? Death of a Dentist ?
6
I have no great relish for the country; it is a kind of healthy grave.
—
The floodlights outside the Tommel Castle Hotel came as a relief to Sarah, who had endured a terrifying drive back from The Scotsman.
She parked the car she had borrowed from the hotel, and, bending her head, she darted through the blinding sheets of driving snow and into the warmth and security of the hotel. She went up to her room to change although she wondered if Hamish Macbeth could possibly keep their date in such weather. She smiled as she took a simple black wool dress down from a hanger in the wardrobe. She had not expected to be dressing up at all. But she could hardly continue her hiking in such weather and it was marvellous to be secure in a comfortable and warm hotel room while the storm raged outside.
At seven o’clock promptly, she was waiting at the reception desk. Mr. Johnson, the manager, came out of his office. “Will you be having dinner here tonight?”
“I should think so,” replied Sarah. “Hamish was to meet me here at seven, but I don’t think he’ll make it. Do you usually have dreadful weather like this?”
“Not until about January, and even then, it’s usually central Scotland that gets the worst of it. We’re nearer to the Gulf Stream up here and that often keeps the worst of the snow away, but every few years, we get something nasty like this.”
The hotel door opened and Hamish came in and stood brushing the snow from his clothes. He was wearing snowshoes.
“That’s right,” said Mr. Johnson sarcastically. “Leave a snowdrift on the floor.”
“Good for the carpet.” Hamish bent down and unstrapped his snowshoes. He was wearing a one-piece ski suit which he unzipped and stepped out of and hung on a coat rack in the corner. He was dressed in a checked shirt and dark green corduroy trousers. He fished in his trouser pocket and drew out a tie.
“If you’re thinking of dining here, Hamish,” said the manager, “then you don’t need to bother about the tie, not on an evening like this. You’ll be about the only people in the dining room. A party of ten who were supposed to be here by now are stranded down in Inverness by the bad weather.”
“Right you are.” Hamish stuffed the tie back in his pocket. “Are you ready to eat?” he asked Sarah.
She nodded. “I didn’t have much for lunch.”
They walked together into the dining room. Hamish looked around. This had been the family dining room when Tommel Castle had been a family home instead of a hotel. He could remember the long mahogany dining table, the gleaming silver and fine china. The oriental rugs had gone and the floor was covered with serviceable fitted carpet and the room dotted with separate tables. Jenkins, once the Halburton-Smythes’ butler and now the hotel’s
Jenkins was a snob.
“Ignore him,” said Hamish. “He aye looks as if he’s got a bad smell under his nose.”
They ordered and then looked at each other. Hamish was struck again by Sarah’s beauty and Sarah thought Hamish looked very endearing with his red hair still tousled from the storm.
“So how did you get on?” asked Hamish, privately glad that Jenkins had given their order to a humble waitress to deal with and had taken himself off, not because he was intimidated in any way by Jenkins, but because the butler reminded him of happier days when he had been so much in love with Priscilla. He gave a little sigh. He wouldn’t like any of that pain back again. People babbled on about love in song and verse. Hamish thought love should come with a government health warning. Love seemed to mean a short period of rosy elation followed by months and years of dark agony and worry and tearing jealousy.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Sarah.
Hamish pulled himself together. “I was thinking of the day I’ve had. There’s something there that I’m missing.” He told her about Kylie, about the Smiley brothers, and then asked, “And how did you get on?”
Sarah carefully repeated her conversation with Mrs. Macbean, ending with, “I was glad to get out of there, Hamish. The very air had become threatening.”
“That’s interesting. Villainy can produce that sort of atmosphere.”
“It could be. On the other hand, I got the impression that Mrs. Macbean was a bitter and unbalanced woman. I think her shrinking away from me when I mentioned Gilchrist was caused by nothing more sinister than a sort of paranoid secrecy. Women will tell you about their private lives and then suddenly resent you bitterly for having been the recipient.”
“It could be. I didn’t order any wine and that sour-faced Jenkins didn’t even offer us the wine menu.”
“I don’t feel like drinking wine. Do you?” asked Sarah.
“Not really. After that headache-inducing hooch, I don’t feel like any more alcohol. Now one thing did come up today. The CID will have gone through the contents of Gilchrist’s house, his papers, photographs, bankbooks, things like that. I would dearly like to know what they found out.” He looked at her quizzically.
Sarah laughed. “You want me to have another go at hacking. But how on earth are we both to get to the police station in this weather?”
“Priscilla has a computer in her apartment at the top of the castle.”
“Wouldn’t Mr. Johnson think it odd if we asked for the key? I assume it’s locked up when she is away.”
“You could say she had asked you to collect something for her. I know, an address logged in her computer.”
“I’ll try.” She stood up. “You wait here. I’ll ask the manager myself.”
After only a few minutes she came back and placed a key on the table. “Very trusting of him,” said Sarah, sitting down. “I mean, I could be some con pretending to be a friend of Priscilla’s.”
“Priscilla often phones up the hotel to make sure everything is still running smoothly. That’s a point. What if she phones up tonight?”
“You are friends, or so I gather. I will just tell her the truth.”
“Aye, that would do.” Hamish leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. He was grateful to her, for her help, but more for her beauty and charm, which banished any wistful thoughts about the absent Priscilla. “How can you be sure you will be able to hack into the police computer this time?” he asked. “Blair will have changed his password.”
“I can only try,” said Sarah. She hesitated and then said, “Let me put this dinner on my bill. It’s very pricey and you can’t earn that much as a village policeman.”
“That’s kind of you, but – ” He broke off as Mr. Johnson came up to them.
“Priscilla’s on the phone,” he said, “and you going up to her apartment to look for an address seems to be the first she’s heard of it.”
Hamish stood up. “Is she still on the phone?”
“Yes.”
Hamish smiled at Sarah. “I’ll chust be having a wee word with her.”
“You can talk to her on the phone at reception,” said Mr. Johnson, following him out and then standing next to him when he picked up the phone.
“Priscilla?”
“Yes, Hamish, what’s all this about you and Sarah wanting the key to my apartment?”
Hamish hunched over the phone, his back to the manager.
“You’ve forgotten,” he said. “You know you asked her to look up thon address for you.”
There was a silence and then Priscilla said, “As you very well know I did nothing of the kind. You want to use my computer for something.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got a computer at that police station.”
“Aye, the weather’s that bad, I don’t think I’ll make it back to the police station tonight.”
