Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [68]
Meanwhile, Josie laid her plans. She had paid over one thousand pounds to a shady doctor in Strathbane to give her a certificate saying she was pregnant.
Just as the snows were beginning to melt and a balmy wind was bringing the first hint of spring, she called at the police station.
“Hamish, I’m pregnant,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,
They’ve ta’en me in, an’ a’ that
—Robert Burns
The news of Hamish Macbeth’s engagement to Josie McSween was greeted with delight in the village of Lochdubh. They were such a suitable couple. She was a pretty wee lassie and a policewoman, too.
Only Angela Brodie was worried. One evening, shortly after the announcement of Hamish’s engagement, her husband confided in her that Hamish had come to him one morning, demanding a drug test, but that the forensic lab had stated that he was clear.
She knew Hamish better than most. Although he smiled on Josie and escorted her about, Angela sensed a bleakness in him. She didn’t like Josie. She thought there was something sly about her.
Also, Hamish, who usually dropped in for a chat, had been avoiding her. She found him one morning, leaning on the wall overlooking the loch, with his animals at his heels.
“Hamish!” she hailed him. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. So you’re finally going to be married? Congratulations.”
“That iss verra kind of you, Angela.” His eyes were flat and guarded. “I’d had best be getting along to the station.”
“Wait a moment. Are you happy?”
“Of course,” said Hamish, and he strode off.
Angela was walking back home when she met Mrs. Wellington. “Isn’t it exciting?” said the minister’s wife. “I’ve come to think of Josie as my own daughter.”
“I don’t think Hamish is very happy,” said Angela.
“It doesn’t matter if he’s happy or not. He got the girl preg…” Mrs. Wellington actually blushed.
“Do you mean Josie’s pregnant?”
“Don’t tell a soul. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I don’t think Josie is my husband’s patient.”
“Well, no. It would spoil the occasion if people thought it was a shotgun wedding.”
“Which doctor did she go to?”
“I remember she said it was a Dr. Cameron in Strathbane.”
Angela phoned the television studios in Glasgow and asked to speak to Elspeth Grant, saying she was a friend. She was told Miss Grant was broadcasting but if she left her name and number, Miss Grant would phone her back.
Worried that her husband might drop in, find out what she was doing, and accuse her of interfering, Angela paced nervously up and down. At last the phone rang and, with relief, she heard Elspeth’s voice on the line.
“It’s about Hamish,” said Angela. “Have you heard he’s to be married?”
“Yes, I got an invitation to the wedding.”
“Elspeth, something is wrong. He is not happy. Josie is supposed to be pregnant. Could she be tricking him? Oh, Elspeth, I do wish you would come up here and find out for sure.”
“Wait a minute. Are they living together?”
“No, Josie is at the manse with Mrs. Wellington. I assumed it was because people here are a bit old- fashioned.”
“But he is seen out with her?”
“Yes, I saw them at the Italian restaurant just the other day. Hamish was quiet and polite. Josie chattered on and on. But there’s more. Hamish went to my husband some time ago claiming he had been drugged and got samples and rushed off to the forensic lab in Strathbane with them. The lab said he was clear.”
“I remember Lesley at the lab. She was keen on Hamish and I always think she upped and married her boss just to show him. Look, I’ll get some leave of absence and get up there. But Hamish wouldn’t fall for a fake pregnancy, if that’s what it is. Doesn’t she go to Dr. Brodie?”
“No, she goes to a Dr. Cameron in Strathbane.”
“I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
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