M.C. Beaton - Death of a Scriptwriter

“No, he was murdered over there. Sheila, go over to that crag and show her where to stand.”

Sheila obediently trotted off. The mist lifted again like a curtain being raised, and they could see Sheila standing on an outcrop of rock.

“You’ll come to a stop right here, Penelope,” Sheila called back. “Then you stand and shield your eyes and look down the mountain.”

“Wait there a minute,” Giles called.

Sheila stood where she was. A shaft of sunlight suddenly lit up the village of Drim, standing beside the black loch. The air was pure and clean and scented with wild thyme.

“All right,” she heard Giles shout. “You can come back now.”

Sheila walked back. “So, Penelope, in your own time,” said Giles, “start running and then stop just where Sheila was.”

“Mist’s closing down again,” said Fiona.

“I know,” said Giles. “But I just want to try one shot and see what she looks like disappearing into the mist.”

Penelope was wearing a long scarlet dress which floated about her excellent body.

They all took up their positions. “Right,” said Giles softly, “when you’re ready, Penelope. Quiet, everyone. And…action!”

Penelope ran off into the mist as fleet as a deer. She disappeared into the thickening mist. There was a silence.

Then suddenly there was a high, wailing, descending scream.

“She’s fallen!” screamed Sheila.

“Not her,” said Giles dryly. “Just playing silly games. Go and get her, Sheila. Fiona!…Where’s Fiona?”

Sheila ran forward. She reached the outcrop. There was no sign of Penelope.

“Penelope!” she shouted.

At first there was no sound at all, and then she heard a faint moan coming from far below her.

Then the mist lifted again and she saw Penelope spread out on a rock a dizzying distance below the outcrop.

“Oh, God, she has fallen!” she screamed. “Get help! Phone Hamish Macbeth!”

As if in mockery, the mist lifted entirely and the sun blazed down.

♦

Harry Frame, Fiona, Giles and the production manager, Hal Forsyth, sat huddled in Fiona’s office in Drim Castle.

“Her family are going to sue the life out of us,” muttered Harry Frame.

The phone rang, making them all jump. Fiona picked it up and listened. Then she said in a bleak voice after she had replaced the receiver. “That was Sheila from the hospital in Inverness. Penelope’s dead. She died on arrival.”

“Shit!” said Harry Frame bitterly. “Time’s running out. We’ll need to get a new actress, coach her. Winter comes here early.”

Major Neal put his head round the door. “Police,” he announced.

Startled faces turned in the direction of the door.

Detective Chief Inspector Blair lumbered in, followed by Macnab and Anderson.

“Penelope Gates is dead,” he said.

“We know,” said Fiona. “We’ve just heard the news from the hospital.”

“P. C. Hamish Macbeth went down to the hospital in the helicopter with her. She said something to him afore she died. She said, “Someone caught my ankle and pulled me over.” So we’re looking at a case of murder!”

♦

“We’d better talk about this,” said Hamish as he left Raigmore Hospital in Inverness with Sheila. “Let’s have a quick meal before we go back.”

They took a taxi to a small restaurant in the centre of Inverness which was self-service. When they had collected their food and found a table, Hamish asked, “Who wanted her dead?”

“Everyone,” said Sheila. Her eyes filled with tears. “It was such a dreadful day yesterday.” She slowly began to tell him everything that had happened. “Fiona said she had a good mind to tell you about her suspicions that Penelope was on uppers so you could arrest her.”

“I probably wouldn’t have, not having arrested Fiona herself for smoking pot,” said Hamish. “I sometimes wonder why they have laws banning soft drugs when we’re supposed to turn a blind eye to them. Look at New York. They started this zero tolerance business, clearing up all the lesser crimes like mugging and graffiti, and it’s been a big success. They feel if they began at the bottom and started clearing up the soft drugs, the harder ones might become less common. A businessman can be in bad trouble if he’s been drinking and he’s only a little over the limit, but anyone can smoke themselves silly with pot. But, my God, mention arresting anyone for smoking pot, and you’ll have every liberal in the country down on your neck. Arrest a man for having drunk a little bit over the limit, and it’s ‘Well done. Officer.”

“So she threatened, or so you heard, to get rid of you, Fiona and Gervase. What had Harry Frame to say about that?”

“We don’t know,” said Sheila. “He just said he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“So as far as Fiona and the rest of you were concerned, he may have been thinking of sacking you?”

“Yes…well, no. He couldn’t have got rid of three people.” Her eyes again filled with tears. “I think I’ll hear that scream of Penelope’s as she went over until the day I die.”

“And Patricia? She believed that silly explanation about the nude scene?”

“Oh, yes, she was all soothed down and happy when she left.”

“The trouble is,” said Hamish, “in the Highlands everything gets out sooner or later. You say something to someone in private, and before you know it, the whole village has heard about it the next day.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tried to smile. “In that case, murders should be easy to solve.”

“That’s a different thing. When there’s a murder, everyone feels guilty and clams up. It’s odd, but all the innocent people start getting shifty about where they were and what they were doing.”

Sheila turned a trifle pale. “I must be the number one suspect. I could have pushed her over and then pretended she fell.”

“But Penelope herself said someone caught hold of her ankle and pulled her over. Someone must have been lurking around in the mist, waiting for an opportunity. Where was Fiona?”

“She was with Giles Brown, the director, and then she disappeared in the mist for a bit.”

“At least Gervase wasn’t about.”

“But he was,” said Sheila.

“Why?”

“Because the chief inspector is the murderer.”

“How do they work that out?”

“He’s obsessed with Lady Harriet and murders her butler so that he can get her up from England to investigate.”

“But he gets into bed with her.”

“Well, she’s supposed to seduce him to find out what he knows.”

“And where does the rising tide come in?”

“The butler’s body is found on the beach, and Lady Harriet judges the time of death from the high tide mark.”

“I believe Patricia’s book got quite good reviews.”

“When you read it, it’s all convoluted and sounds convincing, although her style is a bit wordy and precious for me. What does ‘pathic’ mean?”

“Don’t know. Give me a sentence.”

“‘She gave him a pathic smile.’ I looked it up. It said victim, catamite, passive. Could mean she smiled like a victim or gave a passive smile. Can’t be a catamite smile, surely? I agree with Orwell: if you have to look up words in the dictionary, don’t use them.”

“Maybe Patricia didn’t have to look it up in the dictionary.”

“Maybe. What happens now?”

“I drive you back to Drim, where the police will interrogate you. The press tonight will be followed tomorrow by the world’s press: “Beautiful Actress Murdered.” Blair will be under intense pressure. Remember that and just answer calmly.”

“How do we get back? They’ll hardly fly us there in a helicopter.”