A Highland Christmas by M. C Beaton

Author:M. C Beaton [Beaton, M. C]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Humour
ISBN: 9781408493014
Google: vu1jewAACAAJ
Amazon: 0446609196
Barnesnoble: 0446609196
Goodreads: 18442
Publisher: Chivers
Published: 1999-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

FOUR

Hamish put in a request to Strathbane for a list of all petty crimes in the Highland area in the past month. Then he decided to go over to Cnothan and make some more inquiries. The day was cold and still. It never snowed on Christmas day but he found himself hoping that just this year there might be a light fall to delight the children. As he passed Mrs. Gallagher’s croft, he saw her out in the fields. She seemed to be shouting something. He stopped and switched off the engine and rolled down the window.

“Smoky!” she was calling. “Smoky!”

Her voice echoed round the winter landscape, and the twin mountains above Lochdubh sent back the wailing echo of her voice. He drove on slowly, looking right and left, suddenly hoping that he would see a grey-and-white cat. But only a startled deer ran across his path and then with one great leap vanished among some stunted trees at the side of the road.

He drove on until he reached Cnothan. He noticed lights had been strung along the main street and two men were erecting a tree in a large tub at the bottom of the street. He called in at Mr. Sinclair’s shop. “Oh, it’s you,” said Mr. Sinclair.

“I see you’ve got the lights up. Did that mean another collection?”

“No, it did not! I paid for those lights out of my own pocket, so that should shut up those who said I only wanted the lights to make a bit of money.”

“No more thefts in Cnothan?”

“Not that I know of. Isn’t one theft enough for you?”

“Just wondered. Any news of strangers about the place?”

“Look, I’ve been too busy with the customers to notice anything.”

Hamish looked thoughtfully at him. He wondered if by any mad chance Mr. Sinclair had taken the lights himself and then because of the fuss had handed them back, claiming to have supplied new ones.

He went out of the shop and strolled down towards the loch. He stood for a moment watching the men working on the tree and then he went into the bait shop. Mr. McPhee looked up. “You again.”

“Yes, me. I’m still checking around to see if any strangers have been spotted, probably four young men in a four-wheel drive.”

“See nothing like that.”

Hamish looked around. “You can’t do much trade this time of year.”

“It’s better than sitting at home looking at the telly. I hate Christmas, and that’s a fact.”

“What will you be doing for Christmas?”

“Sitting getting drunk and trying not to put my foot through the telly. Do you know they’re going to show The Sound of Music again? It’s enough to drive a man mad.”

“I tell you what, me and the schoolteacher from Lochbudh are going down on Christmas day to a concert at an old folks home to try and brighten the folks up. Why don’t you come with us?”

“I’m not that old. I’m only sixty-eight.”

“I’m not old either. But it would be a bit o’ fun.”

Mr. McPhee peered at him and then said, “Aye, it might be fun.

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