M.C. Beaton - A Highland Christmas

“He’s coming, boys!” shouted Hamish.

They scattered out of the police station while Hamish changed into his uniform.

♦

Blair crouched forward in the helicopter. “Can ye see any lights?” he roared at the pilot.

“Nothing but a few house lights!” the pilot shouted back.

Blair was sobering up rapidly and a little worm of fear began to gnaw his stomach.

“Set down on the front!” he yelled.

The pilot landed next to the Chisholms’ bus. Blair climbed down and ducked under the still rotating blades. He glared up and down the waterfront. Not one single Christmas light winked back at him.

He marched to the police station and walked right in. Hamish, neat in his uniform, was sitting at the desk in the police station typing something on the computer.

“Where are those lights?” demanded Blair.

“The Cnothan lights?” said Hamish innocently. “Look about ye, sir. Boxes and boxes of them.”

Blair ripped open one of the boxes and glared down at the neatly packed lights. “I’ll need to put in a report about that box,” said Hamish. “You’re destroying the evidence.”

“Look, here, Macbeth, I had a report you had thae lights strung up all over the village.”

Hamish looked suitably amazed. “Now who would go saying a thing like that?”

Blair stamped out. He went from house to house, demanding to know if anyone had seen any lights, but all shook their heads.

Beside himself with worry and rage, he went back to the police station. Hamish held out the phone. “You’re just in time. Superintendent Daviot on the line.”

“What the hell are you about taking out the helicopter?” roared Daviot. Blair opened his mouth to lie, to say he had heard of a crack house in Lochdubh, anything, but Daviot was going on. “It’s all round Strathbane that you heard Macbeth had put up Christmas lights from that robbery all over his village. Well, did he?”

“There’s nothing here, sir. But you see – ”

“Listen to this. The pilot will be charging double because it’s Christmas and I think the cost should come out of your wages. Return here immediately!”

Blair put down the phone. He walked to the door of the police office. “I’ll have you yet, Macbeth,” he threatened. Then he looked down with a comical look of pure outrage. Lugs was peeing into his shoe.

He raised his foot to kick the dog but it scampered under Hamish’s desk and lay on his boots.

Blair squelched out.

“Come out of there,” said Hamish to the dog. “Do you know something, Lugs? I’m going to keep you after all.

“Merry Christmas, you lovely wee dog. It’s turned out the best Christmas yet!”