Death of a Village by MC Beaton Page B

foot.
    ‘What?’ demanded Hamish.
    ‘Funny business ower at Stoyre,’ said Willie.
    ‘Know anything about it?’
    ‘No, but I’m keeping my ear to the ground.’
    ‘Grand. Now, how’s about getting us the food?’
    ‘Lucia wonders when you’re coming to see wee Hamish, your godchild.’
    ‘Tell her I’ll be along soon.’
    ‘He’s taking his first steps and you havenae been there to see it.’
    ‘Willie! Food!’
    Elspeth watched Willie retreat to the kitchen with their orders. ‘What does Lucia see in him?’ she asked.
    ‘He cleans. He’s mad about cleaning. He does all the housework. That’s why Lucia adores him.’
    ‘So what’s been happening about Stoyre?’ asked Elspeth. ‘I’ve just been over there.’
    ‘You’ll know more about it than I do. Find out anything?’
    ‘No, but something bad’s going on.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘I sense it.’
    ‘I’m going to do something more practical about finding out,’ said Hamish. He told her about his planned holiday there.
    ‘I’ve some leave owing,’ said Elspeth. ‘I could come with you.’
    ‘And where would you stay?’
    ‘Wherever you’re staying, of course.’
    ‘That would antagonize that God-fearing community no end. They would say we were living in sin.’
    ‘Well, I’ll drop over and see you.’
    Hamish began to feel hunted. ‘Chust leave me be to get on wi’ my investigation,’ he said quietly.
    Elspeth turned a little pink and looked relieved when Willie arrived with the wine.
    ‘So what’s been going on in Lochdubh that I don’t know about?’ asked Hamish to break the awkward silence which had followed his last remark.
    ‘Maybe there’s something you could do to help,’ said Elspeth. ‘Do you know old Mrs Docherty?’
    ‘Of course. I havenae seen her for a while.’
    ‘She’s all alone. She needs professional care. She’s rambling in her mind and should really be in a nursing home.’
    ‘Has she any relatives?’
    ‘Just a daughter down in Glasgow. Mrs Wellington has written to her several times but she never replies.’
    ‘What nursing home could she go into?’
    ‘There’s a new one just outside Braikie.’
    ‘I’d forgotten about that one. It’s called The Pines.’
    ‘Maybe you could call on her and persuade her to go there. Mind you, it would mean selling her cottage.’
    They talked together amicably and Hamish had to admit to himself afterwards that he had enjoyed the evening.
    Hamish called on Mrs Docherty the following day. The front door was standing open so he put his head round it and called, ‘Mrs Docherty! It’s me, Hamish.’
    ‘Come in,’ called a surprisingly strong voice.
    He walked into a small cluttered parlour. Mrs Docherty looked as hale and hearty as the last time he had seen her. Her grey hair was thick and her large figure was not stooped. Her face was
criss-crossed with a multitude of wrinkles and her faded grey eyes were alert.
    ‘Sit down, Hamish,’ she said. ‘You can make us a cup of tea after you explain why you’ve called.’
    ‘It’s a social visit,’ said Hamish awkwardly.
    Her intelligent eyes surveyed him with amusement.
    ‘Och, I heard you were getting senile,’ Hamish blurted out, and then turned dark red with embarrassment.
    She laughed. ‘Don’t look so upset. Most people weary me. I have my books and my computer to keep me amused. So when people I don’t like call round, I mumble and drool. Maybe
I’d better stop it or they’ll be dragging me off to some nursing home.’
    ‘I hear there’s a new one outside Braikie.’
    ‘Not all that new. It’s been there for a year. I wouldn’t go there even if I was on my last legs.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I think they kill people,’ she sad.
    ‘Och, come on. I’d have heard about it.’
    ‘I had a good friend over in Braikie,’ she said. ‘Maisie Freeman. She got very frail and her family persuaded her to go into The Pines. It’s a private nursing home, but
if you sign over your house to them, they