Free Death of a Maid by MC Beaton

solicitor for not having told them about the papers he was holding.
    ‘And he gave me the impression that the package was left for Mrs Samson in the will. Anything blackmailable in there?’ he asked.
    ‘Nothing. Sit down and I’ll get you a dram. The bank book’s interesting. The cash payments started two years ago – at first just a few modest payments in her current
account, then they begin to increase. Maybe she hinted at something and one of them cracked and paid her money and she realized she was on to a good little earner. I think she was blackmailing more
than one person. I think she was blackmailing several. We’ll need to dig into the backgrounds of everyone she cleaned for.’ Hamish poured a measure of whisky into a glass and put it on
the kitchen table next to Jimmy.
    A particularly thunderous roar of wind shook the police station. ‘I don’t know how you can bear that wind,’ grumbled Jimmy. ‘We’re protected by the surrounding
buildings in Strathbane, but up here, the noise wears a man down.’
    ‘The gales are getting worse,’ said Hamish. ‘And the waves are getting higher. I hope I don’t live to see Lochdubh washed away.’
    ‘Dead-alive hole,’ said Jimmy callously. ‘Wouldn’t be any great loss. Now, let’s start with Professor Sander.’
    ‘What did you make of him?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘Prissy little man. Furious with us for asking questions.’
    ‘What’s he a professor of?’
    ‘Was. Retired. English was his subject. He produced a popular biog called Byron: The Tortured Years. Did well. Hasn’t done anything since. Never married.’
    ‘Might be an idea to check the Sex Offenders Register.’
    ‘We screwed up in Scotland, remember? About six thousand sex offenders before 1997 weren’t put on the list. Still, it’s worth a look.’
    ‘Which university was he at?’
    ‘Strathbane.’
    ‘Hardly an academic place. I believe they even give degrees in car maintenance these days.’
    ‘Blair’s got a team of coppers out ferreting around. No one saw anyone near Mrs Samson’s house before it went up in flames. But the fire chief thinks the fire started at the
back door, and anyone could get to that over the fields.’
    ‘Arson?’
    ‘Not sure yet. Takes ages.’
    ‘Where’s Mrs Samson going to stay?’
    ‘They’re putting her up at the old folks’ home, High Haven, for the moment. She can’t buy anything else until she gets the insurance money.’
    ‘I forgot to ask the solicitor how large the package was,’ said Hamish. ‘She was carrying a large handbag. If she’s still got the stuff and if it contains blackmail
material, her life could be in danger.’
    ‘Why worry?’ asked Jimmy. ‘One blackmailer less would please me.’
    ‘Aye, but it would be another murder to solve. Did you interview any of the folk she cleaned for?’
    ‘Apart from the professor, I went with Blair to interview Mrs Fleming. Blair was all over her. He told me afterwards she was like a fairy.’
    ‘She’s a fairy who threw a vase at me,’ said Hamish. ‘She lives quite near. She could have nipped over the garden fence and poured petrol through the back
door.’
    ‘Then there’s Mrs Styles, the one that Blair fell foul of. What about your Mrs Wellington?’
    ‘Mrs Gillespie found out that the minister delivered an old sermon one Sunday and hinted that it would be awful if folks found out. Got nowhere with that. Mrs Barret-Wilkinson, now. She
interests me. I’ve a feeling she’s playing the country lady. But she’s the one that lives furthest away.’
    ‘We’ve run a police check already on all of them,’ said Jimmy, reaching for the whisky bottle. ‘Nothing there.’
    ‘I wonder if any of them got into the local newspaper over anything,’ said Hamish. ‘Maybe I’ll walk along and have a look. No, you are not getting any more whisky, Jimmy,
and take that box of stuff over to police headquarters.’
    ‘Here’s lover boy,’ said Luke.
    Elspeth looked up and