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by the manager, Mr Johnston. ‘Come to mooch a cup of coffee, Hamish?’
    ‘Aye, that would be grand.’
    ‘Come into the office. Herself won’t be home for Christmas.’
    Hamish blushed. ‘I didn’t come here to ask that. But I thought she would come home to see her parents.’
    ‘She’s working for some big computer firm and they’ve sent her to New York.’
    So far away, thought Hamish. So very far away.
    ‘So how’s business?’ he asked with well-manufactured cheeriness.
    ‘Business is booming. We’re fully booked for the Christmas period.’
    ‘No news about the old Lochdubh Hotel down by the harbour?’
    ‘Some Japanese put in a bid but then the Japanese recession hit. Then other folks seem to think there isn’t room up here for more than one hotel.’
    ‘It’s a grand building. Could do for a school.’
    ‘So how’s policing?’
    ‘Nice and quiet.’
    ‘No juicy murders for Christmas?’
    ‘God forbid. I’ve got the case of the missing cat and the case of the missing Christmas lights at Cnothan.’
    ‘Ach, Cnothan! That’s such a sour wee place they probably took away the lights themselves, them that thinks Christmas is sinful.’
    ‘I think it was youths. Petty theft. Anyway, Cnothan may be a sour place but at least they wanted to put up some decorations. Look at Lochdubh, as black as the loch.’
    ‘Well, Mr Wellington the minister was all for putting up a tree this year on the waterfront but he came up against Josiah Anderson.’
    ‘What! Him that lives in that big Victorian house?’
    ‘The same. A real Bible basher. I’m sorry for that wee daughter o’ his.’
    ‘He’s got a wee daughter?’
    ‘So you don’t know everything. Josiah and his wife were trying for years to have children.’
    ‘Probably didn’t know how to go about it,’ said Hamish maliciously. ‘They should have asked me and I’d have given them a map.’
    Anyway, the wife went down to Inverness for the fertility treatment and she had a girl. Josiah was fifty when the bairn was born and the wife,
    Mary, forty-five. The wee girl, Morag, she must be about nine now. What a life for her, they’re that strict. No presents for her.’
    ‘She goes to the village school?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘I gave a talk to the kids there and asked them what Santa was bringing them and they were all expecting something.’
    ‘What child wants to be different from the others?’ asked Mr Johnston.
    ‘What does Morag Anderson look like?’
    ‘Like a waif. All eyes. And clean. Oh, so clean. I think they scrub her every morning.’
    Hamish’s hazel eyes narrowed. ‘Sounds like cruelty to me. I’ll have a talk to the schoolteacher.’
    ‘I’ve heard you’ve been romancing her – dinner at the Italian place.’
    ‘Have I no private life?’ mourned Hamish.
    Aye, well, if you’d wanted a private life you wouldn’t have chosen to live in Lochdubh. But I’m in a generous mood. If you want to take her for lunch, I’ll let you have
it on the house.’
    Hamish drank his coffee, then headed for the schoolhouse. He looked at his watch. School would
    be breaking up any minute for the Christmas holidays. The children were singing carols, their voices carried towards him on the wind. He waited in the Land Rover until he saw them streaming out.
Then he got out and went into the schoolhouse.
    Maisie Pease was clearing up papers on her desk. She looked up and blushed when she saw him. ‘Why, Hamish! What brings you?’
    Ask me out again, a voice inside her was urging. But Hamish perched on the side of her desk and said, ‘You’ve got a pupil here, Morag Anderson.’
    ‘Yes, and I won’t believe for a moment she’s in trouble. She’s my star pupil.’
    ‘No, she’s not in any police trouble. I heard an unsettling piece of gossip about her parents, that’s all. Seems they’re a bit too strict. No Christmas for
Morag.’
    ‘I can’t really do anything about that, Hamish. I would be interfering with their religious