Death of a Travelling Man (A Hamish Macbeth Mystery)

Death of a Travelling Man (A Hamish Macbeth Mystery)

M. C. Beaton

Language: English

Pages: 272

ISBN: 0446573515

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

From the author of the Agatha Raisin television series...
DEATH OF A TRAVELING MAN: A Hamish Macbeth Mystery
Lochdubh constable Hamish Macbeth's life is going to pot. He has-horrors!-been promoted, his new boss is a dunce, and a self-proclaimed traveler named Sean and his girlfriend have parked their rusty eyesore of a van in the middle of the village. Hamish smells trouble, and he's right as usual. The doctor's drugs go missing. Money vanishes. Neighbors suddenly become unneighborly. The tension only explodes after the itinerant Sean is found brutally beaten to death. Suspicion quickly falls on his girlfriend, but with nobody willing to talk, the canny Hamish faces the tough task of worming the facts out of the villagers. As he uncovers a bizarre story around the murdered traveler, Macbeth knows he must find the truth soon, before the killer gets away for good.

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it comes to getting something for nothing, then you’d turn a blind eye to murder.” “That iss going too far!” They both stared at each other in dislike. Hamish seized his cap, which he had placed on her desk when he arrived, noticing that the brim was cracked, for it was his second-best one, his good one having been lost in the river when he rescued the boy. “I haff nothing mair tae say tae ye,” said Hamish, stalking out and spoiling the effect by knocking into an umbrella-stand at the door and

character. I see you’ve still got your beatniks up at the back of the manse.” “They don’t call them beatniks any more,” said Hamish gloomily, still thinking of Priscilla’s angry face. “They call themselves the travellers or new travellers and try to claim the same rights as the gypsies. That pair has me fair puzzled. You see, normally these travellers like to go around in convoys, making some landowner’s life hell. Landowner screams for the police, complains his land is being turned into a

which John Smith is regularly stopped by the police and hauled over the coals, and then by the following day it’s all forgotten until the travellers cause the next batch of trouble and then it all starts up again. But this pair have admittedly an old bus, but the tax is paid and he’s got a clean license and the tyres are good. What are they after?” “Maybe not after anything,” said Dr. Brodie, throwing another lump of peat on the ash-choked fire. “Maybe genuine drifters.” “Then there was

she had to drink. She could simply have had an alcoholic blackout. Still, he reminded himself, he wasn’t doing anything else at the moment. The summer was unusually warm with those nasty biting midges of the Highlands out in force. Patel’s, the local shop in Lochdubh, had sold out of insect repellent. As they mounted a crest of the road, Dick said, “Every time I see Strathbane, I’m right glad I’m out of it.” Strathbane was a blot on the beauty of Sutherland. Once a busy fishing port, it had

“I am thinking, Mrs. Struthers,” said Hamish, “that it will be a wee bit difficult for me here. They never did like incomers in Cnothan.” “Well…” said Mrs. Struthers cautiously, going to the window to make sure there was no sign of her husband returning from his rounds, her husband having preached about the iniquities of gossip the previous Sunday, “people here are very nice when you get to know them. All it takes is a few years.” “I haven’t got the time,” said Hamish. “I’m only here for three

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