“‘Bye,” he said and escaped outside and took a gulp of fresh air.
Annie went to the window and watched him go. “The big softy,” she said, half to herself. “I hope I didn’t lay it on too thick.”
¦
Hamish knew there was no surgery that morning and so went to the doctor’s house. Dr. Brodie’s wife, Angela, opened the door to him. “Come in, Hamish,” she said, her thin face lighting up with pleasure.
“Is the doctor home?”
“In the kitchen.”
Hamish went through to the cluttered kitchen, where Dr. Brodie was eating toast and drinking coffee.
“What brings you here, Hamish?” asked the doctor. “Apart from the free coffee, that is.”
“Chloral hydrate,” said Hamish.
“One of Blair’s sidekicks has been round asking me that very question. I never prescribed it. In fact, I don’t believe in sleeping pills either. I just tell them that lack of steep never killed anyone.”
“I thought lack of dreaming could do that,” said Hamish. “I read this article…”
“It wouldn’t kill anyone in Lochdubh. They dream with their eyes open.”
“I want to talk to Angela about sexy underwear.”
“Do you want me to leave the room?”
“No. Listen, Angela,” said Hamish, “can you imagine a middle-aged woman in this day and age being horrified at the idea of wearing a suspender belt and crotchless panties?”
“If she’s middle-aged, she probably wore a suspender belt in her youth, but the crotchless panties might come as a bit of a shock. What middle-aged woman have you been horrifying, Hamish?”
“Oh, nothing. Now about this chloral hydrate…?”
“They could,” said Dr. Brodie, “in this village, find it in someone’s medicine cabinet left over from the old days. A lot of them have relatives out on the isles with medicine cabinets full of junk handed down from generation to generation. Do you know when I was last on Barra, I found someone with a cabinet full of old-fashioned drugs. What about the shotgun, Hamish? I suppose they’re sifting through the records.”
“I suppose they are. I mean, standard routine,” said Hamish absent-mindedly. He glanced at Angela, who was putting fresh coffee in the percolator. She seemed such a contrast to Annie. Why? Hamish suddenly remembered a woman in Glasgow at the bus station pleading with him to lend her some money for her fare home to Inverness. She said she had been mugged. Hamish had generously given her the money for her bus fare home. She had seemed such a decent woman.
Later that evening he had seen her lurching along Sauchiehall Street, dead drunk, and realized he had been conned. There had been something about that talk with Annie that hadn’t rung true.
He wondered what Annie’s underwear was really like. Turning the problem over in his mind while he talked of other things, he drank a cup of coffee and took his leave. The next call he made was on Archie Maclean. How the fisherman appeared to fish all night and stay awake all day was a mystery, but there was Archie sitting outside his cottage in the sunshine, smoking a pipe. Hamish sat down on the wall beside him. “I’ve been to see Rosie,” he said. Archie’s gnarled little brown face brightened, but he cast a nervous look over his shoulder at his cottage, where his wife could be heard scrubbing the floors. “How wass she?”
“Herself was just fine,” said Hamish, “or as far as I could I judge. She didn’t seem all that friendly. A buttoned-down, closed-up sort of woman.”
“Oh, now that iss the mystery aboot her,” said Archie eagerly. “She’s all wumman.”
“It’s an odd sort of friendship for a man like you to strike up,” said Hamish. “Weren’t you scared to death your wife would find out you had been going there?”
“She knew. I gave her Rosie’s book, mind? She got it into her head that Rosie was an auld wumman and I didnae tell her otherwise.”
“She’ll find out.”
“‘Don’t care,” said Archie bravely, but he cast another frightened look behind him.
“Did she talk about herself?” asked Hamish curiously. “Why she came here, that sort of thing.”
“Aye, she said she wanted the Highland background, but also she said it was cheaper to live up here. She said…she said I wass a verra interesting man.” And Archie gave a dreadful smirk.
To a wee henpecked man like Archie, thought Hamish, such flattery must have been like a drug. And yet, what had Rosie’s purpose been in getting the little fisherman all steamed up?
He left Archie and went up to Tommel Castle Hotel. He drove past Blair on the waterfront, gave him a cheery wave and got a suspicious scowl in return.
“Now what?” said Priscilla as Hamish walked into the gift shop.
“Do you never think I might just want to see you?”, demanded Hamish plaintively. “But yes, there is something.”
“What now?”
“Could you invite Annie Ferguson up to the castle for tea this afternoon – say three o’clock?”
“I barely know the woman, Hamish. Why should I invite her?”
“Because I want a look inside her house. Because I think she’s hiding something from me.”
“You want me to assist you in breaking and entering?”
“There won’t be any breaking and entering. She disnae lock her door. Come on, Priscilla.”
“Oh, very well. What excuse do I give?”
“You won’t need one. You’re the lady of this manor. She’ll be that flattered, she’ll come like a shot.”
“Give me her number and I’ll ring now so you’ll know if the coast is going to be clear.”
Priscilla rang Annie and invited her. Hamish listened to the enthusiastic squawks of acceptance from the other end of the line. “Remember,” cautioned Priscilla when she had replaced the receiver, “if you get caught it’s got nothing to do with me.”
After he had left her, Hamish walked across the hotel carpark to the police Land Rover. A small energetic- looking woman hailed him. “Where do you go in this burg for some fun?” she asked.
He pushed back his cap and scratched his hair. “It depends what you mean by fun,” he said. “Are you here on holiday?”
“Yes.” She held out a well-manicured hand. “I’m Betty John. I’m John Glover’s fiancee.”
Now here was sexiness compared to Rosie, thought Hamish. Betty exuded a sort of animal energy. “The banker?” he asked.
“The same.”
Hamish smiled. “And why would you be here looking for fun when you are on holiday with your fiance?”
“I’ve just arrived and the unromantic bugger’s gone off somewhere on business. He never stops working. I work in the same bank. I tell you what, have dinner with me this evening. I’ve never had dinner with a copper before.” A malicious light gleamed momentarily in Hamish’s hazel eyes. He wondered what Priscilla would think when she found out that he had been dining with John’s fiancee. He wondered whether she even knew that John had this fiancee. But she was bound to know. Still, it would be nice if she didn’t like the idea.
“That would be grand,” he said. “There’s an Italian restaurant in Lochdubh which is pretty good.”
“I’ll find it. Eight o’clock suit you?”
“Great.”
“See you then.” Hamish went off, whistling.
Promptly at three in the afternoon, and keeping a sharp look but for Blair, he strolled along to Annie’s cottage, going up the lane at the side and then vaulting the back gate. Randy could have come this way often without being seen. There was only old Mrs. Biggar on the one side of the lane and she was deaf, and then there were Mr. and Mrs. Gilchrist on the other side and they were unusual in that they never minded their neighbours’ business.
As he had expected, the back door was unlocked. Lochdubh was one of the few remaining villages where people often do not bother to lock their doors or, for that matter, their cars.
He went through the neat, tidy kitchen and up the stairs to the bedrooms. He found one single one which had an unused air, a bathroom, gleaming with peach plastic, and then a double bedroom which was obviously where Annie slept. The bed was made, blankets tucked in hospital fashion. There was a photo of the late Mr. Ferguson beside the bed and a large Bible.
