Death of a Hussy by MC Beaton

thoughtfully and remembered the days when he would have given his back teeth for some sign of jealousy from Priscilla. He was glad he was not in love with her any more, but he valued her friendship, he told himself, and even dressed as she was that morning in tweed skirt and blouse with an old oilskin coat thrown over them, she looked very beautiful. Her bright hair almost hid her face as she bent over the dog.
    He sighed and sat down at the table next to her. ‘I am pulling your leg, Priscilla,’ he said. ‘Alison has been getting driving lessons from me. That lassie’s obsessed with driving. She eats, sleeps, and drinks driving. I’m pretty sure that aunt of hers never gave her permission to use the car, but that’s her problem.’
    ‘I suppose she’s an interesting girl?’ remarked Priscilla slowly.
    ‘Meaning that someone as plain as that must have something going for her? Shame on you, Priscilla.’
    ‘I didn’t mean that at all,’ said Priscilla, raising her head at last.
    ‘She must be in her thirties but away from the driving wheel, she’s scared o’ her own shadow,’ said Hamish. ‘I wish I’d never agreed to teach her. She clings to me, like a limpet, emotionally, I mean. I can feel her sticky presence even when she isn’t here. She’s got a crush on me … for the moment. She’s a walking parasite on the perpetual lookout for a host.’
    ‘Hamish!’ exclaimed Priscilla, torn between relief that he was still heart free and amazement at his unexpected cruelty.
    ‘I sound awful, don’t I? But there’s something unhealthy about her. I feel like swatting her with a fly swatter. It’s not that she physically clings to me – she mentally clings and even when she’s not about, I can feel that sticky mind of hers fantasizing about me.’
    ‘Really, Hamish Macbeth, are you not getting a little bit carried away? Your vanity might be prompting you into thinking she fancies you.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ said Hamish with a disarming smile. ‘Now when I’m interested, really interested in a lassie, I wouldnae know if she had a fancy for me or not unless she threw herself into my arms.’
    But you are no longer interested in me, thought Priscilla, rather bleakly. Aloud, she said, ‘Where’s Maggie Baird gone?’
    ‘I think she’s gone to get herself beautified. Think it possible?’
    ‘Hard to imagine,’ said Priscilla. ‘Is there some fellow about? Is that what caused the attack at the party? Did she see some old lover in the crowd? There were a few guests from England at the Lochdubh Hotel who joined in the festivities.’
    ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Hamish, stretching out his long legs. ‘I think she saw nobody but herself.’
    ‘Oh, Hamish, no one finds their own appearance such a shock.’
    ‘Not people like you. But just imagine if she had let herself go to seed but carried around in her head the image of what she used to be like. And then suddenly she saw herself in all her glory.’
    ‘Could be. I remember a fashion buyer at a store in London saying that because most of their customers were middle-aged and plump, they decided to use plump middle-aged models. It was a disaster. The buyer said she found out that when a woman buys a gown she’s seen on a young and pretty model, she sees herself a little bit as that model. Interesting psychology. I’d better be going.’
    ‘Are you driving down to London?’
    ‘No, only to Inverness. There’s too much fog on the motorways at this time of year. I get the train at eight in the morning. When is Alison’s driving test?’
    ‘Time’s passed quickly. It’s this Friday morning.’
    ‘Well, good luck with your pupil. Bye, Hamish. See you in the summer.’
    ‘Bye.’ He kissed her cheek and for a moment she felt his face, unexpectedly smooth, against her own. She gave a little ducking motion of her head and turned and left the police station.
       
    The day of Alison’s driving test dawned sunny and fair, with a white