daughter to ‘do something.’
Usually that would have been enough to put Priscilla off, but she was becoming more and more fascinated by Perry.
The hotel generator could be heard faintly through the noise of the storm outside. She paced up and down the hall. What was taking them so long? Had they gone to bed together? Perish the thought!
Priscilla decided that she had better retreat to the lounge and look as if she were reading a magazine.
It was a full half hour before they both appeared.
“I’ll get the wine,” said Priscilla.
“Don’t you just ring the bell?” asked Perry.
“Only a few of the staff live in, and they are cleaning the rooms.”
“She moves like a dancer,” said Perry appreciatively. “Very graceful girl.”
“I brought down my laptop,” said Elspeth in a dull little voice. “I thought that after we have our mulled wine, we could go though everything. There might be a clue somewhere.”
“All right. At least if someone wants to kill you, they won’t get anywhere near the hotel in this weather.”
“Something’s up!” Elspeth cocked her head to one side like a bird. Then she ran out of the lounge, through the hall and out the open door. Very faintly, muffled by the roar of the storm, she heard the church bell. But it couldn’t be ringing for Catriona. She had already checked that the funeral was off. The bell, apart from Sundays, was only rung for an emergency.
This she told to Perry who had appeared beside her. “I’d better get back down there,” she said. “There might be a story. I’ll get the photographer.”
“Elspeth, I am not going out into that screaming wilderness again.”
“Suit yourself.”
¦
The emergency was that Mr. Patel’s small son, Bertie, had gone missing. In answer to his frantic cries for help, Hamish had rushed to the church and rung the bell, telling the village men who had struggled to answer its summons to start searching. He then did a quick check of the bedroom that Bertie shared with his brothers. On Bertie’s pillow was an open book, the story of the Ice Queen.
Bertie was only six years old and a dreamy boy. Had he gone out to look for the mythical queen?
¦
Priscilla came back with a tray of mulled wine. “Where’s Elspeth?”
“Our intrepid reporter thought she heard the church bell ringing. Her photographer is refusing to move.”
Priscilla put down the tray. “I’ll go after her. She shouldn’t be on her own. And something serious must have happened.”
“Now I feel like a heel,” said Perry. “I’ll come with you.”
¦
Elspeth skied towards the village. She was halfway there when she realised the wind was slacking. She dug her poles in and came to an abrupt stop. Something was lying on the road.
She went forward. It was a child. A faint whimper escaped it.
Elspeth dragged the child to its feet. A tear-stained brown face looked up at her.
“You’re Patel’s boy,” said Elspeth. “What are…? Never mind. I’m going to stoop down and I want you to get on my back. Right. Now hang on very tightly and I’ll get you home.”
She dug in her poles and sped down the road, nearly taking off at the humpbacked bridge.
Elspeth went straight to Patel’s. Mrs. Patel burst into tears as her boy slid down off Elspeth’s back.
“Get blankets,” said Elspeth. “I’ll go and get Dr. Brodie.”
Word spread rapidly that me boy had been found. Matthew Campbell had taken a photograph of Elspeth as she sped into the village with the boy on her back. He would add it to his stories about the blizzard and send a copy out to the nationals.
¦
By the time Elspeth returned with Dr. Brodie, the shop was full of people, including Perry and Priscilla. A grateful Mr. Patel hugged Elspeth, tears of gratitude running down his cheeks. “Bertie had been reading a story about me Ice Queen. He asked me where she lived. He said he had seen her in the shop. He meant you, Miss Halburton-Smythe, because you look like the pictures in his book. So I said that she lived in that big castle up on the hill.”
“Take me upstairs to the boy,” said Dr. Brodie.
Hamish had been standing listening. He suddenly laughed. “The Ice Queen! That is a verra good description.”
“Shut up!” said Priscilla and walked out of the shop.
¦
The following morning Hamish went back to studying his notes and reports until his head ached. If the murderer was a woman, men he was looking at someone in the village. He went back to the old guest list for the hotel. No hope there.
Then he went into the office and looked at the chart on me wall. Four murders all leading down to the sign that read SEX.
Wait a minute, he thought. Have I been missing the obvious? The one person with a clear motive is Fergus. What if Sky in the cafe had been lying? Or what if she wanted a bit of the limelight? That was the trouble with so many reality programmes on television – everyone wanted fame these days without necessarily working at anything to achieve it. Maybe she had seen herself called as a witness at a murder trial and being photographed afterwards.
Hamish wondered if the roads had been ploughed all the way over to Cnothan.
He dressed warmly, got into the Land Rover, and drove off. He was in luck. The roads had been ploughed. The sun was low in the sky. It never rose very high in the winter. He parked in the main street and entered the cafe. The owner said it was Sky’s day off, but that she lived in the last house at the top of the main street.
Hamish went there and rang the bell. A thin, faded blonde woman wearing too much make-up answered the door. “I am Police Constable Macbeth from Lochdubh,” said Hamish. “Might I be having a wee word with Sky?”
“What’s she done?”
“Nothing as far as I know,” said Hamish mildly. “Am I talking to Sky’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“When’s her birthday?”
“Tenth o’ June. Why are you asking?”
Hamish’s heart felt suddenly heavy. “Never mind. Just call her.”
“Go in and have a seat. I’ll get her.”
After a few moments, Sky slouched in. She was a sulky-looking girl, chewing a great wad of gum. Her hair was dyed an improbable red and she was thin to the point of anorexia.
“You lied to me,” said Hamish severely.
“I did not. I member that fellow fine.”
“It was not your birthday for a start. Your birthday was in June.”
“I just said that to make you believe me. But he was in that day, honest.”
“So what makes you sure it was that day?”
“I was going to go clubbing in Strathbane that evening but the mist got so bad, me and my friends didn’t go.”
“There have been other foggy days,” said Hamish severely. “You shouldnae ever lie to the police. If I find out Fergus wasnae in your cafe, I’ll be back to arrest you for wasting police time.”
¦
Hamish drove back to Lochdubh. He parked on the waterfront and walked up to Fergus’s cottage. Fergus ushered him in. “A dram, Hamish?”
“No. This is serious. That girl at the cafe, she lied about the day she saw you being her birthday. Did you get to her in any way? Pay her?”
“Hamish, what are you talking about? I was there!”
