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M Beaton: Death of a Valentine

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M Beaton Death of a Valentine

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Amazing news has spread across the Scottish countryside. The most famous of highland bachelors, police sergeant Hamish Macbeth, may actually marry at last. The entire village of Lochdubh adores Macbeth's bride-to-be. Josie McSween is Hamish's new constable, and she is a pretty little thing, with glossy brown hair and big brown eyes. The local folk think that Josie is quite a catch, but Hamish couldn't be more miserable. The wedding wouldn't be happening if it weren't for the murder of a beautiful woman in a nearby village. After the gorgeous woman receives a deadly Valentine's Day gift, Hamish and Josie take on the case. However, they soon discover that the list of the victim's admirers is endless. The case confirms Hamish's belief that love is extremely dangerous, but he still can't avoid the events that lead up to his celebrated engagement.

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“Meaning?”

“It’s that sort of sound that escapes the French mouth when they make a moue of contempt.”

“I haven’t seen a tourist here in ages,” said Hamish, sitting down opposite her. “The Americans can’t afford to come this far and the French are tied up in the credit crunch.”

“By the way she was dressed, she had private means. I bet she published her books herself,” said Angela. “How’s your new copper?”

“Rapidly on her way to becoming the saint o’ Sutherland. I sent her off to check on the isolated folks and they’ve been phoning me up to say how marvellous she is. Every time I go back to the police station, there’s another one ringing in wi’ an accolade.”

Angela leaned back in her chair. “What’s she after?”

“What do you mean?”

“A pretty little girl like that doesn’t want to be buried up here in the wilds unless she has some sort of agenda.”

“I don’t think she has. I think she was simply told to go. Jimmy said she had volunteered but I find that hard to believe.”

“Had she met you before?”

“No. First I saw of her was when she landed on my doorstep.” Hamish had not even noticed Josie that time when she had first seen him at police headquarters. “Anyway, as long as she keeps out o’ ma hair, we’ll get along just fine.”

By the time the days dragged on until the end of June, Josie was bored. There was no way of getting to him. She could not tempt him with beautiful meals because Mrs. Wellington had decided not to let her use the kitchen, saying if she wanted an evening meal she would cook it and bill headquarters for the extra expense, and when, one evening, Josie plucked up courage and suggested to Hamish that she would cook a meal for them both, he had said, “Don’t worry, McSween. I’m going out.”

It wasn’t that Hamish did not like his constable, it was simply that he valued his privacy and thought that letting any woman work in his kitchen was a bad idea. Look what had happened when he had been briefly engaged to Priscilla Halburton-Smythe. Without consulting him, she’d had his beloved stove removed and a nasty electric cooker put in instead. No, you just couldn’t let a woman in the kitchen.

Josie had three weeks’ holiday owing. She decided to spend it with her mother in Perth. Her mother always knew what to do.

Josie was an only child, and Mrs. Flora McSween had brought her daughter up on a diet of romantic fiction. Just before she arrived, Flora had been absorbed in the latest issue of The People’s Friend. The People’s Friend magazine had grown and prospered by sticking to the same formula of publishing romantic stories. While other women’s magazines had stopped publishing fiction and preferred hard-hitting articles such as “I Had My Father’s Baby” and other exposés, People’s Friend went its own sweet way, adding more and more stories as its circulation rose. It also contained articles on Scotland, recipes, poetry, knitting patterns, notes from a minister, and advice from an agony aunt.

The arrival of her copy was the highlight of Flora’s week. When her daughter burst in the door, saying, “It’s no good, Ma. He’s barely aware of my existence,” Flora knew exactly who she was talking about, her daughter having shared her romantic dreams about Hamish over the phone.

“Now, pet,” said Flora, “sit down and take your coat off and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea. Faint heart never won a gentleman. Maybe you’ve been trying too hard.”

“He calls me McSween, he send me off hundreds of miles to check on boring old people and make sure they’re all right. I’m so tired of smiling and drinking tea and eating scones, I could scream.”

“You know what would bring you together? A nice juicy crime.”

“So what if there isn’t one in that backwater? What do I do? Murder someone?”

Chapter Two

Фото *

The woman is so hard

Upon the woman.

– Alfred, Lord Tennyson


Hamish barely thought about Josie. He was cynically sure that she would not last very long.

Now that she was away on holiday, he could put her right out of his mind. He was not very surprised, however, that on the day Josie was supposed to be back at work, her mother phoned to say her daughter had come down with a severe summer cold. She said a doctor’s certificate had been sent to Strathbane.

Hamish said that Josie was to take as long as she liked and sent his regards.

“What exactly did he say?” demanded Josie when her mother put down the phone.

“He sent you his very warmest wishes,” said Flora, exaggerating wildly.

Josie glowed. “I told you, Ma, absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

One of the real reasons Josie was delaying her return by claiming to have a cold was that, although she would not admit it to herself, she preferred dreams to reality. Just so long as she was away from Hamish, she could dream about him gathering her in his arms and whispering sweet nothings. He said all the things she wanted him to say.

But that message about “warmest wishes” buoyed her up so much that she decided to return in two days’ time. “You don’t think Strathbane will phone the doctor to check up?” she asked anxiously. Flora had stolen one of the certificates from the doctor’s pad when he was not looking.

“Och, no. You’ll be just fine.”

So Josie eventually set out with a head full of dreams-dreams which crashed down to her feet when Hamish opened the kitchen door and said, “Hullo, McSween. Are you fit for work?”

Work turned out to be a case of shoplifting over in Cnothan. Rain was drumming down and the midges, those Scottish mosquitoes, were out in clouds, undeterred by the downpour.

The job was very easy. The shopkeeper had a video security camera and had identified the thief. “I’ll go right now and arrest him,” said Josie eagerly.

“Now, I wouldn’t be doing that, lassie,” said the shopkeeper. “It’s just some poor auld drunk who took a bottle o’ cider. I won’t be pressing charges.”

“So why did you drag the police all the way here?” demanded Josie angrily.

“I didnae know it was him until I looked at the video fillum.”

The rain had stopped when Josie left the shop. She pulled out her phone to call Hamish and then decided against it. If she called at the police station to deliver her report, surely he would have to ask her in.

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