M.C. Beaton: Death of a Witch

“He’s probably taken his wives with him,” said Priscilla. “His damn animals come first.”

♦

Hamish, driving back to the police station, spotted Elspeth’s car parked a little way away along the waterfront. He stopped his own vehicle and went quietly towards the police station. He heard their voices from the kitchen. He walked back to his Land Rover and drove back to the hotel.

Mr. Johnson reluctantly said he could have a room for the night, but the dog and cat would have to stay in the kitchen.

Hamish waited an hour and then crept downstairs. The night porter was, as usual, asleep with his feet up on the desk. He went into the kitchen and summoned Sonsie and Lugs, who followed him quietly upstairs to his room. He hoped he would not run into Perry.

By the time Priscilla found out in the morning that Hamish had stayed the night at the hotel he had already left.

♦

Elspeth and Perry departed the next day, and a few hours later Priscilla left as well. No one wanted to say goodbye to Hamish Macbeth.

More snow roared down from the north in the afternoon. Hamish found the sudden lack of activity made him feel restless. Usually he welcomed a chance to return to his old ways of sloping around the village or taking long drives over his extensive beat. He tried to phone Priscilla but was told that she had left.

Then there was another power cut and the phones also went dead. Hamish would often say that he never watched very much television but he found that with the snow preventing him from going anywhere, he missed it badly.

He spent the day performing his usual chores as best as he could and tidying up the old files in the filing cabinet and promising himself that as soon as the power came back on he would transfer them onto his computer.

At last, unable to bear the inactivity any longer, he put on his snowshoes and, bending before the torrent of horizontal snow, fought his way along to see Angela Brodie.

As he approached, he heard the thud of a generator and saw that the lights were on in the doctor’s cottage.

Angela welcomed him and asked to hear all about how he had solved the murders, saying that she had not had an opportunity to ask him at the party because Hamish had spent all his time with Perry.

Hamish winced inside. If it had not been for his regrettable streak of highland malice he would at least have had the pleasure of looking forward to seeing Priscilla again.

Hamish accepted a glass of whisky, checking it carefully for cat hairs before he drank any. As he talked about the murders, he reflected how strange and distant it all seemed already.

When he had finished, Angela said, “I hope that good-looking journalist, Perry, is not out to make trouble.”

“Why?”

“He came to see me yesterday. I gather he was interested on doing a piece on the lack of sex in Lochdubh.”

“I hope not. That would distress a lot of people.”

“Last week Mrs. Halburton-Smythe met me at Patel’s. She seemed to have high hopes of Priscilla marrying Perry.”

“Perry’s gay.”

“Is he now? Pity. These good-looking men who take care of their appearance often are. Oh, two men were seen up on the mountains yesterday.”

“I hope they’re all right,” said Hamish. “The Highlands are plagued with amateur climbers. They have road signs for deer crossing, schools, elderly people crossing, and all that. They should have a warning sign showing a falling climber. In Glencoe in the winter, it fair rains falling climbers. I wish the snow would ease up. I havenae been to see old Angus for a while.”

“I got the weather report on my computer. Rain is supposed to be coming in from the west tonight.”

“That’ll mean flooding in other parts. We’ve been pretty lucky in Lochdubh.”

“Not thinking about getting married?”

“Who to?” demanded Hamish. “Elspeth was mooning over that Perry and so was Priscilla.”

“What about that girl Lesley?”

“Oh, her. She wanted to make me over.”

“Never mind, Hamish. You should travel more. Maybe meet a nice girl.”

“Angela, I went to Spain, mind? And I was stuck in an hotel wi’ a bundle o’ geriatrics. I’ve never been so popular wi’ the opposite sex in my life.”

“You can’t write off foreign travel just because of one unlucky holiday.”

“I’ll see. Thanks for the whisky.”

When Hamish left, the snow was still falling but it had a dampish sleety feel. He made supper for himself and his pets, cooking on top of the stove by gaslight and then, carrying a lamp into the bedroom, undressed and got into bed. He read a detective story until his eyes began to droop, so he turned out the gas lamp and went to sleep.

He was awakened in the morning by a loud thump as melting snow fell off the roof.

Hamish got dressed and went outside. The wind had shifted around to the west and was blowing mild air in from the Gulf Stream. Everything glittered in the morning sun, and the air was full of the sound of running water.

He got a shovel out of the shed and began to clear a path from the kitchen door. By midday the electricity had come on again and the phone was operating.

In the afternoon he called in at Patel’s, bought a bag of groceries, and headed up the hill to Angus Macdonald’s cottage.

“I knew you would call today,” said Angus, graciously accepting the provisions.

“Saw it in your crystal ball, did you?” asked Hamish.

“Sit down. I’ll just be putting this stuff away.”

“Any chance of a coffee?”

“Aye.”

Hamish sat by the smouldering peat fire. Angus had not bothered to go through his usual performance of hanging the blackened kettle over the fire to boil. That was all part of his act as an Olden Tymes seer, and he couldn’t be bothered wasting it on Hamish.

Angus came back from the kitchen and handed Hamish a mug of coffee. Hamish took a sip and made a face. “This is dreadful stuff, Angus.”

“Is it now. It was yourself who gave me a jar of that last year.”

“I remember,” said Hamish. “It was one of Patel’s special offers. I came to see how you were doing, Angus, but you seem to be fine.”

“I’m all right but it iss yourself you ought to be worrying about.”

“Why?”

“There were these two men seen up on the mountain yesterday.”

“Angela told me about them. Climbers.”

“I closed my eyes,” crooned Angus, “and I saw evil.”

Hamish knew that Angus had a very powerful telescope.

“What did you see?” he demanded.

“I saw they were carrying rifles. No climbing equipment.”

Hamish thought of the two escaped poachers.

“Well, they wouldn’t hang around up there in the blizzard,” he said. “Or with any luck, they’ve frozen to death.”

“Have a look in the bothy up the brae,” said Angus.

♦

Hamish returned to the police station and collected a powerful torch, told his pets to stay where they were, and set off up the brae at the back and then to the lower slopes of the Two Sisters, the twin mountains that dominated Lochdubh. The bothy, a shepherd’s hut, was at the top of a slope. Hamish struggled up through the soft melting snow, feeling his feet and trousers beginning to get wet.

He opened the door of the bothy and went in. There was a pan on the battered old stove in the corner with a few baked beans at the bottom. He shone the torch on the earthen floor, puddled with melting snow seeping into the ramshackle hut. There was a boot print in one corner and in another, a few empty cans.

His heart sank. He was sure somehow it was the poachers. Climbers usually tidied up after themselves.

He went outside and phoned Jimmy. “I think those poachers are back,” said Hamish. “They’ve been spotted up the back of Lochdubh. It’s dark now but I think if you send a squad over, we could get started first light.”