Death of a Perfect Wife by MC Beaton

was only one still unsightly area on his property. At the far corner of one of his fields was an old ramshackle two-storied ruin. He had rented a bulldozer and meant to flatten it, clear away the rubble, and then plough over the land on which the ruin stood.
    He was just advancing over the fields in his rented bulldozer when he noticed a small party of women carrying banners, standing in front of the ruin. As he came nearer, he read with amazement, ‘Protect Our Bats’, and ‘Gunn Is a Murderer’. He drove up and climbed down. He recognized Mrs Wellington, the minister’s wife, Angela Brodie, and various other women from the village. The spokeswoman stepped forward. He wondered who she was and then recognized her as Loch-dubh’s latest incomer, Trixie Thomas.
    ‘You shall not pass!’ cried Trixie. The women behind her started marching up and down singing, ‘We shall not be moved.’
    He scratched his head. ‘I do not have the nuclear missiles. What is all this about?’
    ‘You have bats,’ said Trixie.
    ‘Och, you’re bats yourself,’ said Iain.
    ‘No, I mean there are bats in that old ruin and bats are a protected species. You cannot touch it.’
    Then Iain saw with relief a white police Land Rover, parking at the edge of the field. ‘Here’s Hamish,’ he said, ‘He’ll sort you out.’
    The women began chanting again as Hamish sauntered up.
    ‘Tell these daft biddies to go away,’ said Iain. ‘They are after saying I cannot bulldoze that ruin because there are bats in it. Haff you ever heard the like?’
    ‘I’m afraid they are right,’ said Hamish. ‘Bats are protected, Iain, and you’ll need to leave that ruin alone.’
    ‘Michty me. You mean a man cannae do whit he likes with his ain property?’
    ‘Not when it comes to bats,’ said Hamish.
    Iain’s face darkened with anger. ‘I’ve a good mind to bulldoze this lot o’ harpies.’
    ‘Do you hear him, constable?’ cried Trixie. ‘He is threatening to kill us.’
    ‘I didnae hear a word,’ said Hamish crossly. ‘But you women should be ashamed of yourselves. Yes, you too, Mrs Wellington! Somehow you heard Iain was going to bulldoze this old ruin. Well, why the h—, why on earth didn’t you just write the man a letter? Behaving like silly bairns. You are a right disgrace – all of you.’
    ‘A man as full of land greed as Iain Gunn would not have paid attention to any letter,’ said Trixie.
    ‘Now, I did hear that,’ said Hamish, ‘and if you want to sue her, Iain, I will be your witness. Off home with the lot of ye and try to behave like grownups. Shoo! ’
    Angela flinched. Hamish’s eyes were hard. How silly they all looked, she thought suddenly. Why had she come along? And Trixie had no right to say that about Iain. Crofters never liked farmers but although they occasionally made sour and jealous remarks about Iain Gunn, there was no real animosity in their hearts.
    The women trailed off. ‘I’ll walk,’ said Angela to Trixie. She had come in Trixie’s old Ford van.
    ‘Don’t be silly, Angela,’ said Trixie, and Angela felt she would weep if anyone ever called her silly again. ‘You know how much I rely on you. We had to make a stand. Gunn wouldn’t have paid any heed to a letter. Besides, I’ve got the minutes of the last Anti-Smoking League meeting to type out and I’m hopeless at it. Don’t be cross with me. I do rely on you, Angela.’ Trixie’s eyes seemed very large and almost hypnotic. ‘Everyone’s remarked on how much you’ve changed lately. Why, even Mrs Wellington was saying only the other day that you were looking younger and prettier than you had done in ages.’
    Angela melted. Her husband had never once in their marriage commented on her appearance until that remark about her looking like Chico Marx. Sensitive and insecure, never able to think much of herself, Angela was an easy prey for the dominant Trixie.
    With a weak smile, she got in the van beside Trixie.
    Iain Gunn watched them go.