Death of a Witch (21 page)

“Oh, all right. Just the one. How’s Colin taking it?”

“I think he’ll be all right. I took him home late last night. Fergus came round and hugged him and said he’d stay the night.”

“Maybe they’ll be able to help each other get over this.”

Hamish went up to the church in the afternoon. The Currie sisters had put in an appearance along with Mrs. Wellington. Rory McBride was there. Other than that, the church was deserted. Mr. Wellington gave a short sermon, they sang several hymns, and then the undertaker’s men, who had been smoking outside the church, came in and bore off the coffin with the remains of Catriona.

Hamish gave a sigh of relief as the hearse drove off followed by one single car, driven by Rory McBride.

“I hope never to see another person like Catriona as long as I live,” he said.

“He’s talking to himself again,” came the voice of Nessie Currie. “Daft, that’s what he is.”

Hamish made his escape.

Priscilla had decided to hold a small party for Elspeth and Perry, who were leaving the following morning. She wanted to somehow get a date with Perry even if it meant going to Glasgow to see him. She phoned the forensic lab and invited Lesley in the hope that Lesley would keep Hamish occupied. Mr. Johnson was invited and Angela and Dr. Brodie as well. She decided she’d better ask Matthew Campbell and his wife and maybe Mr. and Mrs. Wellington and the long-staying guest, Dominic Garry. Then she realised she hadn’t told Hamish about the party. She phoned him up and he said he would be there.

Priscilla was glad that her parents were away visiting friends in Caithness. Her father was quite capable of asking Perry to marry her.

Hamish was getting ready for the party when he heard someone knocking at the kitchen door. He had just finished shaving. He wrapped a towel around his neck and went to answer the door.

Lesley stood there, beaming. “I thought I would drive you up to the party,” she said. “That way you can drink as much as you like.”

“I never was much of a drinker,” said Hamish. “And I’d like to take my own vehicle. I never know when I’ll be called out.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“Just for a minute.”

Lesley swept past him in a cloud of perfume. She shrugged off her coat. She was wearing a transparent spangly white chiffon blouse. Hamish could clearly see that underneath it she was wearing a very sturdy white brassiere. A short scarlet skirt, sheer stockings, and high heels completed the ensemble.

“I’m sorry I shut the door on you,” said Lesley. “You see, when you turned up in your uniform and with your pets, I assumed you just didn’t care.”

“Why should I care that much?” asked Hamish. “It’s not as if we’re an item.”

“But we could be! You are to be promoted to sergeant but with my help, you could go a lot further.”

“Lesley, I really need to finish dressing. I do not want to be helped to fame and glory. I will see you at the party.”

Lesley could not quite believe this was happening. She had built up such a romantic scene in her mind. As the only woman in the lab, she had turned down date after date until she had begun to think of herself as irresistible. She had taken Hamish’s advice and warned them all that she would report anyone for sexual harassment who overstepped the mark. The rude jokes and nasty things in her locker had promptly ceased, to be replaced with romantic tributes like chocolates and flowers.

She did not know that her colleagues had opened a betting book to see who could seduce her first.

Hamish turned away. “Shut the door on your road out.”

Priscilla and Elspeth had both spent a long time working on their appearances. As it was not a dressy affair and taking place early in the evening, Priscilla had settled for a classic look: soft blue cashmere sweater with a matching skirt and a sapphire-and-pearl choker necklace.

Elspeth, who had a limited wardrobe, had decided on the Edith Piaf look to match her frizzy hair. She had put on a short black dress and plenty of white foundation cream, white powder, and scarlet lipstick.

They entered the lounge at the same time, covertly eyeing each other. Elspeth immediately felt like a freak. She got a glimpse of herself in a mirror and thought miserably that she looked ill rather than attractive.

She fled back upstairs and scrubbed off the white make-up and replaced it with something more subdued.

By the time she went back down, most of the guests had arrived, with the exception of Perry.

Angela Brodie went up to Hamish. “You really do scrub up well,” she said.

Hamish was wearing a beautifully tailored charcoal-grey suit with a silk tie. He had found the suit in a thrift shop and was amazed to find when he got it home that it fitted him perfectly.

“You’re looking charming yourself,” said Hamish gallantly, although Angela was wearing a droopy dress as grey as her wispy hair.

Perry entered and stood in the doorway of the lounge, smiling all around.

Priscilla and Elspeth went straight up to him and began to talk. Hamish scowled. “What’s up?” teased Angela. “You don’t want them but don’t want anyone else to have them?”

Hamish scowled harder and moved away from her. He waited for an opportunity. Mrs. Wellington went up to them and then drew Priscilla away. Matthew Campbell approached them and began to talk.

Hamish went over to Perry. “You haven’t got a drink. Come with me to the bar.”

“I barely recognised you,” said Perry. “You ought to dress up more often.” He said to the barman, “I’ll have a whisky.”

Perry was feeling warm and tipsy. Priscilla had sent a bottle of chilled champagne to his room earlier with the compliments of the hotel, and somehow he had drunk the lot.

“Don’t you ever get bored up here, Hamish?” he asked.

“Och, no, there is always something funny going on.” Hamish began to tell Perry some highly amusing and completely fictitious highland stories. From time to time either Elspeth or Priscilla tried to butt in, but Perry blocked them out as Hamish’s soft highland voice went on and on.

The party began to thin out. Lesley cast one anguished look at Hamish and then left. Hamish saw her leave out of the corner of one eye, gave her ten minutes, and then said, “Grand talking to you. Got to go.”

“But . . . ,” began Perry. Hamish was already rapidly making his way out of the lounge.

Priscilla was caught up, saying goodbye to various guests. Then she found Elspeth beside her. “Perry has left,” she whispered.

“Where has he gone?”

“Mr. Johnson said he went upstairs and put on his coat and went out. He said he shouldn’t be driving after the amount he’s drunk. He said he seemed tipsy.”

“Hamish!” said Priscilla. “Hamish has charmed the boots off him. I bet he’s gone down to the station.”

“Let’s go down there,” said Elspeth, she and Priscilla being joined in sisterly fury at Hamish. “We could listen outside and see if Perry talks about us.”

Hamish had just taken off his tie and jacket when he heard a knock at the kitchen door. “If that’s you, Lesley,” he shouted, “I’ve gone to bed.”

“No, it’s me, Perry.”

Hamish opened the door. “Come in. I’ll get the coffee on. You should never have driven after all you’ve had to drink. What’s up?”

“You just left. I thought maybe we could continue our conversation.”

“I’m afraid not. I’m right tired and want to go to bed.”

“Good idea,” said Perry softly.

I must be mistaken, thought Hamish, plugging in the percolator. “Take your coat off. Coffee won’t be long.”

Perry had driven so slowly and carefully that Elspeth and Priscilla had not been long behind him.

They were now crouched in the snow outside the kitchen window.

“Do you know, you’ve got the most marvellously long eyelashes,” said Perry.

Hamish sighed. “I think a mistake is being made here, laddie. Just to make things plain: I am heterosexual.”

“But you were chatting me up!” cried Perry.

“I told you a lot of stories but not once did I say anything at all that would lead you to think I fancied you, now did I?”

“I thought . . .”

“You’ve had a lot to drink. Forget the coffee. I’m taking you back to the hotel right now. You can get someone to come down in the morning to collect your car.”

Outside, shivering in the snow, Elspeth and Priscilla stared at each other.

“I’m cold,” said Elspeth. “Let’s go inside and have some of that coffee.”

They crunched through the frozen snow. Hamish had left the door unlocked. They both went in and sat at the kitchen table and stared gloomily at each other.

“I’m slipping,” said Elspeth. “I never for a moment suspected a thing.”

“Nor me,” said Priscilla. “Hamish must have been trying to protect us.”

Elspeth snorted. “Not that one. He deliberately took up all Perry’s attention out of sheer jealousy. I’ll get the coffee.”

“If he did that, I would like revenge,” said Priscilla. “What about sending Lesley some flowers and saying they’re from him?”

“No, she’d just get hurt, and from the way she kept looking over at Hamish, he’d hurt her already. I don’t see his pets.”

“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.