Death of a Dreamer by MC Beaton Read Free Book Online

wind rose, and the rain became even heavier, lashing against the windscreen, great gusts rocking the vehicle.
    At last, he decided something was really wrong and drove back to the police station. He phoned headquarters and asked for permission to call out the Mountain Rescue Patrol.
    He was told to phone again in the morning, and if there was still no sighting of her, then the patrol would be alerted.
    He fed himself and his animals and then phoned the minister and told him the situation and asked him to ring the church bell first thing in the morning. This would get the villagers gathered in
the church hall, and he could organize a search party.
    Hamish slept uneasily. He got up at dawn and went back to Effie’s cottage. It was still deserted. The rain had ceased, and the sky had a pale, washed-out look as if a heavenly hand had
scrubbed it clean.
    At eight o’clock, after he had again phoned police headquarters and this time extracted a promise that the Mountain Rescue Patrol would be sent out immediately, he went to the church hall,
where the villagers were gathering. He went up to the podium and addressed them.
    ‘Effie Garrard is missing. She may have taken a walk up on the moors and had an accident. I want everyone who’s free to help me in a search for her. The folks who are prepared to go
stay in the hall.’
    Because of the storm, the fishing boats hadn’t been out, and so Archie Macleod and his friends volunteered to join in the search along with the river bailiff and two gamekeepers from the
Tommel Castle estate. Women, headed by Mrs Wellington, volunteered as well.
    Priscilla arrived just as the meeting was breaking up. ‘I’ve just heard,’ she said. ‘I’ll go along with Mrs Wellington.’
    They all gathered again outside Effie’s cottage. Then they spread out over the moors, calling and searching.
    Above them flew a helicopter of the Mountain Rescue Patrol.
    All day long they searched without finding Effie. Hamish began to worry that she had fallen into a peat bog, and if that were the case, they would never find her.
    The villagers began to think that Effie had perhaps committed suicide. Jock had been adamant that he had never proposed to Effie.
    The indomitable Mrs Wellington with her posse of village women set out again the next day. It was glorious weather. They all drove up on the moors as far as the road would
allow them and then got out of their vehicles and once more began the search, agreeing to meet again at midday for a picnic lunch.
    Hamish came across them at noon. They were sitting by a little stream with their picnic spread out on the grass. ‘That one can smell free food a mile off,’ grumbled one, and Hamish
flushed angrily.
    Priscilla came up to him. ‘You look exhausted, Hamish. I’ve got a flask of coffee and some spare sandwiches. Come and sit down for a minute.’
    Hamish gratefully accepted a cup of coffee and a chicken sandwich. ‘You don’t think she might have gone up into the mountains?’ he said. ‘She must have been right
distressed being caught out in that lie about Jock.’
    ‘I can’t help feeling sorry for her. She’s got a sister down in Brighton. Does anyone know her address?’
    ‘No, but I phoned the Brighton police, and they’re looking for her. I would have thought Effie might have gone there, but her handbag is still at the cottage.’
    Priscilla was wearing a tartan shirt, corduroy trousers and sturdy boots but still managed to look cool and elegant.
    ‘I thought Betty Barnard might have joined in the search,’ Hamish said.
    ‘She’s gone off to Glasgow for a few days. I don’t suppose she even knows Effie is missing.’
    Gone and never even told me, thought Hamish gloomily. I have no luck with women at all.
    Mrs Wellington was armed with a powerful pair of Zeiss binoculars. ‘I’ll just have a look around,’ she boomed, ‘and then we can start off again.’
    ‘It is hot,’ said Priscilla, ‘and yet Mrs Wellington is wearing a