Death of a Prankster by MC Beaton Page A

auld Trent I wass going tae sue him. Danger tae Mary’s health, shock, trauma, the lot. He settled out o’ court.’
    ‘For how much?’
    ‘Ten thousand pounds. I’m no’ a greedy man. After that, every time he wanted help wi’ one o’ his jokes, I’d charge him a fee. It was me that wass the headless knight. Aye, auld Trent hated ma guts. He wanted me tae leave, but was frightened tae make me for he was scared o’ me.’
    The powerful hands on his knees tensed and relaxed.
    ‘Man, man, why stay on in all this hate and madness?’ cried Hamish.
    ‘It suited me. I’m a canny man. Money dis-nae grow on trees and we had the flat here for free. You know what they say about us Scots.’
    ‘The trouble with you mean Scots,’ said Hamish angrily, ‘is that you claim it as a national virtue, which gives the other ninety-nine generous per cent o’ the population a bad reputation. I wass sorry for you when I heard about the trick Trent played on ye, but you’re just as bad as your master ever was, in my opinion.’
    ‘Aye, but your opinion doesnae matter, laddie. It’s that cheil, Blair, that’s running the investigation. I ken you. You’re nothing but the village copper frae Lochdubh and a damned crofter as well.’
    Hamish left with a decided desire to find Jimmy Gaskell guilty. He made his way down to the kitchen. Melissa was sitting at the table eating sandwiches and Towser was lying beside an empty bowl on the floor, asleep again.
    ‘I was looking for some scraps for Towser,’ said Melissa. ‘I could only find a little bit of cold meat because I didn’t want to annoy Enrico by taking anything bigger. But he came down after the reading of the will, asked what I was doing and when I told him, he gave Towser a pound of liver. How did it go?’
    ‘Jeffrey and Jan, Paul and the Trent sisters are all going to be verra, verra rich. Enrico and Maria and the outdoor staff all get generous legacies. Charles Trent gets nothing.’
    ‘Oh, that’s wicked,’ said Melissa. ‘Poor Charles. Surely the others will give him something.’
    ‘I’ll be verra surprised if they do,’ said Hamish, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting down beside her at the table. ‘Don’t you want to congratulate Paul?’
    ‘No, I don’t feel like it,’ said Melissa. ‘I just want to go home.’
    ‘Stick it out,’ urged Hamish. ‘Oh, here’s Anderson.’
    Detective Jimmy Anderson wandered into the kitchen. ‘Anything to drink down here, Hamish?’ he asked. ‘I went into the drawing room where they’ve got the drinks, but the new millionaires told me to get lost.’
    ‘I’ll ask Enrico,’ said Melissa. ‘He’s in his quarters.’
    ‘Leave him,’ said Anderson. He rummaged through cupboards and found a bottle of cooking sherry and poured himself a large glass before sitting down at the table with them.
    ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he sighed, after taking a great swig.
    ‘Rough time with Titchy?’ asked Hamish sympathetically.
    ‘Rough! That little lady knows more swearwords than the whole of Her Majesty’s armed forces put together. She comes tripping in, batting her eyelashes at Blair and oozing sex. He rips into her. She takes a deep breath and bingo! Out goes Marilyn Monroe, in comes Lady Macbeth.’
    ‘What other reports did you get?’ asked Hamish.
    Anderson looked pointedly at Melissa. ‘Never mind her,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ll get you some Scotch.’
    ‘You’re on. But how?’
    ‘Wait.’ Hamish went up to the drawing room. There were bottles stacked on a trolley in the corner. He picked one up after the other while everyone watched him nervously. Then he seized a bottle of malt whisky, said, ‘Aha! Fingerprints,’ and marched out of the room with it.
    ‘You’re a genius,’ breathed Anderson, tossing back the remains of his sherry and filling the glass up with whisky. ‘Right, let me see. Charles, the adopted son. Can’t find any adoption papers in the house. Cheerful layabout, popular,