Free Death of Yesterday by M. C. Beaton

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 know how tall Sutherland men are. The place was busy and I couldnae see over the heads to see who was doing what.”
    Elspeth turned her attention to the customers in the bar. She diligently began to question one after the other, but no one claimed to have seen anything.
    She was used to people being bowled over by her celebrity, but the customers in the pub actually seemed to resent her. At last she gave up and went outside, checking her notes, and deciding to visit the factory.
    To her disappointment, she was told that the boss, Harry Gilchrist, was in London. She checked her notes and asked if the personnel manager was available.
    Soon Pete Eskdale was vigorously shaking her hand and saying what an honour it was to meet her. But a cautious look came into his eyes when Elspeth began to question him about the hiring of Morag Merrilea.
    “I’ve told the police all about that,” he said. “I had to check Morag out in London first to see whether she would be suitable. It’s all my