chance to prove his mettle.
Hamish drove to the captain’s house in Drim and rang the doorbell. A tall tweedy woman answered it. “I am Miss Davenport, my poor brother’s sister,” she announced, “and Mrs. Davenport has had enough of the police. Good day to you.”
The door began to close. Hamish put his boot in it.
“Neffer let it be said that a lady like yourself is impeding the police in a murder enquiry,” remarked Hamish, the sudden sibilance of his highland accent showing he was annoyed.
“Who is it?” Milly appeared behind her sister-in-law. “Oh, I remember you. Please come in.”
“Milly, I do not think you are up to any more questioning,” said Philomena.
“As long as it isn’t that man called Blair, I don’t mind. Come in. Please leave us, Philomena.”
She led the way into the kitchen. “My name is Hamish Macbeth from Lochdubh,” said Hamish.
“Yes, I remember. I phoned you.”
“You’re probably tired of questions…”
“I don’t mind,” said Milly, “so long as you don’t shout at me.”
“I am not the shouting kind.”
“Tea?”
“That would be grand.”
Milly plugged in the kettle. Hamish moved quickly to the kitchen door and jerked it open. Philomena, who had been leaning against it on the other side, nearly fell into the kitchen. “A bit o’ privacy, please,” said Hamish and shut the door in her face.
“I wish I could do that,” said Milly mournfully. “She is so like her brother.”
“Well, it’ll take you a good bit of time to get over your husband’s death.”
“Milk?”
“No, chust plain. Thank you. Now, Mrs. Davenport, there is one odd thing. Why would your husband leave his wallet behind, or do you think it was taken from his body?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he planned to be away for long, but it was odd that he said if anyone called looking for him, I should say he had gone abroad.”
“That does sound as if he was frightened of someone.”
“Well, he did take against people. He had a phone call the evening before. When we lived in Surrey, he did annoy people.”
“In what way?”
“Well, he often had get-rich-quick ideas and would try to rope in some of his old army friends. I remember one of them wanted money back and shouted a lot.”
“Who was it?”
“I can’t rightly remember.”
“So he could have tricked someone else out of money?”
“It’s possible. Oh, dear. Maybe they’ll come looking for me.”
“I shouldnae think so. Would you like me to put a guard on the house?”
“It would certainly make me feel better.”
“I’ll send someone over. It doesn’t matter what the weather’s like. Keep him outside the house. We’ll put him on night duty. Why did you come up here?”
“Henry started going through house advertisements for property in the north of Scotland. I didn’t want to go. I liked Guildford. We had a nice little bungalow and I had a few friends.”
“I want you to think hard and make me out a list of his old army friends. Which regiment?”
“The Surrey Infantry.”
“I won’t be bothering you any more just now. I’ll call tomorrow. You look as if you could do with some fresh air. Why don’t you walk down to the village with me?”
“Philomena doesn’t like me associating with the locals.”
“Then she’ll chust need to lump it. Get your coat.”
Chapter Two
—Emily Dickinson
“You’d get a rare view of the loch if it weren’t for these bushes and trees,” commented Hamish as they walked down the short drive.
“I wouldn’t know how to begin to get rid of them,” said Milly.
“I know a couple o’ forestry workers who would be glad of a bit of extra work. They can keep the wood as payment.”
“I don’t know what Philomena would think…”
“It’s your house now. Not hers,” said Hamish sharply. “I assume you inherit it?”
“Yes, the police left me the will. Philomena phoned the solicitor in Inverness. She was quite angry about that. We had a joint account so money won’t be a problem, says the bank.”
“And did he leave a lot of money?”
“Enough to keep me for a few years, but after that I’ll need to try to sell this place. I will get his army pension, of course.”
“Has your sister-in-law any money of her own?”
“Yes, she is quite rich, I believe. You see, poor Henry’s parents had a falling-out with him and left everything to Philomena.”
“It seems to me, Mrs. Davenport, that she should leave quite soon.”
“I daren’t ask her.”
“You can’t have her staying on unless of course she’s helping with the household expenses.”
“Well, she isn’t,” said Milly in a faltering voice. “The trouble is, Mr. Macbeth, I am just like Henry always said I was—no backbone. What a depressing loch that is! Like a long black finger pointing out to the Atlantic.”
Although a pale sun was shining down on the huddle of village houses which lay on a little plateau above the sea, the light did not penetrate the dark waters of the loch where the steep mountains on either side plunged straight down, their scree-covered flanks only holding a few stunted bushes.
In the general store, Hamish stood patiently whilst Milly talked shyly to Ailsa Kennedy, the red-haired wife of the owner, and to two of the villagers, Edie Aubrey and Alice MacQueen.
Ailsa asked, “What do you do about the cleaning? That’s a rare big house to dust.”
Milly blushed. “We only used a few of the rooms. I do what I can.”
“You puir wee lassie,” said Ailsa. “You need help. We’ll be along this afternoon.”
“I d-don’t know what my sister-in-law…”
“Nonsense. She’ll be glad o’ the help. Will you be having a wake after the funeral?”
“I don’t know when the procurator fiscal is going to release the body. Besides, Henry did not believe in anything.”
“We’ll get the Church of Scotland minister,” said Edie. “He would rather send a body to the next world with a Christian burial than have the poor soul put in the ground with nothing at all. I’ll ask him.”
