Free Hamish Macbeth 02 (1987) - Death of a Cad by M.C. Beaton

out back in the cupboard and brought down a delicate china cup and saucer instead.
    “It’s yourself, Priscilla,” he said. “Sit down and have a cup of tea.”
    “Is that your dinner?” asked Priscilla.
    Hamish looked thoughtfully at his half-eaten eggs and beans.
    “Well, to my way of thinking, it is more like the high tea,” he said eventually. “I would not be distinguishing it with the title of dinner. Do you want some?”
    “No, I have to get home soon. Dinner is at eight and I’ve got to change. But I’ll have a cup of tea. Now, Hamish…”
    “I was searching for clues,” said Hamish, looking at her hopefully.
    Priscilla slowly shook her head. “The truth, Hamish.”
    Hamish gave a sigh. “I was that thirsty and I wanted some tea. Jessie saw me sitting down behind the sofa and gave me some when no-one was looking. Then I felt guilty and I thought your father would have a fit if he saw me, so I slid under the sofa. I couldnae bear the idea of you courting and me listening,” said Hamish, blushing and averting his eyes, “so I had to attract your attention.”
    “You are the most terrible scrounger I have ever met,” giggled Priscilla. “Still, it can’t have been nice for you having to deal with Blair again. What a brute of a man! Thank goodness it was an accident. Can you imagine if someone had bumped off the terrible captain what it would be like? All our faces splashed over the tabloids.”
    Hamish buried his nose in his cup. “Does it no’ surprise you,” he said at last, “that it wasn’t a murder?”
    “Not really,” said Priscilla, after a pause. “The world’s full of hateful people, but no-one bumps them off. Too often the people murdered are innocent kids going home from school or old-age pensioners. Things are getting worse in the South, you know. Sutherland must be the last place on God’s earth where you don’t have to lock your door at night.”
    “I wouldn’t be too sure o’ that,” said Hamish. “I’m troubled in my mind. I keep seeing him with his chest shot to hell, hanging over that wire fence like a bunch o’ rags. I knew of him afore this—the wild Captain Bartlett. Never to speak to, mind. I mean, I knew him by sight. He was full of life and not so bad when he hadn’t the drink taken. The fence wasn’t all that high. He had long legs on him. The way I see it, he would normally have pushed the wire down and stepped over.”
    “It’s an accident that’s happened before, even to good marksmen, Hamish.”
    “Aye, maybe.”
    “You’re not eating your food.”
    “I hate baked beans,” said Hamish, loudly and forcibly. What he really meant was that he hated Priscilla’s being engaged to Henry Withering, and felt he must vent his feelings somehow.
    “Oh, wait a minute. I’ll be back soon,” said Priscilla, exasperated.
    She returned five minutes later carrying a small parcel. “I knocked at the back door of the butcher’s. Mr MacPherson was still there and I got you two lamb chops. Go and get some potatoes out of the garden and I’ll fix you dinner.”
    Soon Hamish was sitting down to a meal of grilled lamb chops, fried potatoes, and lettuce from the garden.
    “It’s very kind of you, Priscilla,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you. I thought you would be wanting to run back to Henry.”
    “I’ll see him at dinner,” said Priscilla vaguely.
    Priscilla was filled with a sudden reluctance to leave the narrow, cluttered kitchen at the back of the police station. The back door was open, and homely smells of wood-smoke, kippers, and strong tea drifted in as the villagers of Lochdubh settled down for the evening. It was six-thirty, but very few people, apart from the Halburton-Smythes, ate as late as eight in the evening.
    Henry had kissed her very passionately and said he would join her in her bed that night. At the time,
    Priscilla had said nothing to put him off, feeling it ridiculous in this modern day and age to hang on to a virginity she