Death of a Dreamer by MC Beaton Read Free Book Online Page A

Harris tweed suit with a sweater under it.’
    ‘I think that one carries around her own air conditioning,’ said Hamish. ‘Is there another sandwich?’
    ‘Got one right here. There you are.’
    ‘I think I see something,’ called Mrs Wellington. ‘Right up on the mountain.’
    Hamish stood up and went to her. ‘Let me see.’
    She handed him the binoculars. ‘Up there, halfway up, by that cleft of rock. It was in the shadow when I looked before, but the sun’s moved.’
    Hamish took the glasses and adjusted them. He focussed on the cleft. It looked like a small brown lump.
    ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘but I’d better climb up there and have a look.’
    ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Priscilla. ‘It’ll take us at least two hours to get up there.’
    ‘That’s Geordie’s Cleft,’ said Hamish. It had been named after a young man who had fallen to his death some years before.
    They set off, promising to holler if they found anything.
    After they had gone, Mrs Wellington tried to marshal her troops, but rebellion was setting in. The Currie sisters complained their legs were aching, and one by one the other village women began
to edge back to their cars until only Mrs Wellington and Angela Brodie remained.
    Hamish and Priscilla kept up a gruelling pace as they climbed up the lower slopes of the mountain and then out on to the rock. It was easier going than they had expected, a
path leading upwards for most of the way.
    ‘People have been up here before,’ said Hamish.
    ‘There was a rumour a year ago that some of the village boys came up here to smoke pot,’ said Priscilla.
    ‘And you never told me!’
    ‘Didn’t seem like a major crime, and at that time, you had a murder case on your hands.’
    The sun beat down on their backs as they approached the cleft. Two buzzards sailed lazily overhead.
    ‘There’s something there,’ said Hamish, ‘unless someone’s dumped a bundle of old clothes.’
    But as he got nearer, his heart sank. The small figure of a woman was lying on her face.
    He went up and, putting on his gloves, turned the body over. It was Effie Garrard. There was no sign of life.
    Priscilla followed him. ‘How did she die,’ she whispered.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Hamish. ‘Exposure, maybe.’
    He took out his phone and called Mountain Rescue and then called police headquarters in Strathbane.
    Priscilla went a little way away and sat down suddenly.
    Hamish finished phoning. ‘Feeling sick?’
    ‘Look at her hand, Hamish. The left hand.’
    Hamish bent down and let out a sharp exclamation.
    Effie’s ring finger had been sawn off.
     
Chapter Four
    Father, O Father! what do we here
    In this land of unbelief and fear?
    The Land of Dreams is better far,
    Above the light of the morning star.
    – William Blake
    Hamish told Priscilla to phone Mrs Wellington to say that Effie had been found, but he ordered that no one except the police were to come near the site.
    Priscilla moved a good bit away to sit down and stared blankly into space. Hamish began to check round about the body. Effie was lying on hard rock just outside the cleft, so he was not afraid
of messing up any footprints.
    He found a wine bottle not far from the body. He crouched down and sniffed. There was a sweetish smell, and squinting at the label, he could see it was a dessert wine.
    Two helicopters landed down below the mountain, and he saw the figures of police and members of the Mountain Rescue Patrol climbing down on to the heather.
    First on the scene was Detective Jimmy Anderson. ‘Where’s Blair?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘He’s too fat to climb. He’s sitting down there swigging whisky out of a flask. What have we got?’
    ‘The dead woman is Effie Garrard, a local artist,’ said Hamish. ‘She had gone missing, and we searched all yesterday and then started today to look for her. There’s a
wine bottle over there.’
    ‘The forensic boys’ll be along soon. I’ll leave it for them. What on earth