Death of a Nurse by M. C. Beaton Page A

police. “I drive him down once a week to Strathbane Hospital for physiotherapy.”
    “I don’t understand,” said Fiona. “You said you came off your horse and broke your back. If you had a broken back you would not be able to walk at all.”
    “I meant I damaged the nerves on my spine,” said Mr. Harrison.
    Fiona painstakingly took him back through the events of the evening when Gloria had disappeared until Helen Mackenzie stepped forward.
    “That’s enough,” she said harshly. “You have tired him. It’s time for his nap. Come along, sir.” She seized the handles of his wheelchair and pushed him towards the door, which Andrew leapt to hold open.
    When he had gone, Fiona turned her attention to Andrew. “Do you know what is in his will?”
    “He said he had some lawyer in Strathbane,” said Andrew, “but as far as I know, I am the heir.”
    “And what is the name of the lawyer in Strathbane?”
    “Someone called Tinety, I think.”
    Hamish left Charlie to take down what was being said while he studied Andrew. Pompous but hardly the murdering type, he thought. Still, it’s hard to tell.
      
    When they were once more outside, Fiona phoned Jimmy Anderson and asked him to visit the lawyer in Strathbane and see if he could find anything out. When she rang off, she said to Hamish, “You go back to that cliff. There must be something we missed. Charlie will come with me to Strathbane where he can type up his notes, and then we’ll go over what we’ve got.”
    As he got into his Land Rover, Hamish watched Charlie and Fiona getting into the back of Fiona’s car and pushed his peaked cap back and scratched his fiery-red hair in bewilderment. Fiona must have a lot of power to use the services of a lowly constable like Charlie. Was something going on there? She was married and Charlie was a great big innocent. I hope he doesn’t get hurt, thought Hamish.
    He drove on up the coast, turning all he knew over in his mind. Gloria had been trying to seduce her employer. Gloria was a gold digger. Therefore it followed that anyone wanting her out of the way would surely be someone like Andrew or his wife, who felt they were about to lose their inheritance. But both were alibied up to the hilt. So that left only old Harrison, furious at finding out she had been playing around. Say he had strangled her in a rage. He could have paid Juris a large sum to dump the body.
    Better get Charlie to check his bank accounts. But where does he bank? Should have asked. He realised he was hungry and stopped at the café for a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee.
    The café was quiet. “Do you do much business here?” asked Hamish.
    “We get a lot of folk in the summer. I’m Sheena Farquar.” She was a small, rosy-cheeked, grey-haired woman.
    “Hamish Macbeth. Folk must have been talking a lot about the murder. Did anyone see anything?”
    “Only poor auld Jessie McGowan. The girl’s daft. But it’s believed she has the sight.”
    Hamish knew she was referring to the second sight, certain highlanders supposedly blessed with seeing the future. Even Boswell and Johnson went searching for evidence of it in their tour of the Hebrides.
    “Where does she live?”
    “A wee house at the end o’ Loan Road. It’s got a purple door.”
    “Does she live alone?”
    “Aye, her parents are dead. She can look after herself well enough, but she scares people, always mumbling and talking to herself.”
    Hamish made his way to Loan Road and located the house with the purple door. There was no doorbell. But there was a brass knocker in the shape of a devil’s head. He raised his hand to knock but the door was jerked open.
    At first he thought this could surely not be Jessie McGowan, for the small woman looking up at him seemed sane enough.
    “I am Police Sergeant Hamish Macbeth,” he said. “I would like a few words with Miss McGowan.”
    She nodded and stood aside to let him enter. There was a tiny square of a hall. She opened a door