Authors: M. C. Beaton
“Probably another waste of space,” muttered her father.
“It’s an old friend of the family,” said Mrs. Halburton-Smythe. “Harold Fox-Enderby.”
“He’s too old,” growled the colonel.
“Can I get a word in here?” demanded Priscilla. “He’ll be joining us soon, Charlie. I met him in London. He’s a stockbroker for a firm I used to do computer work for.”
I wonder how Hamish will take this news, thought Charlie. I wonder if he ever really got over her.
The dining room began to clear, and soon huddled-up figures appeared on the terrace outside the long windows.
“I hope I haven’t made a terrible mistake,” said Priscilla.
“About your engagement?” asked Charlie.
“No, of course not! I meant the aurora borealis. I wish now I had employed some technician from the film industry to fake it for me.”
Suddenly there was a great cheer from the terrace, the waiters switched off the lights in the dining room, and the great, swirling spectacle of the northern lights filled the room with greenish light.
“Hullo there!” called a voice. Charlie looked up. A burly middle-aged man was bending over to kiss Priscilla on the cheek.
“Harold,” said Priscilla, “meet my parents. And Charlie Carter, a friend of the family.”
What on earth does she see in him? marvelled Charlie. He’s too old for her.
Harold had a sallow, pugnacious face with designer stubble. He had small eyes and a fleshy nose and large thick lips. His shirt was open at the neck, displaying tufts of hair.
“What’s all this?” he asked. “Son et lumière?”
“No, it’s the aurora borealis,” said Charlie.
“Can we get you something to eat?” asked the colonel.
“No, I had something on the road up. I’ll have a coffee.” He sat down next to Priscilla and put an arm around her shoulders.
“And how is your dear mother?” asked Mrs. Halburton-Smythe.
“Lost her wits. She’s in a home.”
“Oh, dear. Poor Bertha. How awful.”
“Happens to all of us, some time or another,” said Harold. “Mind you, the home costs a mint. Daylight robbery. I can see my inheritance going down the tubes with every day that passes.”
“Is your father dead?” asked Charlie.
“Yes, broke his neck on the hunting field ten years ago. What a godforsaken part of the country this is. Miles and miles of nothingness.”
The lights came on again in the dining room. But it was as if a shadow had crossed Priscilla’s face. “You’ll see more of it tomorrow,” she said. “It is very beautiful.”
Charlie stifled a yawn. “If you folk will forgive me, I’ve had a hard day and I’d like to get to bed.”
The colonel rose to his feet. “I’ll see you downstairs, Charlie.”
No sooner were they in Charlie’s flat than the colonel started. “Why did she choose that ape? He’s been married before.”
“Divorce?”
“No, fell downstairs and broke her neck. I bet he pushed her,” said the colonel viciously. “I’ve never believed psychiatrists to be any good, but I wish now I’d sent her to one after that episode.”
“What episode?” asked Charlie.
“Never mind. Long time ago. What about a dram?”
“I’ll make up the fire,” said Charlie.
“Don’t need to. The central heating works down here.”
“George, I like a fire,” said Charlie stubbornly. The fire was set and ready to light. He struck a match, lit it, and then got out a bottle of whisky and two glasses.
The colonel settled back in an armchair. “Would you like to earn a bit o’ money, Charlie?”
“If you want me to do something for you, I’ll do it for nothing,” said Charlie.
“This is serious stuff. I want you to get rid of Harold.”
“Kill him?”
“No, no. Cut him out with Priscilla. You’re a good-looking fellow. Pitch in there!”
“How long is your daughter up here for?” asked Charlie.
“Just a couple of days.”
“Even if I wanted to, I couldnae romance any lassie in two days. Priscilla has been engaged before and I don’t mean just to Hamish.”
“Never came to anything.”
“So,” said Charlie, “I’ll bet you this one will fizzle out.”
“But there were nasty rumours about Harold when he was married. Said he beat his wife.”
Charlie sat, nursing his glass of whisky and looking into the leaping flames of the fire. At last he said, “I have this chap I went to school with, Lochy Cullen. He was christened Lochinver by his ma who was a fan o’ Walter Scott. That got him picked on in school. I beat off his tormentors because he was a puny wee chap. But I couldnae be there for him all the time. When he got to his teens, he shot up in height and started bodybuilding, and then he began to punch everyone who had tormented him. He works as a bouncer at a posh club in London. Now, here’s an idea. You could pay him to keep an eye on Priscilla. Maybe just for the next fortnight. He might be glad o’ a break from the club. He phones me from time to time. Have you got keys to Priscilla’s flat in London?”
“Yes, me and the wife stay there when we’re in London. Why?”
“Just in case Lochy hears noises of violence and has to burst in.”
“Phone him now!”
“Right. I may get him at the club. You go upstairs. Leave your watch behind. If I come up and hand it to you, you’ll know everything’s been set up. Now, to the money business.”
The colonel came up with a generous sum, left Charlie, and went reluctantly back to the dining room. His wife was sitting alone with Priscilla. “Where’s Harold?” asked the colonel.
“The poor lamb was tired and he’s gone to bed,” said Priscilla.
Lamb, thought the colonel furiously. More like wolf in sheep’s clothing. Priscilla began to talk about hotel business while the colonel only half listened until he heard, with relief, Charlie’s voice saying, “You left your watch.”
“Thanks, Charlie. Thanks a lot!”
Charlie reported to the police station in the morning and Hamish listened in dismay to his news. When he had finished, Hamish said, “I got a call from the inspector. She’s still working on Andrew’s alibi. Probably be back up here tomorrow if she gets a breakthrough. We’d better get up to the hotel and see her while she’s here. I’ll see if Angela will look in on Sonsie and Lugs.”
Angela said she didn’t mind as long as the animals were left in the police station and not in her home, frightening her cats. Hamish and Charlie set out for the hotel. They called on the manager, Mr. Johnson, first of all and explained the problem. He said he would alert the staff to keep an eye on Priscilla. “But right now they’ve gone out for a run,” said the manager.
“Damn! We’d better search for them,” said Hamish. “Any idea where they went?”
“I think Priscilla said something about going to visit Dick and Anka.”
“Right. We’d better get over there.”
In Braikie, they headed up the side stairs to the flat above, knowing that Dick and Anka would be doing business online while staff served in the shop.
They paused outside the door and listened. They could clearly hear Harold saying, “What is a divine creature like you doing living in a dump like this? I could get you a job in London as a model. I also know people in the television and film industry.”
Enough, thought Hamish, and he opened the door. Four faces turned to look at them. Priscilla’s was a frozen mask. Dick looked furious. Harold was plainly leering at Anka, and Anka greeted them with patent relief.
“Come in, Hamish and Charlie. We are so glad to see you.”
“I am afraid we are just leaving,” said Priscilla. “Come along, Harold.”
He gave her a baffled look but followed her out. “Tell you later,” said Hamish. “Got to follow them.”
He hurried down the stairs and peered round into the street. Harold and Priscilla were getting into Harold’s Range Rover. As it started up, Hamish noticed with delight that one of the brake lights wasn’t working.
“His brake light’s out,” he said to Charlie. “Let’s stop them. Tell you what. You go to Braikie garage and tell Jake there’s fifty pounds for him if he finds something else wrong or makes something else wrong.”
Hamish jumped in his Land Rover and with siren wailing and blue light flashing, he set off in pursuit. Harold pulled to the side of the road. Hamish got out and rapped on the driver’s window. When Harold lowered it, Hamish said, “You have a broken brake light and you cannot proceed unless you get it fixed.”
“Do we need to do it now, Hamish?” asked Priscilla. “It’s just a minor thing.”
Hamish ignored her and said to Harold, “There’s the garage a few yards back. Take your vehicle there.”
Muttering about highland peasants, Harold turned his car around and headed for the garage.
Charlie saw him coming and quickly moved out of the garage and went to join Hamish.
“That’ll keep the scunner busy for a while,” said Hamish. “Let’s go to the pub for lunch.”
But when they emerged an hour later and strolled to the garage it was to find that Harold and Priscilla had gone.
“What went wrong?” demanded Hamish.
“I tried my best,” said Jake. “But thon fellow knew as much about cars as me. Here’s your fifty back.”
“Any idea where they went?” asked Hamish.
“I told them the Falls of Shin over by Lairg would look right pretty in the snow.”
“We’ll try there,” said Hamish.
By the Falls of Shin, Harold shouted above the roar of the water, “Are we going to stand here freezing all day? Think of it, Priscilla. We could be in London, instead of freezing our arses up here. Mind you, I know a good way to keep warm.” He jerked her into his arms and forced his mouth down on hers. Priscilla began to struggle. “Not here,” she pleaded, jerking her mouth back. He abruptly released her and then swore. A snowball had struck him on the back of the head.
He looked wildly around. “Where did that come from?”
“Probably kids,” said Priscilla. “We’ll go back to the car and find somewhere to eat.”
They climbed back up to the car park. That was when Harold found that his car would not start. Cursing, he got out and lifted the bonnet. “The distributor leads have gone!” he yelled.
He looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle to see the police Land Rover turning into the car park.
Hamish Macbeth climbed down and approached them. “Oh, it is yourselves,” he said. “Some wee laddies phoned up and said a woman was being raped down at the falls.”
“You can help out,” snarled Harold. “Someone has stolen the distributor leads.”
“I’ll get someone from the nearest garage over. It’ll be quicker than phoning the Automobile Association. We’ll take Priscilla with us because it’s too cold for a lady to wait here.”
“I’ll come, too,” said Harold.
“Och, no need for that,” said Hamish. “What if the thief came back and took the whole car?”
“It’s all right, Harold,” said Priscilla. “I won’t be long.”
Charlie moved into the back and Priscilla climbed into the passenger seat. “Now,” she said angrily, “did you stage this?”
“Why would I do that?” asked Hamish.
“To spoil my fun.”
“Oh, my.” Hamish threw on the brakes. “I should ha’ known you’d prefer to be wi’ your fiancé.”
“Just drive on!” snapped Priscilla.
The garage in Lairg was closed for
DINNER
, as the notice on the door said, dinner still being served in the middle of the day. They found out that the garage owner lived in a bungalow down by the loch, but he refused to move until he had finished his dinner of barley soup, stew, and apple crumble. Priscilla tried to phone Harold but could not get a reply. The reason was that Harold was sure Hamish had planned the whole thing. Thirsting for revenge, he phoned police headquarters in Strathbane and said he wished to report Sergeant Hamish Macbeth, who had deliberately sabotaged his car.
Blair heard of the call and said he would deal with it. This, he was sure, was Hamish trying to cover up something sinister. For Hamish had not put in a report. Careless of expense, he commandeered the police helicopter and set off.
Harold heard the whir of the helicopter overhead and got out of his car. The helicopter descended, covering him in a small blizzard. Blair and two policemen got out.
“Come with us,” ordered Blair. “We’ll sort this out at headquarters.”
“I am not going anywhere, you stupid moron,” raged the snowman that was Harold. “This is like the Keystone Cops.”
“Handcuff him,” ordered Blair. “I am charging you with abusing a senior police officer.”
Hamish, Priscilla, and Charlie looked up in the sky and saw the helicopter lifting off. “I think that was ower at the falls,” said Charlie.
“Probably some poor soul has had a heart attack or something,” said Hamish. “We’d better get to his car and fix it.”
He raced ahead of the mechanic. “You stay in the car, Priscilla,” said Hamish. “Don’t want you getting cold.”
He quickly replaced the distributor leads before the mechanic arrived. But Harold had taken the car keys with him. Hamish looked around and then down at the blown circle of snow. “He must have had an accident,” he said. “That helicopter must have been for Harold.”
He phoned the Air Ambulance, but they said they had not picked anyone up from Lairg.
Detective Chief Inspector Blair was a very unlucky man. Daviot was leaving the police station just as a handcuffed Harold was being marched inside.
“I wish to use my phone,” Harold was shouting. “My fiancée, Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, will wonder what has happened to me.”
“May I be of assistance?” asked Daviot.
Harold burst out with the whole story.
Daviot’s pale eyes fastened on Blair. “Why is this gentleman in handcuffs?”
“He insulted me,” said Blair.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said that Macbeth had sabotaged his car.”
“Did you phone Macbeth and demand an explanation?”
“It seemed too important to wait. So I took the helicopter up there.”
“You
what
?” roared Daviot. “Do you know the cost of that thing? You are a bloody moron. I am so deeply sorry, sir. I will take you back and we will settle this whole matter. Get the handcuffs off him, now!”