“I’m going daft,” said Hamish. “I’ve just insulted the Currie sisters.”
“They’ll get over it,” said Archie. “I hear those murders have been solved.”
“Yes, it’s all over,” said Hamish. But he experienced the first sharp pang of doubt.
“You’d better settle down now and find yourself a wifie,” said Archie.
“I’m beginning to think I have no luck at all in that direction,” said Hamish.
Archie deftly rolled up a cigarette, shoved it in his toothless mouth, lit it, and said, “You should ask the fairies.”
“You don’t believe in that rubbish, do you, Archie?”
“All you do,” said Archie, “is put out a bit o’ milk, salt, and iron outside your door and wait.”
“You’re joshing. I’m off to get some weight off these beasties o’ mine.”
When Hamish returned to the police station, he saw with a mixture of irritation and amusement that outside the kitchen door Archie had placed a small saucer of milk, a little open glass jar of salt, and a piece of iron.
Well, thought Hamish with a shrug, if I had a wife like Archie’s, I’d need to believe in something daft to keep me going. Archie’s wife was a fanatical housecleaner. She boiled all the household laundry in an old-fashioned copper, including Archie’s trousers and jackets—which explained why the fisherman always went around in tight clothes.
He passed the day cleaning up the police station and giving his small flock of sheep winter feed.
He walked the dog and cat again, wondering whether to call on the Currie sisters and apologise, but found himself unable to face up to it.
When Hamish walked back into the police station, he experienced a sharp pang of loneliness. There was no point in going to join Charlie, because the big policeman would be settling down for a family evening with the colonel and his wife.
Sonsie came up and put a large paw on his knee. “You don’t believe in the fairies, do you, Sonsie? Load o’ superstitious rubbish!”
There came a sharp scream of rising wind which rattled the kitchen door. Hamish stood, startled.
Then the door opened and Elspeth Grant walked in. “It’s me,” she said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine. Sit down. Windy out?”
“No, it’s as still as the grave. Going to be a sharp frost. I’ve just been down to Strathbane. Boring footage of Daviot. I suppose you broke the case.”
“In a way.”
“So it’s all over?”
“I suppose. We’ll never know. I am sure that Malky’s family will sue the socks off the council.”
“I’ve tried to interview the provost, but he’s hiding behind his lawyer and everyone else in the council has been taught to say, ‘No comment.’”
Elspeth was wearing a silver puffa jacket that matched the colour of her odd eyes. She shrugged it off. Underneath she was wearing a blue cashmere sweater. She had small, high, firm breasts.
“I’ve got a bottle of Hungarian champagne out in the shed,” said Hamish. “We could have a glass to celebrate.”
“Bring it on, just so long as it doesn’t have any antifreeze in it.”
“That was Austria,” said Hamish, referring to an old scandal.
He went out to the shed. The champagne had been a present from a grateful woman after Hamish had tracked down her lost dog. Antifreeze, he thought suddenly. That’s what killed Jessie McGowan. Now, why would someone like Malky get to hear about her? And even if he had, would Malky, a druggie and city boy, believe in anyone being able to have the second sight? Even if he did, the second sight meant the future.
Elspeth appeared behind him, making him jump. “I thought you’d got lost,” she said.
“No. Just thinking. It’s right cold. Let’s get indoors.”
On the way in, Elspeth glanced down at the milk, salt, and iron. “Didn’t know you were a believer, Hamish.”
“I’m not. It is just Archie’s nonsense.”
She gave a sudden shiver. “Now, why do I suddenly feel you are soon going to need a lot of protection?”
Hamish looked down at her uneasily. He knew from past experience that Elspeth, who came from a Gypsy family, was psychic.
He lifted two wineglasses down from the cupboard. “I havenae got champagne flutes. These’ll need to do.”
“There’s been a recent report that flutes are out of fashion,” said Elspeth. “Something to do with them spoiling the taste.”
Hamish popped the cork and filled two glasses.
“Here’s to a quiet life,” he said.
“Here’s to your safety,” said Elspeth. “So let’s have it, Hamish. You don’t think Malky did the murders. How did that detective die?”
“Willie? The latest was smoke inhalation. Now, that could have been Malky. He was in cahoots wi’ Gloria. He may not have known that Willie would be in the office. It was a Sunday morning. I had an appointment with him.”
“How was the fire started?”