“And the obvious suspect is Alison.”
“Yes, it seems as if she inherits the lot. Money’s usually the root of all murders, or passion, but the guests seem a weak, mercenary lot. Maggie told them she would give her money to the one she married and that she didn’t expect to live long. Mind you, in that case, why didn’t whoever wait till she changed her will? But I can’t see Alison doing it.”
“Why not?”
“That one would dream about killing Maggie, but never actually do it. Or if by any remote chance she did, she would use poison. It’s more of a man’s murder. Crispin Witherington would know all about car engines. I’ll find out about the others.”
The kitchen door opened and Alison Kerr walked in. “Oh!” she said, looking at Priscilla in dismay. Priscilla half rose to leave, saw the look in Hamish’s eye, and sat down again, putting an affectionate hand on Hamish’s arm.
“Hamish!” said Alison, taking a chair on the other side of Hamish and gazing into his eyes. “You have to do something. The press keep badgering me. They ring the bell and shout through the letterbox. What am I to do?”
“You get Mrs. Todd to move into one of the spare bedrooms,” said Hamish wearily, “and you get her to answer the door, and before you do that, you shut the gates to the house and don’t open them unless you want to drive out.”
“But you have to come up and tell these reporters they are trespassing!”
“I cannae do a thing. There are no laws of trespass in Scotland. You’ve got four men in the house. Can’t one of them cope?”
“Peter’s been marvellous. He brought me down here. He’s waiting outside. He knew the press would be coming so he parked his car outside, a little down the main road. So we crept out through the garden when the press weren’t looking.”
“Did ye no’ think of just walking through them and saying ‘No comment’? Obviously not. Get Mrs. Todd. She’ll handle them.”
“But I can’t pay her to stay all night!”
“You phone the solicitors in the morning,” said Hamish patiently, “and make sure you inherit. If you do, you ask them for what money you need. You could even put a down payment on a car.”
“A car! Oh, Hamish, you are clever,” said Alison, throwing her arms around him, all her anger at his previous cruelty forgotten.
“Yes, yes,” said Hamish testily, unwinding her arras from about his neck. “I would appreciate it, Alison, if you would phone me next time you want to come here. As you can see, I am entertaining company.”
Alison blushed. Priscilla gave her a cool look and said, “Your friend must be wondering what’s keeping you.”
“I’m going,” said Alison crossly. “You don’t own Hamish, you know.”
“My, my. Isn’t money the wonderful thing,” said Hamish as Alison went out, slamming the door behind her. “The worm’s beginning to turn.”
“I don’t like that girl one bit,” said Priscilla.
“Och, she’s all right. She’ll soon be married to another car.”
Alison tried to remind herself on the road home that she should be grieving for Maggie, but she could not feel particularly sad. How much had Maggie left? Thousands! And a car! A darling little car, all her very own.
“We’ll look through her papers as soon as we get back,” said Peter with a smile. “I know what you’re thinking about. You want a car of your own.”
“Oh, Peter, you’re sometimes so perceptive, you scare me,” breathed Alison.
Alison had not searched for the will before, feeling it would be just too vulgar and insensitive. But she and Peter went straight to the study as soon as they got in and began to search through the desk. Alison was beginning to despair when Peter found it in the very front of the top drawer where it suddenly seemed to materialise in that irritating way that things do when you want them desperately – as if the household imps had got tired of the game of hide and seek and decided to let you find whatever it was you were looking for.
Alison opened it up. Her own name seemed to leap up at her and then she read on, frowning.
“What is it?” asked Peter. “Hasn’t she left you anything?”
“Yes, but this is a new will. This is a copy. She must have stopped off in Inverness on her road home and made out a new one. Listen! She says that if I die, the money and the proceeds from this house and her place in London are to be divided equally among the four of you, “the only men who ever really loved me,” that’s what she says.”
Peter looked at her thoughtfully. “Then you’d better just hope that one of us isn’t the murderer,” he said.
Alison did what Hamish had suggested. The lawyers said their Mr. Brady was on his road to see her and she could make any arrangements with him. But, yes, they would most certainly advance her any money she wanted.
Mr. Brady arrived and read out the contents of the will to a stunned audience. For Maggie had been worth over a million pounds in investments and property. “No wonder,” said Peter dryly, when the lawyer had left, “that they were so keen to lend you money.”
Mrs. Todd agreed to live in. She demanded three hundred pounds a week. Alison blinked slightly at that but readily agreed to pay her. The terror of the press receded. Mrs. Todd gave them all a piece of her mind and then firmly locked the main gates in their faces.
And while all this was going on, Hamish was dealing with a new superior. Blair had been taken off the case, although detectives MacNab and Anderson had been left on it. This detective chief inspector was called Ian Donati. His parents had come from Italy and settled in the Highlands. He was thin and sallow with clever black eyes and a lilting Highland voice. A Highland Italian, thought Hamish, thank God, having all the average Scotsman’s respect for Italians.
Donati produced Hamish’s report and questioned him closely. “As you seem to have a record for solving murders, I think it would be better if you accompanied us to Baird’s house and sit in while we interview everyone all over again,” said Donati. “Forensic men were working all night on that car to come up with the same results as your local mechanic.” His manner was polite and impersonal.
Before they went into the bungalow, Anderson drew Hamish aside. “Why did ye land poor auld Blair in the shit?” he asked. “Blair’s a good steady worker.”
“I thought you didnae like the auld scunner!” exclaimed Hamish.
“I’d rather hae him than Donati.”
Hamish grinned. “Your common nose has been put out o’ joint. Donati’s too classy for ye. No swearin’, no slacking off, no boozing.”
“Well, he shouldnae give himself airs. His folks own a restaurant in Strathbane.”
“And your dad spent most of his life on the dole. You’re an awfy snob, Anderson. That man’s a breath o’ fresh air to me. Come on.”
The guests and Alison and Mrs. Todd did not like Donati. They found his quiet, dry manner and probing questions terrifying. Hamish watched and listened. Without quite saying it, Donati seemed to lay the cold facts out before the four guests: all were reported to be in need of money and were prepared to marry a woman that none of them had professed to like anymore. They all secretly blamed Alison for having dished the dirt on them to the police, not knowing it was Mrs. Todd who had told the police in no uncertain terms that she had overheard each of the men saying that Maggie had changed a lot and all for the worse.
The four men then gave their fingerprints and signed their statements and were told they could leave any time they wanted provided they let the police know where they could be contacted. But all said they had taken leave from work and would stay. It was obvious to Hamish that Alison was to be the new target for their affections and perhaps Peter Jenkins had been clever at getting in first.
But Peter Jenkins thought that Alison might be capable of falling for, say, the pop singer and shrewdly thought that Alison clung to him because, until the reading of the will, he had been the only one to be particularly nice to her.
He was therefore relieved when Alison the next day asked him shyly if he would drive her down to the
