M.C. Beaton - Death of a Witch

“What are they doing here?” she demanded, pointing at the animals.

“I’m right sorry, Lesley. I didn’t have time to take them home. They’re right hungry and they need some water. If you wouldnae mind…”

She slammed the door in his face, rushed into the bathroom, and glared in fury at her reflection in the mirror.

“The man’s a hick!” she screamed. Now she felt she knew why this man had avoided promotion. He was nothing more than a highland peasant. She had gone to all this trouble. Not only had he turned up in his shabby uniform but he’d had the cheek to bring along his weird pets and expect her to feed them!

♦

Hamish stood outside the door. He wondered whether to knock again and ask her what on earth was up with her. Then he shrugged. He was tired and hungry. He helped Sonsie and Lugs into the Land Rover. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “We’ll find a chippy.”

He was pleased with the day’s work. Sky had remembered the incident and had also remembered the day because that had been the day of her birthday. Fergus was a lucky man. Strathbane might consider themselves back to square one but Hamish had the advantage of never having believed Fergus guilty in the first place.

He bought Sonsie a fish supper at the chip shop, and as a treat he bought Lugs a black pudding supper. Lugs was partial to black pudding. He also bought two bottles of mineral water. He settled for a haggis supper for himself.

He drove up out of Strathbane and stopped on the moors. He poured the mineral water into bowls for his pets before eating his deep-fried slice of haggis and his chips.

He was too tired to really worry about what was up with Lesley. As he drove off again, he saw flakes of snow beginning to dance in front of the windscreen. At first they swirled down hypnotically, but as he gained the bridge into Lochdubh, the snow was blowing horizontally on a screaming gale.

He was glad to be home. He lit the stove and settled down at the kitchen table with a glass of whisky. He decided that in the morning, he would go over all the reports and see if there was anything he had missed.

♦

Elspeth twisted and turned that night, unable to get to sleep. She felt she was falling in love with Perry. She knew in her Gypsy soul that one can always pull back before it is too late and yet her very interest in Perry had freed her from any thoughts about Hamish Macbeth – and it was great to be free of that. Let the poor idiot remain enraptured by Pris-cilla until the end of his days. She just didn’t care anymore.

The gale screamed around the hotel. She was in one of the turret rooms, and it appeared to be getting the main force of the wind.

Elspeth decided to try to read herself to sleep. She switched on the bedside light. It was covered by a dainty rose-coloured fringed shade and did not give much illumination. She thought it would be a good idea to get out of bed and switch on the overhead light.

Then she stared at the door. Her heart started to beat fast. She could swear someone was slowly turning the handle.

She picked up the phone. The line was dead. She knew she had locked the door, but what if someone was prepared to break it open or had found a passkey?

Elspeth scrambled out of bed and searched in her handbag for her mobile. She switched it on. The little screen said no signal. The storm must have damaged reception from the local mobile phone tower.

There was only one thing for it. Elspeth screamed and screamed, hoping her screams might be heard above the roar of the storm.

A sound of running feet. A banging at the door. Perry’s blessed voice shouting, “Are you all right?”

Elspeth hurtled to the door and opened it. “Thank God!” she cried and threw herself into Perry’s arms.

“What the matter?” he asked.

“I saw the door handle turn and thought the murderer had come for me!”

“Let’s phone the police.”

“The phones are down and Hamish would never get up here in this blizzard.”

“If it was someone, and if Hamish can’t get up here, then whoever it was can’t get away. Come on. Let’s get downstairs.”

Elspeth put on a dressing gown and slippers. She thought illogically, Why am I wearing a pair of striped pyjamas and this ratty old dressing gown? I ought to be wearing something from Victoria’s Secret.

Perry took her hand in a warm clasp and they hurried down the stairs. The night porter was asleep at the desk.

“Wake up!” said Perry, shaking him. “Someone’s tried to attack Miss Grant and that person might still be in the hotel. Hit the fire alarm. Get everyone down here.”

Mr. Johnson and Priscilla were the first to arrive. Priscilla was wearing a long pale green silk dressing gown that seemed to have been moulded to her figure. She did not have a hair out of place. Perry quickly explained what was wrong.

Other guests gathered in the hall and then some hun-gover reporters and photographers and the few members of the staff who lived in.

“Someone tried to get into Miss Grant’s room,” said Mr. Johnson. “I want you all to search the hotel to see if you can find a stranger. Also keep looking out of the upper windows in case someone is trying to escape through the snow.”

The hotel was searched from top to bottom. It took a long time because the old building was full of unexpected nooks and cupboards and storerooms.

Everyone ended up in the hall again, weary and cross, some reporters saying loudly that it was probably Perry trying to get into Elspeth’s knickers.

“You better share my room for the rest of the night,” said Perry. “It’s got twin beds.”

“It’s all right,” said Priscilla. “There’s a free room next to mine.”

I really am beginning to hate you, thought Elspeth, but she smiled and said, “Perry and I have stories to discuss. I’ll share his room.”

♦

When Elspeth settled into the twin bed in Perry’s room, she said in a small voice, “Do you think I was imagining things?”

“I heard one of the maids say you were psychic. Did you sense anything?”

“No. I get strange feelings from time to time but I can’t seem to conjure them up when I need them.”

“It’ll be all right. We’ll try to get to the police station in the morning. Go to sleep.”

If this were a romance, thought Elspeth, he would take me in his arms and say he would protect me for the rest of his life. A few minutes later, Perry let out a gentle snore. So much for romance! Elspeth turned on her side and drifted down into a dream where a dark figure was chasing her along endless corridors.

♦

Priscilla was thinking of Perry. He was so attractive and so suitable. He was everything Hamish Macbeth was not. She wondered if there was anything going on with Elspeth. Elspeth often looked as if she bought her clothes exclusively in the cheapest type of thrift shop, but there was no denying that men did seem to be attracted to her. I’ll need to think up some way to have him to myself, thought Priscilla. Elspeth’s bound to go off on her own sometime or other.

♦

Lesley sighed with relief when she reached the forensic lab the following morning. She’d had to walk because the streets of Strathbane had not yet been cleared. Bruce, the head of the lab, was the only other person there.

“The lazy sods are using the snow as an excuse not to come to work,” he complained as Lesley pulled off her boots and put on a pair of dry flat shoes. “Well, that’s Fergus Braid off the hook.”

“What?”

“I was in the pub last night. Blair was furious, trying to say Macbeth made it up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Last evening Macbeth found a witness over in Cnothan who had seen Fergus at the time of his wife’s murder.”