Annie shook her head. “It is strange. Yet have you thought all the same that there might not be a mystery?”
“I’ll believe that when I see Peter Hynd in the flesh again.”
“You could ask the new owner of his cottage. He’s turned up with his wife and a squad of Geordie builders. Surely he saw Peter at some time during the negotiations.”
“Good idea,” said Hamish.
He left the manse and made his way to the cottage, hearing before it came in sight the unaccustomed sounds of busy activity. It was then that it struck him that Drim was normally a very quiet village. In Lochdubh, people stood chatting on the waterfront and calling to each other over garden fences. The air was always full of the sound of the boats chugging along the loch and the lap of waves on the shore.
As he approached the cottage, he saw that there was a mobile home parked at the side and two caravans in the garden in front. The corrugated-iron roof was being taken off. A Stocky man came out of the mobile home and stopped when he saw Hamish approach.
Hamish held out his hand. “Welcome to the Highlands.” The man shook the offered hand, a look of surprise on his face. “A welcome makes a nice change,” he said. He had thinning hair, very black eyes, and a flat face and thin mouth. “My name’s Apple,” he said. “Fred Apple.”
“I am a police sergeant from Lochdubh,” said Hamish, “but I am here on holiday.”
“I should have known you weren’t from this neck of the woods,” said Mr. Apple. “But I suppose once people here get to know us, they‘ll be friendly enough.” The perpetual hopeful cry of the incomer, thought Hamish.
“I am interested in the whereabouts of the previous owner,” said Hamish, “Did you meet him?”
Mr. Apple shook his head. “All done through my lawyers and his and the estate agent.”
“May I see the deeds to the house?”
“They are down in Newcastle. I’ll bring them up next week.”
“I just wanted to check Mr. Hynd’s signature. What do you to do here?”
Mr. Apple twisted round and waved an expansive arm. “Getting a decent roof on. He left a stack of good tiles. Then that field out back is a bit of a swamp. I want the men to drain it so that I can extend the house. I’ve always wanted the simple life. Get this place ready for retirement. The first thing they’re going to do after the roof is to get the drains finished and put in a toilet and get that kitchen extension finished. Oh, and they’ll raise the roof so we’ll be able to have two bedrooms up there that you can stand up in.”
“It’ll be grand,” said Hamish.
Mr. Apple looked at him curiously. “Is there more to your stay in Drim man just a holiday? I mean, I hear a woman was found dead on the beach.”
“Well, there is,” said Hamish. “Look, as an incomer, you could be of help to me. This Peter Hyad was philandering. See if you can hear any little snippets of gossip that might be of use and pass them on.”
“Will do. But I’ll be surprised if any of this lot talks to me.”
He went back to Edie’s and asked if there was any hope of a cup of tea. “I’ll put the kettle on right away,” said Edie. “It’s nice to have a man to look after again.”
“I’ve not been quite straight with you,” said Hamish, sitting down at the kitchen table. “I am not really here on holiday. I cannot get Betty’s death out of my mind or the way Peter Hynd left just like that. And why would Peter leave a note and his key with Jock Kennedy, of all people? I gather it was Jock who was the leader of the men who threw a brick through Peter’s window.”
“Oh, don’t stir it all up again.” Edie looked flushed and distressed. “We’ve been all settling down again. The atmosphere in Drim just before he left was dreadful, the men angry and the women at each other’s throats.”
“But if there has been a crime, then justice should be done,” said Hamish quietly. “Now, a delicate question. Was it just flirting with Peter, or did any of the women go further than that? I found a blonde hairpin in Peter’s bedroom, and that would point to Betty Baxter.”
“Her!” Old jealousy flashed behind Edie’s glasses. “A gentleman like Peter and that coarse quean! It doesn’t bear thinking of. I…I don’t think any of them went too far. Look at us all,” said Edie sadly. “Oh, we all thought we looked like Sophia Loren while he was here, but once he went we were all reduced, diminished to a group of silly women who had temporarily lost their heads. Please just leave it alone. We’re all going to the manse tonight to discuss the idea of putting on a pantomime. It’s a good idea of Annie Duncan’s. It’ll draw us together.”
Hamish accepted a cup of tea and looked at her sympathetically. “I’ll be as discreet as I can. And if I’ve found out nothing by the end of my holiday, I’ll leave it alone.”
“I would have thought,” said Edie, sitting down opposite him, “that you would have wanted to spend some time with Miss Halburton-Smythe.”
“Priscilla understands my interest in this case,” said Hamish curtly.
He quickly changed the subject and asked her about the pantomime and Edie prattled away happily. Hamish finished his tea and strolled down to the store, where Ailsa stood behind the counter. “Jock about?” asked Hamish.
Ailsa shook her fiery head. “Gone fishing.”
“Then I might take out the rod and join him. Up on the Drim, is he?”
“Probably,” said Ailsa.
“What do you think happened to Peter Hynd?” asked Hamish.
“I think he left because of the people in this village.”
“You mean the men?”
“No, those silly bitches of women, slavering around him every step he took. He used to say to me, “Ailsa,” he’d say, if it weren’t for you, I would go mad.”
Hamish looked at her, startled. “You’re a good mimic, Ailsa,” he said. “Just now, I could have sworn it was Peter himself talking.”
“I was always good at the voices,” she said.
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Peter?” She leaned her elbows on the counter and her blue eyes looked past him and through the glass doors of the shop to the black loch. “I sometimes think he will.” In that moment, Hamish was sure she had forgotten he was there. “Sometimes, I think I’ll look up and he’ll just stroll into the shop and say, “Hullo, Ailsa,” and he’ll smile at me in that way he had.” There was a short silence and then her eyes focused once more on Hamish Macbeth and her face hardened.
“Are you going to buy anything or not?” she demanded.
Hamish bought a bottle of lemonade and a Cornish pasty and took them outside to drink and eat. He was beginning to wish he had appreciated Priscilla’s sensible cooking more than he had done. Junk food was all very well for a treat, but it was getting to be a constant diet. He had a longing to run over to Lochdubh and discuss the case with Priscilla, but he knocked that idea out of his head. He must concentrate his whole mind on this case. Priscilla was no longer his Watson.
He looked up and saw the slight figure of Heather moving homewards. He threw the remains of his lunch in the litterbin outside the shop and hurried to catch up with her.
An official voice nagged in his brain that he should not be interviewing a minor without her parent being present but he shrugged it away. He was on holiday and having a friendly chat.
“How are you doing, Heather?” he asked.
“Verra well, considering the circumstances.”
“Those being?”
“One dead mother.”
“Oh.”
“Now if you don’t mind, Mr. Macbeth, I have to get Da’s tea ready.”
“Stay a bit, Heather. Do you still think Peter Hynd was murdered?”
Those odd grey eyes looked up into Hamish’s hazel ones and then dropped. “I think I made a mistake,” said Heather. “I think I saw my own mother’s death.”
“Which was an accident?”
“Which was an accident,” said Heather firmly.
She turned and scampered away from him. Hamish watched her go. Everything seemed to lead to a brick wall. Once again he wondered what Priscilla would make of Heather. He had a sudden longing to see her. He
