Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [20]
“You’ve had an exciting day,” said the minister’s wife. “Hamish is quite the hero. I saw him on the television rescuing that lion. Were you frightened?”
“All in the day’s work,” said Josie.
Chapter Four
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
—W. B. Yeats
Jimmy called at the police station that evening. “You’ll never get back,” said Hamish. “The snow’s coming down thick and fast.”
“You may as well put me up for the night,” said Jimmy. “I’ve got to be in Braikie first thing in the morning. What a waste of time. We raided the disco. Clean as a whistle.”
“I might go over there myself tomorrow for the lunchtime session,” said Hamish. “I’m looking for someone called Jake.”
“You’ve been on the telly. Everyone will recognise you.”
“I’ll go in disguise.”
“You’ll be poaching on Blair’s territory.”
“Then don’t tell him.”
“So what do you do if you find Jake?”
“Try to find out where he lives and give you the information. I might take McSween.”
“How’s that going, Hamish?”
“I don’t know why that one ever wanted to be a policewoman. She hasn’t a clue. Anyway, help yourself to a dram and I’ll call her.”
Josie had just finished speaking to her mother when her phone rang again. She listened to Hamish’s suggestion that they go to the disco tomorrow if the snow allowed them to travel to Strathbane.
Her eyes were once more full of dreams as she rang off. Her mother had seen Hamish on television and was loud in her praise. Hamish began to appear a heroic figure in Josie’s mind. He had said he would be in disguise but she needn’t bother: just wear something suitable for a disco. They would dance, he would hold her in his arms, he would say…
“Are you finished with that iron?” said Mrs. Wellington, coming into the kitchen.
The countryside looked like an old-fashioned Christmas card when Hamish collected Josie the following day. Blair’s desire to keep Hamish out of every investigation meant that he was not constantly being given orders or monitored.
Josie barely recognised Hamish. He had a false ginger beard and moustache and small John Lennon–type glasses. His flaming hair was hidden under a black wool cap.
She thought he looked awful.
The music blaring from the disco when they arrived was so loud that as they walked towards the club, Hamish was sure he could hear the beat reverberating through his shoes.
Inside the club, Josie took off her enveloping fun-fur coat to reveal that she was wearing a short red leather skirt, fishnet stockings, and a gauzy glittery blouse with a plunging neckline. She took off her boots and slipped on a pair of high-heeled red stilettoes. Josie was also heavily made up.
They moved onto the dance floor. Josie was a good dancer but to her dismay, Hamish danced like a demented stork. A young man came up and began to dance with Josie, cutting Hamish out. Hamish gave her a quick nod to say it was all right and made his way to the bar. “I’m looking for Jake,” he shouted to the barman.
“Ower there,” the barman shouted back, pointing to a man in a black leather jacket at the end of the bar.
Hamish approached Jake. He tapped him on the shoulder and flashed a thick wad of what appeared to be fifty-pound notes. Actually it was one fifty-pound note wound round paper. “Come outside,” he said. “I’ve a big deal for ye.”
On the way out, he tried to signal to Josie. But Josie was lost in the music, her eyes closed, her hips swaying.
Outside, Hamish flashed his warrant card and said, “I would like you…”
But that was as far as he got. Jake took to his heels and ran but skidded in the snow and went down heavily. Hamish handcuffed him and hauled him to his feet. He realised if he phoned Jimmy, it would take Jimmy an hour to get from Braikie to Strathbane. He’d just need to take him to police headquarters. Where the hell was Josie? He shrugged. He couldn’t waste time going back for her, and Jake could have friends in the disco who might cause