Death of a Dreamer by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton [BEATON, M. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC022000
ISBN: 9780446553315
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2008-12-14T05:00:00+00:00

Mr. Johnson, the manager, back from his shopping, told them that Betty was out somewhere. Hamish and Robin took seats in the bar where they could sit and watch through the open door into the reception area.

“Would you like a drink?” asked Hamish.

“I’ll have an orange juice.” Hamish ordered orange juice for her and coffee for himself.

Half an hour passed. They were just about to give up when Betty walked into reception. Hamish hailed her.

Betty was wearing another trouser suit, a silky thing the same green as her eyes. “I was down at the police station looking for you, Hamish,” she said. “I called in at that police unit, and they told me I’d find you up here because you wanted to question me.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” asked Hamish.

“A gin and tonic with a lot of ice would be lovely. I took your beasts out for a walk and fed them. They're all right.”

Hamish looked at her in genuine gratitude. “Thanks a lot, Betty. They're worse than children.”

He called to the barman, “A gin and tonic over here. Lots of ice. Now, Betty…”

“I’ll do the questioning,” said Robin firmly. “Miss Barnard…”

“Betty, please.”

“Betty. Let’s go over again the evening Effie disappeared. You said you met Mr. Fleming for a late dinner. What were you doing earlier in the evening?”

“Let me see. I have other artists, you know. I was up in my room making phone calls. You can check my hotel phone bill.”

“We'll need to check your mobile as well.”

“You'll need to go to Glasgow to do that. I left it behind.”

“Give me your mobile phone number.”

Betty did and raised her eyebrows at Hamish as if wondering why he was letting Robin ask all the questions.

“So you were in your room for the early part of the evening. Any witnesses?”

“Yes, that maid, Bessie something or other. I ordered a drink from room service, and she brought it up.”

“What time was that?”

“Not sure. About eight o’clock.”

The bar had begun to fill up. “Press,” explained Hamish. “They're all over the place. Let’s move to the lounge.” He saw Matthew Campbell among the reporters and photographers and made a mental note to call on him later and see if he had found out anything.

Once seated in a corner of the lounge, Robin started the questioning again.

“So did you meet Jock for dinner by previous arrangement?”

“No, he called on me in my room and said he’d been up to see Effie. He told me he had straightened her out and said he was famished.”

“What time was this?”

“It was about nine o’clock. I said we’d better hurry down to the dining room because they stopped cooking at nine-thirty.”

“And when did you finish eating?”

“Around eleven. Then we went to our respective rooms.”

“Did you know Jock Fleming before he was married?”

“Yes. A friend introduced us and begged me to look at his work. I did. I saw it was marketable. People are turning away from abstracts. I arranged an exhibition for him, and he did very well indeed.

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