Free Death of a Prankster by MC Beaton Page B

he’ll be after the beneficiaries. He cannot keep you here much longer, you know. Give it another day and then you can leave your address and go back home.’
    They had reached the house. Melissa drew back. ‘I don’t want to go in,’ she said in a shaky voice.
    Hamish looked up at the sky. The sun was shining and there was a hint of warmth in the air. The mountain above the house was sharp-edged against the sky, like a cut-out. A pair of buzzards sailed lazily in the clear air.
    He turned away from the house and she fell into step beside him. ‘I want to ask you a question,’ said Hamish, his accent suddenly stronger, more Highland, more sibilant, as it always became when he was nervous.
    ‘Must you?’ said Melissa. ‘I’ve had enough of questions.’
    ‘It iss not about the case. Do you see this dog, Towser?’
    Melissa looked down in surprise at the great yellowish mongrel, who gave her a doggy grin. ‘Yes, of course, I see him.’
    ‘I wass here all the day long yesterday because of the murder; I left this animal locked up in the police station all day. The police station iss cold, mind you. He had been fed in the morning and had plenty of water. But on the way home, I couldnae bear the idea of going straight back to a cold house and so I dropped in on a friend whose family hass the big hotel. This friend, she said I wass cruel to leave the dog so long.’
    Melissa looked up at him in sudden amusement. ‘Are you asking me whether I think you were cruel?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Hamish.
    ‘Well,’ said Melissa cautiously, ‘what about walks? Was Towser there all day without a walk?’
    ‘No, Mrs Wellington, the minister’s wife, has the key, and she walked him in the morning and the afternoon.’
    ‘No, I don’t think you are cruel. Your dog has a pampered look. You are not really like a policeman, you know.’
    ‘I am verra like a policeman,’ said Hamish huffily. ‘Mair like one than that great bullying fathead inside.’ A car swept by them. ‘The lawyer,’ exclaimed Hamish. ‘I must hear this.’
    Melissa found herself trotting after him as he headed back to the house with long strides. He emanated a sort of sane kindness, she thought. ‘Could you look after Towser for me?’ asked Hamish. ‘See if Enrico can give him a bone or something.’
    Melissa took Towser’s leash, glad of the dog’s company, glad of a chore to do which would keep her away from Paul. ‘Enrico will be at the reading as well,’ she said cheerfully, ‘so Towser and I will raid the larder.’
    Hamish eased himself into the library and stood at the back. They were all there, tense and eager. Not a dry eye in the house, he thought cynically, but then Andrew Trent did not deserve grief or mourning.
    The lawyer, Mr Bright, seemed determined to live up to his name. He was a small fat man with round glasses and an air of determined cheerfulness.
    He began by making a speech about what an amazingly fun-loving person the dear deceased had been, about how his japes and pranks had delighted all, while the roomful of relatives and police listened in stony silence.
    Hamish was almost prepared to find out that this will was Andrew Trent’s last great joke on his family. But as the will was read out, it transpired that there was only one disaster.
    Charles was to inherit absolutely nothing.
    Andrew Trent had left instructions that his house, estates and factories were to be sold. The proceeds, along with his money in the bank, were to be divided equally among his daughters, Angela and Betty, his brother, Jeffrey, and, surprisingly, Paul Sinclair. Generous bequests had been left to the Spanish servants and outdoor staff, including Jim Gaskell.
    Charles was quite white with shock. He reached for Titchy’s hand. Titchy seemed as stunned as Charles.
    The rest were obviously finding it very hard to control their glee. Freedom at last, thought Jeffrey. I’ll leave the bitch to rot. Her son can take care of her if he wants.
    Hamish noticed