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

the weather forecast’s good.’
    ‘I’m surprised Mr Wellington’s going along with this farce.’
    ‘I don’t think our minister realizes what a circus it’s going to be. Even a funeral for birds means whisky to the locals. There’ll be a right party.’
    ‘The criminals down in Strathbane are rejoicing,’ said Jimmy. ‘Daviot sees it all as a big public relations exercise for the police. Going to be lots of us standing around like tumshies.’
    ‘Where are they burying the creatures?’
    ‘Get this! They’re burning the birds in the car park and then Mary carries the ashes in a wee box down to the bridge and chucks the ashes in the pool. There’s a choir and a piper. Got any whisky?’
    Hamish started to say no but Dick was already bringing down a bottle out of a kitchen cupboard.
    ‘Well, here’s to tomorrow,’ said Jimmy. ‘Is Blair going to be there?’
    ‘Daviot thought it would be more diplomatic to leave him behind.’
    Hamish grinned. ‘This funeral might be fun after all.’
    ‘What on earth is that noise?’ demanded Jimmy.
    ‘It’s Dick’s new dishwasher. I try to tell him to leave it till it’s full but he’s like a bairn wi’ a new toy.’

Chapter Four
    The padre said, ‘Whatever have you been and gone and done?’
    – Sir William Gilbert
    Although Hamish mourned the loss of such beautiful birds as the kingfishers, he could not help feeling there was something distasteful about the whole circus of the funeral. He found he did not find it funny at all. The Church of Scotland is well known for its charity in believing that everyone should be entitled to a Christian burial, but Mr Wellington, the minister of Lochdubh, hearing he had been chosen because no preacher in Braikie wanted to be involved, and, further learning of the funeral pyre, dug his heels in and refused to attend.
    The enterprising Mary had discovered there was a small commune on South Rona called The Children of God and had persuaded the head of the cult, a weedy man called David Cunningham, to perform the service.
    Cunningham arrived dressed in white robes covered in silver tinsel stars. Hamish was sure the stars had been made out of kitchen aluminium foil. Cunningham had a long ponytail down his back to compensate for the fact that he was nearly bald in front.
    The day was fine and sunny. Crowds had gathered around a small funeral pyre in the car park. Mary was wearing a pretty, flowery dress which floated around herpocket-size Venus of a body. She approached Hamish. ‘How you must be hating this,’ she said.
    ‘As a matter of fact I am,’ said Hamish. ‘I’m surprised at you, Mary.’
    ‘I’m a businesswoman, Hamish, and it takes something like this to save the glen. Jobs are at stake. Think of the money the local shops make from the tourists. Have you ever known tourists bothering to visit Braikie before?’
    ‘Well, I know, but it all seems a bit sacrilegious.’
    She sighed. ‘Just look on it as a party. Television’s here. We even have no less a person than Elspeth Grant.’
    Hamish’s heart gave a jolt. ‘Where?’
    ‘Just arrived. Getting out of that Winnebago over there.’
    ‘Excuse me, Mary,’ said Hamish hurriedly.
    She caught his arm. ‘Hamish, why don’t we have dinner one evening?’
    Mary’s blue eyes were opened to their widest as she looked up at him. Her lashes were black and tinged at the edged with gold. He had a sudden feeling of breathlessness . ‘That would be grand,’ he said cautiously. ‘You and your husband?’
    ‘Tim and I are getting a divorce.’
    ‘Why?’
    Those beautiful eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ll tell you over dinner.’
    ‘What about this evening?’ asked Hamish. ‘There’s a good Italian restaurant in Lochdubh.’
    ‘I’d like that. Shall we say eight o’clock?’
    ‘Fine. I’ll be there.’
     
    Elspeth was now in the middle of making a commentary. Cunningham raised his long skinny arms to the heavens. ‘Oh, God on high,’ he intoned,