“Not this time,” said Hamish. “Blair’s waiting for the result of those fingerprints and he’ll want you all here.”
After he had gone, Enrico and Maria came in and began making preparations for lunch. Melissa went up to the drawing room. She looked ruefully down at her stained fingers, wishing she had washed them. They had all been fingerprinted earlier in the day.
Paul was having a low-voiced conversation with his mother. Jeffrey Trent was standing by the fireplace, watching them. Betty was sitting knitting something in magenta wool, the needles clinking and flashing in the light. Her sister Angela was reading a newspaper.
Then the door opened and Detective Harry MacNab stood there. He looked across at Angela. “Miss Trent,” he said, “you’re to come to the library right away.”
It was almost as if she had been expecting the summons. She calmly put down the newspaper, stood up, squared her shoulders and marched to the door.
She was not gone long when Titchy Gold appeared. Melissa blinked. Titchy was ‘in character’. She was made up and dressed like the floozie she portrayed on television. She was wearing a short scarlet wool dress and she looked as if she had been poured into it. Her dyed blonde hair was once more dressed in her favourite Marilyn Monroe style. Her face was cleverly made up.
She went straight to Jeffrey. “Well,” she said huskily, leaning one elbow on the mantelpiece and smiling up at him, “how does it feel to be a millionaire?”
Jeffrey’s thin grey face broke into a smile. “Great,” he said.
“Jeffrey!” Jan’s scandalized voice sounded from the other side of the room.
Neither of them paid Jan the slightest attention. “And what are you going to do with it, you old money-bags?” said Htchy, twisting a coy finger in Jeffrey’s buttonhole.
“I tell you what I’m going to do with it.” Jeffrey’s voice was loud and precise. “I am going off to lie on the beach somewhere and never, ever do a stroke of work again.”
“Taking anyone with you?”
“No,” said Jeffrey cheerfully.
Jan approached the pair, her thin hands clenched into fists. “Jeffrey, you appear to have forgotten that your brother has just been murdered. Do stop talking rubbish.”
“But I am not talking rubbish, my precious,” said Jeffrey. “I am leaving you, Jan. I am going as far away from you as I can possibly get. It will do you good to try to support yourself for the first time in your greedy life, although I suppose you’ll batten on that wimp of a son of yours.”
One minute Paul was sitting with his head down. The next he had leaped across the room and seized Jeffrey by the throat. “No,” screamed Jan. “Paul, don’t – ”
Paul released his stepfather and stood panting. Melissa felt shaken and sick. But Titchy appeared delighted. She linked her arm in Paul’s. “Well, well, tiger cat,” she cooed. “Why don’t we go out for a walk.” Paul shook his head in a bewildered way as if to clear it. His glasses were askew and he straightened them with a shaking hand and then went meekly off with Titchy.
“Where’s Charles?” asked Betty Trent.
Jeffrey and Jan were staring at each other. “I don’t know,” said Melissa nervously. “I think I’ll just go and – ”
“Don’t ever humiliate me like that again,” said Jan.
“I won’t be round to do it,” said Jeffrey cheerfully. “I’m leaving you. I’m leaving Britain.”
“You can’t. I’ll sue you.”
Jeffrey suddenly looked years younger. “You’ll never find me…ever,” he said happily. “I may even take young Titchy with me.”
“You forget, Miss Gold is engaged to Charles,” remarked Betty Trent.
Jan rounded on her. “You don’t think that little tart is going to marry Charles now that he hasn’t any money. How incredibly stupid.”
Betty folded up her knitting and stowed it away in a large cretonne work-bag. She looked at Jeffrey. “You’re quite right to leave her,” she said. “I have always considered your marriage a disaster.”
Melissa ran out of the room and collected her jacket and headed down to the village. She did not want to join the others for lunch. There was no sign of Paul or Titchy outside.
The weather had made one of its rapid Sutherland changes. It was mild and balmy, the sun was shining, and the air was full of the sound of running water as the snow melted from the hills and mountains. A stream ran beside the road, gurgling and chuckling, peat-brown and flashing with gold lights. Before the entrance to the village was a humpbacked bridge. Everything seemed to shimmer and dance in the clear light. Melissa walked on, ignoring the crowd of reporters who were pursuing her with badgering questions. The only way she knew how to cope with them was to pretend they weren’t there. Fortunately for her, just as she reached the bridge, one of them shouted that he had just seen Titchy Gold walking in the grounds and they all scampered off, leaving her alone.
In the main street, she saw a cafe and headed for it, hoping it was not one of the ones which opened only in the tourist season.
But as soon as she approached it, she saw through the glass of the front window the tall figure of Hamish Macbeth. She opened the door and went in.
“I thought you were investigating something,” she said accusingly.
“I wanted to get away on my own and think for a bit,” said Hamish amiably.
A waitress approached and asked Melissa what she wanted. Melissa realized she was very hungry.
“Have you anything local?” asked Melissa hopefully.
The waitress recited in a sing-song voice, “Pie and chips; sausage, bacon and chips; ham, egg and chips; haggis and chips; hamburger and chips.”
Melissa ordered ham, egg and chips. “Beans is extra,” said the waitress.
“No beans.”
“Is that yer own hair, lassie?”
“Yes,” said Melissa stiffly.
“How did yiz do it?”
Melissa glared.
“She really wants to know,” said Hamish
“Oh, in that case, I bleached it first and then dyed it pink. It’s a dye called Flamingo.”
“My, it’s right pretty. Flamingo, did ye say? Maybe my man’ll be able tae get it in Inverness.”
“You’re changing fashion in the Highlands,” said Hamish. “It is nice now you’ve washed all the gel put of it. But won’t it be awfy difficult when your roots start showing?”
“Yes, it will. But I’ll just dye it back to my normal colour. Oh, there was the most awful scene in the drawing room.” She told him what had happened.
“You’d better get that boyfriend of yours away from her, for a start. She’s out to make trouble.”
“I don’t want to have anything more to do with Paul,” said Melissa. “But the thing that puzzles me is that Titchy was Charles’s fiancee when he didn’t have money or the prospect of it. She must have been fond of him.”
“I think she was fond of his looks,” said Hamish. “He is a verra good-looking young man and she was often photographed with him. I think that was the attraction. Also, perhaps after sleeping her way into show business, she found having a good-looking lover a refreshing change. Where was he when all this was going on?”
“I don’t know. Nobody appears to have seen him today.”
“They might find out who it was who cut up Titchy’s frocks.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” said Melissa. “Before I left, Blair sent for Angela. So she might have been the one.”
“Ah. Here’s your food. I’d better leave you.”
“Can’t you wait? I won’t be long.”
“I cannae be seen too often in the company of a murder suspect,” said Hamish deliberately.
Melissa gave him a wounded look.
“Think about it,” said Hamish. “As far as Blair is concerned, you’re engaged to Paul. Paul might have known about the will, so you might have known about the will and you could have planned the whole thing between
