Free Death of a Dreamer by MC Beaton Page B

phoned Jimmy Anderson on his mobile. ‘Jimmy,’ said Hamish, ‘could you do me a favour and find out if the police contacted Caro
Garrard, Effie’s sister, or if she got in touch with them?’
    ‘Trying to turn a suicide into a murder?’
    ‘Just checking everything. Where are you?’
    ‘Walking into police headquarters. I’ll call you back.’
    After a quarter of an hour, Jimmy phoned. ‘Caro Garrard phoned the police at Strathbane and said she was Effie’s sister. That was after the death appeared in the newspapers. She said
she was in Brighton and would be travelling up.’
    Hamish thanked him and then walked out of the police station and along to the school-house, where Matthew Campbell, the reporter, lived with his wife, Freda.
    Matthew and Freda gave him a warm welcome. ‘It’s a duty call,’ said Hamish. ‘Did the story about Effie Garrard’s death get into the nationals?’
    ‘No,’ said Matthew. ‘Well, there was a bit in the Glasgow editions, but nothing got south. Why?’
    ‘Can’t tell you at the moment, but I think I’m on to something.’
    ‘If it’s a good story, don’t keep me in the dark, Hamish.’
    ‘You’ll be the first to know.’
    Hamish drove up to Effie’s cottage, his brain in a turmoil. Jock had given the impression that he and Effie had parted amicably. And the sister, Caro? She could easily
have phoned from somewhere near Lochdubh after visiting Effie and pretended she was still in Brighton. But if she were guilty of anything, why would she have pressed him to find out if her sister
had been murdered?
    She answered the door to him. The room looked more welcoming in the glow of several oil lamps than when he had last visited it.
    Hamish was momentarily diverted. ‘Where did you get the lamps?’ he asked. ‘I thought they were hard to come by now.’
    ‘I got them at an auction in Inverness. They didn’t cost much.’
    ‘You were lucky. When electricity came to the Highlands, the Hydro Electric Board led people to believe that electricity was going to be cheap. So they got rid of all the old oil lamps,
and now collectors are looking for them. Isn’t the electricity working?’
    ‘It’s supplied here by a generator. I like the light from oil lamps.’
    She probably had antifreeze for the generator, thought Hamish. He removed his peaked cap, sat down at the table, and ran his long fingers through his fiery red hair. ‘I have a
problem,’ he said.
    Caro sat down next to him. She was wearing a long Indian gown of crushed velvet decorated with little pieces of sparkling mirror. Her perfume smelled like sandalwood.
    ‘What problem?’
    ‘You were seen the evening afore Effie disappeared calling here at the cottage. Henry, the gamekeeper, was up on the hill scanning the area with a pair of binoculars looking for poachers,
and he saw you arrive.’
    She bent her head. ‘I didn’t like to tell you.’
    ‘Why? If you want me to find out whether your sister was killed or not, I need every bit of information I can get. Now, let’s have the truth.’
    She gave a little sigh and then began to speak in a low voice. ‘I wanted to find out whether she had been murdered, but I feared that if you knew I had called on her that evening, it would
look suspicious.’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘My foster parents were good people. They died when I was twenty-eight. I had already graduated from Glasgow School of Art and moved down to Brighton.’
    Hamish’s hazel eyes sharpened. ‘Did you know Jock Fleming when you were at the college?’
    She shook her head. ‘In Brighton, I began to build up a reputation for myself as an artist. Vogue did an article on Brighton, and I was featured in the magazine. Two days later,
Effie turned up. I was delighted to see her. She said she had no money and nowhere to go, and so I said she could live with me. I was dating another artist and hoped to become engaged to him. He
told me Effie was bothering him, phoning him up, trying to see him. I