Death of a Poison Pen

∨ Death of a Poison Pen ∧

4

Fear death? – to feel the fog in my throat,

The mist in my face.

—Robert Browning

Jenny lay awake for a long time. Pat had told her all about the murders in Braikie and so it was understandable that Hamish Macbeth had forgotten his date with her. Nevertheless, it rankled. If he had been meeting Priscilla, thought Jenny jealously, he would at least have phoned to apologise. Pat had been good company, and, yes, he was attractive and amusing, but he would not make Priscilla jealous. She could imagine Priscilla’s cool amusement. A reporter? On a local paper? And what took you to Lochdubh and why didn’t you tell me?

How quiet it was! Suffocatingly quiet. She crawled out of bed and went to the window and opened the curtains. A thick wall of mist leant against the window. She suddenly felt nervous. It looked as if the whole of the world was blanketed in thick sea fog. And out there, shrouded in the mist, was a murderer.

Jenny went back to bed. This trip had all been a dreadful mistake. She would leave in the morning.

♦

Hamish Macbeth, too, was lying awake. He suddenly remembered he had forgotten his dinner date with Jenny. His restless thoughts turned back to the murders. People had sent him their poison-pen letters. But he shrewdly suspected that the only ones he had received were the ones without a grain of truth in the accusations. Someone, somewhere, he thought, had received a letter from Miss McAndrew which had hit on something the recipient had desperately wanted kept quiet. And there were so many suspects! Jimmy had phoned him before he went to bed to say that Miss Beattie’s birth certificate had been found among her effects, proving that she was legitimate. She had also made out a will leaving everything to Billy Mackay. His thoughts turned back to Jenny Ogilvie. He had better check out her background. It was odd that such a pretty girl should choose to holiday in Lochdubh at such a time of year. He decided to question her first thing in the morning before moving on to Braikie.

♦

Elspeth was awake as well and also thinking about Jenny. She had a shrewd suspicion that Jenny was not just an ordinary tourist. For some reason, Jenny was after Hamish Macbeth. Why? It hadn’t been love at first sight. When Jenny had first set eyes on Hamish, Elspeth was sure she had been disappointed in him. Better check up on her, thought Elspeth sleepily.

♦

A silent morning broke with every sound still muffled by the thick enveloping mist. Once more Hamish phoned Angela and begged her to look after Lugs. This time Lugs went eagerly, straining at the leash, and when the dog saw Angela, he wagged his ridiculous plume of a tail and leapt up at her, barking with joy. I cannae even keep the affections of my dog, thought Hamish gloomily after he had thanked Angela, and then he headed for Sea View to interview Jenny.

He was told Jenny was at breakfast and made his way into the small dining room.

“Good morning,” said Hamish, removing his cap and sitting down opposite her. “I am here on official business, but first I would like to apologise for forgetting about our dinner engagement. Have you heard about the murders?”

Jenny nodded, and then said, “What official business?”

“I have to question everyone. Have you had any connection with Lochdubh before this, or do you know anyone connected with Lochdubh?”

“No,” said Jenny quickly, and then fiddled with a piece of toast.

“So why Lochdubh for a holiday?”

“I wanted to get clear away. I stuck a pin in the map.”

Now, why is she lying? wondered Hamish, looking at her bent head, at the guilty flush rising up her neck, and at the nervous fingers now crumbling the toast.

He took out his notebook. “May I have your address?”

“Number 7 A Crimea Road, Battersea.”

“And where was it you said you worked?”

Jenny stared at him. What had she told him before?

“I – I d-don’t have a j-job,” she stuttered. “I didn’t like to tell you that before. You see, Mummy and Daddy give me a generous allowance. I don’t have to work and I’m a bit ashamed of being such a layabout.”

“And where do Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie live?”

“Chipping Norton.”

“In the Cotswolds?”

“Yes.”

“Address?”

“Look, is all this necessary?” said Jenny desperately. “They’ll be worried sick if they know I’m up here where there have been two murders.”

“So you know about the murders?”

“Yes, I had dinner with that Pat Mallone. He told me.”

“Right. Parents’ address?”

“Manor Farm, Sheep Lane, Chipping Norton.”

“Phone number?”

“I forgot to bring it with me. I can never remember it.”

Hamish closed his notebook. “You’ll be hearing from me.” He left abruptly and Jenny heaved a sigh of relief.

Her relief disappeared when Hamish came back five minutes later and sat down again. “Now, Miss Ogilvie” – no more ‘Jenny’ – “I have spoken to your parents. They do not know you are up here. Furthermore, they say you work for a computer company in the City called Camber Stein. Camber Stein confirm you are on holiday. Why did you lie to me?”

“I…I…I…”

“I have a friend who works at Camber Stein. Her name is Priscilla Halburton-Smythe. Do you know her? No more lies.”

“Yes,” mumbled Jenny.

“Does she know you are here?”

“No. She had talked a lot about Lochdubh. I had some holiday owing and decided to come up here at the last minute. I hadn’t time to tell her.”

Hamish leant back in his chair and surveyed her. “It would have been natural to tell her. She was brought up here, she is my ex-fiancee, her parents own the local hotel. So why not?”

“I’m telling you, I hadn’t time,” shouted Jenny.

“You’ve been awfy interested in me since you arrived,” said Hamish slowly. “I’m not the subject of some joke between you and Priscilla, am I?”

“No, no. Honestly, she doesn’t know I’m here.”

“I’ll check it out. Be back shortly. Don’t move.”

Hamish went outside and took out his mobile phone, dialled the computer company, and asked to speak to Priscilla. When her cool voice came on the line, his heart gave a lurch. “It’s Hamish,” he said.

“Hamish! I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“Do you know a girl called Jenny Ogilvie?”

“Yes, of course. I work with her and she’s a friend. Why?”

“She’s here.”

“What! In Lochdubh?”

“Aye.”

“Good heavens. She was round at my place only about a week ago. Why didn’t she tell me?”

“That’s what I was wondering. First of all, she lied about where she worked. Then she said she didn’t work and that her parents were supporting her. Then she said she came up on an impulse. I am not a vain man but she seemed to be setting her cap at me.”

There was a silence, and then Priscilla said slowly, “I have been talking about you. I think she is a little bit jealous of me. Maybe she thought that if she could snare you, it might put my nose out of joint.”

Again that lurch at the heart.

“I’ll get rid of her.”

There was a silence. Then Priscilla said, “No, don’t spoil her holiday. She’s had bad luck with men and always chooses rotters. She’s actually very kind. When I had the flu last winter, she came round and nursed me and did all my shopping.”

“I thought your fiancé, Peter, would have been on hand to do that.”

“He couldn’t spare the time. He works very hard. Maybe she could help you on this case.”

“What! Her? Priscilla, the lassie’s daft.”

“She’s got a knack of getting people to talk to her. People on the tube end up telling her their life stories.”

“The place is crawling with police. I haff no need of herself’s help,” said Hamish stiffly, the strength of his Highland accent showing he was upset. But what had he expected? That Priscilla would immediately fly up to confront Jenny? He had broken off the engagement because of Priscilla’s aloofness. Why go down that road again?

“Suit yourself,” said Priscilla.

“I usually do. When’s the wedding?”

“We’ve put it off again. Peter’s awfully busy. I’ll let you know.”

“Do that. I’d better get on with my work. Goodbye.” Hamish rang off and stared bleakly along the misty waterfront. The thick mist was beginning to shift and eddy like so many ghosts being called home.

He gave a sigh, then went in and sat down in front of Jenny. “Don’t ever lie to me again,” he said. “I’ve just spoken to Priscilla.”

“Oh, God.” Jenny’s face was scarlet and her large eyes were swimming with tears. “I’ll leave today.”

Hamish’s face softened. “No need for that. Let’s forget about the whole thing. Enjoy your holiday.” He stood up and, on impulse, bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

After he had left, Jenny slowly put her hand up to the cheek he had kissed.

Mrs. Dunne bustled in to clear the breakfast things away. “What did Hamish want?” she asked.

“Just asking questions about why I was here,” said Jenny. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I seem to have an allergy.”

“Morning!” Pat Mallone bounced into the breakfast room.

“I must ask you both to clear out of here,” said Mrs. Dunne. “It’s past time for me cleaning the dining room.”

“It’s all right,” said Pat cheerfully. “We’re just leaving. Got your coat?”

“Yes,” said Jenny, picking up her new anorak from the chair next to her. She followed him out onto the waterfront. “Where are we going? I was thinking of leaving today.”

“You can’t. We’ve got two murders to solve.”

“Isn’t that Hamish’s job?”

“What! The local bobby? In my opinion, that man’s overrated. Let’s go to Braikie and ask around. I’ve been sent to get local colour and background. The boss has a commission from the Daily Bugle for a feature piece. This is my chance to shine in one of the nationals.”

♦

Hamish decided on arrival in Braikie that he should interview Penny Roberts, the headmistress’s pet. He knew if he approached Arkle, he would be told that he was disrupting lessons. He entered the school and knocked at the glass door of the secretary, Freda Mather.

He heard a faint ‘Come in’ and opened the door. Freda turned white when she saw him and swayed in her chair. He went quickly round behind her desk and said, “Now then, lassie, take deep breaths. That’s it. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She gulped in air and then said, “I’m all right now. Honest. When I saw you, the first thing I thought was that there had been another murder.”

“Now, why should you think that?”

“It’s silly. But there’s such an atmosphere of suspicion and threat around. I’m sorry. How can I help?”

“I would like a quiet word with Penny Roberts.”

“Mr. Arkle won’t like that.”

“Where is Mr. Arkle?”

“He’s away today. He’s at a board of education meeting.”

“So we don’t need to bother about him,” said Hamish bracingly. “And what he doesn’t know can’t upset him.”

“Won’t her parents need to be present?”

“No, it’s not as if she’s being charged with anything. You’ll do.”

Freda rose and went to the wall where class schedules were pinned up. “Penny’s in the art class at the moment and art is not her best subject. I’ll go and get her.”

Hamish waited patiently. Footsteps came and went in the corridor outside.

After he had interviewed Penny, he decided, he would get the home addresses of the teachers and call on them after school. He remembered his own school report: “brilliant but lazy.” His teachers had never really forgiven him for coming out on top in all the exams while apparently doing very little work. He wondered if Penny would turn out to be an egghead. Teachers felt comfortable with swots.

The door opened and Freda ushered in a teenager. She was a quite remarkable beauty. She had thick black hair and a perfect complexion and huge blue eyes. She was wearing the school uniform of grey sweater and grey pleated skirt with a blue shirt and striped tie. Hamish noticed that the skirt was very short and she was wearing sheer black tights and those clumpy shoes with thick soles like diving boots.

Freda produced two chairs for them and then sat down nervously behind her desk.

“I am PC Hamish Macbeth,” said Hamish.

“I know.” Penny smiled at him out of those incredible eyes and flicked a lock of glossy black hair over one shoulder. “Word gets around.”

“Now, Penny, I’ll get straight to the point. I’m trying to find out as much as I can about the character of your late headmistress.”

“Head teacher,” corrected Penny.

“Whatever. You see, sometimes the character of the deceased can give the police a clue as to why she was murdered. I believe you were something of a favourite with her.”

“Aye. She was all over me like a rash,” said Penny with an almost adult insouciance.

“So tell me about her.”

Penny shrugged. “She was always finding excuses to invite me round to her house. Said I had a brilliant future. Always making excuses that I need extra coaching in this and that. She said I didn’t want to rot the rest of my life in a place like Braikie. Oh, I ‘member. She got mad at me once. I told her I wasn’t going to the university. I mean, university in Strathbane! Spotty students. Dead-alive hole.” Another flick of the hair, a crossing of long legs, a sideways glance. “I told her I was going to be a television presenter and she went apeshit.”

“Penny!” admonished Freda.

“Sorry. But she went into full rant. Said television was full of men who would prey on me.

“I said, ‘What’s up with that?’ and she told me to get out of her house. But she sent me flowers the next day and an apology.”

“Didn’t your parents find her behaviour…weird?”

“Oh, Ma and Da think teachers are God. They could see nothing wrong with her.”

“Did it ever cross your mind that she might be a lesbian?”

Penny’s beautiful brow furrowed in thought. “No. I mean, she didn’t look Greek.”

So there was some innocence left in that beautiful brain, thought Hamish.

“You’re bound to know sooner or later,” he said. “Miss McAndrew appears to have been the author of those poison-pen letters. Did you have any idea she was writing them?”

For once, Penny looked shocked out of her normal composure. “I’d never have guessed,” she said. “I mean, who would think a head teacher would do something like that? Mind you, she always seemed to have taken a spite to someone, always complaining.”

“Did she ever complain about Miss Beattie?”

“Well, she did. Let me think. Said something about the way she was going on was disgraceful. Oh, there’s something else weird.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you if you don’t let on.”

“Penny, I promise to let anything you say to me stay between these four walls – unless, of course, it relates directly to the murder.”

“It’s like this. Geordie Cromarty…”

“The ironmonger’s son.”

“Yes, him. He phoned me one night and said if I slipped out, he would buy me fish and chips. I’d been on this diet, see. If you’re going to be on television, you have to be thin. I was fair starving so I said I’d meet him. I slipped out by the bedroom window and met him in the main street.”

“About what time of night would that have been?”

“It was just before eleven. He said to hurry up because the chippy closed at eleven. So we were going to the chippy and you know what Braikie’s like at that time of night – dead as a doornail. Then I saw on the other side of the lights from the chippy’s window this cloaked figure. “Someone’s coming,” I said. So we hid in a doorway. She passed us. She had this long black cloak with a hood right down over her face. A gust of wind blew the hood back and it was her and she looked real weird.”

“Miss McAndrew?”

“Herself. She was muttering something under her breath. I tell you, it gave us both a scare. We stayed in the doorway until we were sure she had gone, and by the time we got to the chippy, it had closed.”

“Didn’t you think it odd that your former head teacher should be behaving so strangely?”

“Grown-ups are all weird, if you ask me,” said Penny with all the brutality of youth. “I’m never going to get like that.”

“What night did you see her?”

“A few nights back. Can’t remember which one.”

Hamish asked her a few more questions and then dismissed her.

He turned to Freda. “Did you think Miss McAndrew was weird?”

“No. Like I said, I thought she was a bully. I did think she was overfond of Penny, but teachers sometimes get harmless crushes on pupils. Sometimes it’s the other way round.” A smile lifted her pale lips. “Mind you, there’s no one in this school to get a crush on.”

Hamish thanked her and left. He sat on a wall outside the school and made rapid notes.

Miss McAndrew had taught many pupils in her career, seen them grow up, maybe knew their secrets. She had hit on one that meant ruin for someone. He closed his notebook with a sigh. He had better go back in again and ask to see Geordie.

♦

Freda had regained a little bit of colour when she ushered Geordie in to speak to Hamish. If only the lassie could get another job, thought Hamish. On the other hand, maybe she would attract bullies wherever she went.

Geordie Cromarty was small and swarthy. He had hair as black as Penny’s and it grew low on his forehead. His eyes were the same peculiarly silvery light grey as Elspeth’s. People with such eyes were often credited with having the second sight, the ability to see the future. Hamish thought of the seer of Lochdubh, Angus Macdonald. Perhaps it might be an idea to call on him later and see if he’d heard anything. Hamish was sure most of Angus’s predictions were based on gossip.

“Now, Geordie,” began Hamish, “Penny tells me you were both out in Braikie one night and saw Miss McAndrew behaving strangely.”

“Aye, her looked like something out o’ a horror movie, big cloak and all.”

“Now, Penny can’t remember which night it was. Can you?”

“Sure. It was the night afore that auld biddy in the post office topped herself.”

“May I remind you that Miss Beattie was murdered?”

“Was she? Cool!”

“And did Miss McAndrew go straight on down the street?”

“We didnae stop tae look, man,” said Geordie, whose speech was an odd mixture of Highland dialect and Americanisms culled from movies.

“Did you experience any trouble with Miss McAndrew?”

“All the time. She told me to stay away from Penny. She said Penny was meant for better things.”

“What did you reply to that?”

Geordie looked at him with scorn. “Lissen, copper, when the auldies are getting at ye, ye say, ‘Right, miss, no, miss, sure, miss.’”

“Did Penny not find the attentions of Miss McAndrew embarrassing?”

“She got the best marks in her exams. I think Miss McAndrew fixed a lot of her papers.”

“Did Penny tell you that?”

“Naw, just a guess.”

“Your father was angry with Miss McAndrew, wasn’t he?”

“Aye, herself gave me a bad mark in an exam. History, it was. I’m good at history. He demanded to see the exam paper and she wouldn’t let him see it, so he said he’d write to the education board. My dad said she was taking her spite out on me because of Penny.”

“If you hear anything at all, Geordie, that might be relevant, let me know.”

Geordie looked as if someone had just pinned a deputy sheriff’s badge on him. His face beamed. “Sure, guv,” he said. “You can count on me.”

After Geordie had left, Freda said, “I thought Miss McAndrew was a bully, but I never thought she’d cheat.”

“It looks as if she might have done.” Hamish thanked her again and left. He made his way out of the school and along the quiet tree-lined street which led to the main thoroughfare. At the corner stood the community hall. He peered in the window. It was full of old people, watching television, playing cards, reading, or just chatting. He pushed open the door and went in. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked an elderly lady in a wheelchair.

“Mr. Blakey, ower there.”

Mr. Blakey was a thin man whose face was covered in a film of sweat. The room was not particularly warm. Hamish noticed he had a slight tic at the corner of his mouth and that his nails were bitten to the quick. The sweating, he judged, must be a nervous condition. Mr. Blakey, as he was to discover, walked about in a sort of tropical rain forest.

“Mr. Blakey?”

“That’s me.” Mr. Blakey took a damp handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

“How often do you meet here?”

“It’s open every morning. Then twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, we show videos in the evening.”

“There’s a Mrs. Harris. She seems quite lonely. I would like to bring her along.”

“What about this Friday?” suggested Mr. Blakey. “We’re showing Green Card at seven o’clock. I can’t afford the new videos.”

“And you probably pay for them yourself,” said Hamish, recognising one of the world’s few genuine do-gooders in this thin, nervous man.

“Well, funds are not that great.”

“Is this your full-time job? You’re what? In your fifties? Not old these days.”

“I worked at the bank for years. Had a bit of a nervous breakdown. This keeps me occupied.”

“I’ll come on Friday,” said Hamish. “I’ve got a lot of videos at home I’ll never look at again. I’ll bring them with me.”

Mr. Blakey thanked him and Hamish made his way to Mrs. Harris’s flat, where he told her about the old folks’ club. “Amy – Miss Beattie – was always on at me to go, but I didn’t want to be with a lot of old folk.”

“It’d be company for you. They’re showing a movie on Friday night. I’ll take you along.”

“I don’t know…”

“Give it a try. I’ll pick you up at a quarter to seven on Friday. That way you’ll not need to go yourself.”

She reluctantly agreed. Hamish’s motives were not entirely altruistic. He was sure an old folks’ club would be a good source of gossip.

♦

Pat Mallone enjoyed his day with Jenny. They toured round a few beauty spots, ate lunch, and wandered around Braikie, where he asked questions of passersby in a not very interested way. It was only when he had dropped Jenny off and returned to his office that he realised he hadn’t enough for a feature piece. Sam, his boss, looked at him in irritation. Pat had started off well, but Sam had noticed he was beginning to slope off on jobs. “You go over to Lairg and find out how sheep prices are doing,” he said. “Get off early in the morning.”

“But what about Braikie?”

“I’ll send Elspeth.”

“But I can do it!”

“You had your chance.”

♦

Hamish collected a reluctant Lugs at the end of a weary day when he felt he had got nowhere at all. He decided to put on his best suit and invite Jenny for dinner in the hope – although he would not admit it to himself – that Priscilla might get to hear of it.

He brushed his red hair until it shone and put on his one Savile Row suit, courtesy of a thrift shop in Strathbane, knotted a silk tie over his white shirt, and was heading for the kitchen door when it opened and Elspeth stood there.

“Don’t you ever knock?” asked Hamish.

“I heard you coming to the door. Goodness, you do look grand. Just as well I dressed up.”

“Why?” Elspeth was wearing a long fake fur over a filmy grey dress. Instead of her usual clumpy boots, she had on a pair of black high-heeled sandals.

Elspeth smiled. “Because I’m taking you for dinner.”

“I was going to take Jenny.”

“Tough. She’s eaten and is going to have an early night.”

“How do you know?”

The truthful answer to that was that Elspeth had met Jenny as that young lady was on her way to the police station to see Hamish. Elspeth, with true Highland aplomb, had cheerfully lied, telling Jenny that Hamish was stuck in Braikie until late, and Jenny had said that in that case she would take Mrs. Dunne’s offer of a meal and go to bed afterwards and read.

“Because she told me,” said Elspeth cheerfully. “Come along.”

Hamish looked at her suspiciously as she tripped along beside him on the waterfront. The mist had come down and little pearls of moisture shone in Elspeth’s hair.

Willie Lament, who used to work in the police force and was now a waiter at the Italian restaurant, greeted them as they entered. “The table at the window’s clear,” he said. “I’ll just be giving it another clean.”

“It looks chust fine,” said Hamish, irritated as always by Willie’s obsession with cleanliness and by the obscure feeling that he had somehow been hijacked by Elspeth.

Willie held a can of spray cleaner over the table. “Just a wee scoosh,” he pleaded.

“Oh, go on,” said Hamish impatiently. “Stand back, Elspeth. That man’s lungs must be full of Pledge.”

Willie eagerly polished the table until it shone. Finally they sat down. “It’s got worse,” said Hamish gloomily. “When they had the checked plastic covers, he scrubbed them until they faded. Now they’ve got wooden tables, you can hardly taste the food for the smell o’ furniture polish.”

“He used to work for you, didn’t he? How was he as a policeman?”

“Awful. He couldn’t get out on a case for either hanging around the restaurant courting Lucia or turning out the whole police station and scrubbing down the walls.” Lucia was a relative of the Italian owner and now married to Willie.

“Well, Lucia seems happy with him.”

“Of course, she is. She never has to do a hand’s turn around the house. What are you having?”

“I don’t feel adventurous tonight. I’ll just have the spag bol and a salad, and some garlic bread.”

“I’ll have the same.”

“And we’ll have a decanter of the house wine.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got to go to Braikie tomorrow,” said Elspeth after their order had been taken. “Pat was supposed to do a colour piece on Braikie for one of the nationals, but he spent his day romancing Jenny, so I’ve got to do it. I’m surprised he didn’t jump at the chance. He thinks he was meant for better things. Fortunately for him, although it was meant for the daily, they’ve decided to run it on the Sunday.”

“What sort of thing will you be writing?”

“Oh, you know, Hamish – The Village That Lives in Fear.”

“I wish you wouldn’t stir things up. Behind those closed curtains at night in Braikie, people will be whispering to each other, convinced they know who did it. The whole place will soon be engulfed in malice and rumour and spite.”

“Still, I might be able to ferret something out for you.”

“Maybe you’ll have another psychic experience.”

Elspeth shuddered. She had once fainted in Patel’s grocery when a murderer was in the shop. She never wanted to go through anything like that again.

“Talking of psychic experiences,” Hamish went on, “I thought of going to see Angus in the morning.”

“Why? I’m convinced our seer is an old fraud.”

“Maybe, but he hears things. I spoke to Priscilla. Jenny’s a friend of hers.”

Aha, thought Elspeth. Up here to chase Hamish and put Priscilla’s nose out of joint.

Their food arrived at that moment. Elspeth waited until Willie had left, then asked, “How did that go?”

“Fine. She said Jenny had a way of getting people to open up and talk to her.”

“Isn’t one Holmes good enough for you?”

“I sometimes feel I need fifty Holmeses.”

“Someone will break soon and gossip.”

“Oh, they’ll gossip, and maliciously, too, as long as deep in their hearts they know their suspicions are unfounded. But what if they find out it’s one of their own, so to speak, someone they like, someone they will defend from police investigation? Then the whole of Braikie will close down as tight as a drum.”

“Not necessarily. You’re thinking of Miss McAndrew. A lot of people probably disliked her. Her recent crush on young Penny must have made a lot of parents feel that their own precious offspring was being passed over. You’re forgetting about Miss Beattie. I did manage to find out that everyone liked her.”

“Wouldn’t her affair have diminished her respectability?”

“No. Billy Mackay, the postman, is well liked. His wife is not.”

“Is there anything else you’ve found out about the villagers?” asked Hamish. “I mean, anyone who was acting suspiciously? Anyone on that road to Miss McAndrew’s?”

“Nothing, really. Oh, I forgot one thing. There’s an old folks’ club in Braikie.”

“I know,” said Hamish. “I’m taking old Mrs. Harris there on Friday, you know, the one who found Miss Beattie’s body. She’s lonely and needs to get out more. Also, I may pick up some gossip.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Elspeth.

Hamish looked at her with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Couldn’t she wait to be asked? But instead he said, “What do you know about the old folks’ club?”

“It’s maybe not much. But when Mr. Blakey was setting it up, he asked the Currie sisters for advice.”

“So?”

“Well, that means the Currie sisters will know a good bit about Braikie and the people in it.”

Hamish groaned. The Currie sisters were twin spinsters of the parish and never lost a chance to criticise him.

“I’ll see them tomorrow,” he said gloomily, “after I see Angus.”

♦

The weather of Sutherland had made one of its mercurial changes when Hamish left the following morning, with Lugs on the leash, to walk to the seer’s. The sun blazed down and the mountains soared up into a pale blue sky. He was halfway up the hill at the back of the village when he sensed someone following him and turned round. Jenny came up, her face scarlet with exertion. “What is it?” he asked impatiently.

“I just wanted to apologise again,” said Jenny.

She looked so pretty and so distressed that Hamish said, “That’s behind us now. I’m on my way to grill our local seer. Like to come and meet him?”

“Oh, yes, please. Can he really tell the future?”

“I doubt it. But he can be a good source of gossip. I’ve got fish for him. He aye likes a present.”

“Oh, I haven’t got anything.”

“I’ll say the fish is from both of us.”

Hamish cast a calculating eye down on the top of Jenny’s curls. Priscilla had said that people talked to Jenny. Once again, he thought she might come in useful.

And so it seemed. For Angus’s welcome was at first sour as he ungraciously received a present of two trout from Hamish. “Could you no’ bring anything better?” he complained. “My freezer’s full of fish.”

“It’s a present from both of us,” said Hamish, stepping aside and revealing Jenny.

“Come ben,” said Angus, suddenly expansive. “So this is the wee lassie I’ve been hearing about. The one who’s a friend o’ Priscilla.”

Now, how did he hear that? wondered Hamish.

Angus’s cottage parlour was as picturesque as ever with a blackened kettle hanging on a chain over a peat fire. Three high-backed Orkney chairs were grouped in front of the fireplace, and Angus waved them towards them.

“Tea?” he asked Jenny.

“Yes, please,” said Jenny, looking around with interest.

Angus shuffled off to his kitchen at the back, which Hamish knew was generously furnished with the latest kitchen gadgets, including a large freezer. He also knew Angus had an electric kettle in the kitchen, but, for visitors, he preferred to go through the business of unhooking the old kettle from the fire.

When they all had cups of tea in their hands and Lugs was stretched out in front of the fire, Hamish began: “Now, Angus, there is the question of these murders. Have you heard anything?”

Angus stroked his long grey beard. His eyes fell on Jenny, who was leaning forward eagerly. “I do not hear. I see things,” he said portentously. Jenny let out an excited little gasp, and Angus beamed at her.

“What do you see?” asked Hamish patiently. Angus closed his eyes. The old grandfather clock in the corner gave an asthmatic cough and then chimed the hours. Jenny decided that it was worth all the humiliation of being found out to be here and witness this. Hamish, however, was becoming bored and restless. He knew Angus was putting on his usual act and wished he’d get over it and get down to what he had really heard.

Angus opened his eyes. They were staring and unfocussed. “Oh, God,” he said in a low voice. “Old people. Old people fainting and screaming. Something horrible. Something evil.” Lugs gave a sharp bark.

“Who? What?” demanded Hamish.

Angus’s pale eyes now focussed on him. “I think I’ll go and lie down,” he said.

“That’s all?” Hamish looked at him in irritation. “Old people fainting and screaming?”

“Leave me alone, laddie, and take your young lady away.” The seer got to his feet and began to shuffle towards the back premises.

“But have you heard anything?” called Hamish.

Angus turned. “You’ll let that one” – he pointed at Jenny – “get away like all the rest. You’re doomed to being a lonely man, Hamish.”

“Come on, Jenny,” said Hamish. “What a waste of time and trout.”

Outside in the sunshine, Jenny clutched his arm. “I think he really saw something.”

“Och, he’s an old fraud.”

“Where are you going now?” asked Jenny, scurrying to keep up with Hamish’s long strides.

“I’m going to call on the Currie sisters. They might have heard something.”

“Can I come?” pleaded Jenny.

“I don’t see why not.”

♦

Unfortunately for Jenny, the Currie sisters had found out what thongs looked like. Dr. Brodie, aware of the strait-laced sensibilities of the villagers, confined the magazines in his waiting room to conservative publications like Horse & Hound, Country Life, Scottish Field, and People’s Friend. But Nessie Currie had been to the dentist’s in Inverness the day before and had perused the magazines in that waiting room. They were of the girlie variety, full of detailed descriptions of orgasms, how to get your man, and sexual practices which the Currie spinsters had naively believed belonged solely in the brothel. There were also advertisements of saucy underwear.

They were remarkably alike, thought Jenny as two pairs of beady eyes behind thick glasses focussed on her. She was unfortunate in that the Currie sisters never let a thought go unsaid.

“I would have thought it very uncomfortable to wear, to wear,” said Jessie, who, like Browning’s thrush, had an irritating way of saying everything twice over.

“Are you talking to me?” asked Jenny.

“Who else? Who else?”

“Couldn’t believe our eyes. Catapult, indeed,” said Nessie.

Jenny’s face flamed red.

“We saw it illustrated in a dirty magazine,” said Nessie. “You’ll damage yourself wearing something like that. You go down to Strathbane to the draper’s in the main street and get yourself some respectable knickers with elastic at the knee.”

“Could we get down to business?” said Hamish crossly. “I have two murders to solve.”

“So why aren’t you solving them?” demanded Nessie. “Instead of going around with young lassies.”

“Young lassies,” echoed Jessie.

“I have to ask everyone if they’ve heard anything,” said Hamish, who was used to dealing with the Currie sisters. “Now, did either of you know Miss McAndrew or Miss Beattie?”

“Both,” they chorused.

“So tell me about them.”

“Miss McAndrew was a bit bossy,” said Nessie. “She had the reputation of being a good schoolteacher. She came to one of our church concerts last year. Miss Beattie, well, we thought her a respectable body. We didn’t know she had been…er…romancing the postman.”

“How did you hear that?”

“The women in Patel’s were all talking about it. So Jessie and me, we decided that Miss McAndrew was in love with the postman and jealous of Miss Beattie, so she strung her up.”

Hamish’s glance flicked to the new digital television set. The Currie sisters had obviously been exposed to a recent diet of American films.

“So who killed Miss McAndrew?” he asked.

“Why, postman Billy, of course. Now that we’ve solved your case for you, you can leave us alone.”

“That’s very clever of you,” said Jenny suddenly. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

Both sisters beamed on her. She looked so young and pretty and respectable in her new anorak and trousers. “The only trouble is,” said Jenny, “that Pat Mallone told me that Billy had an alibi. He was down in Strathbane at an army reunion the night Miss Beattie was murdered.”

“So what? So what?” demanded Jessie. “Where was he the day Miss McAndrew was murdered, when she was murdered?”

“Oh, of course you’re right,” said Jenny. “What do you think of Billy?”

“I don’t hold with adultery,” said Nessie. “But mind you, that wife of his is a fiend and Billy aye had the reputation of being a kind and decent man. If I were you, I’d be talking to Penny Roberts’s parents. Now that they know Miss McAndrew was writing those dreadful letters, they might come out with something about her that they didn’t realise before.”

“We’ll do that. What a good idea!” enthused Jenny.

“You know Mr. Blakey at the old folks’ club?” said Hamish.

“Senior citizens,” corrected Jessie. “He rightly came to us for advice. At the beginning, we vetted the videos for him in case there would be anything nasty. But we haven’t been there for a while.”

Both Jenny and Hamish rose to their feet. “You’re a good lassie,” said Jessie. “A good lassie. We hope to see you in church on Sunday, church on Sunday.”

“I’ll be there,” said Jenny with a warm smile.

The Currie sisters stood at their parlour window and watched Hamish and Jenny leave. Jenny stumbled and clutched at Hamish’s arm for support.

Nessie shook her head. “It’s that evil underwear. Enough to unbalance anyone. Do you think she’s a virgin?”

“She’d have to be, to be,” said Jessie. “I mean, it would be uncomfortable otherwise when you think – ”

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” said Nessie severely. “And you shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. But she’s a brand to be saved from the burning. We’ll have a go at her after church on Sunday.”