Death of Yesterday by M. C. Beaton Page B

about our night together.”
    “You what!”
    “Well, how was I to know you were an item?”
    Hamish clutched his red hair. “Lassie, you’ll be the ruin of me. Please go away and forget you ever saw me.”
    Hannah rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you to think it over,” she said. “It’s either marriage to me or I’ll tell your bosses.”
    She tripped out the door and left Hamish staring after her.
    Dick emerged from the living room. “I heard all that,” he said. “You’ll just need to stick to yer guns and say the lassie’s
     lying.”
    “Blair’ll believe her,” said Hamish. “God, I wish she were dead!”
    “Wish who was dead?” asked a voice from the open kitchen door.
    Nessie Currie stood there.
    “No one,” said Hamish. “What do you want?”
    “Our rubbish bin has been knocked over,” said Nessie. “It’s those schoolchildren.”
    “It’s the wind,” said Hamish. “Bins have been sent flying all over the village.”
    “You’re as lazy as ever,” said Nessie. “I’ve a good mind to report…”
    “I’ll look into it,” said Hamish quickly, anxious to get rid of her.
    “See you do.”
      
    Later that morning, Hannah sat in her brother’s office at the factory. She had not told him about her night with Hamish. Apart
     from Elspeth, she had not told anyone. She decided she never would. Her vanity demanded that it should look as if Hamish Macbeth
     had fallen for her, rather than being blackmailed into marriage.
    “What about us having lunch together?” she asked.
    Geordie miserably shuffled the papers on his desk. “Can’t. I’ve got too much work. Whatever Morag was, she was damn efficient.
     The new secretary is no good and it means more work for me.”
    “Does the pretty lady want lunch?” asked a voice from the doorway.
    Pete Eskdale stood there. “All right,” said Hannah. “Where?”
    “What about the Tommel Castle Hotel?”
    Hannah’s eyes gleamed. “Grand.”
      
    As Pete drove Hannah up to the hotel in his red Jaguar, Hannah began to wonder if she might not be throwing herself away on
     a mere police sergeant. She remembered that Pete had won the lottery. Over an excellent lunch and a bottle of wine, Pete talked
     about how well the factory was doing.
    “So the murders haven’t affected business,” said Hannah.
    “No, not a bit. In fact, they’ve brought more tourists for their guided tours. And Freda’s new designs are selling like hotcakes.”
    “Tell me about your new job.”
    Hannah did at length until Pete’s eyes started to glaze over. She could feel his earlier interest in her slipping away and
     so she said, “Aren’t you worried a murderer is still at large?”
    “Sometimes. But we’ve been so busy. Och, it was probably some maniac from Morag’s past. The police think that Fergus fellow
     tried a bit of blackmail. I’d better be getting back.”
    “Aren’t we going to have coffee?”
    “Sorry, got to rush.”
    Pete signalled for the bill.
    “Pity,” said Hannah. “I know who the murderer is. And it’s someone from the factory.”
    “What? Who?”
    Hannah smiled. “Wouldn’t you just like to know? I’m going to arrange a press conference in Strathbane.”
    “You’re lying!”
    “You’ll see. You look a bit white. Have I worried you?”
    “You should be worried about yourself,” said Pete viciously.
    He dropped her off at her brother’s home and went back to the factory. Pete bumped into the supervisor Maisie Moffat. “Pooh,
     you reek o’ booze,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You’ve been out wi’ Geordie’s sister, haven’t you?”
    “I think that one’s off her head,” said Pete. “She says she knows who committed the murders and it’s someone in the factory.”
    “So why doesn’t she tell the police?”
    “Says she’s off to Strathbane in the morning to call a press conference.”
    “I bet that one never gets there.”
    “Why?” jeered Pete. “Think she’ll be murdered?”
    “Naw. She