Free Death of a Perfect Wife by MC Beaton

foreign muck. I wasn’t here and Paul was in Inverness.’
    ‘Did the forensic boys find any pot that had been used to cook the curry?’
    ‘No, everything in the kitchen had been scrubbed clean. Trixie was the perfect housewife.’
    ‘Did you know her before?’
    ‘No. Now I’ve got to get back to my writing.’ He gave a lethargic wave of his hand and went into the house.
    Hamish then thought of Archie Maclean, who had been seen holding hands with Trixie. It had been all over Lochdubh. Had Mrs Maclean known?
    He was walking back along the waterfront when he saw Priscilla’s Volvo approaching at a slow pace. He felt in his bones that for some reason she was going to drive right past him so he stood in the middle of the road and held up his hand.
    ‘What is it, copper?’ asked Priscilla. ‘You can hardly accuse me of speeding.’
    ‘Just wanted a chat.’
    ‘I’m a bit busy.’
    ‘Now, now, what iss the matter? You have eyes like the North Sea.’
    Priscilla stared straight ahead, her hands resting on the wheel. She was angry with Hamish over Trixie’s tale about that sweater. Although she knew Trixie must have been lying, she could not help remembering old stories about Hamish’s various flirtations. Priscilla was completely unaware that Hamish Macbeth was attracted to her. She knew he liked her but thought he looked on her sometimes as being rather young and silly.
    When Priscilla did not reply, Hamish said, ‘Someone has been saying something to put your back up. It cannot be your father, for he’s said about everything there is to say. So who could it be?’
    ‘I feel you made a bit of a fool of yourself over Trixie.’
    ‘And me the only person in Lochdubh who couldn’t stand the female,’ said Hamish, ‘apart from Brodie, that is.’
    ‘I met her wearing one of your old sweaters,’ said Priscilla. ‘She said you gave it to her and made a pass at her or something.’
    ‘I neffer gave her anything,’ said Hamish in amazement. He frowned and then said, ‘I have it. She went out driving with your father and your father must have told her about his worries that you might run off with the local bobby. She came round to me and said she was going to the toilet and she was away for a long time and then she left by the front. She must have picked up my sweater just to annoy you.’ He leaned on the car. ‘I am very flattered it did annoy you.’
    ‘It only annoyed me because I would not like to see any friend of mine making a fool of himself over such a woman,’ said Priscilla. ‘I’ve got to go, Hamish. I’m expected at home.’
    ‘What about dropping in tomorrow for a chat?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘I can’t. I’m taking this car over to Golspie for its annual Ministry of Transport check tomorrow – I don’t trust any other garage – and then taking the train to Inverness to do some shopping for mother.’
    ‘I’m going to Inverness myself,’ said Hamish. ‘What time will your train get in?’
    ‘Twelve-thirty.’
    ‘What if I meet you at the station and then we can go for lunch and I’ll drive you back.’ Hamish waited anxiously.
    ‘All right,’ said Priscilla. ‘Now do get out of the way.’
    Hamish stood back and watched her go with a grin on his face.
    Then he decided to go and call on Mrs Maclean. Mrs Maclean had not been one of the women at the bat demonstration. Trixie’s hold had been on the middle-class and lower-middle-class women who had kitchens full of labour-saving devices and therefore more time on their hands.
    Mrs Maclean was down on her knees, scrubbing her stone-flagged kitchen floor with ammonia. Not for her the easy way with mop and up-to-date cleanser.
    The radio was blaring out Scottish country dance music. He called to her, but she didn’t hear him so he switched off the radio and she looked up.
    ‘What do you want, you glaiket loon?’ she said, wringing the floor cloth savagely and throwing it into the bucket.
    Hamish sighed. The trouble with being a