M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dreamer

Well, thought Hamish with a rush of gladness, it’s going to be a good day, after all.

♦

Effie marched determinedly towards Sea View, where Jock had a room. In her fantasies, she had decided the artist was shy under his bluff, easy-going manner. He needed a bit of encouragement.

But as she approached, she saw to her dismay that Jock was lifting a suitcase into the boot of his car.

“Are you leaving?” she asked, running up to him.

“Just for a couple of weeks. There’s a gallery I’ve got to see.” He slammed down the boot and went to get into the driving seat.

“Jock,” said Effie boldly, putting one small hand on his arm, “do you ever think of getting married?”

He looked down at her intense face and felt a sudden rush of sympathy for her. Poor wee woman, he thought. Life must be lonely for her up here.

“I’m not the marrying kind, Effie. But if I did get married, it would be to someone like you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, got into his car, slammed the door, and roared off.

Effie stood, watching him go, her hand to her cheek and her spirits soaring. Her brain deleted the ‘not the marrying kind’ bit. Surely that had been a proposal. And he’d kissed her!

♦

Priscilla looked out of the gift shop window just at the moment when Hamish was getting into Betty Barnard’s car. Hamish even had his dog and his cat with him. Betty drove off. She was laughing at something Hamish was saying.

Mr. Johnson, the hotel manager, came into the shop. “I’ve just seen Hamish driving off with that Barnard woman,” said Priscilla.

“Yes, Miss Barnard ordered a couple of packed lunches.”

Priscilla fiddled nervously with a strand of her hair. “He was supposed to go with me for a picnic.”

“And why didn’t he?”

“I was needed here.”

“You should have told me. I could have got one of the women from the village to fill in. They’d have been glad of the money.”

“Well, it’s too late now. I wonder how they met.”

“She probably picked Hamish up. He’s an attractive man.”

“Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about?” asked Priscilla sharply.

“No, just checking you were all right.”

After he had left, Priscilla went to serve a customer. She had been glad of an excuse not to go out with Hamish. She did not want any of her old feelings for him coming back. But trust Hamish to immediately get a date with the only attractive woman around!

♦

Effie was sitting wrapped in dreams when there was a knock at the door. She found the Currie sisters standing there.

“What?” she asked rudely.

“We came to ask if you would like to give some pottery classes to the Mothers’ Union,” said Nessie.

“Union,” echoed Jessie, who always repeated the end of her sister’s sentences.

“I’m afraid I am too busy.”

“We’ve walked all the way here,” said Nessie. “Aren’t you going to invite us in?”

“Invite us in?” said Jessie. “Us in?”

Effie suddenly saw a way of establishing Jock as her property in the village minds. “I’m afraid I’ve got a gentleman with me. It’s Jock. I’m afraid you’re interrupting.”

“Such carryings-on and this the Sabbath, too,” said Nessie.

“Sabbath, too!” exclaimed her sister.

They both turned and scurried off.

When they reached the waterfront, the first person they saw was Mrs. Dunne, the proprietor of Sea View. Mrs. Dunne listened patiently to their shocked exclamations and then said patiently, “Herself must have just wanted rid of you. Jock Fleming left earlier today. And, no, he couldnae have done a detour because Henry, the gamekeeper, saw him heading off down towards Lairg.”

♦

Hamish Macbeth returned to the police station that evening feeling happy and relaxed. He had enjoyed a pleasant day. He had guided Betty round all the local beauty spots. She had really endeared herself to him when it transpired that she had brought along food for the dog and cat as well. Hamish did not know it was Clarry, the hotel chef and a friend of his, who had thoughtfully added the food in two packets, one labelled Lugs and the other Sonsie.

He looked forward to seeing Betty again. He checked his messages. No crime. It was going to be a great summer.

♦

Effie, the next day, began to fret about Priscilla. Jock had taken her for dinner. Effie was anxious to impress upon women in general and Priscilla in particular that Jock was her property.

Her obsession was at boiling point. Nothing was going to stand in her way. She got into her car and drove down to Strathbane to a shop which sold second-hand rings. She bought herself a diamond engagement ring. Such was her obsession when she drove back that she could almost believe that Jock had given it to her.

But they would laugh about it after they were married.

Effie knew that there was to be a sale of work by the Mothers’ Union at the church the next day. That would be a good place to start.

And that was to be the day when Hamish Macbeth’s peaceful summer came to an abrupt end.

♦

The first call Hamish got the following morning was to tell him to get over to Braikie, where a gunman was holding people hostage in the Highland and Sutherland Bank.

The bane of his life, Detective Chief Inspector Blair, snarled down the phone. “Just you secure the area. A team of us are on the way, and we’ve got a proper hostage negotiator.”

Villagers turned and stared as the police Land Rover sped off through the village with the blue light flashing and the siren blaring.

Hamish arrived in the main street of Braikie. A woman was standing crying, surrounded by a group of people. “She just got oot o’ there in time,” said one man.

Hamish went up to her. “Tell me what happened,” he asked.

She gulped and said, “I work there as a teller. I was late for the morning shift because my bairn wasn’t feeling well. I had to wait to get someone to look after her. I opened the door of the bank, saw a gunman and people lying on the floor, and backed out. It’s awful!”

Hamish took her name and address. “Is there a back door to the bank?”

“Aye, it’s got a little kitchen where we make the morning coffee.”

“Don’t any of you move,” said Hamish, “and make sure everyone keeps clear of the bank until reinforcements arrive.”

Hamish found himself getting very angry indeed. A bank robbery! In the Highlands! And on his beat!

He went to his Land Rover and took out a small tool kit. He went round and surveyed the back door. There was a glass pane on it, but the pane was protected by heavy metal bars. The door hinges were on the outside, however. He took out a screwdriver and a can of oil. He squirted oil on the hinges and got to work with the screwdriver, working furiously until he was able to lift the door off its hinges. There was an alarm above the door, but it didn’t go off. Probably hadn’t been serviced in years, he thought.

He took off his boots and went in quietly in his stockinged feet. He gently opened the door that led into the main floor of the small bank. A terrified girl was stuffing banknotes into a sack while a man on the other side of the counter held a sawn-off shotgun on her.

It was an old·fashioned bank. There was no bulletproof glass screen between the teller and the customer, only a mahogany counter which sloped up to the teller and down on the teller’s side.

Hamish took out his telescopic truncheon, sprang across the floor, and vaulted over the counter, driving his feet straight into the gunman’s chest. The gunman fell backwards, and the shotgun went off, blasting a hole in the ceiling.

Hamish smashed the truncheon down on the arm holding the shotgun.