Death of a Gentle Lady - M. C. Beaton [25]
‘Look, duck under the tape and come down to the river bank,’ said Hamish.
‘Won’t we be messing up a crime scene?’
‘From the state of that bike, it was chucked over. Come on. I’ll tell you all about it.’
Elspeth, penned behind the tape with the rest of the press, called down to Hamish, but he affected not to hear.
He began at the beginning, telling Priscilla everything he knew, including the destroyed passport. He had always told her everything, knowing she was trustworthy and a very good listener.
When he had finished, she said, ‘How awful it all must have been for you.’
He looked at her with gratitude. No one else had thought of how he must feel.
He heard sirens in the distance. ‘Are there any odd strangers up at the hotel apart from Harold Jury?’
‘I’ll double-check,’ said Priscilla. ‘I don’t think so. Apart from the press, there are a few die-hard fishermen.’
Superintendent Daviot’s head appeared over the parapet. ‘Come up here, Macbeth, and let the men do their work. Oh, Miss Halburton-Smythe, how nice to see you.’
Priscilla and Hamish climbed up the bank. ‘I’d better be off,’ said Priscilla.
‘Can we meet for dinner?’ asked Hamish.
‘I’ll phone you.’
Elspeth watched them and then saw the way Hamish looked after Priscilla as she got into her car and drove off.
She edged her way back through the press and walked round to where the police Land Rover was parked on the bridge. Elspeth opened the passenger door, got in, and crouched down.
Daviot said to Hamish, ‘That was good work.’
‘I’m going to check at the hotel,’ said Hamish. ‘They’ve got bikes they let their guests use.’
He walked to the Land Rover, seemingly deaf to the cries of the journalists demanding to know the significance of the bicycle.
Hamish switched on the engine and then glanced down to his left and stiffened. ‘Chust what do you think you are doing, Elspeth?’ he demanded.
‘I’m a reporter, remember? I want something to report.’
‘Tell you what, if you go to the station and take Lugs and Sonsie for a walk and feed them, I’ll give you something to report.’
‘Like when?’
‘Say five o’clock.’
‘You’re on, copper. What did your hooker think of the possibility of sharing a home with your two other wives – Sonsie and Lugs?’
‘Get out!’
‘I’m going.’
Hamish drove off, feeling highly irritated. He regretted telling Elspeth he would see her later. She had jeered at him in the past over his devotion to his pets.
When he walked into the hotel, he glanced in the bar and then walked through to the lounge not just to see if he could find any odd-looking guests, but also to see if he could meet Priscilla again.
Apart from Harold Jury and his laptop, there were no other guests in the lounge. But the surprise was that Harold appeared to be entertaining Mrs Wellington and the Currie sisters. Hamish ambled over to join them despite a ferocious keep-out-of-this look on Mrs Wellington’s face.
Harold wanted to berate Hamish over the trick he had played on him, but bit his lip when he realized how silly it would make him sound.
Nessie Currie said, ‘If you behave yourself, Hamish, there might even be a part for you.’
‘A part in what?’ Hamish asked curiously.
‘The Mothers’ Union is going to put on a production of Macbeth and we are here to ask this distinguished author to help us.’
‘Has Mr Jury any knowledge of the theatre?’
‘He is a cultured man, cultured man,’ said Jessie. ‘Which is mair than what you are. Go and find your murderers, murderers.’
Harold had been about to refuse, but the thought of becoming a presence in the village would wipe out his humiliation. From the look on the constable’s face, it would irritate him no end.
Hamish walked back to the reception area. Priscilla was just coming out of the manager’s office.
‘Hello again,’ she said. ‘You look upset.’
Hamish told her of the offer to Harold. ‘It’s not fitting. The man could be a murderer.’
‘Hamish, he is a famous author. That was a dirty trick you played on him. Fortunately I was able to soothe him by telling him you were by way of being