Penny’s beautiful brow furrowed in thought. “No. I mean, she didn’t look Greek.”
So there
“You’re bound to know sooner or later,” he said. “Miss McAndrew appears to have been the author of those poison-pen letters. Did you have any idea she was writing them?”
For once, Penny looked shocked out of her normal composure. “I’d never have guessed,” she said. “I mean, who would think a head teacher would do something like that? Mind you, she always seemed to have taken a spite to someone, always complaining.”
“Did she ever complain about Miss Beattie?”
“Well, she did. Let me think. Said something about the way she was going on was disgraceful. Oh, there’s something else weird.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you if you don’t let on.”
“Penny, I promise to let anything you say to me stay between these four walls – unless, of course, it relates directly to the murder.”
“It’s like this. Geordie Cromarty…”
“The ironmonger’s son.”
“Yes, him. He phoned me one night and said if I slipped out, he would buy me fish and chips. I’d been on this diet, see. If you’re going to be on television, you have to be thin. I was fair starving so I said I’d meet him. I slipped out by the bedroom window and met him in the main street.”
“About what time of night would that have been?”
“It was just before eleven. He said to hurry up because the chippy closed at eleven. So we were going to the chippy and you know what Braikie’s like at that time of night – dead as a doornail. Then I saw on the other side of the lights from the chippy’s window this cloaked figure. “Someone’s coming,” I said. So we hid in a doorway. She passed us. She had this long black cloak with a hood right down over her face. A gust of wind blew the hood back and it was her and she looked real weird.”
“Miss McAndrew?”
“Herself. She was muttering something under her breath. I tell you, it gave us both a scare. We stayed in the doorway until we were sure she had gone, and by the time we got to the chippy, it had closed.”
“Didn’t you think it odd that your former head teacher should be behaving so strangely?”
“Grown-ups are all weird, if you ask me,” said Penny with all the brutality of youth. “I’m never going to get like that.”
“What night did you see her?”
“A few nights back. Can’t remember which one.”
Hamish asked her a few more questions and then dismissed her.
He turned to Freda. “Did you think Miss McAndrew was weird?”
“No. Like I said, I thought she was a bully. I did think she was overfond of Penny, but teachers sometimes get harmless crushes on pupils. Sometimes it’s the other way round.” A smile lifted her pale lips. “Mind you, there’s no one in this school to get a crush on.”
Hamish thanked her and left. He sat on a wall outside the school and made rapid notes.
Miss McAndrew had taught many pupils in her career, seen them grow up, maybe knew their secrets. She had hit on one that meant ruin for someone. He closed his notebook with a sigh. He had better go back in again and ask to see Geordie.
¦
Freda had regained a little bit of colour when she ushered Geordie in to speak to Hamish. If only the lassie could get another job, thought Hamish. On the other hand, maybe she would attract bullies wherever she went.
Geordie Cromarty was small and swarthy. He had hair as black as Penny’s and it grew low on his forehead. His eyes were the same peculiarly silvery light grey as Elspeth’s. People with such eyes were often credited with having the second sight, the ability to see the future. Hamish thought of the seer of Lochdubh, Angus Macdonald. Perhaps it might be an idea to call on him later and see if he’d heard anything. Hamish was sure most of Angus’s predictions were based on gossip.
“Now, Geordie,” began Hamish, “Penny tells me you were both out in Braikie one night and saw Miss McAndrew behaving strangely.”
“Aye, her looked like something out o’ a horror movie, big cloak and all.”
“Now, Penny can’t remember which night it was. Can you?”
“Sure. It was the night afore that auld biddy in the post office topped herself.”
“May I remind you that Miss Beattie was murdered?”
“Was she? Cool!”
“And did Miss McAndrew go straight on down the street?”
“We didnae stop tae look, man,” said Geordie, whose speech was an odd mixture of Highland dialect and Americanisms culled from movies.
“Did you experience any trouble with Miss McAndrew?”
“All the time. She told me to stay away from Penny. She said Penny was meant for better things.”
“What did you reply to that?”
Geordie looked at him with scorn. “Lissen, copper, when the auldies are getting at ye, ye say, ‘Right, miss, no, miss, sure, miss.’”
“Did Penny not find the attentions of Miss McAndrew embarrassing?”
“She got the best marks in her exams. I think Miss McAndrew fixed a lot of her papers.”
“Did Penny tell you that?”
“Naw, just a guess.”
“Your father was angry with Miss McAndrew, wasn’t he?”
“Aye, herself gave me a bad mark in an exam. History, it was. I’m good at history. He demanded to see the exam paper and she wouldn’t let him see it, so he said he’d write to the education board. My dad said she was taking her spite out on me because of Penny.”
“If you hear anything at all, Geordie, that might be relevant, let me know.”
Geordie looked as if someone had just pinned a deputy sheriff’s badge on him. His face beamed. “Sure, guv,” he said. “You can count on me.”
After Geordie had left, Freda said, “I thought Miss McAndrew was a bully, but I never thought she’d cheat.”
“It looks as if she might have done.” Hamish thanked her again and left. He made his way out of the school and along the quiet tree-lined street which led to the main thoroughfare. At the corner stood the community hall. He peered in the window. It was full of old people, watching television, playing cards, reading, or just chatting. He pushed open the door and went in. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked an elderly lady in a wheelchair.
“Mr. Blakey, ower there.”
Mr. Blakey was a thin man whose face was covered in a film of sweat. The room was not particularly warm. Hamish noticed he had a slight tic at the corner of his mouth and that his nails were bitten to the quick. The sweating, he judged, must be a nervous condition. Mr. Blakey, as he was to discover, walked about in a sort of tropical rain forest.
“Mr. Blakey?”
“That’s me.” Mr. Blakey took a damp handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
“How often do you meet here?”
“It’s open every morning. Then twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, we show videos in the evening.”
“There’s a Mrs. Harris. She seems quite lonely. I would like to bring her along.”
“What about this Friday?” suggested Mr. Blakey. “We’re showing
“And you probably pay for them yourself,” said Hamish, recognising one of the world’s few genuine do- gooders in this thin, nervous man.
“Well, funds are not that great.”
“Is this your full-time job? You’re what? In your fifties? Not old these days.”
