Death of a Dreamer by MC Beaton Page B

start until nine o’clock.’
    In the days when Hamish had been made a sergeant and before his subsequent demotion, Clarry had been his policeman. But it had turned out that Clarry’s only interest was in cooking, and he
had subsequently retired from the force to work at the hotel.
    Hamish sat down next to Clarry. ‘You’ve heard about the death of Mr Addenfest?’
    ‘Yes, first thing I heard when I came on duty.’
    ‘Did you speak to him yesterday?’
    ‘I had words with him.’
    ‘What about?’
    ‘He’d ordered a packed lunch earlier. He came into the kitchen in the early evening to complain that what he was being charged for the packed lunches was much more than the contents
were worth. I told him we supplied the best packed lunches in Scotland and if he had any complaints, he could take them to the manager. He asked me my name and wrote it down in that notebook he was
always carrying around. He said, “I’m wise to the lot of you. What’s more,” he said, “that artist was murdered and I can prove it. I have insights that your local
village idiot of a copper doesn’t have.”’
    ‘Did you tell anyone what he had said?’
    ‘I was that furious, I told a lot of people. Bessie came in for a coffee, and I told her.’
    ‘Bessie! Man, you might as well have put up a neon sign in the village.’
    ‘How was I to know he’d go and get himself kilt? I mean, everyone was saying thon artist committed suicide.’
    ‘Weren’t the police up here during the night asking everyone about Hal?’
    ‘Aye, but I was off duty, so they didn’t ask me. I suppose they only interviewed the staff who live in.’
    Hamish went out into the main area of the hotel and into the manager’s office.
    ‘This is a bad business,’ said Mr Johnson.
    ‘Have the guests been checking out?’
    ‘Not yet. But most of them won’t have heard anything. It’s too early.’
    ‘Clarry said Mr Addenfest was in the kitchen in the early evening complaining about his packed lunch. Did he come to see you?’
    ‘I didn’t know he had even returned to the hotel. He may have left by the kitchen door.’
    Hamish went back to Clarry. ‘Did Addenfest leave by the kitchen door?’
    ‘Aye, he slammed out. Nearly took the door off its hinges.’
    Hamish thanked him and then went back and asked Mr Johnson which room Jock was in.
    ‘He’s not paying, so we put him up in one of the attic rooms. It’s number sixty-two. We only put guests in there if we’re fully booked and they insist on staying. Hardly
room to swing a cat.’
    Hamish went up to the top of the castle, located Jock’s attic room, and knocked on the door. He waited. There was no reply. Suddenly anxious, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked. He
opened it and went in.
    There were two figures wrapped around each other on a single bed. One was Jock, and the other was the maid, Bessie.
     
Chapter Seven
    To see her is to love her,
    And love but her forever,
    For Nature made her what she is,
    And ne’er made anither!
    – Robert Burns
    Hamish was about to retreat when Bessie woke up suddenly, saw him, and let out a scream. Jock awoke at the sound and struggled up against the pillows.
    ‘I’ll see you downstairs in the lounge, Jock,’ said Hamish.
    Hamish sat in the lounge and began to wonder if he had been gravely wrong in his assessment of Jock’s character. Jock had seemed to him like an easy-going man, only interested in his
work.
    Betty Barnard entered the lounge. ‘Hamish! What brings you here?’
    ‘I want a word with Jock. He’ll be down any minute.’
    ‘Mind if I stay?’
    ‘I would like a word with him in private.’
    ‘I am his agent.’
    ‘But not his lawyer,’ said Hamish. ‘Please, Betty.’
    ‘I heard that American had been found dead.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So what’s that got to do with Jock?’
    ‘I’ve got to check where anyone connected with Effie was last night.’
    ‘What’s the death of this American got to do with