A Highland Christmas Read Online Free Page B

Brodie.’
    ‘Angela? The doctor’s wife?’
    ‘Herself.’
    ‘But Angela can’t cook!’
    ‘I know that fine. But herself says she’s going to try this year. Herself says it’s surely chust like a scientific experiment. You measure out the exact amounts.’
    ‘It never works with Angela,’ said Hamish. ‘Her cakes are like rocks. Come for a dram, Archie. I’ve been talking to the schoolchildren and it’s thirsty
work.’
    They walked into the Lochdubh bar together.
    When they were settled at a corner table with glasses of whisky, Hamish asked, ‘Do you know any gossip about Mrs Gallagher?’
    ‘Her, out on the Cnothan road? Why?’
    ‘I’ve been thinking. We all know her as a sour-faced bitch. But why?’
    ‘’Cos she’s a sour-faced bitch. Postman says she’s got the place like Fort Knox wi’ locks and bolts.’
    ‘I mean, what soured her? Was she always like that?’
    ‘I think so. Good sheep. Doesn’t have dogs. She just whistles to the sheep, different whistles and they do what she wants. She had one friend.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘I don’t know if the woman iss still alive. She bought the croft from her. Mrs Dunwiddy She went to live with a daughter in Inverness. Wait a bit. Maybe two years back now, someone
says to me that Mrs Dunwiddy had a stroke and she’s in an old folks home in Inverness. What’s she done?’
    ‘She done nothing. She thinks someone’s pinched her cat.’
    ‘Gone wild probably or the fox got it.’
    ‘That’s what I told her.’
    ‘So what d’ye want to know about her for?’
    ‘Curious. That’s all. I think she’s a verra frightened woman.’
    ‘Listen, Hamish, if I lived up there and never spoke to a body except to do a deal for sheep at the sales at Lairg, I’d get frightened as well.’
    ‘I think there’s more to it than that. Oh, and if you hear of someone selling Christmas lights, let me know. Cnothan’s had theirs stolen.’
    ‘There’s a lot o’ Free Presbyterians o’er there.’
    The great essayist Bernard Levin once described the Free Presbyterians as the sort of people who thought that if they did not keep the blankets tight over their feet at night, the pope would nip
down the chimney and bite their toes.
    ‘Maybe,’ said Hamish. ‘But I doubt it. The lights were taken along with a tree out of that shed at the community hall. The padlock was smashed. Any loose elements roaming the
countryside?’
    ‘Haven’t heard. Don’t get them in the winter.’
    ‘If you hear anything, let me know.’
    Hamish returned to the police station to collect the Land Rover and drive to Cnothan.
    He was once more examining the shed when Mr Sinclair came up to him. ‘You’re not wearing gloves,’ he accused.
    ‘Why should I?’
    ‘You’ll be destroying fingerprints.’
    Hamish sighed. He knew Strathbane would not send out a team of forensic experts to help solve the mere theft of a Christmas tree and lights.
    Ignoring Mr Sinclair, he set out, stooped over the ground, following the trail of pine needles. He went through the gate into the common grazing ground. No more needles. There must have been
more than one person. He could imagine them getting it over the gate and then lifting it on to their shoulders. He set off up the hill, doubled over, studying the ground. He guessed they would go
fast and in a straight line.
    Mr Sinclair stood watching him until the tall figure had disappeared over the crest of the hill. ‘That man’s a useless fool,’ he said to the frosty air. ‘It’s a
pity Sergeant Macgregor is off ill.’ He quite forgot that Sergeant Macgregor would have considered such a trivial theft not worth bothering about. Mr Sinclair was feeling particularly
righteous. He had supplied a new set of lights, which were being put up on the main street at that moment, and he had not charged for them.
    Hamish spent the rest of the day searching over the common grazing ground until he came upon the peat stacks on the other side of the hill.