Free Death of a Gentle Lady by MC Beaton

mother was murdered.
    When she had gone, Jimmy said, ‘What a mouth!’
    ‘Trout pout,’ said Hamish. ‘Collagen.’
    ‘How do you know these things?’
    ‘I observe,’ said Hamish.
    ‘Well, observe this. We seem to have at least two motives if we can break their alibis – Sarah and Mark.’
    ‘If it was one of the family, they’d need to have had an accomplice,’ said Hamish. ‘The woman who made that phone call was tall and slim.’
    Jimmy’s phone rang. He listened carefully and then rang off. ‘Dr Forsythe’s done the toxicology report. Date-rape drug in the sherry. She must have felt herself blacking out and tried to vomit the drug up. It was the blow on the head that killed her. Only one of the wineglasses had been used. The other one was clean.’
    ‘I feel if we could solve the murder of Irena, then we could find out who murdered Mrs Gentle,’ said Hamish. ‘Anything about her from the Russians?’
    ‘Not yet. They should come up with something, however. It’s not as if it’s political.’
    ‘Unless her protector, Grigori, is in the mafia and the Russian mafia has links to politics,’ said Hamish.
    ‘I tell you what, Hamish. Get back down to Lochdubh and see if you can find that woman or at least the bike. I’m going to have them in again.’

Chapter Five

    Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou are gone, and forever!
– Sir Walter Scott

    Hamish parked at the police station, fed his hens, gave his sheep their winter fodder, and cooked up lunch for his dog and cat, all the while wondering about that bicycle.
    He remembered that the hotel had some bicycles which they allowed their guests to use. He decided to go there but felt forced to leave his pets behind. The press lurking outside the police station, he was sure, would snap photos of his wild cat and a debate would start whether it was right for a police officer to have such a ‘dangerous animal’.
    But instead of driving straight to the hotel, he parked up on the moors above Lochdubh. He needed peace and quiet to think.
    How was it that he who had always considered himself to be a shrewd judge of character should have been taken in by Irena? At first, he had been sure her distress was genuine. Add to that her beauty, and so he was taken in. Had she been on the streets of Moscow before finding her protector? He guessed that the life she had led had made her hard and tough. Men were creatures to be used. Maybe she had not intended to use him, and then on reflection she discovered she had hit on a soft target. It would mean more than a passport to her to become a married woman. It would mean respectability. Yes, he decided, she would ruthlessly use every weapon she could find to make sure it happened. She would accept Mrs Gentle’s offer of money and a reception – first, surely, because she knew something about her, and second because after her treatment, she felt a desire to make the woman pay.
    His thoughts turned to the mysterious phone caller. By car, she could have made the journey to the castle in about twenty minutes. By bike, very much longer. So it stood to reason that she had quickly ditched the bike somewhere outside Lochdubh, got into a car, and driven off.
    So where would a stranger dump a bike on the road out of the village? She might heave it over the bridge and into the river. She wouldn’t want to use a mobile phone – that could be traced. She maybe wouldn’t want to drive into the village in case someone noticed the make of car and the registration number.
    He drove back down to the humpbacked bridge over the River Anstey, got out, and scrambled down beside the bridge to the river.
    In spring when the snow melted, the Anstey would become a raging torrent. But now it was peaceful, the golden peaty water chuckling over the rocks. And there, lying in the water, was a bicycle. He could see that the old-fashioned wicker basket on the front, described by the