Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [63]
She took down the bottle of whisky and poured a weak measure for Hamish and a strong one for herself. She added two crushed tablets of Rohypnol to Hamish’s drink and stirred them up.
“Switch off the light,” ordered Hamish. “I want a better look at this.”
Everything’s going my way, thought Josie. If there’re any grounds in the glass, he won’t notice in the dark. She handed Hamish his drink. “Slainte,” she said.
Hamish took a drink. “You’re right,” he said, his eyes glued to the screen. “How could I ha’ missed that?”
He continued drinking while he stared at the screen. Then he suddenly put his hand up to his head. “I feel dizzy.”
“Maybe there was something in the food at the party,” said Josie. Hamish stood up and swayed.
“Let me get you to bed.” She supported his lanky figure as he stumbled towards the bedroom.
Hamish fell on the bed. When he had come back to the police station, he had taken off his jacket and tie. Josie struggled until she had removed his shirt. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be out cold. She threw the shirt on the floor and then pulled his trousers off. By the time she got his underpants and socks and shoes off, she was sweating. There was the final effort of managing to get him under the bedclothes. She stripped off her own clothes and crept naked into the bed beside him. She rubbed her naked body against his, working herself up. There must be a smell of sex when he woke up in the morning.
This is what it’s going to be like for real, thought Josie, laying her head on his chest.
Hamish slowly regained consciousness the following morning. He felt a body next to his. He blearily looked down into Josie’s sleeping face. He rolled out of bed and fell on the floor with a thump. He stared down at his naked body. A trail of discarded clothes lay on the floor from the entrance to the bedroom to the bed.
He clutched his forehead and groaned aloud. Josie became awake. “Good morning, darling,” she said huskily.
Hamish seized the duvet from the bed and covered his naked body. That left Josie exposed. He stumbled to his feet, grabbed his dressing gown, and wrapped it around himself. He went into the kitchen where his bleary animals were just waking up. He lit the stove with trembling hands and put water on to boil for coffee.
Josie came up behind him and put her arms around him. “Get off!” snarled Hamish.
“But, Hamish, darling,” wailed Josie. “After last night, you can’t treat me like this.”
“I cannae remember a thing,” muttered Hamish. “Look, if this gets out, we’ll lose our jobs. Keep your mouth shut and forget it effer happened.”
“But I can’t. I love you.”
“Josie, just go. If it was a one-night stand, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Take yourself off to your mother’s and leave me in peace for a bit. Maybe some bastard gave me a mickey at that party. I’ll go to Brodie and get a blood test taken and then go over to forensics and get them to analyse it.”
Tears running down her face, Josie dressed, put on her coat, and staggered from the police station. This was a nightmare. It would all lead back to her, she was sure of it. Hamish would soon realise she was the one who was interested in drugging him.
To her relief, Mrs. Wellington was out when she got back to the manse. Josie packed her suitcase, went downstairs, and left a note on the kitchen table for Mrs. Wellington before going out to her car and driving off, squinting through her tears.
Hamish hurried to Dr. Brodie’s surgery and got the doctor to take a blood test and a urine sample. “Give them to me,” ordered Hamish, “and I’ll take them over to forensics.”
“Hamish, no one else at the wedding has been in here to complain of any ill effects.”
Hamish drove quickly to the forensics lab. Lesley regarded him impatiently when she heard his request. “We’re backed up, Hamish. You should have left the doctor to send them to the hospital lab.”
“Chust dae this,” snapped Hamish. “Someone tried to drug me. I’m sure of it.”
“Oh, leave it,” said Lesley. “We