Free Death of a Liar by M. C. Beaton

tossed aside the duvet and slit the mattress. It turned out to be a waste of time. The linoleum came next. He was able to roll it up without too much effort but underneath there was no sign of anything being hidden under the floorboards.
    He put the linoleum back and threw the duvet back on top of the ruined mattress.
    He went downstairs and out into the garden. A thick white mist had rolled in from the sea, deadening all sound, blotting out the landscape. He remembered there was a shed at the end of the garden. Inside were the usual garden tools and a wheelbarrow. He searched every nook and cranny, every flower pack. He tipped out a sack of fertiliser and a bin of compost.
    At last he gave up. Through the grimy shed window, he could see the mist rolling away. He went out and was about to shut the door when a ray of sunlight shone into the shed. Something up on the low roof glinted and sparkled. He went back in and reached up. Something had been stuck up there with a piece of plasticine. Something was glittering at the edge of it. Putting on his latex gloves, he pulled down the plasticine and carefully cleaned it off.
    It was an engagement ring. He took out a magnifying glass. The inscription read, YOURS IN CHRIST .

Chapter Five
    He for God only, she for God in him.
    â€”John Milton
    Hamish carefully put the ring in a forensic bag and went in search of Dick. He found him kneeling on the kitchen floor with his head in a cupboard.
    â€œI’ve found something,” said Hamish. “Come out and hae a look. Put on a pair o’ gloves first.”
    Dick backed out and stood up. Hamish handed him the magnifying glass. “Have a look at the inscription.”
    Dick whistled. “Now, here’s a thing. Do you think she wanted tae be a nun? Bride o’ Christ and all that?”
    â€œI don’t know much about it but I don’t think convents go around presenting women with diamond engagement rings.”
    He went outside and phoned Donald Bentley again and told him about the ring. “I’ve never heard of such rubbish,” raged the minister. “This smacks of popery. She must have gone mad.”
    â€œThat’s what we hope to find out. You have no idea?”
    â€œNot one. But I will ask my parishioners and let you know tomorrow if I find out anything.”
    Hamish got his iPad out of the Land Rover and Googled churches in Inverness. He scrolled through them all until he came to one, The Church of the Chosen. He noticed that there was to be Scottish country dancing that evening at eight o’clock.
    He phoned up a detective he knew on the Inverness police, Mungo Davidson, and asked him what he knew about the church.
    â€œNot much,” was the reply. “Happy-clappy by all reports. Run by a Mr. Alex Brough, Canadian. Never any trouble. Claims he has visions and that the world is going to end next May the first at twelve noon precisely.”
    â€œCan’t have much of a congregation,” said Hamish.
    â€œOn the contrary, it’s a full house. Services on Sunday, but during the week there are dances and film shows, quizzes, things like that.”
    Hamish thanked him, rang off, and told Dick about the new church, adding that he would go to Inverness that evening and see what it looked like.
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    He found the church out on the banks of Loch Ness. It did not look like a church, being a large square wooden hut with the name THE CHURCH OF THE CHOSEN in pink neon lights outside.
    Hamish opened the door and walked in as people were being urged to take their partners for an Eightsome Reel.
    â€œHey, you!” called a man. “Queenie here hasnae got a partner.”
    Hamish smiled and joined the set just as the band struck up. The band consisted of two accordionists, two fiddlers, and a man on the drums. They were very good indeed.
    When it came Hamish’s turn to dance in the middle, he felt quite carried away. He kicked up his lanky legs and shouted,