“Is her nature as beautiful as she looks?”
Elspeth felt a pang of jealousy. Men, including Hamish, had only to look at Priscilla and they forgot that such a lowly creature as Elspeth Grant even existed.
“She’s actually very kind,” said Elspeth.
“Married?”
“No.”
He adjusted the passenger seat in Elspeth’s car to accommodate his long legs. “I’ve lost interest.”
“Why?”
“If a woman looks like that and is the daughter of a hotel owner and she’s not married, there’s something up.”
“Are you married?”
“No. Divorced. And you?”
“Nearly once. He stood me up.”
“Useless bastard. Let’s go.”
Elspeth drove straight past Priscilla, who looked as if she expected Elspeth to stop the car and introduce her.
“I’ll take you down to Lochdubh,” said Elspeth, “and we’ll call at the police station first.”
“I’m dying to meet the local bobby. He’s featured in quite a number of stories. I looked Lochdubh up before I left.”
Elspeth’s heart really warmed to Perry when he exclaimed over the village of Lochdubh, nestled in front of the loch with the two tall mountains towering behind it. “Why, the place is beautiful!”
Elspeth, for the first time in ages, was conscious of her appearance. She had her frizzy hair scrunched up on top of her head. She was wearing jeans that were old and baggy, and her sweater under her tweed jacket was faded black from too many washings.
“I gather they’ve got someone for one of the murders at least,” said Perry, “so I’d better hurry up and write something before we’re called back.”
Elspeth stopped at the police station, and they got out of the car. As they approached the kitchen door, Hamish came around from the back, an empty feed pail in his hand. He was followed by Lugs and Sonsie.
“A bobby with a pet wild cat!” marvelled Perry. “Now, there’s a bit of colour for a start.”
“No, you don’t,” warned Elspeth. “He doesn’t like people knowing about that cat in case it gets taken away. Actually, it’s quite tame.”
“Elspeth,” said Hamish, joining them. “Did you see Blair or Jimmy?”
“It’s all quiet. The mobile police unit wasn’t on the waterfront and I suppose the press are all down at Strathbane.”
“And why aren’t you there?”
“Because Daviot will make one of his pompous statements and you know what’s really going on.”
“I doubt that,” said Hamish bitterly. “Coffee?”
“Grand. This is Perry Gaunt, a feature writer. And your coffee’s foul.”
“I’ve got round to using the percolator and I’ve got some decent stuff. Should be ready by now.”
Perry followed them into the kitchen. He looked around. There was a smell of peat from the stove and the aroma of fresh coffee. The round kitchen table was covered with a red-and-white gingham cloth, a present from the Italian restaurant, and gingham curtains hung at the window. Outside, the sun shone as if the Highlands had decided to give the residents a brief respite from winter.
Hamish poured mugs of coffee and then set a plate of shortbread on the table.
“I’m glad you’ve got company, Elspeth. I’ve been worried about you not being guarded.”
“Why should she be guarded?” asked Perry.
Hamish told him about the horoscopes. “Now, there’s a story!” exclaimed Perry.
“No, it’s not,” snapped Elspeth. “You should know I’m not supposed to write anything at all, other than for the Bugle. I can’t even translate Euripides in my spare time. Hamish, surely Fergus didn’t kill his wife.”
“The latest is that he sneaked out of work for two hours around the time his wife was killed and he absolutely refused to say where he was. Blair charged him with her murder, but there isn’t a single bit of evidence against him. The forensic team’s up at the back taking his place apart, looking for a weapon. He’s got money from his wife’s insurance so when they eventually allowed him a lawyer, he called in Agnes Dunne from Inverness. She’ll soon have him out on bail. She’s a terror. I wanted to investigate further but Blair found I had a lot of holiday time owing and he found some regulation that I had to take at least a week. I’m losing heart, Elspeth. I’m weary. Let me know if you get any ideas.”
“Right,” said Elspeth. “I’ll start by taking Perry here over to Braikie.”
“If you dig up anything, let me know.”
♦
Elspeth stopped the car on the shore road outside Braikie. “You see those houses?” she said.
“Yes, all boarded up.”
“The tide’s got higher every year. At high tide, this road is flooded. You can see where it’s being eaten away. A lot of the coastal villages are suffering but no one does anything. You could maybe put in a bit about that. You know the sort of thing – it’s not only a murderer in their midst that the people of Sutherland dread, but another enemy that is taking away their homes yaddity ya.”
“Got it.”
Elspeth drove on to the main street and parked. “I’m hungry. There’s a chippy. We could have fish-and-chips or haggis-and-chips or black-pudding-and-chips or…”
“Deep-fried Mars bars?”
“Of course. And deep-fried pizza, too.”
“You know,” said Perry, “the average life span of a man in Glasgow is now fifty-seven, and they put it down to a diet of the stuff you’ve just mentioned. I want a drink. What about The Highlanders Arms over there?”
“They’ve got meat pies from the bakery that aren’t bad.”
“We’ll try that and you can tell me all about the dead postmistress.”
♦
Perry had been damned in the Glasgow office as a ‘posh git.’ But Elspeth found his manner of listening intently, his light accent, and his very green eyes intriguing. One read a lot about people with green eyes in books, particularly American books. Maybe green eyes weren’t so unusual in the States, but it was rare to see such vivid green in Britain that was not pale or mixed with brown. Her mind turned briefly to Hamish. He blew hot and cold and anytime they seemed to be getting close, he always turned away to some other woman, usually Priscilla.
“Do you really think these murders are connected?” Perry asked.
“I’m not so sure about the one at Bonar Bridge. But the others, yes. Catriona Beldame was hated, Ina probably knew something, and the silly postmistress bragged that she did.”
“Do we still write postmistress or do we have to write postperson?”
“God forbid! Mind you, mere’s probably some new name like post office executive manager, or something. Ellie lived above the shop. Let’s go round there and see if some relative is cleaning up, someone she might have said something to.”
“You’re doing Hamish Macbeth’s job.”
“No, I’m doing my own. I’m a reporter, remember? You haven’t eaten your pie.”
Perry looked round the dismal dirty pub. “I’m frightened to.”
“If this frightens you, some of the places in Glasgow will scare your socks off. Come on.”
♦
Elspeth found the street door leading to Elbe’s flat standing open. They went up the stairs. The flat door was open as well. A small woman was standing in the living room putting stuff into a packing case.
“Excuse me,” said Elspeth.
The woman straightened up. She was wearing a floral pinafore over a dun-coloured sweater and dark blue polyester slacks. She was small and wiry with a pug face and grey hair.
“What do you want?”
“We’re from the Daily Bugle…”
“Sod off.”
Perry moved in front of Elspeth. “I know it must distress you to be approached by the press at such a time. But I think Miss Ellie Macpherson should be remembered not as a murder victim, but as a real, live person.” He gave his charming smile. “More to the point, you seem to have a lot of work and we could help you.”