Death of a Valentine Read Free

and stand back.’ On a shelf beside the bath was a box
of long matches.
    Josie returned to her room and changed into her dressing gown, found a pound coin, and went back to the bathroom. She put the coin in the meter and twisted the dial, then turned on the water.
There was a hiss of gas. She fumbled anxiously with the box of matches, lit one, and poked it into the meter. There was a terrifying bang as the gas lit but the stream of water became hot.
    The bath was old and deep and took about half an hour to fill. At last, she sank into it and wondered what she was going to do about Hamish Macbeth. Perhaps the village women at the church hall
could fill her in with some details.
    Hamish Macbeth crowed over the phone to Jimmy Anderson. ‘I’m telling you, I give that lassie two days at the most. By the time Mrs Wellington’s finished with
her, she’ll be crying for a transfer back to Strathbane.’
    Josie decided that evening to dress in her uniform to give herself a bit of gravitas. She still felt hungry. She was used to dinner in the evening, not the high tea served in
homes in Lochdubh. She had eaten a small piece of fish with a portion of canned peas and one boiled potato followed by two very hard tea cakes.
    To her relief, there were cakes, sandwiches, and tea on offer at the village hall. Mrs Wellington introduced her all round. Josie wondered if she would ever remember all the names. One woman
with a gentle face and wispy hair stood out – Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife – and two fussy old twins called Nessie and Jessie Currie.
    Over the teacups, Nessie and Jessie warned her that Hamish Macbeth was a philanderer and to stick to her job but Angela rescued her and said, mildly, that usually the trouble started because of
women pursuing Hamish, not the other way around.
    Josie tossed her newly washed hair. She had carried her cap under her arm so as not to spoil the hairstyle. She was angry with Hamish for billeting her at the manse and spoiling her dreams.
‘I can’t see what anyone would see in the man,’ said Josie. ‘He’s just a long drip with that funny-looking red hair.’
    ‘Hamish Macbeth is a friend of mine and, may I add, your boss,’ said Angela and walked away.
    Josie bit her lip in vexation. This was no way to go about making friends. She hurried after Angela. ‘Look here, that was a stupid thing to say. The fact is I don’t really want to
stay at the manse. It’s a bit like being in boarding school. I’m angry with Hamish for not finding me somewhere a bit more congenial.’
    ‘Oh, you’ll get used to it,’ said Angela. ‘Hamish covers a huge beat. You’ll be out all day.’
    The next morning, Hamish presented Josie with ordnance survey maps and a long list of names and addresses. ‘These are elderly people who live alone in the remoter
areas,’ he said. ‘It’s part of our duties to periodically check up on them. You won’t be able to do it all in one day or maybe two. We only have the one vehicle so
you’ll need to use your own. Give me any petrol receipts and I’ll get the money back for you.’
    Josie longed to ask him what he was going to do, but had decided her best plan was to be quiet and willing until he cracked. And she was sure he would crack and realize what wife potential he
had under his highland nose.
    She gave him her mobile phone number and set out, deciding to try some of the faraway addresses first. Josie drove along, up and down the single-track roads of Sutherland, lost in a happy
dream.
    The hard fact was that she should never have joined the police force. But a television drama, The Bill, had fired her imagination. By fantasizing herself into the character of a strong
and competent policewoman, she had passed through her training fairly easily. Her sunny nature made her popular. She had not been in Strathbane long enough for any really nasty cases to wake her up
to the realities of her job. She baked cakes for the other constables, asked