Does Your Mother Know? by Maureen Jennings Read Free Book Online Page B

control of the car, especially for somebody not used to left-hand drive. As Jock told you, the passenger, Mrs. MacDonald, was thrown out and must have died instantly. There was no sign of blood in the car and nothing we could see in the vicinity, so we don’t know if Mrs. Morris was injured or not.”
    “When was the accident discovered?”
    “Not until six-thirty on Saturday morning. The constable from Barvas was on his way to the station when he saw it.”
    “Has the autopsy report come back yet?”
    “Not so far.”
    “I understand from Harris that it’s unlikely she’s lying under a rock somewhere unconscious. Or that she’s wandered into the sea and drowned.”
    He glanced over at me. His voice was kind. “I don’t believe so. We’ve done a thorough search. She’s no in the hospital here.”
    “All that’s left then, is hiding out. Either with a concussion and possible injury, being tended to by a kindly but unsuspecting bedand-breakfast landlady, or without — just hiding somewhere.”
    “That’s not as likely as you might think. I told you we’re a small island. We sent a constable door-to-door in the nearest villages, and nobody has seen her. There are a few one-family B & Bs round and about, and everybody talks.” He adopted a heavy Scots accent. “‘And hoo are yir guests, Mrs. MacLeod? I just got shut of an Englishman who would hev tried the patience of a saint. But noo, I have a bonnie lass from Germany. And yes, I will take that fillet for our supper, ye know how famished the incomers are for good fresh fish that hasn’t been drinking in pison all its wee life.’ Sorry, I didn’t mean to be frivolous.”
    I excused him. “Joan could have got a lift somewhere. She certainly couldn’t fly without ID, but maybe she’s got to one of the ferries. I told Harris she had previously booked a B&B on Skye.”
    I was starting to feel as if I were with my old partner, Bill Matteo, chewing over the evidence, throwing out suggestions, worrying at the fabric of the case. It was calming.
    “That is not totally impossible, but you may have noticed there aren’t that many cars on the road. If one of the locals gave her a ride, by now we’d have heard of it. We did ring both the ferry captains sailing out of Stornoway and Tarbert, but nobody fitting her description was noticed on any of the ferries leaving the island. It’s still early in the tourist season, so it’s likely she would have been noticed. Besides we’re back to the question of money. I can’t imagine she was carrying enough loose change in her pockets to pay for a ferry ride. These days it costs an arm and a leg.”
    We came around a bend in the road and I saw a small herd of sheep with their lambs trotting across the moor parallel to the road. Two black-and-white border collies, tongues hanging out, heads held low in the typical border-collie fashion, were crisscrossing back and forth, keeping the flock moving. A tall man in a floppy tweed hat, matching jacket, and corduroy breeches was walking behind the dogs. He had a shepherd’s crook in his hand. I thought I had gone through a time warp.
    Suddenly one of the more adventurous or foolish members of the herd broke away and headed across the road, directly in front of the car. It was presumably intent on suicide or believed the grass was greener on the other side. Gillies jammed on the brakes and we skidded to a stop a few feet short of the sheep, which halted in the middle of the road, chewing its cud and regarding us impassively. Immediately, one of the dogs ran over. The sheep, or ram rather, turned, and the dog halted and went into a crouch. Dog and ram stared at each other, and the ram lowered its head and pawed the ground. The collie curled back his lip and showed a glistening set of teeth. The ram was unfazed and pawed again. First warning over, the dog, with one quick rush, jumped at the ram’s head, giving it a smart nip on the nose. Then while he still had the advantage of