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

May?” asked Hamish.
    Queenie looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I don’t,” she said. “But the services are fun. I’ve a good voice and I’m sometimes asked to do a solo. You should hear me sing ‘Amazing Grace.’ I think most of us come for the fun. The regular kirks are a bit dreary.”
    â€œAnd is it all free?”
    She looked awkward. “Well, it’s a right successful church and to join, you pay one hundred pounds a year and get a share certificate. Mr. Brough promises to pay out bonuses.”
    Hamish scanned the hall. “One hundred pounds is a fair bit o’ money. Is there a collection on Sundays?”
    â€œAye, but it’s the church, see. You aye give something.”
    â€œCan you point me out someone who actually believes this rubbish?”
    â€œDon’t tell her I gave you her name! But you should have a talk to Josie Alexander ower there. The tall drip o’ nothing showing her tits.”
    And there’s one nice Christian description, thought Hamish cynically.
    He made his way to Josie, who was standing a little away from the others. She had lank brown hair worn in two pigtails. She was wearing a spangled white top with a plunging neckline and a black velvet skirt. She had slightly protruding eyes in a sallow face and a small pursed mouth.
    Hamish introduced himself and, as he saw the band was about to strike up again, asked her if she would step outside for a minute with him. She picked up a mohair stole from a chair, wrapped it around her thin figure, and followed him outside. The wind had got up and the sky above had cleared. Starlight danced in the choppy waters of Loch Ness.
    â€œDo you believe the world is going to end next May?” asked Hamish.
    â€œOh, yes. Mr. Brough has said so. He had a vision.”
    â€œLook here, lassie,” said Hamish gently, “haven’t you read stories in the newspapers about preachers forecasting the end of the world on such and such a date and then nothing happens?”
    â€œI don’t read the newspapers.”
    â€œDid you know Liz Bentley?”
    â€œThe murdered woman? I talked to her a bit. She was a believer as well.”
    â€œShe had a ring with the inscription, ‘Yours in Christ.’ Know anything about that?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œLook here, take my advice and don’t give any more money to this crackpot religion.”
    Josie gave a little gasp and turned and ran back into the church.
    Hamish phoned Mungo Davidson. “You’d better get onto this,” he said. “I don’t want to poach on your patch but listen to this.” He told him rapidly all he had learned. “He’s conning money out of folk,” said Hamish, “and I bet if you look into his background, he’s done the same thing before.”
    â€œWe’ll get a search warrant for his accounts,” said Mungo, “and yes, we’ll check up on him. Do you think it has anything to do with your murder?”
    â€œIt could be, if Liz promised money to the church and changed her mind. She liked attention and would tell lies to get it. Maybe she promised to leave everything in her will to the church, changed her mind, and got killed because of it.”
    â€œI’ll let you know what we find out,” said Mungo.
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    Hamish went to police headquarters, where he typed out a report and left the Bible and ring in the evidence lockers. Then he set out on the long road back to Cromish. It was too late to call in at the Polish Association. He fretted that he should really be in Lochdubh, trying to find out more about the murder of the Leighs. It was on his patch. But somehow his intuition told him that there was a thread connecting Liz’s death to the Leighs. He would give it two more days in Cromish.
    It was eleven o’clock when he reached the doctor’s house. There was a light on in the kitchen, and that was where he