Free Death of Yesterday by M. C. Beaton

heart sank. Hannah was to take over until her
     return. In vain did Elspeth protest that the story was dead. There had been no breakthrough in the murders.
    She found herself gloomily taking the road to the Highlands complete with crew of researcher, soundman, and cameraman.
      
    Hamish Macbeth had learned of her imminent arrival from the manager of the Tommel Castle Hotel who had taken a booking of
     the crew.
    He was waiting for Elspeth in the car park when she arrived.
    Elspeth’s heart gave a lurch when she saw him. He looked the same as ever with his flaming red hair, hazel eyes, and tall
     figure.
    For his part, Hamish felt he would never get used to the new Elspeth. The old Elspeth had worn thrift shop clothes and had
     frizzy hair. The new Elspeth had straightened hair and was expensively dressed.
    “The other press have all gone,” said Hamish. “What brings you?”
    “Wait until I check in,” said Elspeth. “We’ll have a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”
      
    Seated in a corner of the hotel bar half an hour later, Hamish said, “You look worried. What’s up?”
    So Elspeth told him all about the ambitions of Hannah Fleming, ending by saying, “My boss is fascinated by her.”
    “Aren’t you going to marry him?”
    “No. That fell through.”
    “Why?”
    “Mind your own business, Hamish. Now, about these murders. I feel this is all a waste of space unless you have any idea of
     the identity of the murderer.”
    “You know what Cnothan’s like, Elspeth. It’s impossible to get anyone to speak.” His face brightened. “Wait a bit. With you
     being a television star and all, they might talk to you. You could be a great help.”
    “I’ll try. Tell me what you’ve got so far.”
    As Hamish talked, Elspeth took notes.
    At last she closed her iPad and looked at him with her odd silvery grey eyes. “All I can do is ask a lot of questions and
     hope someone will tell me something they didn’t tell you. I don’t want to be up here very long. Did you know Hannah Fleming?”
    Hamish looked at her and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I took her out for dinner one evening, but she drank a bit too
     much so I had to give her a bed at the police station.”
    “But isn’t she the sister of a suspect?”
    “Yes, but she isn’t one herself, having been in Glasgow when it all happened.”
    “You must have talked to her about the Palfours. Is that why she decided to play detective?”
    “Must have been,” mumbled Hamish.
    “That one seems to take men over everywhere she goes,” said Elspeth acidly. “I find her quite dull. But men never seem to
     look beyond the outward appearance. She’ll probably end up someone’s trophy wife.”
    “Is Barry into trophies?”
    “Hardly, since he was once engaged to me.”
    “Your personality is better than any beauty, Elspeth.”
    “Meaning I’m plain? You certainly know how to turn a nice compliment.”
    “You know what I mean,” roared Hamish, turning almost as red as his hair.
    Elspeth stood up. “I’d better get to work.”
    She marched out and Hamish sadly watched her go.
      
    Elspeth decided to start at the pub where Morag claimed she had been drugged. It was late afternoon, and there were only a
     few customers. Stolly Maguire, the barman, beamed at her. “Not often we get a celebrity in here,” he said. “It’s on the house.
     What’ll you have? A wee dram?”
    “Nothing for me.” Elspeth slid a ten-pound note over the bar. “But have one yourself.”
    “Very kind. I’ll hae one later.”
    “You look like a very intelligent man,” said Elspeth. “On the night Morag Merrilea claimed she was drugged, can you remember
     anyone who was in the pub?”
    A blank look wiped out the welcome from his face. “The polis have asked and asked, miss. But to tell the truth, I cannae mind
     anyone in particular. Just the usual crowd.”
    “But when she went to the toilet, did you see anyone approach her table?”
    “Och, you