Hamish accepted a cup of tea and looked at her sympathetically. “I’ll be as discreet as I can. And if I’ve found out nothing by the end of my holiday, I’ll leave it alone.”
“I would have thought,” said Edie, sitting down opposite him, “that you would have wanted to spend some time with Miss Halburton-Smythe.”
“Priscilla understands my interest in this case,” said Hamish curtly.
He quickly changed the subject and asked her about the pantomime and Edie prattled away happily. Hamish finished his tea and strolled down to the store, where Ailsa stood behind the counter. “Jock about?” asked Hamish.
Ailsa shook her fiery head. “Gone fishing.”
“Then I might take out the rod and join him. Up on the Drim, is he?”
“Probably,” said Ailsa.
“What do you think happened to Peter Hynd?” asked Hamish.
“I think he left because of the people in this village.”
“You mean the men?”
“No, those silly bitches of women, slavering around him every step he took. He used to say to me, “Ailsa,” he’d say, if it weren’t for you, I would go mad.”
Hamish looked at her, startled. “You’re a good mimic, Ailsa,” he said. “Just now, I could have sworn it was Peter himself talking.”
“I was always good at the voices,” she said.
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Peter?” She leaned her elbows on the counter and her blue eyes looked past him and through the glass doors of the shop to the black loch. “I sometimes think he will.” In that moment, Hamish was sure she had forgotten he was there. “Sometimes, I think I’ll look up and he’ll just stroll into the shop and say, “Hullo, Ailsa,” and he’ll smile at me in that way he had.” There was a short silence and then her eyes focused once more on Hamish Macbeth and her face hardened.
“Are you going to buy anything or not?” she demanded.
Hamish bought a bottle of lemonade and a Cornish pasty and took them outside to drink and eat. He was beginning to wish he had appreciated Priscilla’s sensible cooking more than he had done. Junk food was all very well for a treat, but it was getting to be a constant diet. He had a longing to run over to Lochdubh and discuss the case with Priscilla, but he knocked that idea out of his head. He must concentrate his whole mind on this case. Priscilla was no longer his Watson.
He looked up and saw the slight figure of Heather moving homewards. He threw the remains of his lunch in the litterbin outside the shop and hurried to catch up with her.
An official voice nagged in his brain that he should not be interviewing a minor without her parent being present but he shrugged it away. He was on holiday and having a friendly chat.
“How are you doing, Heather?” he asked.
“Verra well, considering the circumstances.”
“Those being?”
“One dead mother.”
“Oh.”
“Now if you don’t mind, Mr. Macbeth, I have to get Da’s tea ready.”
“Stay a bit, Heather. Do you still think Peter Hynd was murdered?”
Those odd grey eyes looked up into Hamish’s hazel ones and then dropped. “I think I made a mistake,” said Heather. “I think I saw my own mother’s death.”
“Which was an accident?”
“Which was an accident,” said Heather firmly.
She turned and scampered away from him. Hamish watched her go. Everything seemed to lead to a brick wall. Once again he wondered what Priscilla would make of Heather. He had a sudden longing to see her. He needed her mind, or so he persuaded himself.
He west back to Edie’s and got in the police Land Rover. Now that he was actually going to see her, now that he was soaring up and out of Drim, he felt excited and impatient. He longed to put on the police siren, not to clear the way, for there was nothing else on the road, but for the sheer exhilaration of the sound.
When he drove up to the hotel, Priscilla was standing outside, saying farewell to a party of guests. She was wearing a black business suit with a white blouse. He was suddenly conscious of his baggy trousers and the frayed collar of his shirt. She seemed to belong to another world.
She saw him and half raised a hand in acknowledgement of his presence. He waited patiently until the guests had gone and then she turned towards him. “Hamish?”
“This is silly,” he said. “No!” he added quickly, holding up his hand. “You’re about to say that yes, it’s silly of me to be spending my holidays in Drim and we’ll get into a pointless, hurting argument, and I need help.”
Her face softened. “I gather from Mrs. Daviot that you’re not the flavour of the month. Come inside and tell me all about it.”
He followed her into the office. “Where’s Johnston?”
“Day off,” said Priscilla. She shut the door. “Now tell me what’s been going on.”
He sat, down in a chair by the window and stretched out his long legs. He outlined the few facts he had, about how he could not understand Heather, about how the atmosphere of Drim distorted everything, about how, on the face of it, seemed as if Peter Hynd were indeed alive and had sold his house. He ended up by asking, “What did you think of him?”
“Do you know,” said Priscilla, “if you had told me that Peter Hynd was a murderer, I would not have been surprised. He had great charm, but there was something ruthless and manipulative about him. I think if his vanity was wounded, he could turn vicious.”
“But a man like that could be a murderee,” Hamish pointed out. “Cruelty and viciousness create cruelty and viciousness. I feel like chucking the whole thing and returning to Lochdubh, but there’s something there, I know there is.”
A silence hung between them. Then Hamish said, “If only it were possible for you to have a wee word with Heather.”
“Wee Heather appears to regard you as her property,” said Priscilla. “If you remember, she did not want me to come with you that evening.” She flushed slightly and again there was an awkward silence as both remembered the evening of love that never was.
“I could, though,” said Priscilla after a few moments, “go back with you, if you would like. Things are quiet here.”
“You could stay at Edie’s with me, chust for a few days.”
Hamish brightened. He kept seeing that large double bed in Edie’s spare room.
But that hope was dashed when Priscilla said, “I suppose Edie has another spare room.”
“I suppose she has,” said Hamish sulkily. “Why?”
“This is the Highlands of Scotland. We are not married.”
“Oh.” He realized the truth of what she said and reminded himself firmly that he had only come to get her help on the case.
The truth of what Priscilla had said was borne out when later that day they both arrived at Edie’s. “To be sure, I am honoured you want to stay here,” fluttered Edie, “but I’ve only got the little room at the end of the corridor. It’s not as if you can share the same room.”
“Then Priscilla can have my room and I’ll take the wee one,” said Hamish. “Don’t worry, I’m used to roughing it.”
Edie bridled. “There will be no need for that, no need for that at all. Never let it be said that I cannot make a room comfortable.”
Edie was brightening visibly by the minute. Not only had she the bonus of two paying guests out of season but she was flattered that Priscilla was staying. Certainly she did experience a certain pang of regret, for she had been looking forward to cosy evenings alone with Hamish Macbeth, but on the other hand, Priscilla’s presence would give her a certain cachet.
Once the rooms had been changed and Priscilla had unpacked, Edie remembered she was due at the manse for the first meeting to arrange the pantomime. Priscilla, to Hamish’s surprise, said she would like to go too, and the gratified Edie agreed to take her along. The efficient Priscilla then said she would go out shopping and make them a meal before they went to the manse. “What are you up to?” asked Hamish as they walked down to the shop together.