Death of a Witch by M. C. Beaton Read Free Book Online

yet. I want you to tell me why you went to the witch in the first place and what exactly happened.”
    “I went because o’ my indigestion. Chronic, it is. Herself seemed right pleasant. She gave me some herb tea and it worked like a charm. She flirted with me, Hamish. Me! I knew herself had to be joking because she was a fine-looking woman and I’m no oil painting but it made me feel good—like a man again.
    “I went back to get some more and herself started to talk about sex. Man, you know we don’t talk about such things in Lochdubh. But with her pretty ways, she got me really fired up and she said she could sell me something that would make the wifie think I was great.”
    “How much did she charge?
    Archie hung his head. “Fifty pounds.”
    Hamish was shocked. “That’s an awful lot o’ money for you, Archie,” he said, “what with the fishing being so bad.”
    “I’ve never gone mad,” said Archie, “but when I look back on it, it seems as if she drove me mad wi’”—his voice sank to a hoarse whisper—“lust. Once I was a bit away from her, it all faded except for a wee bit o’ my brain that longed to go back. Now I feel dirty. It’s as if she scrambled up our minds, us men. It’s like that wi’ a lot o’ the ither men. Women are a right funny breed. You see women on the telly just panting for a wee bit o’ nookie, and the magazines telling them how to get the man in their lives excited. Och, well, the hard fact is we don’t do sex in Lochdubh.”
    “How do the other men cope?” asked Hamish.
    “Just give up, like me, or they go to that br . . . Never mind.”
    Hamish’s hazel eyes sharpened and he pushed his peaked cap back on his fiery red hair. “What were you about to say?”
    “I wass about to say, or they go their own way.”
    “I think you were about to say
brothel.
Where? Inverness? Strathbane?”
    “I promised not to tell,” said Archie miserably. “I gave my word and I’ll not break it.”
    Hamish gave up. He knew there were several brothels in Strathbane. What worried him was that one might have sprung up on his patch. It wasn’t like the old days. Now women from Eastern European countries were being forced into prostitution.
    His mobile phone rang. He glanced down at the screen and recognised Blair’s home number. He was going to let it ring when he saw Blair standing outside the mobile police unit further down the waterfront. He realised it must be Blair’s wife who was calling him.
    “Hamish?” Mary Blair’s voice came on the line. “I need to talk to you but I don’t want my old man to know about it. Can you come over?”
    “I’ll do my best, Mary, but I don’t want your neighbours to see me and tell your husband. Meet me at Betty’s café in the main street. None of the police go there. Say in about an hour.”
    “Grand. It’s important, Hamish.”
    As it was Saturday, Hamish had hopes of finding the builder, Colin Framont, at home. He had torn down the old fishing cottage he had bought and replaced it with a bungalow with a fake Georgian portico made of wood at the front. Hamish thought it was lucky that Colin’s monstrosity of a house was up at the back of the village instead of spoiling the front.
    Colin answered the door. He was a heavy, thickset man with grizzled hair, a beer paunch, and watery brown eyes.
    “Whit?” he demanded curtly.
    “It’s about Catriona Beldame,” said Hamish.
    Colin’s faded-looking wife, Tilly, joined him on the doorstep. “Oh, Mr. Macbeth,” she said. “Would you like some tea?”
    “No, he wouldnae like tea,” snarled Colin. “Get back in the kitchen.”
    When his wife had scurried off, Colin said defiantly, “I only went tae her the once for indigestion pills.”
    “There seems to be a fair amount of indigestion in Loch-dubh,” said Hamish cynically. “Can you tell me what she said?”
    “She gave me some tea and I went off.”
    And with that, Colin slammed the door in Hamish’s face.
    Hamish rang