Free Death of a Liar by M. C. Beaton Page A

“Hooch!” at the top of his voice. Suddenly the band stopped playing, the dancers stopped dancing.
    â€œWhat’s up?” asked Hamish.
    A small, round man in a business suit approached him. He had a round head and very small feet. His brown eyes were sunk in pads of fat, and he was completely bald.
    â€œYou are new to us, brother,” he said in a Canadian accent. “We only cry with joy when we are praising the Lord, and we dance decorously.”
    â€œAre you Mr. Brough?” asked Hamish.
    â€œThat I am. But finish the dance and I will explain further.”
    He gave a signal, and the band struck up again. It was the quietest Eightsome Reel Hamish had ever taken part in. When it was over and the next dance, the Petronella, was announced, Hamish approached Alex Brough.
    â€œBefore you begin to explain the workings of your church,” said Hamish, “I would like to tell you I am a police sergeant from Lochdubh, and I am investigating the murder of Liz Bentley.”
    â€œLet us go outside,” said the preacher. “I don’t like shouting over the music.”
    The night was still and very dark. Pink reflections from the neon sign rippled on the black waters of the loch.
    â€œLiz was a valued member of our congregation,” said Mr. Brough. “She lived such a distance away but she always attended on the Sabbath. What has her murder to do with me or any of us?”
    â€œShe had a copy of the Bible with a note in the flyleaf saying it was from someone called Barney. Do you have anyone of that name amongst your members?”
    â€œWe had a Barney Mailer, but he left us a few months ago to go to a job in London.”
    â€œLiz also had an engagement ring with the inscription, ‘Yours in Christ.’ Ring any bells?”
    â€œNone whatsoever,” said Alex. Something in the firmness of his reply told Hamish he might be lying.
    â€œNow, I gather that you preach that the world is going to end on May the first. What gave you that idea?”
    â€œI saw it in a vision.”
    â€œWhat sort of a vision?”
    â€œA voice came out of a tree.”
    â€œAnd where was this tree?”
    â€œI was here on holiday and I had been walking. Do you see that rowan tree by the loch?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI was weary and leaned against it. A voice said, ‘Be prepared, I am coming for all of you on May the first.’ I saw in a blinding flash that this was where I should set up my church, that this was where I should prepare as many as I could for the afterlife.”
    â€œAnd if May the first comes and goes and we’re all here, what do you do then?”
    Alex’s pitying smile gleamed pink in the light from the neon sign. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he said.
    â€œThat’s me,” said Hamish. “I will be checking into your background. And I will be back here on May the first to make sure you aren’t planning another Jonestown massacre.”
    Alex raised his pudgy hands as if in blessing. “I forgive you, my son, for your lack of faith.”
    â€œAye, well, I’m going back indoors to hae a wee word with some folk and see what they think o’ this load o’ havers.”
    As Hamish turned away, he could have sworn the preacher mumbled something about putting his views where the sun didn’t shine.
    When he entered the hall it was to find there was a tea break. People were clustered around a long table laden with sandwiches and cakes. He spotted Queenie, his partner in the Eightsome Reel, and approached her. He introduced himself and asked if he could have a word with her.
    Queenie said she was Queenie Macpherson from Inverness. They moved to a corner of the hall, Queenie clutching a cup of tea and a plate of pink iced cakes. She was a woman in her fifties with dyed black hair and thick glasses, wearing a flowered dress over her plump figure.
    â€œDo you believe that the world is going to end next