Death of a Hussy by MC Beaton Page A

frost rapidly melting from the roads and heathland. The sea loch sparkled and shimmered with light and the little eighteenth-century cottages strung out along the waterfront looked neat and picturesque. The distorted giant shapes of the Two Sisters, the mountains which dominated the village, were covered with snow. The air was redolent with the smells of a West Highland village – wood smoke, fish, tar, and strong tea.
    As Hamish drove Alison into the village, he saw the examiner standing outside the hotel and muttered, ‘Oh, dear.’
    ‘What did you say?’ demanded Alison sharply.
    ‘Nothing,’ lied Hamish. But he had recognized the examiner, nicknamed The Beast of Strathbane, Frank Smeedon. But better not tell Alison that. Smeedon had been off work for some months and his replacement had been a kindly, cheery man. Poor Alison, thought Hamish bleakly.
    ‘Now just keep calm and do your best,’ he told Alison.
    He could not bear to watch the start of the test but strolled off along the waterfront. Alison would be away for half an hour. He went into the Lochdubh Hotel and into the manager’s office.
    ‘You’ve got a face like a fiddle,’ said Mr Johnson.
    ‘I’ve just dropped Alison off for her driving test and the examiner is Smeedon.’
    ‘Oh, my, my, she hasnae a hope in hell,’ said Mr Johnson. ‘That man hates wee lassies.’
    ‘It’s her own fault for looking like a waif,’ muttered Hamish. ‘She’s in her thirties. Why is he such a woman hater? He’s married, isn’t he?’
    ‘Aye, he’s not only married, he’s got a bint on the side.’
    ‘Neffer!’ exclaimed Hamish. ‘Who?’
    ‘D’ye ken that driving school in Strathbane, Harrison’s? Well, there’s a secretary there, a little blonde tart. He’s old enough tae be her father.’
    ‘What’s her name?’
    ‘Maisie MacCallum.’
    ‘And does Mrs Smeedon know about this?’
    ‘No, she’s an auld battleaxe, and she’d kill him if she ever found out. Coffee, Hamish?’
    ‘No, it’s a grand day. Think I’ll chust stretch my legs. In fact, I haff neffer seen a better day.’
    Mr Johnson, like Priscilla, had known Hamish long enough to recognize the danger signals in the sudden sibilancy of Hamish’s Highland accent.
    ‘Hey!’ said Mr Johnson in alarm. ‘What I told you about Smeedon is in confidence!’
    But Hamish had gone.
    Alison was meanwhile feeling calm and confident. She had driven correctly along single-track roads, she had reversed competently and performed a three-point turn with exact precision. She sat in the car and correctly answered all Mr Smeedon’s questions on the Highway Code. When he snapped his notebook shut and picked up his clipboard, she smiled at him, waiting for the tremendous news that she had passed.
    ‘Well, ye’ve failed,’ said the examiner.
    Alison’s world came tumbling about her ears. Failure again. ‘What did I do wrong?’ she asked in a shaky voice.
    ‘Not allowed to tell ye,’ he said smugly.
    ‘But that’s not true! All that’s been changed. I read in the paper that examiners –’ began Alison desperately. There was a rap at the window on the driving instructor’s side. Smeedon looked up and saw Hamish Macbeth.
    ‘Good day to ye, Miss Kerr,’ said Smeedon, opening the door and getting out. Alison laid her head on the steering wheel and wept.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Smeedon,’ said Hamish lazily. ‘Spring won’t be far off and the thoughts of men will turn to love. But of course in your case, they’ve already turned.’
    ‘Blethering idiot,’ snapped Smeedon, beginning to stride towards his own car. Hamish put out a long arm and held Smeedon’s shoulder in a strong grip. ‘I’m not asking ye if Miss Kerr passed her test,’ said Hamish, ‘for you were determined to fail her before she even got behind the wheel. Whit hae ye got against the lassies? I wonder what Maisie MacCallum would say if she knew what you were really like?’
    Smeedon looked as if he had been struck by