He beamed at her proudly.
Priscilla carefully put down her cup and got to her feet. “A man had been shot, his chest blown away,” she said in a thin voice, “and all you could think of, you great moocher, was how to turn it to your advantage!”
She turned and ran from the house.
Hamish stood for a moment, staring at the spot where she had been.
Then he sprinted out of the room, out of the house and into the garden.
Priscilla was standing by her car, leaning her head on the roof. Her shoulders were shaking.
He came cautiously up behind her. “Dinnae take it so hard,” he pleaded. “It iss not me who’s the murderer.”
She turned round and buried her face on his shoulder.
“Oh, Hamish,” giggled Priscilla, “you are the most shocking man I know.”
Hamish rolled his eyes. “Do you hear?” he cried to a passing sea-gull. “Here’s her that gets engaged tae criminals telling the force of law and order on Lochdubh that he’s shocking. Come along ben, Priscilla, and I’ll get us something to eat.”
“What? Grouse?” demanded Priscilla, still giggling.
“Aye, I just might hae a wee bit.”
With a companionable arm about her shoulders, he led her towards the police station, pushed her gently inside, followed her in, and closed the door firmly behind them on the cold outside world.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 6bb3d8b3-925a-4584-ae27-da1ec9796530
Document creation date: 31.5.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.53, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
M.C. Beaton
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