Jenny gave a shrug. “Why not?”
? Death of a Poison Pen ?
4
—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?”
