Free Death of a Gossip by MC Beaton

political scene. Of course,
Amy either knew or had guessed about his unsavoury past, but any approach to Lady Jane must be kept secret. There was a vein of steel running through Amy, and he was sure she would despise him for
trying to conciliate Lady Jane.
    Marvin polished his bald head with his hand and looked sideways at Lady Jane. No ma’am, he thought, the day I let a broad like you screw up my act, well, you can kiss my ass in
Macy’s window.
    At last the horrible dinner was over. Alice smoothed down the velvet of her gown with a nervous hand and smiled hopefully at Jeremy. He looked at her vaguely and turned abruptly to Daphne Gore.
‘Come on,’ he said to Daphne. ‘We’ve got to talk.’
    Alice’s eyes filmed over with tears. She was dreadfully tired. She felt alien, foreign, alone. When she passed the bar, it was full of people drinking and laughing, the other guests who
did not belong to the fishing school. She hesitated, longing for the courage to go in and join them, longing for just one compliment on her gown to make some of her misery go away.
    Constable Hamish Macbeth leaned on his garden gate and gazed across the loch to the lights of the hotel. He had fed the chickens and geese; his dog lay at his feet, stretched
across his boots like a carriage rug, snoring peacefully.
    Hamish lit a cigarette and pushed his cap back on his head. He was not happy, which was a fairly unusual state of mind for him. This was usually the time of the day he liked best.
    He had to admit to himself he had let Lady Jane get under his skin. He did not like the idea of that fat woman ferreting out details of his family life, even if there was nothing shameful to
ferret out.
    It was true that Hamish Macbeth had six brothers and sisters to support. He had been born one year after his parents had been married. After that there had been a long gap and then Mr and Mrs
Macbeth had produced three boys and three girls in as quick a succession as was physically possible. As in many Celtic families, it was taken for granted that the eldest son would remain a bachelor
until such time as the next in line were able to support themselves. Hamish had deliberately chosen the unambitious career of village constable because it enabled him to send most of his pay home.
He was a skilful poacher and presents of venison and salmon found their way regularly to his parents’ croft in Ross and Cromarty. The little egg money he got from his poultry was sent home as
well. Then there was the annual prize money for best hill runner at the Strathbane Highland games. Hamish had taken the prize five years in a row.
    His father was a crofter but could not make nearly enough to support all six younger children. Hamish had accepted his lot as he accepted most things, with easy-going good nature.
    But of late, he had found himself wishing he had a little bit more money in his pocket and yet he would not admit to himself the reason for this.
    What he could admit to himself was that he was very worried about the fishing class. Crime in Hamish’s parish usually ran to things like bigamy or the occasional drunk on a Saturday
night. Most village wrangles were settled out of court, so to speak, by the diplomatic Hamish. He was not plagued with the savage violence of poaching gangs, although he felt sure that would come.
A new housing estate was being built outside the village; one of those mad schemes where the worst of the welfare cases were wrenched out of the cosy clamour of the city slums and transported to
the awesome bleakness of the Highlands. To Hamish, these housing estates were the breeding grounds of poaching gangs who dynamited the salmon to the surface and fought each other with razors and
sharpened bicycle chains.
    Something in his bones seemed to tell him that trouble was going to come from this fishing class. He decided it was time to find out a little more about Lady Jane.
    He sifted through the filing cabinet of his mind, which was