Milly was just wondering whether to buy herself the first pair of high heels she had had in ages—the captain had not approved of her wearing high heels—when a voice behind her asked, “Mrs. Davenport?”
She swung round and backed nervously against a shop window. The man facing her looked like a large pig. “Yes, I’m one o’ thae dreadful reporters,” he said cheerily. “My name’s Tam Tamworth. Fancy a drink?”
“I mustn’t speak to the press,” said Milly primly.
“Och, it’s just the wee dram and I’ll gie ye a piece o’ paper saying I won’t print anything you say.”
Milly wavered. Then she thought of going back to that nasty little flat and being cooped up with Philomena. “All right,” she said.
“We’ll go to the Grand Hotel bar,” said Tam. “Nice and posh. It’s just a few steps away.”
The cocktail bar of the Grand Hotel was a veritable symphony to Scottish bad taste. The walls were draped in tartan cloth and hung with plastic claymores and targes. There was a huge badly executed portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie behind the bar. The plastic tables were made to look like tree trunks and covered in tartan coasters.
“What’ll it be?” asked Tam.
“Just an orange juice.”
“An orange juice after what you’ve been through? Have a Tartan Blaster.”
“What’s that?”
“Jist a mild cocktail.”
“All right,” said Milly boldly.
The Tartan Blaster arrived. It was a bright red drink decorated with two tartan umbrellas.
Tam had a double whisky. “What do you think of Strathbane?” he asked.
“It’s a bit, well, run-down,” said Milly shyly.
“Didn’t use tae be. Before the European Union got its claws into the fishing industry, this used to be a lively place. Now everyone’s on the dole. I’ll be covering your man’s funeral if that’s all right wi’ you.”
“I don’t suppose I can stop you,” said Milly. The liquor in the cocktail was sending a warm glow right down to her stomach. “And I can’t discuss anything with you, about the murders I mean.”
“I’ll tell you one thing. It’s just come through. Trust Hamish Macbeth to get it right. Poor wee Pete Ray was murdered and by the same chap who did in your husband.”
Milly shuddered and took a large gulp of her drink. “That’s awful. Am I in danger?”
“I would say that whoever tried to get into the house the other day will be too frightened to come back.”
“I’m in a safe house,” said Milly. “Well, it’s rather a safe flat—me and my sister-in-law. I don’t think I can take much more of it. We’re under each other’s feet all day long.”
“Then just go back to Drim. They can’t stop you.”
The police were searching for Milly, alerted by a frantic Philomena screaming down the phone. Like practically every town in Britain, Strathbane was well served by CCTV cameras. A quick scan soon picked up the slight form of Milly being joined by Tam Tamworth and followed them to the Grand Hotel.
Just as Milly was finishing her drink, two policemen and a policewoman came hurrying into the bar. Said the leading policeman, “You must return to the safe house, Mrs. Davenport, and you should not be talking to the press. Come with us. Your sister-in-law is worried frantic about you.”
Milly cracked. She shouted, “I am not going back to that grubby flat. I am going home and you can’t stop me!”
“Attagirl,” said Tam. “You tell ’em.”
“I must remind you, Mrs. Davenport…”
Milly got to her feet. “And I must say that if I am cooped up in that small flat with Philomena for one more day, I will murder her!”
The bar had filled up since Milly had first entered it. Everyone was listening avidly. “Mr. Tamworth,” said Milly, “would you please take me back to the flat and then escort me to Drim?”
“Glad to.”
“You can’t do that!” protested the policeman.
“Oh, yes I can,” said the normally mild Milly full of Tartan Blaster.
“You’ve never seen such a change in anyone,” chortled Jimmy Anderson when he met up with Hamish outside the house in Drim. “Tam’s got his foot in the door there and he’s not leaving. Philomena is ranting and raving. Have you found anything?”
“Not a thing. I’ve been searching around since early light. Well, there is one thing. Five miles away, up on the Lairg road, there’s a Forestry Commission road going up through the trees. There’s a muddy bit at the entrance with tyre tracks. They’ve taken a cast off to the lab. Someone could have parked there and then walked over the moors. Have you managed to get rid of Tam?”
“Finally. But he’ll be back. Mrs. Davenport seems to have taken a shine to the pig, mostly because Tam is so deliciously rude to Philomena.”
“Have you checked up on the old family friends?”
“Surrey police are on to it. Stonewalling all around. Either that or don’t speak ill of the dead. You’d think headquarters would all be pleased that you turned out to be right and there are two murders but the way Blair is going on, you’d think you’d done them yourself. Have you considered the locals, Hamish?”
“Not for a moment. Why?”
“They’re all a bit weird up here.”
“As far as I know, the captain never had anything to do with any of them apart from Hugh Mackenzie who supplies the peat.”
“And what does he say?”
“Says he had no quarrel with the captain. Says the captain paid him by letting him take as much peat as he wanted for himself.”
Inside the house Tam, who had shut Philomena outside the kitchen, was saying earnestly to Milly, “I promise you this. I won’t write a word until after the murderer is caught. I have great faith in Macbeth. Background stuff, exclusively to me. And that’ll keep the rest of the press away from you.”
“All right,” said Milly. “And will you do something for me?”
“What?”
Milly looked at him shyly. “Will you take me to see a movie next week?”
“Sure. Which one?”
“Anything will do. I want a bit of escape. I feel I’ve been cooped up in here like a prisoner ever since Henry moved us here.”
Tam’s large ears turned a bit pink with gratification. He noticed for the first time that Milly had a sort of old-fashioned prettiness about her.
“Now,” he said, “the police have taken away all the papers. Is there anything in this big place they might have missed?”
“I shouldn’t think so. The search was very thorough.”
Philomena moved quietly away from the kitchen door. Suppose there was some evidence in the house and she found it. The village women had been up in the attics, getting pieces of furniture. Maybe there was something now uncovered that they and the police had missed.
She went quietly up the stairs. A wind had risen outside, moaning and screaming around the house. The village women had been thorough. The attics were clean and dusted. Philomena began to search, avoiding places like old trunks and suitcases that the police had surely thoroughly rummaged through.
There were three attics. One had obviously been a nursery in the old days. A soldier’s campaign chest stood against the wall by a small barred window. She stared at it thoughtfully. She suddenly remembered their father having bought it at an auction, saying it had belonged to an officer in the Crimean War. And, she remembered with excitement, it had a secret drawer.
She found it by opening a top drawer and taking the drawer out. Behind it was another little drawer. She opened it and found a bundle of letters—and the letters looked fairly new.