She snapped at Harriet that, yes, she could use the phone in the office provided she paid for the call.
Hamish waited anxiously in the deserted lounge. The other guests were hiding in their rooms, either to pack, but mostly, he guessed, to keep out of Jane’s way.
Harriet emerged from the office, her face shining. “Where can we talk?”
“Television room,” said Hamish. “I don’t think there’s anyone in there.”
They walked in together. For once the television set was silent. “My agent says there’s a block-buster all right, but he doesn’t know who it’s from or what it’s worth, or what it’s about. But it might just have a Scottish background. He says he’ll ask around. I’ve to phone back in a couple of hours.”
Elated, Harriet gave Hamish a kiss, but he was too absorbed in this new information to take much notice of it.
The next two hours seemed to drag past. They sat and watched a rerun of a Lassie movie without either of them seeing much of it, Then Harriet rose and went to phone her agent again.
“Come with me, Hamish,” she said. “Let’s see what he has found out.”
Hamish waited, tense, while she spoke to her agent again. Finally she put down the phone and took a deep breath. “Oh, Hamish, he found out the publisher and editor responsible for this book, but in fairness he cannot be expected to be told the details of a book not yet published. But get this! The word is that the advance was half a million dollars!”
Hamish performed a mad, erratic sort of Highland fling round the room while Harriet called the New York publisher and got through to the editor who was handling the book. Hamish stopped his cavorting and listened. He quickly gathered that the editor was amazed that a stranger should ask such questions about an unpublished book. He grabbed the phone and introduced himself. “I am a policeman investigating a death in Scotland,” he said. “The name of the dead woman is Heather Todd. Is that, by any chance, the name of the author?”
“No,” said the editor reluctantly.
“I can at least tell you that much. Heather Todd is not the name of the author.” Hamish thanked her nonetheless, and said he would be most grateful if he could call again. She agreed and he sadly put down the phone.
“Damn,” he said. “I’m now sure there’s something there. Damn. If only I could get to Glasgow.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow. We could go together,” said Harriet eagerly.
“I’ll need to find out if one of my relatives can put me up,” said Hamish cautiously. “My mother’s from Glasgow.”
“Be my guest,” said Harriet. “I’ll get us both hotel rooms.”
“But hotels are awfy expensive,” protested Hamish.
“Don’t worry. I’m enjoying this. Say yes, Hamish. You wouldn’t want the murderer to get away with it, now would you?”
“All right.” Hamish capitulated. “If you’re sure.”
???
The guests assembled on the wind-swept jetty at dawn the following day. “Going to be a rough crossing,” volunteered John Wetherby, practically the first words he had said to anyone since Jane’s outburst. Jane had run them all to the jetty in relays and had left without saying goodbye to any of them.
Hamish saw Angus Macleod walking up the jetty and went to meet him. “I’ve been thinking,” said Hamish, “when you went to get Jessie Maclean, was there any other passenger?”
“No, only herself,” said Angus.
“I don’t suppose you do these passenger trips often. I mean, the islanders will usually wait for the ferry.”
“Aye, that’s right. The only private passenger I’ve had was that sulky bitch o’ a maid from the hotel.”
“When was that?” asked Hamish sharply.
“Och, when I wass going to pick up that Jessie female at Oban. The maid heard I wass going and asked me to take her across.”
“What did she look like?”
“Red hair and a fat face.”
Hamish walked back to join Harriet. “Do you remember the first time we went to the bar in Skulag?” he asked.
Harriet nodded.
“Do you remember that maid at the hotel? She was just about to come down the stairs when she saw us and darted back.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Get a good look at her?”
“Good enough. She was fat with red hair. Why?”
“I thought I was on to something for a moment. When Angus went over to pick up Jessie, he took that maid across to Oban. I was hoping for a moment it might have been Jessie herself, trying to fool us.”
“But it couldn’t have been Jessie, even a Jessie in disguise,” said Harriet.
“Why?”
“Because immediately after Heather was found dead, Diarmuid phoned Jessie in Glasgow.”
“Aye, I’m grasping at straws. Here comes the ferry.” Hamish pointed out to sea, where a small boat was bucketing through the waves.
“And here comes Jane,” cried Harriet.
The jeep drove onto the jetty and Jane climbed out. She was wearing a pair of jeans which looked as if they had been painted on, high-heeled sandals, and a low-necked blouse worn under a short blue jacket.
She approached the shivering group with hands outstretched. “My dear friends,” she cried, “I could not possibly let you go like this. I have been in communion with my inner being and found peace. I do not bear any resentments, even to you, Hamish Macbeth. Let us all shake hands and part friends.”
Only John Wetherby made a sound of disgust. Sheila hugged Jane to her maternal bosom and thanked her for her hospitality with tears in her eyes. Diarmuid shook hands with Jane but did not raise his eyes to her face. Jessie gave her a firm handshake and the rest followed suit.
“I’ll stay if you like,” said John Wetherby harshly.
“I’ll be all right,” said Jane, the smile of rather fixed serenity she was wearing fading, to be replaced by a puzzled look. “Why?”
“I’ve got two more weeks’ leave and I can’t stand the idea of you being here on your own.”
“All right then,” said Jane, a genuine smile illuminating her face.
“Oh, dear,” said Hamish, watching the odd couple walk off together to the jeep. “I hope I’m not barking up the wrong tree.”
The ferry bumped against the jetty and bucketed up and down as they walked on board, carrying their luggage. Hamish and Harriet stood side by side at the rail, watching fish and lobsters being loaded on. “Where’s Geordie with his load, I wonder?” said Hamish.
“Here he comes.” Harriet pointed. The Fiat truck was racing down the village street. It hurtled onto the jetty. They could see Geordie’s face behind the wheel contorted with fear.
The truck kept on going, plunged over the corner of the jetty, missing the end of the ferry, and sank into the sea like a stone.
Hamish ran down the gangplank, tearing off his coat as he went. He was about to plunge into the sea when Geordie’s head appeared above the waters, bobbing like a cork. He swam to the iron ladder at the side and crawled up it, dragged the final few rungs by helping hands.
“What happened?” demanded Hamish.
“He tried tae kill me,” said Geordie. “But I got the better o’ him. Himself’s dead now.”
“Was your truck insured?” asked Hamish.
“Tae the hilt, man,” panted Geordie. “Tae the hilt. I’ll hae a bran” new beastie soon enough.”
Hamish darted back to the ferry and ran on board, picking up his coat on the way.
The gangplank was pulted up, the ropes released, and the ferry chugged out to sea.
“He shouldn’t have kicked it,” mourned Harriet.
“Havers,” said Hamish bitterly. “That brother o’ Angus’s tricked me and did a shoddy job.”
