Mackenzie.”
“That’s all right, then,” said Mrs. Wellington. “I thought for a moment you were playing fast and loose with another female.”
“Are they all like that in this village?” asked Robin. “I mean, is it inbreeding or something?”
“Chust bloody-minded nosiness, that’s all.”
“Hamish!” called a voice.
Hamish swung round. Elspeth came hurrying along the waterfront. She was wearing jeans and a faded T·shirt. “We should get together soon,” said Elspeth.
Hamish introduced Robin and then said, “I honestly don’t know when I’ll be free.”
“You owe me some of your time,” said Elspeth.
“Call round at the police station at nine this evening,” said Hamish. “I should be through by then.”
Elspeth’s odd silver eyes surveyed him. “Enjoy your dinner?”
“Yes, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind…”
“Enjoy it while supplies last,” said Elspeth. “There’s misery coming from that quarter.”
Hamish made a sound of disgust and walked on rapidly. Robin hurried to keep up with him.
“What on earth was she talking about?”
“Oh, she thinks she’s psychic.”
“Really? I hope we’re nearly at this boarding house. I’ve had enough of nutters for one day.”
But at the boarding house, Mrs. Dunne said Mrs. Fleming had decided to walk up to the Tommel Castle Hotel to see her ex-husband.
“Why, I wonder?” said Hamish. “We’d better drive up there, Robin.”
¦
When they reached the hotel, Hamish said, “I’ll get Mr. Johnson to send someone up to fetch her down here. I don’t want to end up stepping on Jimmy’s toes.”
Mr. Johnson told them to wait in the lounge. There was no sign of Bessie, the maid. Hamish decided to interview her later.
Dora Fleming came in and slumped down in an armchair opposite them.
“You lied to me,” said Hamish.
“Whit?”
“You got a divorce from Jock because he had been beating you.”
“So I didnae like to tell folks that while he’s paying alimony.”
“And why did you really come up here?”
“He was behind a bit wi’ the payments. It’s all right now.”
“Why are you still here and visiting him, too?” asked Robin.
“He’s the father o’ ma weans.”
“How did you meet him?” asked Hamish.
The heavy accent dropped from her voice as she said, with a toss of her head, “It was at a gallery opening in Glasgow.”
“So it was not while you were working as a prostitute?” asked Robin.
Hamish had heard of people’s eyes turning red with rage and had put that description down to poetic license, but now he could swear he saw red glints of fury in Dora’s eyes.
“You bastards!” she howled. “You never let a body alone to lead a decent life.”
“How did you meet Jock?” asked Hamish patiently.
“It was at a gallery opening,” she said sulkily. “A man friend – okay, a client – was a bit drunk, and when we was finished, he said he’d take me to a party. That’s where I met Jock at the gallery. He said he’d like to do a portrait of me.”
Hamish surveyed her. “I thought Jock only painted landscapes and that this portrait of Miss Halburton-Smythe was a one-off.”
Dora gave a contemptuous sniff. “That agent o’ his told him to stick to landscapes because portraits werenae his thing, but Jock said it was a good chat-up line.”
I must see Priscilla, thought Hamish anxiously. If Angela is right and jealousy was behind the murder of Effie, then she could be at risk. Or if Jock did it, she’ll still be at risk.
He got to his feet. “Could you carry on with the questioning, Robin?”
Robin looked at him severely. “And just where do you think you are going?”
“I’ve got to pee,” said Hamish.
He headed toward the door. Now for Priscilla.
? Death of a Dreamer ?
8
—W. S. Gilbert
Priscilla was crossing the reception area when Hamish stopped her. “It’s urgent,” he said.
“All right. Let’s go into the lounge.”
“No, not there. Robin’s interviewing Jock’s wife.”
“Who’s he?”
“
“Let’s use the office, then. Mr. Johnsons gone out shopping.” Priscilla selected a key from a whole bunch of them on a chain fastened around her slim waist.
“You look like the chatelaine of the castle. Do you have to work? Where are your parents?”
“They’ve gone to visit the Derwents over in Caithness. I don’t mind.”
She unlocked the door. “Help yourself to coffee and tell me what it’s all about.”
Hamish poured himself a mug from the coffee machine in the corner and turned and raised an eyebrow. “Not for me,” said Priscilla.
“Its like this,” said Hamish. “We were interviewing Jock’s ex-wife. She says Jock only offers to paint a woman’s portrait as a way of chatting her up.”
“He seems harmless enough, Hamish. I’m vain enough to want this portrait.”
“Priscilla, he’s got a record of assault. Angela Brodie had an idea that maybe jealousy was behind these murders. If that is the reason Effie was killed, then you could be next.”
“I don’t think so,” said Priscilla with maddening calm. “The portrait seems to be coming along all right. He’s just a large, friendly man. His only interest in me is as a subject.”
“I neffer thought of you as being naive,” said Hamish.
The door of the office opened, and Robin’s voice said sharply, “What are you doing, Hamish? Jimmy has taken Jock off to the police unit for further questioning, and he wants us there.”
Hamish turned in the doorway. “Remember what I said, Priscilla.”
“Remember what?” asked Robin as they got into the Land Rover.
Hamish told her about his fears.
When he finished, Robin said, “So you think the murderer might have been a woman?”
“It’s possible. I think that ex-wife of his could be capable of murder.”
¦
At the mobile police unit, they found Jimmy questioning Jock. “You see why we are so suspicious,” said Jimmy. “You lied first time round. What’s to say you aren’t lying again?”
“I’ve told you and told you,” said Jock. “I had a late dinner with Betty, and then we both went to our respective rooms. That would be around eleven o’clock in the evening.”
Robin studied Jock while the questioning went on. She could see what attracted women to this apparently friendly bear of a man. At one point in the questioning, he looked across at her and made a funny face, and she had
