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over.”
    Fiona turned to the manager, who was listening. “We’ll need Fitzwilliam’s address and phone number. Anyone else, Miss Dunbar?”
    “That’s all I know. The other maids don’t talk much to me, them being foreign.”
    When she left, Charlie suggested, “What about the barman? That’s where she was supposed to pick men up.”
    The barman supplied six names of guests, but they all had left. Mr. Johnson, the manager, went off to check the records for addresses.
    “I think that’s enough for now, and I’m hungry,” said Fiona.
    “Charlie usually joins us for dinner,” said the colonel. “I would be honoured if you would be my guest.”
    Fiona flashed an amused look at Charlie and said, “Lead the way. Most kind of you.”
    The colonel saw to his alarm that his wife was already seated at their usual table. But Fiona began to question Charlie about what he thought about the case so far. Charlie shrugged his broad shoulders. “The suspects seem to be building up,” he said. “It’s going to take a lot of research unless Hamish gets one of his flashes of intuition.”
    “He seems to have a great track record,” said Fiona.
    “Overrated,” said the colonel crossly.
    “Now, dear,” his wife put in, “you are only cross because he broke off his engagement with Priscilla. Priscilla is our daughter, Inspector.”
    “I was delighted,” said the colonel. “My only fear is that they might get back together again. I just wish Priscilla would find someone decent, like Charlie here.”
    “I am sure all the local ladies are after Charlie.” Fiona looked amused.
    “I havenae noticed,” protested Charlie.
    Mrs. Halburton-Smythe began to talk about a fund-raiser to start a food bank in Braikie for the poor.
    “The trouble about those food banks,” said Fiona, “is that the elderly who really need help are too proud to go and it is too often the layabouts who want to keep money for what they consider essentials like cigarettes and booze.”
    “Maybe not all,” said Charlie gently. “I’ll help out on my day off, if you like.”
    The colonel and his wife beamed at Charlie. They look on him almost like a son, thought Fiona.
      
    After a comforting dinner, Hamish strolled back to the station with his pets at his heels. Once inside, he phoned Mr. Johnson at the hotel and received the news that both Fiona and Charlie were dining with the colonel and his wife. He was in the office when he heard the kitchen door opening and then Jimmy Anderson’s voice calling, “Anyone at home?”
    Hamish went through to the kitchen. Jimmy looked tired but sober.
    “What a day. I could do wi’ a dram.”
    “Oh, all right. But just the one.”
    Jimmy sat down at the kitchen table. “Where’s Old Iron Knickers?”
    “Herself is up at the castle, dining with Charlie and the colonel and his missus.”
    “Charlie! But he’s only a constable. What about me? Or at least, you.”
    “She likes Charlie. I often wonder about our Charlie. Women fancy him but he doesnae even bat a hormone.”
    Jimmy took a gulp of whisky. “Probably a virgin.”
    “In this wicked day and age?”
    “Could be. Doesnae fancy you, does he?”
    “Not a bit. I’ve got to search the area up there again. Find anything?”
    “The pathologist said that the tide didn’t reach where she was and maybe she was killed elsewhere and dumped.”
    “Was she strangled with hands or a ligature?”
    “He thinks it could ha’ been done wi’ something like a scarf.”
    “No sign of her luggage?” asked Hamish.
    Jimmy sighed. “Probably at the bottom of a peat bog somewhere.”
    “You’d better stay the night,” said Hamish. “I’ll put clean sheets in the cell.”
    “The mattress in that cell is as hard as buggery. Anyway, how do you know a storm is coming? Heard it on the radio?”
    “Heard it in my bones.”
    “Don’t believe you. I’m off. It’s Hallowe’en on Saturday. Expect any trouble?”
    “Nothing up here,” said Hamish.