Death of a Nurse by M. C. Beaton Page A

and held it up. Inside the clear material could be seen the little sparkly strip of ribbon. Hamish did not want to say he had found it inside the house so he said he had found it on the front doorstep. “If she’s been poisoned,” he said, “this could have come off some sort of present, maybe a bottle of something. She could have taken it up to her favourite cave, drunk it, and died there. Any idea what the poison might have been?”
    “No,” said Fiona wearily. “Andrew Harrison has pulled so many strings that I’ve been ordered by the high-ups to tread carefully. There’s not much we can do until the results of the autopsy come through. We’ll meet here in the morning.”
      
    Jimmy followed Hamish into the police station in Lochdubh, waiting impatiently for whisky while Hamish lit the stove and put out food and water for his pets.
    “At last,” he grumbled when Hamish put the bottle of whisky and a glass on the table.
    “I’ve something to show you,” said Hamish. He switched on his iPad and showed Jimmy the photograph Sheena had sent him. “Recognise this man?”
    “I’ve seen him before,” said Jimmy. “Gie me a moment. Nothing like whisky to lubricate the brain.”
    Hamish was sure he had recognised the man immediately and simply wanted an excuse for another drink.
    “Aye, I’ve got it now. Thon’s Creepy Willie.”
    “And who in the name o’ the wee man is Creepy Willie?”
    “He’s a sleazeball o’ a private detective. Divorce cases. Think he deals drugs but haven’t been able to catch him yet.”
    Hamish’s mind raced. Could Fiona’s husband be checking up on her? Hardly. He would employ a reputable man from Edinburgh.
    Was there really anything going on between Charlie and Fiona?
    “I think it may have something to do with our boss. I’d better get up to the castle and warn Charlie.” He seized the whisky bottle and put it back in the cupboard. “No more, Jimmy, or you won’t be fit to drive.”
      
    Fiona and Charlie were relaxing in front of the fire in Charlie’s apartment. Fiona yawned and stretched. “I feel too tired to go back to Strathbane.”
    “I can ask the manager to find you a room here,” said Charlie.
    She smiled at him and said softly, “You have a bed here, Charlie.”
    Charlie blushed to the roots of his hair. “It is the double bed.”
    “So? Oh, who the hell is this?”
    They could hear someone clattering down the stairs. Charlie jumped to his feet and stood barring the doorway.
    “It’s yourself, Hamish,” he said with relief. “Miss Herring and I were just having a final discussion.”
    “Look. There’s no one in the lounge upstairs. Follow me up. It’s urgent.”
    Fiona had appeared behind Charlie. Silently they followed Hamish upstairs and through to a corner of the hotel lounge.
    “There is a private detective who specialises in divorce,” said Hamish. “He is checking on you for some reason, ma’am.”
    “What reason could he have?” said Fiona coldly.
    “It can’t be anyone employed by your husband,” said Hamish. “He would surely not employ such as Willie Dunne, a lowlife from Strathbane. He was at the café earlier and he is now in this hotel.”
    “I still don’t know why you should think this lowlife had anything to do with me,” said Fiona angrily.
    “I will go now and see if I can get hold of him,” said Hamish, “and find out what he’s up to.”
    The porter on reception recognised Willie from Hamish’s photograph. “He was asking about Charlie and thon inspector and where were they. I told him to get lost. I followed him to the car park and made sure he left.”
    Hamish returned to the lounge. Two spots of colour burned on Fiona’s cheeks when Hamish reported that Willie had been asking about her and Charlie.
    “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll call on him tomorrow and shake it out of him.”
      
    When Hamish had left, Fiona rose to her feet. Charlie stood up as well. “I’ll take a room at the