Death of a Bore (Hamish Macbeth Mysteries, No. 21)

Death of a Bore (Hamish Macbeth Mysteries, No. 21)

M. C. Beaton

Language: English

Pages: 272

ISBN: 0446617199

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


From the author of the Agatha Raisin television series...
DEATH OF A BORE: A Hamish Macbeth Mystery

Minor writer John Heppel has a problem--he's a consummate bore. When he's found dead in his cottage, there are plenty of suspects. But surely boredom shouldn't be cause for murder, or so thinks Constable Hamish Macbeth.

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John’s phone, thought Hamish, but a minute later Blair shot out and went to the police car. Hamish slid into the house and approached the pathologist. “There are two things you ought to know,” he said, bending over her as she worked on the body. “His tongue is black and I think it’s ink.” “Ink!” She stared up at him in surprise. “What makes you say that?” “I put a tongue depressor in his mouth to see if I could find out if he had taken anything. His tongue was black. He used an old-fashioned

give it a good scrub. The next morning, despite his protests, a squad headed by the Currie sisters descended on him with mops and pails, dusters and brushes, and proceeded to clean every bit of soot out of his living room. He thanked them profusely even though they kept giving him lectures on the benefits of marriage. He wanted to point out to the Currie sisters that they themselves had managed very well without getting married, but he feared the remark would hurt. He left them to it and went

had enough to start a shop.” His brown eyes took on a dreamy, unfocussed look. “I’ll call it An Indian’s Life in the Far North of Scotland.” “Maybe you should try for something snappier.” “Like what?” “Cannae think of anything.” “There you are! That’s why I need to go to a writing class.” “Anyway,” said Hamish, “I’ve no actual proof he did it, and in order to prove it, I’d need a warrant to search his house and I can’t see me getting it. So we’ll keep this between ourselves.” “So you’re not

at the door. Matthew at last, thought Elspeth. He should start to pack just in case the snow stops and the snowploughs can let us get on the road. “Coming,” she shouted. She went and unlocked the door. Paul Gibson stood there, his eyes blazing, holding a gun on her. “Back into the room,” he said. He shut the door behind him. “Sit down by the phone.” Elspeth sat down at the desk. “Now listen to me carefully. Your boyfriend, Hamish Macbeth, is going to file a report saying he thinks I am the

his sleeve. “It has been the stressful day, Angela. I caught the murderer and I’m so tired, but I found this cat outside my door and wondered if the doctor could do anything for it.” Dr. Brodie appeared at the foot of the stairs wrapped in his dressing gown and listened impatiently while Angela outlined Hamish’s predicament. “I’m not a vet, Hamish, and that looks like a wild cat. Oh, for God’s sake, don’t look at me like that. I’ll see what I can do. Bring the beast through to the surgery. I’ll

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