Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [49]
“So,” said Hamish, “let’s go back to the day Mark Lussie was murdered. Just before you closed for the evening, did anyone take over for you?”
She wrinkled her brow. Then her face cleared. “Oh, I mind fine. I was bursting and Mrs. Baxter was just coming out of her husband’s office. So I called to her and asked if Jessie was very busy because I had to go to the loo and herself says, ‘Run along. I’ll do the board for you.’ ”
“You’re sure about that?”
“ ’Course I’m sure. I’m hardly likely to forget Mrs. High and Mighty stooping to help someone like me out.”
“But you didnae say anything about this when I first questioned you.”
“You were asking me about calls I put through and it fair flustered me and I forgot about Mrs. Baxter.”
“I heard you were bitter about Annie being made Lammas queen two years running,” said Hamish.
“I was right furious. I went around swearing I’d kill the conniving bitch.” Iona turned red. “I didn’t, mind. I wouldn’t. The provost, Mr. Tarry, got to hear about my complaints and he sent for me and told me if I wanted to keep my job, I’d better shut up. He said the council had voted unanimously for Annie. Annie flirted with anything in trousers. She probably went out of her way to make sure she’d be elected.”
Hamish drove her back to the town hall and then braced himself to go and confront Cora again. To his relief, he saw that her husband’s car was no longer outside the house.
The curtain twitched as he walked up the front path and rang the bell.
Cora answered the door, her well-upholstered bosom heaving with outrage. “You dare to come here again!”
“Now, now,” said Hamish soothingly. “We may haff got off on the wrong foot. I haff chust learned that on the day Mark Lussie was murdered, you took over the switchboard for a wee while. I need to ask you about that for, you see, the last call Mark Lussie made was to the town hall.”
She stared at him with those eyes of hers which were like Scottish pebbles and then said abruptly, “You’d better come in.”
Hamish followed her back into the living room and removed his cap.
“Sit down,” she barked.
Hamish sat down on a leather armchair, which welcomed him with the usual rude sound.
“Can you remember any calls?” he asked.
“Nothing in particular.”
“It would have come from someone who sounded like Mark—a young person.”
“There was a call to be put through to town planning—that was a woman—and one for health and safety—that was a man, not young—and one for waste disposal. The one for waste disposal sounded young. That’s all I can remember.”
Hamish took out his notebook and checked it. “Waste disposal. That would be Percy Stane.”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Did any of the callers ask for anyone by name?”
“No, just the department.”
“Not many people would know how to operate an old-fashioned switchboard like the one at the town hall.”
“I was a secretary at the town hall before I married my husband. I used to fill in on the switchboard. If you have no more questions, I may warn you,” she said as Hamish headed for the door, “that my husband has already reported you to Superintendent Daviot.”
“Oh, good,” said Hamish, and he left her staring after him.
Hamish went to the town hall and walked into Percy Stane’s office. Percy looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear like a trapped animal’s.
“I’ve told you all I know,” he blurted out.
“There might be something you have forgotten,” said Hamish. “Look, try to remember the day Mark Lussie died. Did you get a phone call?”
“I didn’t know him all that well. I wouldn’t know his voice.”
Percy wrinkled his brow in thought. Then his face cleared. “There was the one call. When I said, ‘Waste Disposal,’ the voice said, ‘Wrong department. Put me back to the switchboard.’ ”
“Man or woman?”
“A man. Maybe young. He didn’t say which department he really wanted.”
“Keep thinking about it and if you remember anything at all, here’s my card. Give me a call. Do you know if the provost is in his