M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dreamer

“Do you have to do this?” asked Hamish, thinking uneasily of the effect on the hotel guests and subsequently on Priscilla. The guests may not have bothered to check out when they heard the news of the murder, but he was afraid a lot of them would do so after getting their rooms searched.

“Fraid so,” said Jimmy, knocking at the manager’s door. “He was hit with some sort of blunt weapon. He stayed here. We’ve got to look.”

“There was no blood around his head,” said Hamish. “Was he killed elsewhere? Did forensic find anything?”

“Yes, their little bloodshot eyes found a patch of blood further up the beach. Nothing else. That shingle won’t hold footprints. They had to work fast before the tide covered everything up as far as the seawall. Want to join in the search?”

“I think I’ll go back down to the village. The locals might tell me things they wouldnae tell you.”

♦

Elspeth Grant, who worked for the Bugle in Glasgow, was summoned by her news editor as soon as she got into the office.

“There’s a murder in Lochdubh,” he said. “Some American tourist. I want you to get up there right away.”

“But Matthew Campbell, who’s now the local reporter, covers that area. You know he’s good. He used to work for you.”

“He’s been getting sloppy since he was married. You know the area, you know the local copper, get home and pack a bag and get off as fast as possible.”

“I’ll take a plane to Inverness and hire a car once I get there.” Elspeth hoped the news editor would argue about the expense and maybe decide that, after all, the coverage should be left to Matthew. But he said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Elspeth did not want to see Hamish Macbeth again. She had been in love with him, and he had rejected her. The hurt had been deep, and so she had refused to accept any phone calls from him.

She was able to pack a bag, drive to the airport, and book herself on the eleven o’clock plane to Inverness. At the airport, having left her own car at Glasgow airport, she hired a car and set out for Sutherland.

She drove steadily up towards Lochdubh, her anger at the job dissipating as she found herself once more back over the highland line.

Elspeth decided to book in at the Tommel Castle Hotel. She hoped any story she might get would be worth all this expense.

♦

Hamish started off by going again to see the two boys who had found the body. He guessed, rightly as it turned out, that they would be kept out of school to recover from their shock.

They were evidently beginning to feel excited and important, but they had nothing further to add. Sean said he thought he had heard the plop of a seal diving out on the lake, but that was all either of them had to add.

Hamish then went from house to house, questioning one after the other, only breaking off to go back to the police station to feed the dog and cat and take them for a walk. No one had seen anything, and most were cross at being questioned by Hamish when they had already been questioned by police.

Jimmy called in at the police station in the early evening. “I’m knackered – and that police cell bed last night was as hard as hell,” he said. “I’m off home. We’ll all start first thing tomorrow and go over everything again. There was nothing sinister in any of the rooms. We’ve got the police in Glasgow checking up on those three – Jock, his ex-wife, and his agent. Brighton police are looking into the sister’s background. I may have some results tomorrow. From what I gather from the guests, this Hal Addenfest was a right pill. Maybe someone ran into him by moonlight on the beach and picked up a rock and hit him with it.”

“He must have walked down there to meet someone,” said Hamish. “His car’s still at the hotel. He wouldnae go down there in the middle o’ the night for no reason at all.”

“Well, we’ll see. I’m off.”

Hamish changed out of his police uniform and showered, then dressed in a pair of old corduroy trousers and faded tartan shirt.

He went out to the deep freeze in the shed and was rooting around to see if there was something for his dinner when he heard a car arriving. He walked out of the shed and found to his delight that it was Betty.

The last rays of sun were glinting on the blonde streaks in her hair. She was wearing a dark blue silk trouser suit and high heels.

“Hullo, copper,” she said. “I thought you might like a meal out, so I’ll take you to the Italians if you’re free.”

“That would be grand,” said Hamish. “Come in, and I’ll dress in something better. I’ve still got a report to send over, but I can do it later.”

He was in the bedroom changing into his one good suit when he heard someone else arrive. He finished dressing quickly and went into the kitchen. Priscilla was sitting at the table with Betty.

“I thought you might like some dinner, Hamish,” said Priscilla, indicating a casserole on the table. “But Betty tells me you are going out for dinner, so you can put it in the fridge and have it tomorrow.”

Because of the warm evening, the kitchen door was open. Elspeth Grant walked in.

Hamish stared at her. Her hair, which had been straightened the last time he had seen her, was now back to its usual frizzy style. Her silver eyes – Gypsy eyes – surveyed him and then the two women at the table.

“I’m up covering the murder,” said Elspeth. “I was going to take you for a meal, but I see you have company.”

“This is Betty Barnard,” said Priscilla in a cool voice.

“Betty is a guest at the hotel. We are both too late. Betty is taking Hamish for dinner. Go ahead, Hamish. We’ll let ourselves out.”

“See you,” said Betty cheerfully. “Come along, Hamish.”

♦

There was a long silence after Hamish had left. Then Priscilla said, “I brought him this casserole. Shame if it goes to waste. Why don’t we both have dinner?”

“All right,” said Elspeth. “Is that woman going to be Mrs. Macbeth?”

“Betty? No, I shouldn’t think so. She’s an artists’ agent. Her client is Jock Fleming.”

“Who is Jock Fleming?”

“I’ll pop this in the oven, and I’ve got a bottle of wine here,” said Priscilla. “We’ll have a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Elspeth felt intimidated by Priscilla, watching her as she moved about the kitchen with quiet efficiency. Priscilla was wearing tailored white linen trousers with a white linen blouse. Elspeth reflected that when she wore anything made of linen, it seemed to crease as soon as she got it on, but Priscilla’s ensemble showed not a wrinkle, and her hair was smooth and golden. Elspeth nervously dragged her fingers through her own hair trying to flatten it and only succeeded in making it look messier than ever.

Priscilla opened the wine and poured two glasses. “The casserole will only take a few minutes. Right, I’ll begin at the beginning…”

♦

Hamish did not enjoy his dinner. He kept wondering what Priscilla and Elspeth were talking about. Seeing Elspeth again had been a shock.

“I keep asking you how the investigation is going on,” said Betty, “and you mumble something but don’t seem to be listening. I know about Priscilla. The whole of Lochdubh knows about Priscilla, but who’s the other one?”

“A reporter, Elspeth Grant. She used to work on the paper here.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Were you romantically involved with her?”

Hamish stiffened. Betty, amused, thought if Hamish were a cat, his fur would stand on end. “I haff neffer asked you about your private life, Betty,” he said, “and I don’t wish to discuss mine.”

“Okay, Sherlock. Now we’ve got that out of the way, have you any suspects?”