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“No, sorry.”
“Okay. Just this once. As it happens, I’m not going. How’s the murder investigation?”
“It’s a right mess. Too many suspects. If ever a girl was just asking to be murdered by some man, it was A
“Have a coffee and tell me all about it.”
So in between sips of Angela’s horrible coffee, Hamish outlined all that he had found out so far.
When he had finished, Angela said, “You’re concentrating on the men. Have you considered the women? I mean, you’d expect a man to bash her over the head or strangle her. Making a letter bomb takes time and plotting and pla
“I’ll think about it. But right now, Angela, my poor head can’t bear the thought of any more suspects.”
Hamish had phoned the manse and said that he would meet Josie at the dance. He dressed in casual clothes and, followed by Sonsie and Lugs, walked along to Angela’s house.
“You’re a bit late,” said Angela.
“I’m reluctant,” said Hamish. “I’ll only go for a few dances and then clear off.”
“Josie’s quite pretty, you know.”
“Maybe I’m being hard on her, but there’s something awfy needy about her.”
“Male vanity, Hamish. That’s all it is. Now get along to that dance!”
Josie had refused all offers to dance. Her dreams of being held in Hamish’s arms had been shattered. It was to be an evening of Scottish country dancing and the hall was loud with the drumming of feet and the hoochs of the dancers as they swung one another around. Josie felt overdressed. Nearly everyone was wearing casual clothes whereas she was dressed in a short skirt with a plunging sequi
At last, she saw Hamish’s flaming-red head across the dance floor. Just as he came up to her, an Eightsome Reel was a
They joined a set and the band of fiddles, drums, and accordion struck up. Josie realised quickly the folly of wearing such high heels. She thought her ankles might break.
When the dance was over, Hamish said, “I could do with a drink. What about you?”
Josie picked up her evening bag from where she had left it and said eagerly, “That would be grand.”
There were only soft drinks on offer. “Orange juice?” suggested Hamish.
“Yes, thank you.” There was no barman. People just helped themselves. Hamish poured out two tumblers of orange juice and was about to hand one to Josie when Freda Campbell, the schoolteacher, came up just as a Strip the Willow was being a
“All right,” said Hamish. “But where’s your man?”
“Matthew’s working late.” Matthew was the editor of the Highland Times.
Josie watched as Hamish led Freda into the dance. Her eyes narrowed. She could have sworn Freda was flirting with him. She fished in her bag, took out the screw of paper containing the powdered Mandrax, and slipped it into one of the glasses of orange juice.
The energetic dance seemed to go on forever. Hamish crossed hands with Freda and danced down the line with Freda laughing up at him. Hamish may have been a lousy disco dancer but he was in his element when it came to Scottish country dancing.
At last it was over and Hamish and a big crowd approached the refreshment table. “Ah, orange juice. Just what I need,” boomed Mrs. Wellington. To Josie’s horror, she seized Hamish’s doctored drink and gulped it down.
A Gay Gordons was a
“Be back in a minute, Josie,” said Hamish. He followed Archie outside, where men were gathered passing whisky around.
Hamish stood chatting and drinking until there appeared four youths, helping a dazed Mrs. Wellington from the hall. “She’s come over faint,” said one. “We’re just going to run her up to the manse.”
Josie appeared and said hurriedly, “I’d better go with her and make sure she’s all right.”
What if they called Dr. Brodie, worried Josie. He might suspect she had been drugged and order a blood test.
At the manse, Mrs. Wellington was heaved upstairs and laid on her bed. “I think I know what the matter must be,” said the minister. “My wife sometimes takes a sleeping pill and she takes high blood pressure medicine as well. She must have mixed up her pills.”
Josie felt a wave of relief. “If you think she’ll be all right, I’ll just go back to the dance.”
But when she returned to the hall, it was to find that Hamish had left. “Where’s Hamish gone?” Josie asked Archie Maclean.
“Och, when you werenae here, herself, Miss Halburton-Smythe, turned up and she and Hamish went off together.”
Josie felt outraged. How dare he! But there was still time to put her plan into action. She had Mandrax pills left. If she let herself into the police station and doctored a glass of whisky and left it on the kitchen table, with any luck Hamish might have a nightcap. If by any chance Hamish and Priscilla were there, well, she had an excuse. She could say she was calling to find out why he had left the dance so early.
Hamish was seated in the bar of the Tommel Castle Hotel, looking gloomily at Priscilla.
“Why Australia?” he asked.
“I’m a computer programmer, Hamish,” said Priscilla patiently. “The firm I was contracted to outsourced all the work to India and it’s happening all over London. I’ve got a chance of this job in Sydney. I love Sydney.”
“It’s awfy far away,” said Hamish miserably. “The hotel’s doing great. It’s not as if you have to work.”
“Hamish, ever since Daddy lost all his money and we had to turn our home into this hotel, I’ve liked to make my own money just in case Daddy decides to play the stock market again. I’m lucky to get such a good job in the middle of a recession. Didn’t you go to the dance with your policewoman?”
“I was bullied into it by Mrs. Wellington. I wish Josie McSween would just pack up and go back to Strathbane.”
“Why? She seems a nice enough girl.”
“There’s something clingy about her and she’s a rotten officer. She should never ha’ joined the police force.”
“So where are you in the case?”
“Nowhere-except for an idea of Angela’s. I’ve been checking up on all the men in the case. She suggests it might have been some woman.”
“I can see the wisdom of that. A jealous woman will go to any lengths.”
“Could you put me up for the night, Priscilla? I’ve a feeling if I go back home, Josie will be waiting for me.”
“I’ll find you something.”
Josie put the crushed tablets in a glass of whisky and placed it on the kitchen table. She stirred the contents with a spoon. Now, she thought, let’s hope he drinks it. I’ll come back around two in the morning and hope he’s asleep. She thought it a rare bit of luck that Hamish’s pets were away somewhere. She made her way back to the manse over the fields at the back so that no one would see her. At one point, she stopped and listened. She had an odd feeling of being watched. The night was still and cold. She hurried on, anxious to get to her room and to a bracing glass of whisky.
Roger Burton, crouched behind a dry-stone wall, watched her go. He had returned to finish the job of getting rid of Hamish. He felt his reputation was at stake. It had got around the criminal fraternity in Glasgow that the hard man, Roger, had been attacked by a cat.
Now he was primed and ready to kill not only Hamish but those wretched animals of his as well.