“Murder? What murder?”
“Poor auld Mrs. Gillespie. Someone brained her with her bucket.”
Elspeth suppressed a sudden mad desire to laugh. “Who was Mrs. Gillespie?”
“Herself was a cleaner, lived over Braikie way. You’ll be seeing Hamish?”
Before Elspeth could reply, Luke Teviot strolled in.
“Hullo, sweetheart,” he said cheerfully. “What does one do for entertainment around here?”
Bessie’s eyes widened. She put the towels in the bathroom and then scurried off to spread the news around that Elspeth Grant had come up to the Highlands with a boyfriend.
♦
The light was fading fast as Hamish walked into the garage run by Tom Morrison. There was a man in faded blue, oil-stained overalls bent over a car engine.
“Mr. Morrison?”
“I’m just about to close up. What do you want?”
He straightened up. He was a short man with a square, pleasant face and a shock of black curly hair.
“Have you heard about the murder?” asked Hamish.
“Aye, it’s all over the village.”
“Tell me where you were this morning.”
“You mean, you think I murdered the auld scunner? No, that I did not. I was right here. My assistant, Tolly, he was here the whole time. Folks came by for petrol from the pump. I can give you their names.”
“No, that’ll be fine,” said Hamish, not only feeling sure Tom was telling the truth but also not wanting to waste valuable time going through his list of customers. “Tell me about Mrs. Gillespie. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to murder her?”
“My first thought,” said Tom, wiping his hands on a rag, “is that it could be anyone. She was not liked. But murder! No, I can’t think of a person who would do that. I’ve felt like it sometimes. She broke up my marriage to her stepdaughter. But it’s a lang, lang way between thinking and doing.”
“Will you be getting back with Heather now?” asked Hamish.
“I don’t think so. She didn’t trust me, and when there’s no trust in a marriage, it’s no good.”
“If there’s no jealousy in a marriage,” said Hamish, “then there’s no love.”
“I know you, Macbeth. You’re not married, so what would you know about it?”
“A lot, believe you me. Now, I want you to think hard about who she knew and who she might have been blackmailing.”
“Blackmail!”
“Perhaps. There wasn’t a scrap of business papers in her home. Do you happen to know if she owned any other property?”
Tom shook his head. “Better ask Heather or her father.”
“I will. I’ll come back tomorrow for a chat.”
♦
Hamish drove straight to Lochdubh. Jimmy was waiting for him outside the police station. “I thought you’d have let yourself in like everyone else does,” said Hamish, unlocking the door. “You know where the spare key is kept.”
“I just got here.”
Hamish let him in. Then he remembered his dog and cat. Where had they gone? The last he had seen of them was when they had headed off together.
The phone in the office rang, and he went to answer it. It was Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife. “I saw your police car passing, and I’ve sent your animals home. They were round here mooching food. I’ve fed them both.”
“Thanks, Angela. I’ve got to rush. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
When Hamish returned to the kitchen, it was to find Jimmy frantically rummaging in the cupboards.
“The whisky’s in the oven,” said Hamish.
“What’s it doing there?”
“Well, the locals come round and say, “What about a dram?” and if I want rid of them, I say I haven’t any. I’ve even known them to do what you were doing and start searching the cupboards, saying they’re sure I have some and I’ve just forgotten where I put it.”
Jimmy retrieved the half bottle from the oven and took down two glasses from a cupboard.
Jimmy poured a large measure for himself and a small one for Hamish. He drained his glass and filled it up again.
“That’s better.” He sighed. “What have you got?”
Hamish described everything he had found out.
“So,” said Jimmy, “the main thing is the missing papers or letters. Safe-deposit box?”
“Oh, my, I forgot about that one.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve a feeling she wouldn’t leave them there and that the manager would have told you if she had a safe-deposit box. Maybe she bought some sort of lock-up.”
“Or she might just have buried them in her garden.”
“There’s an idea. I’ll get the men onto it.”
“How did you get on with Mrs. Styles?”
Jimmy poured himself more whisky. “That was quite a scene,” he said. “Blair tried to bully her, and she tore into him and called him a disgrace. She said he was not a Christian. He was that furious, he was going to take her in for questioning. She phoned Daviot and said she was putting in a complaint for police harassment. Daviot pulled Blair off and suggested it would be better if the questioning was left to Hamish Macbeth. Of course, Blair agreed, hoping that Mrs. Styles would put in a complaint about you.”
“I’ll try her first thing in the morning.” A sharp bark sounded from outside the door. Hamish opened it, and Lugs and Sonsie slouched in.
“This is interesting, the bit where that old neighbour told you that Bernie Fleming might have been murdered. How would Mrs. Gillespie know? No proof.”
“She might have been cleaning at the time. Say Mrs. Fleming lost her temper and gave him an almighty push. What about the professor, now?” asked Hamish. “Silly pompous wee man that he is.”
“Blair toadied to him, so we didn’t get much. He was never married. Doesn’t seem to be gay. Blameless, boring life, if you ask me.”
“Someone as arrogant as he is wouldn’t have gone on putting up with such as Mrs. Gillespie for long.”
“Could be,” said Jimmy. “But by all accounts the woman was a bully. Blair’s a bully and look at the way he arse-licked the old boy. Maybe she treated him well. Anyway, now that our esteemed leader thinks you have the right touch, you’ll be able to have a talk with him yourself.”
The kitchen door opened, and Elspeth walked in, followed by Luke Teviot. “I’m off,” said Jimmy. “How’re things in the big city, Elspeth?”
“Not as exciting as here. You’ve got a murder.”
“Ask your boyfriend about it,” said Jimmy, and made his escape.
“Boyfriend?” asked Luke.
“He was just joking,” said Elspeth quickly.
Luke sat down at the kitchen table. “Got an ashtray in here?”
Hamish took out an ashtray from one of the cupboards and put it on the table. Luke lit a cigarette. Hamish had given up smoking a long time ago and was annoyed to find himself longing for one.
Elspeth and Hamish sat down and surveyed each other warily. Elspeth had had her frizzy hair straightened, and Hamish was not sure whether he liked it or not. She was also dressed smart-casual rather than in the usual assortment of thrift shop clothes she used to wear.
“You made it here fast,” said Hamish. “You’ve both been sent to cover the murder?”
“No, we’re here on holiday together.”
“So you’re an item?”
“No,” said Luke, and “Yes,” said Elspeth, both at the same time.
Luke noticed that Hamish now seemed amused and relaxed where a moment before he had been stiff and angry.
“The thing is,” said Elspeth, “that we could both end up having a paid holiday. The news desk is keen on this.”
“Why?” asked Hamish curiously. “You’ve got murders damn near every day in Glasgow. This is chust one auld woman who got bashed with her bucket.”
“Because we happen to be up here, and a murder in the Highlands is considered more interesting, so what can you tell us?”