“Oh, why?”
The minister sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
His wife gave him a baffled look and then located the number in her book and picked up the receiver again. “Are you still there? It’s Lochdubh six-o-seven-one.”
♦
At the schoolhouse the table had been cleared away and a ceilidh had started in the living room, that is, everyone performing something or other. The Currie sisters had taken up positions in front of the fire and were singing in high, shrill voices.
“I’ll get some coffee,” said Maisie.
“I’ll come and help you.”
One last try, thought Maisie. She stopped right under the sprig of mistletoe and smiled up at Hamish invitingly. He put his arms about her and smiled back. Maisie tilted back her head and closed her eyes. At that moment, the phone rang loudly and shrilly.
Hamish released her. “You’d better answer that. I’ll get the coffee.”
Cursing, Maisie picked up the phone.
“Priscilla Halburton-Smythe here,” said a voice as cold as the snow outside. “I wish to speak to Hamish Macbeth.”
“I’ll see if he’s here,” said Maisie haughtily.
“Who is it?” asked Hamish.
“It’s for you.” Maisie went back to join the others.
The phone was in the little cottage hall. Hamish picked it up. “Lochdubh Police,” he said automatically.
“It’s me, Priscilla.”
Hamish sank down on the floor, holding the phone.
“It’s yourself. How’s New York?”
“Oh, you know, very bustling, very energetic as usual. I’m just about to go out to have dinner with friends.”
“Bit late, isn’t it?”
“I’m five hours behind you, remember?”
“So you are. Merry Christmas. How did you know where to find me?”
“Merry Christmas, Hamish. Mr. Johnston told me you were romancing the schoolteacher and so I assumed you’d be there.”
“Why on earth would he say a thing like that? We’re just friends.”
“Just a cosy evening for the two of you?”
“No, there’s a lot of people here. I’m just one of the guests. I’ll tell you what happened.” Hamish told her about the cat and the lights and the visit to the old folks home.
“Sounds like fun,” said Priscilla.
“Will you be back for the New Year?”
“No, I’ll be here for another six months.”
“Now what’ll I do if I get the murder case and havenae my Watson?” teased Hamish.
“I’ll give you my number. You can always phone me. Write it down, and the address.”
“Wait a bit.” Hamish found a notepad on a table in the hall with a pen. “Fire away,” he said.
She gave him the number and address and then said, “There are a lot of cheap fares to the States nowadays, Hamish. You could always hop on a plane.”
“I could always do that,” said Hamish happily, forgetting in that moment all about the state of his bank balance.
“Why aren’t you over at Rogart with the family?”
Hamish told her about the soap powder competition and Priscilla laughed. “It is good to hear you, Hamish, and it would be good to see you again.”
“Aye, well, you never know.”
They wished each other a merry Christmas again and said goodbye.
Maisie looked up as Hamish came into the room. His face looked as if it were lit up from within. “We were just discussing sleeping arrangements,” she said. “It’s too bad a night for Mrs. Gallagher to get back home so Mr. and Mrs. Anderson have kindly offered to put her and Mr. McPhee up for the night.”
“What about Smoky?” asked Morag anxiously.
“Smoky will be fine,” said Mrs. Gallagher. “I’ve left him plenty of food and water.”
So the party broke up. Hamish stood with the others outside the schoolhouse. The snow had stopped and lay white and glistening under the sparkling fairy lights.
Maisie watched them all go and then went indoors to phone the boyfriend she had so cruelly jilted.
♦
Hamish walked along to the police station. He felt very tired. He took out his key but as he bent to unlock the kitchen door, he heard a faint noise from inside. He went to the police Land Rover and took out a hefty spanner to use as a weapon. Then he softly unlocked the door, threw it open and clicked on the kitchen light. A small dog trotted up to him and started sniffing at his trousers. It had a label attached to its collar. He squatted down by the animal and read the label. “To Hamish from Archie. Merry Christmas.”
Hamish groaned. The fisherman knew there was a spare key to the police station kept in the gutter above the kitchen door. He must have let himself in with the dog while Hamish had been in Inverness. Hamish didn’t want another dog. Once you’ve broken your heart over one dog, you don’t want another. And it was such an odd dog. It was a mongrel, small and rough haired with floppy ears and blue eyes. Hamish could not remember ever having seen a dog with blue eyes. It licked his hand and jumped up to lick his face.
“Have you eaten?” asked Hamish. The dog wagged the stump of its tail energetically.
“I’d better give ye something.” Hamish poured a bowl of water and then searched in the cupboards. Then he remembered he had a steak out in the freezer. By the time he had defrosted it, cooked it and chopped it up for the dog, he felt exhausted. He got ready for bed and then fell facedown and drifted off into a dream where he was walking along Fifth Avenue in New York with Priscilla on his arm.
And then the phone rang from the police office. He came awake and sat up. The dog was sitting on the end of the bed looking at him with those odd eyes. He was tempted to let the phone ring and let the answering machine pick up the call, but he remembered the weather and was frightened it might be a report of someone stranded up on the moors.
He went into the police office and picked up the phone. It was Detective Jimmy Anderson from Strathbane. “Is that you, Hamish?” he said. “Well, you’d better move your arse and get thae lights down.”
“Why?” asked Hamish, too sleepy to deny anything about the lights.
“There’s a man called Sinclair over in Cnothan. Someone told him that Lochdubh was all lit up and he’s fuming that they’re his lights that the forensic boys said you took to the station. Blair heard about it and he’s planning to get over there first thing in the morning.”
“He won’t manage it,” said Hamish. “The roads’ll be blocked.”
“Hamish, he thinks he’s got you this time. He was talking about taking the helicopter. He was drinking all day and I tried to tell him the super would be furious at him for getting a helicopter out, all that expense for some Christmas lights, but he’s determined.”
“I’ll see to it.” Hamish dressed hurriedly and then began to phone round the village.
♦
Hamish and his army of fishermen worked all night, taking down the lights, carefully packing them back into the boxes, taking down the Christmas tree and propping it back up against the wall of the police station. Other villagers came out to help. Word flew from house to house that Hamish Macbeth was in trouble and that his superior officer was about to descend from the skies like the wrath of God.
Even Mr. Patel set to work, making sure the lights were all correctly packed so there would be no sign they had ever been taken out of their boxes.
At last the work was finished and everyone crowded into the police station for a celebration party. Mr. Patel presented Hamish with tins of dog food, for Hamish had told him about the dog.
“What are ye going to call him?” asked Archie.
Hamish longed to say that he didn’t want another dog, but the dog looked at him and he looked back at the dog and said instead, “I don’t know. Where did you find him?”