Death of a Chimney Sweep - M. C. Beaton [65]
“I’m off,” said Hamish. “Any sight or sound of anyone, call the police immediately.”
Tam came in as Hamish left.
“Oh, Tam!” cried Milly, tears running down her face. “I’ve been so miserable. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
He came and sat beside her and took her hands in his. “What’s that?”
Milly dried her tears. She was about to tell him about the money but something stopped her. Tam would no doubt tell her to give it to the police, and he would write a story about it. One thing she knew about Tam: he lived for the next good story.
“I’m a bit shy about… well… sex. Do you mind waiting? I’m so afraid of Prosser coming back that I feel all cold and frightened.”
“I’ll wait, pet, don’t worry about it. But you could do with more security. You could do with security lights, front and back. I’ll fix it.”
Milly took off Giles’s engagement ring and placed it on the table. “I should throw this away.”
“Sell it,” said the ever-practical Tam.
A week later, on a rare beautiful sunny day, two schoolboys from Drim, Wayne and Dexter Mackay, were playing truant. They had got onto the school bus that morning and waved goodbye to their parents. It was still dark when the bus stopped at an outlying croft to pick up another boy. While the boy’s mother was talking to the driver, who had got down from the bus, Wayne and Dexter had crept quietly away, hiding behind a wall until the bus drove off.
In Wayne’s bag was half a bottle of sweet sherry he had stolen from his parents’ sideboard. As the sun came up, it turned into an unusually mild and still day. Dexter had a collapsible fishing rod in his bag. “We’ll gang up tae that tarn. There’s said to be a muckle great fish in the water.”
As the sun rose higher in the sky and the air smelled of wild thyme, they scampered up to the tarn. They lay down by the lip, swigged the sherry, and ate the contents of their lunch boxes. Then Dexter assembled his fishing rod.
“Let’s lean over and see if we can see thon fish.”
They lay on their stomachs and peered down into the glassy waters of the tarn.
Then they straightened up and looked at each other in alarm. “There’s a car down there,” whispered Dexter, “and I think there’s someone in it. What’ll we do?”
“We’ll say we got off the bus and went to stretch our legs and he drove off without us,” said Wayne. “Chuck that sherry bottle. No, dinnae chuck it in the tarn. Pit it in the heather on the road back.”
Milly had gone for a walk down to the village with Tam. When they returned, they saw police cars outside the house. The press were just arriving.
“Maybe Prosser has been caught,” said Tam.
Blair was waiting for them. He glared at Tam. “You, get lost. No reporters.”
Milly took Tam’s arm. “Mr. Tamworth is my fiancé and he’s not going anywhere.”
Blair’s piggy eyes gleamed. Here was a woman who had lost one husband and one fiancé and now she was engaged to “the pig.” Hamish Macbeth had Prosser on the brain. Blair was out to prove that Milly had something to do with both murders.
Hamish arrived but was told by a policeman on guard that Blair had given instructions that he was to wait outside the house. Tam came out and drew him aside.
“Hamish, he’s making Milly cry. He’s all but accusing her of the murders.”
Hamish phoned the Tommel Castle Hotel and asked if Priscilla was by any chance making one of her rare visits. When her cool voice came on the phone, he told her what was happening and then asked, “Could you get on to Daviot and complain? He’s such a snob, he’ll jump if you say ‘how high?’ ”
“All right,” said Priscilla. “After I phone, I’ll come over and claim Milly as a friend. Let’s hope she plays along.”
Hamish waited. He wondered why Priscilla had not been in touch with him. Maybe she had only just arrived.
Milly was in the depths of despair. The car had been lifted out of the tarn and the decomposing body of Giles Brandon had been found. Blair was bullying and threatening and the questions went on and on. Then the door opened and a beautiful vision walked in. “Mr. Blair,