tommel Castle Hotel, there was no sign of Elspeth. He mooched around, getting more and more anxious as the day wore on, until Mr. Johnson invited him into his office. “Sit down and have a coffee. You can see the car park from the window.”

  Hamish sat down. He took out the ring in its little red leather box and flicked the lid up and down until Mr. Johnson told him to stop it. “She’s out reporting, that’s all, Hamish.”

  “Did I tell you why she was mad at me?”

  “Only about a hundred times,” said Mr. Johnson, then hearing the sound of car wheels on the gravel outside, he added, “Someone’s arriving.”

  Hamish went to the window, and Mr. Johnson joined him. Elspeth and Luke got out. They were both laughing at something. Then Luke took Elspeth in his arms and kissed her. She put her hands up to caress the back of his neck, and one last ray of bright sunlight sparkled on a large diamond ring on her finger.

  Hamish made for the door, but the manager held him back.

  “Leave it, Hamish. There’s nothing you can do now.”

  ♦

  Back at the police station, Hamish found Inspector Mary Gannon waiting for him. “I’m off back to Inverness,” she said. “I dropped by to thank you. Blair’s in the doghouse again with Daviot for having decided the prof was the villain.”

  “Come ben,” said Hamish. “Drink?”

  “No, I’m driving.”

  “Tea?”

  “That would be grand.”

  “The thing that amazed me,” said Hamish as he waited for the kettle to boil, “is the luck of the woman! I mean, if I walked down the waterfront here at two in the morning, at least five people would ask me the next day what I was doing at that time of night. No one saw her at the professor’s, yet when I park at the end of his street, the neighbours report me.”

  “I think,” said Mary, “that if she hadn’t been such an amateur, we might have caught her. I know it sounds daft, but the chances she took! And nearly got away with it.”

  “When’s the court case?”

  “Sometime in February at the High Court in Edinburgh. You’ll be informed. You’ll need to be a witness for the prosecution. She got herself a top advocate – but too late, because, in a mad rage, she told us at the interview exactly how she had done the murders. I think her advocate will try for a plea of insanity. Scotland Yard are investigating that murder in the brothel that Bella talked about.”

  “Crystal must have really craved respectability. Help yourself to milk and sugar. I’ve got biscuits somewhere. Did she confess to frightening Mrs. Samson to death after trying to set her house on fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did she know about the package that Mrs. Gillespie left for Mrs. Samson?”

  “I love this one. Blair went to interview her some days after the fire, and they got very cosy. He told her about it. Of course, he’s denying the whole thing. No biscuits for me. Tea is fine. You’re a waste of a good detective, Macbeth.”

  “Can you see me in Strathbane, taking orders from Blair?” asked Hamish. “I’m king and emperor of my own patch here. When things are quiet, it’s a grand life.”

  “I know you must be feeling a certain amount of delayed shock,” said Mary, studying his face. “But you’ve got a miserable sort of haunted look in your eyes.”

  Hamish found himself telling her all about how he had hoped to propose to Elspeth but had been pipped at the post by Luke.

  “That’s bad. Had you known her long?”

  “Yes, quite a bit.”

  “Why didn’t you ask her before?”

  “I think I was in love with someone else.”

  She laughed. “You think? Let me tell you something. I think you were, or are, suffering from delayed shock. It’s not every day you nearly get killed. I think you wanted security. You’re a man. You wanted comforting sex. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve forgotten the whole thing by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll never forget her,” said Hamish stubbornly, then, switching subjects, added, “I thought you were going to resign when the case was over.”

  “I changed my mind. They’re a nice crowd in Inverness. I’ve bought you a present.”

  “There was no need for that. What is it?”

  “A joiner will call on you tomorrow and fix a cat flap in that door. It’ll be big enough for your dog as well. It comes with bolts so you can fasten it securely when the animals don’t need to use it.”

  “That’s right kind of you.”

  Mary finished her tea. “Call on me if you’re ever in Inverness.”

  After Mary had left, Hamish walked along to Patel’s and bought himself some cold ham, liver for Lugs, and a fresh fish from the harbour for Sonsie. He fed the animals first and then added fried eggs to the cold ham for himself. He made a pot of tea and carried the lot into the living room. He set the tray on the floor, raked out the fire and lit it, switched on the television, and watched the news while he ate.

  The arrest of Crystal had made the headlines. There was Daviot speaking at the press conference and giving all the praise to Inspector Cannon while Blair glowered in the background. Hamish was not me
ntioned, which, he thought, suited him fine.

  The news was followed by a drama. He put his tray on the floor after he had finished eating and settled back to watch. Sonsie jumped on his lap, but he put the heavy cat down. “You’re a wild cat,” said Hamish. “Behave like one.”

  Gradually his eyelids drooped, and he fell asleep.

  He awoke with a start later. The fire had burnt down to red ash. The cat was back on his lap, and her weight had given him pins and needles in his legs. He rose and carried his tray of dishes through to the kitchen. He put the dishes in the sink, poured water on them, and left them to soak. Hamish thought the two best housekeeping excuses in the world were leaving the dishes to soak and the beds to air.

  It was only when he was undressed and lying in bed that he realised he was not thinking of Elspeth. The whole business of wanting to propose to her seemed like a dream.

  ♦

  A blessedly crime-free autumn moved into winter. A series of very hard frosts gripped the countryside. Quite often, Sutherland – the south land of the old Vikings – escapes the worst of the winter because of the proximity of the Gulf Stream. But as Christmas passed and the New Year dawned, a raging blizzard struck the Highlands. It came unexpectedly, for the day had started off fine and frosty.

  Hamish was returning from Patel’s with a bag of groceries when he noticed a bank of black clouds looming up in the north. He walked to the wall and stared out over the loch. The air was very still, and yet those clouds advanced across the sky. The first flakes of snow soon began to fall, lacy flakes spiralling down and then upwards on the frosty air. The wind began to blow, and the snow thickened. Hypnotised, he watched the advance of the clouds as the wind blew harder. He could understand why, in the olden days, people thought the god Thor rode the gales with his army.

  He turned and headed for the police station, dropped his groceries on the table, got bales of winter feed out of the shed, and set off up the hill to his small flock of sheep. He herded them into a shelter he had built the previous spring and watched them as they fed before he turned and hurried back through the yelling, screeching wind. Thor and his army had arrived over Lochdubh. The noise of the storm was deafening.

  The cat flap banged, and Sonsie and then Lugs appeared. He got a towel and rubbed each of them down.

  There was nothing he could do now but wait until the blizzard died down.

  ♦

  The morning dawned sunny and frosty, but a gale was still blowing powdery snow off the tops of the drifts.

  The snowplough passed the window of the police station, followed by a lorry spraying grit and salt.

  Hamish had snow tyres on his Land Rover, something he had campaigned for and had finally got.

  He decided to see if he could get up to the Strathbane road to find out how Geordie McArthur was doing and then, maybe, visit some more of the outlying crofts.

  The road up to Geordie’s from the main road was impassable, so he strapped on his snowshoes and set out.

  Geordie answered the door, his face flushed with whisky and bad temper.

  “Get lost,” he snarled.

  Hamish stood his ground.

  “How’s the missus?”

  “She left me afore Christmas to stay with her sister in Bonar Bridge. The minister’s wife got hold o’ her and she became that uppity, so I gave her a taste o’ ma belt and the next day herself was gone. She’s filing for a divorce. The minister’s wife told me you were concerned, so it’s all your fault, you bampot. Get the hell out o’ here.”

  Hamish turned away. Some sixth sense made him duck as a large boot sailed over his head. Now, I could arrest him for that, thought Hamish, but just think of the paperwork. He plodded on through the drifts to his vehicle. Another blizzard was now screeching across the countryside.

  Nothing more he could do but return to the police station and read books and watch television.

  ♦

  After a night and day of pure white hell, the snow stopped falling and the wind died.

  The following day was bright and sunny. Hamish shovelled snow, fed his sheep and hens, and did chores around his home.

  The snowplough and the gritter had cleared a path along the waterfront. By evening, Hamish decided to reward himself by going to the Italian restaurant for a decent meal.

  He put Sonsie in a haversack on his back and carried Lugs in his arms. He knew the salt on the road would hurt the animals’ paws.

  Willie Lamont, the waiter, greeted him with delight. “This weather!” he exclaimed. “I thought I’d never see another customer again. I’ll take the beasties into the kitchen. This snow! It’s a fair cats trophy.”

  “Catastrophe,” corrected Hamish, sitting down at a table by the window. “You’ll have plenty of folks in here soon. Patel’s grocery will soon be running out of stores. How are you doing yourselves?”

  “We’ve enough pasta in the storeroom to feed the whole o’ Italy, and we’ve got a deer for the Bolognese sauce and things. Once the venison’s ground up and put in the sauce, folks can’t tell the difference.”

  “How did you get the deer?” asked Hamish suspiciously.

  “The poor thing just dropped dead outside the kitchen door. Must have been the cold.”

  Or the quick slash of a kitchen knife, thought Hamish cynically. Willie went off to the kitchen, with Sonsie and Lugs trotting eagerly at his heels.

  The door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. A vision entered the restaurant. She was tall and blonde and wearing a white quilted anorak with a fur-lined hood.

  She smiled at Hamish. “What weather!” Her voice had a slight trace of a foreign accent.

  “Visiting?” asked Hamish.

  “Yes, I’m staying at the hotel. I thought I’d never get out. May I join you?”

  “Of course.”

  She took off her anorak and hung it on a peg by the door. She was wearing a white cashmere dress with a white cashmere cardigan. Round her neck was a rope of pearls. She had perfect skin, very white, high cheekbones, and green eyes. Her mouth was full and sensuous.

  She sat down gracefully opposite Hamish. “Are you visiting?” she asked.

  “No, I live here. I’m the local policeman.”

  She gave a tinkling laugh. “I didn’t think there were any local policemen left in Britain.”

  Hamish grinned. “I hang on. I like being an anachronism. It’s an odd time to visit the Highlands.”

  “Oh, I’d never been to Scotland before. I live in London.”

  “My name is Hamish Macbeth.”

  “And mine is Gloria Price.”

  “Staying long?”

  “Just a week.”

  “Are you on your own?”

  “Completely.” She picked up the menu. “Seems to be a lot of venison. I think I’ll stick to pasta.”

  Willie came rushing out. “Good evening, madam,” he said. “We have plenty of tables, and Mr. Macbeth may be waiting for Miss Halburton-Smythe.”

  “I am not waiting for anyone,” said Hamish, irritated, knowing that Willie, like many of the locals, had never forgiven him for breaking off his engagement to Priscilla. “Take the order.”

  Both ordered minestrone. Gloria chose lasagne to follow, and Hamish did the same.

  “Would you choose the wine?” asked Gloria.

  Hamish ordered a bottle of Valpolicella.

  After Willie had retreated, Hamish asked, “What is your job?”

  Again that charming laugh. “I don’t work. I am independently wealthy.”

  “Ah, your husband is successful?”

  She waved her fingers at him. “See, no wedding ring? The money is all mine. Daddy has shops all over the place.”

  “What kind of shops?”

  “Electrical goods, washing machines, computers, all that sort of stuff.”

  “But you must have been married.”

  “Never could find the right man. Of course, a lot of men have fancied my money. Tell me about your job.”

&n
bsp; “It’s very quiet now,” said Hamish. “A few break-ins, nothing special.”

  “But I read in the newspapers about murders up here.”

  “Ah, fortunately that’s all over and done with.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Hamish had the highlander’s gift of telling a good story, perhaps because the north of Scotland is the last place on earth where someone can tell a long story without fear of interruption.

  Gloria was a good listener, and by the end of the meal, Hamish realised guiltily that he had been talking during the whole meal about himself.

  He insisted on paying.

  “I must return some of this hospitality,” she said.

  “Why don’t you come back with me to the hotel for a nightcap?”

  “That would be grand, but I’ve got my dog and cat in the kitchen. If you go on ahead, I’ll follow you.”

  Willie came out of the kitchen, followed by the cat and dog. Hamish was helping Gloria into her coat.

  Sonsie glared at Gloria, her lips drawn back in a snarl and her fur on end. Lugs let out a sharp bark.

  “What’s got into you?” shouted Hamish. He opened the door and ushered Gloria out. “I won’t be long,” he said to her.

  “I’ve told you and told you,” complained Willie, “that you shouldn’t be keeping a wild cat. That animal’ll kill someone one of these days.”

  Hamish lifted up the cat and put her in his haversack, then picked up Lugs. “You’re a right jealous pair,” he lectured.

  He took them back to the police station and left them in the kitchen before climbing into the Land Rover and heading up through the white walls of snow on either side of the road to the hotel.

  He felt intrigued and happy at the same time. For a moment, Elspeth’s image hung in his brain like a pale ghost, and then it was gone.

  Gloria was waiting for him in the reception area. She rose and walked forward to meet him. “There’s a noisy shinty team celebrating in the bar,” she said. “Let’s go up to my room. I’ve got a good bottle of malt.”

  To his surprise, she led the way along a corridor past the manager’s office. “You’ve hired the bridal suite,” exclaimed Hamish.