Free A Highland Christmas by M.C. Beaton Page A

around?’
    ‘They were in the ignition.’
    ‘Right, maybe it would be a good idea if one of you could drive the truck to the police station where I can take care of them.’
    ‘I suppose we could do that.’ One of them said, ‘You two, go with this officer and take that truck and leave it at Lochdubh police station. It is Macbeth, isn’t
it?’
    Aye.’
    ‘I’ve heard of you.’
    ‘Wait a bit. Could you take the tree as well?’
    ‘Come on. Who’s going to take a big tree like that?’
    ‘You never know.’
    ‘Okay. Boys, put that tree on the back of the truck.’
    After the lights had been stacked in the police office and the tree stacked at the back of the police station, Hamish said goodbye to the two forensic men. He then made himself
a meal and went to bed. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and he had just had an outrageous idea. But he would need help.
    In the morning Hamish went along to the local garage to see the owner, Ian Chisholm. ‘I want to hire that Volkswagen minibus of yours,’ he said. ‘I’m
taking some folks down to Inverness on Christmas Day. Is it still working?’
    ‘Good as new. Come and see.’
    He led the way through to the yard at the back. The old minibus stood in all its horrible red-and-yellow glory, Ian having run out of red paint and gone on to yellow. His wife had made chintz
covers for the passenger seats and it looked, as Hamish thought, as daft a conveyance as ever.
    ‘I’ll take it,’ he said.
    He made his way back to the police station and saw the small figure of Morag running towards him. ‘Glad to see you,’ said Hamish. ‘Tell your parents and Mrs Gallagher that
we’ll be leaving at one-thirty from the war memorial on the waterfront. What’s up? You look a wee bit strained. Parents been giving you a hard time?’
    ‘No, they say Mrs Gallagher’s punishment is enough. It’s not that.’
    ‘So what is it?’
    ‘Mrs Gallagher’s a Roman Catholic.’
    Hamish privately cursed all religious bigotry everywhere. If the Andersons knew that Mrs Gallagher was a Catholic, their precious child would not be allowed anywhere near her.
    He forced his voice to sound casual and not reflect the rage and frustration he felt.
    ‘I would not be bothering them with such a thing at Christmas. Sometimes it is better not to trouble people with facts that would distress them.’
    ‘So it’s all right not to tell?’
    ‘Oh, yes.’
    And God forgive me for encouraging a wee lassie to lie to her parents, thought Hamish as Morag scampered off. Then he quietened his conscience by reflecting that he hadn’t exactly told her
to lie, he had just advised her not to say anything.
    He walked on. As he passed Patel’s, none other than Mrs Gallagher emerged. She had two carrier bags and Hamish could see they were full of Christmas decorations. ‘That’s
nice,’ he said, indicating the bags. ‘Getting ready for Christmas?’
    ‘Why don’t you mind your own business?’ demanded Mrs Gallagher. ‘Haven’t you got any work to do?’
    ‘I’ve told Morag I’m picking you up at the waterfront at one-thirty tomorrow. Chust make sure you don’t die o’ spleen afore then,’ snapped Hamish.
    She glared at him and then the anger died out of her face and she let out a surprisingly girlish giggle. She was still giggling as she walked to her car.
    ‘Whit’s up wi’ that old crone?’ asked a voice at his elbow. Hamish looked down and saw Archie Maclean. ‘I havenae seen that woman laugh afore,’ remarked
Archie. ‘Whit happened? Did she see someone slip on a banana skin and break a leg?’
    ‘Never mind her. I need some help, Archie. Come into the police station and have a dram.’
    Archie’s face brightened. ‘Grand. But don’t be telling the wife.’
    In the police station, Hamish poured two glasses of whisky. ‘Listen to me, Archie, I need you and some of the more liberal-minded fishermen to help me.’
     
Chapter Five

    T hat afternoon, a group of children met outside