Malice in the Highlands Read Online Free Page A

fried tomatoes. Amidst the clatter there was much animated discussion of weather and water conditions. Powell pulled up a chair. “It looks like I'll have bags of time to catch up on my Proust,” he remarked morosely, helping himself to a cup of coffee from Barrett's carafe.
    Barrett crunched noisily on a piece of toast, scattering crumbs like spindrift. “You're too easily discouraged, Erskine. I, for my part, am not about to let a little inclemency ruin my sport. As a matter of fact, in anticipation of just such a development I've brought along some fluorescent flies, which the maker assures mewill positively glow in the dark. Just the thing for the prevailing murky conditions.”
    “You're a true fanatic, Alex. But I wish you luck.”
    Barrett frowned. “Luck has nothing to do with it, man—in fishing, or in any of life's more trivial endeavors for that matter.”
    “I'll try to remember that,” Powell replied dryly, reluctantly forgoing a more satisfying rejoinder. “By the way, did you happen to notice that Nigel is looking a little down in the mouth this morning?”
    “I can't imagine why. Bar profits will no doubt soar with this lot hanging about all day.”
    “You're also a cynic.”
    “Hadn't you better get on with your breakfast? Time and tide, you know.”
    Powell shook his head. “You carry on. I intend to stay warm and dry. Besides, I'd like to be here when Pinky arrives. He was to come up to Aviemore by train last night, so I'm expecting him before lunch.”
    Barrett grunted neutrally.
    After breakfast Barrett, clad in oilskins, departed for his beat, leaving Powell to peruse the local newspapers. It was later that morning when Powell learned that Charles Murray, the new owner of Castle Glyn Estate, had gone missing. Ruby had appeared in an agitated state in the sitting room where Powell had secluded himself, inquiring after Chief Inspector Barrett. Her referring to Barrett thus, struck Powell as a little odd at the time.
    “I've just had a call from Miss Murray at Castle Glyn,” she explained breathlessly. “Her father, Mr. Murray, didna come home last night, and the poor lass is worried sick. I comforted her as best I could and promised to ask afterhim in the town.” She hesitated and then added, almost as an afterthought, “It seemed best to inform Mr. Barrett—in case something has happened.”
    “Very wise, Ruby, but I'm sure there's nothing to worry about,” Powell replied soothingly.
    Ruby, however, did not seem reassured. It occurred to him that something was not quite right. “Did Miss Murray have some reason to think that her father was here at the hotel?” he inquired against his better judgment.
    Ruby turned a telltale shade of pink and stammered, “No—I mean—well, she thought he might have stopped by last night.”
    “Oh, yes?”
    She seemed to come to a decision. “Perhaps I shouldn't mention it, Mr. Powell, but I understand that Mr. Murray liked his whisky and, well…” She left the rest unsaid.
    Powell sighed. It was beginning to sound all too familiar. “Ruby, would I be totally wide of the mark if I were to guess that this sort of thing has happened before?” he asked gently.
    Ruby averted her eyes. “It's no’ the first time, apparently.”
    Powell thought he detected a slight edge to her voice, and he was more than a little puzzled by her behavior, which was not in keeping with her usual equable and sensible nature. In spite of Murray's apparent penchant for drinking more than he should and spending the night where he shouldn't, perhaps, it seemed to him that she was overreacting to the situation. Maybe Murray had got himself into some sort of trouble on previous occasions. But what, he wondered, had any of it to do with Ruby?
    Mentally shrugging, he said, “Well, I shouldn't be too concerned. I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. They usually do. In the meantime I'll deliver your message to Mr. Barrett. I could use the exercise.”
    Ruby relaxed visibly, as