Shadows of Death Read Online Free Page A

we’ve corresponded. I’m looking forward—’
    There was a knock at the door, but before either of us could get there, it opened and a man walked in.
    If he’d had a beard, he would have made a perfect Santa Claus. White hair, rosy cheeks, little wire-rimmed glasses, and the most delightful smile I think I’ve ever seen.
    ‘Andrew! What a pleasure! It’s been too long, my friend.’ They shook hands heartily. ‘Andrew, this is my wife, Dorothy Martin.’
    I held my hand out, but Andrew enveloped me in a hug.
    ‘And a bonny wife you are, indeed,’ he said, kissing me on both cheeks before releasing me.
    ‘Goodness! Thank you for that, and for all you’ve done to make us welcome.’ I gestured around the kitchen. ‘Flowers, food, even wine. I’ll pour you a glass if there are any glasses.’
    ‘Not just now, thanks, but I’ll take a rain check. I just stopped in to welcome you to Orkney and invite you to dinner tonight. Sigrid can’t come; she’s at her weekly mah-jongg tournament, but I’d love to have your company. Alan, you remember the Royal Hotel up on The Street?’
    ‘I can find it.’
    ‘Splendid. I’ll see you at seven, then.’
    I spent a little time unpacking and getting acquainted with my home for the next week while Alan found the garage door opener and put the car away. Then we set out for a walk with Watson.
    Alan hadn’t been to Orkney for many years, but it’s a part of the world where things don’t change rapidly. The ferry terminal was new, built to accommodate the huge ‘RORO’ (roll on, roll off) car ferries from Scrabster. That had changed the appearance of the harbour a great deal, and not, I suspected, for the better. But with tourism an important source of income for the islands, it was plainly necessary to make their transportation convenient. We had, after all, planned to arrive at Kirkwall on just such a monstrosity, so it didn’t behove us to throw any stones.
    We moved away from the harbour street, though, up to the one that had several names on the map, but was locally called simply The Street. It was the oddest roadway I’d ever seen. For one thing, at its widest it barely allowed two small cars to pass, and the pedestrians who shared the same thoroughfare had to back into doorways whenever a car came along. At the narrowest point, where it curved a little and buildings jutted out on either side, even one car was hard put to get through. The driver had to exercise great care. I pointed out to Alan the scrapes on the walls where various drivers over the years hadn’t been quite careful enough.
    ‘They were, as I recall, talking about widening the street when I was here last,’ said Alan.
    ‘And that would have been …?’
    ‘In the 1970s sometime.’
    We both chuckled.
    The street wasn’t terribly busy, it being Sunday, so we were able to get a good, leisurely look at our surroundings. There were two hotels, a grocery-cum-bakery-cum-post office, several take-aways, two banks, a pharmacy, a bookstore, clothing stores, a church, gift shops, charity shops, all jammed cheek-by-jowl into the one street, mixed in with houses and B & Bs. Steep little lanes (for walkers; most had steps) led on up to houses at the top of the hill, or down to the harbour. We caught glimpses of tiny, riotous cottage gardens crammed under front windows.
    We wandered, getting our bearings, and then decided to wander back to the apartment for a nap before dinner. We hadn’t got very far, though, before Watson stopped dead in his tracks, braced all four feet, and began to growl, low in his throat.
    Alan and I stared at each other. Watson never growled.
    Then we saw the problem.
    Around one of the corners, in the exact middle of the street, lay a large orange cat. The biggest cat, in fact, that I’ve ever seen. One ear was nicked; the tail was bushed. His white bib looked somehow aggressive. He simply lay there and looked at Watson, ignoring the pedestrian traffic, ignoring the car that was