Free Death of a Dreamer by MC Beaton Page A

Come ben.’
    The living room into which Mr Cullen ushered Hamish was dark and cold and strangely barren. No pictures, photographs, or books. A square table with upright chairs stood by the window. There was
an armchair next to the two-bar electric fire. The carpet was old and faded.
    ‘Sit down,’ said Mr Cullen, indicating a chair at the table. He saw Hamish looking around and said, ‘The wife died last year. I got rid of nearly everything. All those things
did were to remind me of her, and I was tired of grieving. How can I help you?’
    ‘You fostered Effie Garrard?’
    ‘Yes, that’s right. She was twelve at the time. We couldn’t cope. We had to get rid of her after a year.’
    ‘Why was that?’
    ‘She was a congenital liar. She walked into a police station and said my wife was beating her and I was sexually abusing her. Oh, the scandal. Thank God it didn’t get into the
papers. The police medical examiner found she was still a virgin and hadn’t a mark on her. We couldn’t bear to have her in the house after that.’
    ‘Do you know where she went?’
    ‘No, and I didn’t want to know.’
    ‘What was the name of the orphanage you got her from?’
    ‘It wasn’t an orphanage. We got her through the social services.’
    ‘Did you think Effie had mental troubles?’
    ‘To be frank, I’m surprised she killed herself. I always thought she would kill someone.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘At the beginning, my wife doted on Effie. She wasn’t a pretty child, but seemed cute and clever. Then my wife began to get vomiting attacks. One day I thought I saw Effie put
something in my wife’s tea. I told her and said she wasn’t to eat or drink anything that Effie had been near. She protested but did as I said, and the attacks stopped. Then there was
the sexual abuse business. That was enough.’
    ‘What about her real parents?’
    ‘I remember being told the mother was dead and the father was an abusive drunk, which is why the girls had been taken away from him.’
    Hamish thanked him and left. He decided it would be a good idea to visit Caro, but when he arrived at the police station, it was to find Archie Macleod, the fisherman, waiting for him.
    ‘What brings you?’ asked Hamish. ‘Just a chat?’
    ‘No. Now, I know it’s been going around that you don’t like gossip . . .’
    ‘I’ve just learned the Currie sisters have been warning everyone off. For heaven’s sake, tell everyone I’m interested in every bit of gossip. I couldnae do my job
otherwise. Come in and sit down and tell me what you know.’
    Archie went into the kitchen, patted Lugs, eyed Sonsie warily, and sat down. ‘I heard tell you’re interested in a wee bit o’ gossip now. It’s like this. Henry, the
gamekeeper, was up on the hill the evening Effie we suppose disappeared. He had his binoculars to his eyes, scanning for poachers. He saw Jock going into Effie’s cottage. A few minutes later,
he came out. You know how sound carries up on the moors. He couldn’t hear the words, but Jock was shouting and he looked to be in a right rage.
    ‘Then half an hour later, that wee blonde woman that was married to Jock turned up. Henry was curious because we all knew about Effie making up all that stuff about her engagement and
pregnancy. Mrs Fleming wasn’t allowed in, but she stood on the doorstep until Effie slammed the door in her face. Henry was real interested in the show, so he kept his glasses on the cottage.
He was just losing interest when he saw another wee woman drive up. At first, he thought he was seeing things because she looked a good bit like Effie. Well, that woman didn’t reappear after
Effie let her in, so Henry got bored and went back to work.’
    ‘Thanks, Archie. I’d better see the sister and the ex-wife again. I mean, for one thing, the sister was supposed to have arrived after Effie’s death. Surely it
couldn’t have been her. The police contacted her in Brighton.’
    After Archie had left, Hamish