monsters and UFOs every week.'
'Just wondered.'
'Well, wonder away and go back to your sheep.' Hamish said goodbye and then debated what to do.
Then he decided to drive over to Glenanstey and have a word with Parry.
The birch trees around the chalet which Tommy had rented were weeping rainwater. Ferocious midges danced in and out of the raindrops. Hamish marvelled how the little beasts didn't get drowned. He knocked at Parry's door. There was no reply. He approached Tommy's chalet, wondering why there wasn't a policeman on duty. He tried the door and it opened. He went inside. Fingerprint dust was over everything. He stood in the doorway to the living room and looked around. The word processor stood on the table and beside it a small pile of typescript. He walked over and sat down at the table, took out a pair of thin gloves and put them on and began to read. Chapter one, which is all that there was, proved to be a disappointment. Tommy had meant his book to be an autobiography and the first chapter dealt with his school days. It was not very well written, the language being too flowery and loaded with similes.
He switched on the word processor and managed to find the beginning of the book. He ran through it. Only chapter one. Well, what had he expected? He had expected that Tommy had been killed because there was something incriminating in his manuscript.
He switched off the word processor and made sure that he had replaced the pages of manuscript exactly where he had found them.
Then he went outside and looked around. A policeman came up and stared at him suspiciously.
'I'm Hamish Macbeth from Lochdubh,' said Hamish easily.
'PC Peter Harvey,' said the policeman. 'I hope ye have nae been in there. I'm supposed to be guarding it. I just popped into the village for a cup of tea. It's a hell of a wet day.'
'So what's happening now?'
'Nothing much,' said Peter, lighting a cigarette. 'Strathbane says it's an overdose. The boy's parents will be along sometime to take away his stuff'
'Do you know if they found any drugs in the chalet?'
'Aye, they found a wee bit o' heroin.'
'I'll just take a stroll into the village myself and have a cup of tea. Good idea. If you see Parry, tell him I'll be back.'
Hamish walked through the rain to the village, which consisted of a small huddle of houses. There was no shop, the locals all driving to Lochdubh to do their shopping. But there was a tearoom run by a Miss Black, an incomer, English. She had set up her tearoom in what had once been the village store. As she provided strong tea and very good cakes and biscuits, she had built up a regular trade among the locals as well as people in other towns and villages in Sutherland, many driving in from as far away as Lairg.
As Miss Black had bought the village shop for very little and acted as baker and waitress, a complete one- woman operation, she managed to make a modest living.
She was an energetic old lady. Gossip had it she was a retired schoolteacher. Unlike a lot of incomers, life in the northern Highlands of Scotland obviously suited her. Hamish judged her to be almost seventy but she had very good skin and pink cheeks. Her snowy white hair was arranged in a simple style. She wore an ankle-length tartan skirt, a tartan waistcoat and a white frilly blouse.
The cafe was empty. 'The weather's keeping everyone away but the police,' she said when Hamish walked in. 'What can I get you?'
'Tea and two of your scones and butter, please,' said Hamish, taking off his oilskin and hanging it on a hook by the door. 'Dreich weather.'
'It is, indeed. I gather you're here because of that poor young man.'
'Yes.'
'So sad. I'd never have thought he would do a thing like that and him so happy with his young lady.'
Hamish sat down at a table and looked at her curiously. 'I didn't know he had a young lady.'
'That little girl who lives at Parry's chalets. Felicity, that's it.'
'I was led to understand, I don't know why, that they weren't that close.'
'I thought they were in love, the way they were giggling and laughing together. Now, I'll get your tea.'
Felicity had definitely said that she didn't know Tommy very well, that they were just neighbours. Why had she lied?
A group of wet tourists came in, chattering and laughing. Miss Black served Hamish and then went to attend to them. He ate his scones and drank his tea.
Half his brain was yelling at him to leave well alone. It was an accidental death. But the other half was fretting about Felicity.
He finished, rose, nodded to Miss Black and went out again. A high wind had risen, and as he left the village and walked the short distance to Parry's, he saw that above the rain clouds were rolling back, like a curtain drawn back by a giant hand. By the time he turned in at the gate of Parry's croft, sunlight was glittering on rain-washed grass and shining in puddles.
He waved to Peter, the policeman, and went straight to Felicity's chalet. The minute she opened the door to him and saw him, she began to cry. But Hamish felt there was something wrong, something stagy, about that crying. 'Just a few more questions,' he said.
She turned away and he followed her inside. She sat down, sniffling dismally into a tissue.
'Now, Miss Maundy,' said Hamish, removing his peaked cap and setting it on the table and taking off his wet oilskin, folding it and laying it on a bare bit of floor next to the fireplace, 'you told me that you and Tommy were just neighbours, nothing more, but I've been hearing reports that you were very close indeed.'
She took another tissue from the box and scrubbed her eyes and then stared at him defiantly. 'What if we were?'
'Nothing, but why did you lie?'
'Because you pigs always think the worst of everyone,' she spat out with sudden venom.
'Been in trouble with the police before?'
She stared at him mulishly.
He leaned forward. 'Look, Miss Maundy, all I'm trying to do is find out if Tommy just took an overdose. If you were fond of him, surely you'll want to help me find out about it.'
'I've been asked questions and questions,' said Felicity, 'and that detective told me it was a simple case of accidental death.'
The door opened and Peter, the policeman, walked in. 'A word wi' ye outside,' he said to Hamish.
Hamish followed him outside. 'I phoned Strathbane on my mobile to report in and said you was here asking questions. I've been told to tell you to go about your own duties. No point in having the two of us here.'
Hamish was almost glad that his mind had been made up for him. Forget about Tommy. Go back to a lazy, contented life.
'Til just get my coat and hat,' he said.
'I didn't mean to get you into trouble,' said Peter.
'That's all right.' Hamish went back into Felicity's chalet. She was still sitting where he had left her. He picked up his oilskin and put on his cap. 'Good day to you, Miss Maundy.' He made his way out through the small kitchen. There was a selection of vegetables on the draining board, lettuce, carrots, mushrooms.
His Highland curiosity wouldn't even let the smallest thing go by.
'You a vegetarian?' he called.
The reaction was amazing. Felicity darted into the kitchen, her face flaming. 'Get out!' she screamed. 'Stop poking and nosing around.''
He shrugged. 'I'm going.'
Now what was that all about? he wondered as he walked to his Land Rover.
By a great effort of will, he convinced himself in the following days that poor Tommy's death had indeed been an accident. He went out on his rounds, a burglary over in Braikie took up some time, as did his chores about the
