Death of a Nurse by M. C. Beaton

being tormented by the fascist police. I’ll write to my member of Parliament.”
    Elspeth had covertly signalled to her crew to keep on filming. “Andrew, what’s the use of having a son who’s a lawyer when he can do bugger-all to protect me? You always were useless,” roared his father.
    “I’ll get your medicine,” said Helen.
    Mr. Harrison told her to take the medicine and shove it where the sun didn’t shine.
    “They’re still filming,” warned Andrew. Mr. Harrison picked up a medicine bottle from the table next to him and hurled it at Elspeth, who ducked.
    Her crew began to hurriedly pack things away, afraid he might start throwing more things and damage the equipment. “And phone my lawyer,” said Mr. Harrison. “I’m changing my will.”
    “But I’m your lawyer,” said Andrew.
    “Didn’t know I had another one, hey? It’s old Tinety down in Strathbane.”
      
    When Elspeth and her crew left the building, it was to find a forensic team suiting up and Charlie and Fiona standing waiting.
    “Where’s Hamish?” asked Elspeth.
    “He turned up with the cat and dog and the inspector here sent him back saying she didn’t want animals contaminating the scene.”
    “How did you get on?” asked Charlie.
    “Don’t speak to the press,” snapped Fiona.
    Elspeth shrugged. With any luck, she might meet Hamish on the road back.
      
    They were just leaving the estate when Elspeth recognised Hamish’s Land Rover, leaned out the window, and signalled to him to stop.
    Both climbed out of their vehicles and met on the road. “I actually got an interview,” said Elspeth. “It’s going to look odd on film. Rather like the Addams family, all lined up behind the old man’s chair. He lied. He said he couldn’t move from the chair. Oh, and at the end, he threw a hissy fit and demanded his lawyer.”
    “His son’s a lawyer.”
    “Doesn’t want him. Got one in Strathbane.”
    “This is getting more like a damn film every minute,” said Hamish. “If it were a film, the old sod would be found dead before he could change his will. I checked the alibis this morning. Andrew and his wife were guests of people down in Somerset the weekend of the murder, so that rules them out.” He got back into the Land Rover and drove on to join the others.
    Just after he arrived, the head of the forensic team came out. “They’re all in the drawing room and we’ve taken their fingerprints and DNA samples. You can interview them.”
    “Before we go in,” said Hamish, “I’d better tell you what Elspeth Grant has found out.”
    “You should not have spoken to the press without my permission,” raged Fiona.
    “Elspeth is a good source of information. Listen to this.” Hamish told her about Mr. Harrison changing his will.
    “These old folk with money can be murderees,” said Fiona. “They use their wills as power over people. ‘Be nice to me, or I’ll cut you out.’ Let’s go in and see what we can find out.”
    Just as they were about to enter the drawing room, Fiona stopped short and held up her hand. They could clearly hear Andrew pleading, “But we’ve always looked out for you, Father. It was your choice to bury yourself up in this godforsaken place. We offered you a home with us.”
    “Maybe I’ve been a bit hasty,” came Mr. Harrison’s voice. “Get me another whisky, Mackenzie, and don’t ever bleat on about my high blood pressure again.”
    Fiona nodded and opened the door and they all walked in. “What now?” demanded Andrew.
    “Mr. Harrison misled us when he claimed he could not walk,” said Fiona. “Macbeth here thought he saw someone lurking outside the building when we were last here and went to have a look. He saw you, Mr. Harrison, get out of your chair and go to get yourself a drink.”
    “Police spies, that’s what you are,” shouted Mr. Harrison. “I can only walk a few yards.”
    “That is the case,” said the nurse, moving to stand between her employer and the