• Complain

M. C. Beaton - Death of an Addict

Here you can read online M. C. Beaton - Death of an Addict full text of the book (entire story) in english for free. Download pdf and epub, get meaning, cover and reviews about this ebook. genre: Detective and thriller. Description of the work, (preface) as well as reviews are available. Best literature library LitArk.com created for fans of good reading and offers a wide selection of genres:

Romance novel Science fiction Adventure Detective Science History Home and family Prose Art Politics Computer Non-fiction Religion Business Children Humor

Choose a favorite category and find really read worthwhile books. Enjoy immersion in the world of imagination, feel the emotions of the characters or learn something new for yourself, make an fascinating discovery.

M. C. Beaton Death of an Addict

Death of an Addict: summary, description and annotation

We offer to read an annotation, description, summary or preface (depends on what the author of the book "Death of an Addict" wrote himself). If you haven't found the necessary information about the book — write in the comments, we will try to find it.

M. C. Beaton: author's other books


Who wrote Death of an Addict? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.

Death of an Addict — read online for free the complete book (whole text) full work

Below is the text of the book, divided by pages. System saving the place of the last page read, allows you to conveniently read the book "Death of an Addict" online for free, without having to search again every time where you left off. Put a bookmark, and you can go to the page where you finished reading at any time.

Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make
Annotation
Constable Hamish MacBeth goes undercover to investigate the mysterious death of a recovered heroin addict, whose church has been suspected of being in the drug trade.


M C Beaton Death Of An Addict Book 15 in the Hamish MacBeth series 1999 - photo 1
M. C. Beaton
Death Of An Addict
Book 15 in the Hamish MacBeth series, 1999
All characters in this book are entirely a figment of the authors imagination.
Lochdubh, which is also fictional, is pronounced Lochdoo.
CHAPTER ONE
Shall man into the mystery of breath
From his quick breathing pulse a pathway spy?
Or learn the secret of the shrouded death,
By lifting up the lid of a white eye?
George Meredith
Hamish Macbeth drove along a rutted one-track road on a fine September day. The mountains of Sutherland soared up to a pale blue sky. There had been weeks of heavy rain and everything seemed scrubbed clean and the air was heavy with the smell of pine and wild thyme.
It was a good day to be alive. In fact, for one lanky red-haired Highland policeman who had just discovered he was heart-whole again, it was heaven.
The once love of his life, Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, had been home to the Highlands on a brief visit. They had gone out for dinner together and his mind had probed his treacherous heart but had found nothing stronger lurking in there but simple liking.
The sun was shining and somewhere out there were charming girls, beautiful girls, girls who would be only too happy to give their love and their lives to one Hamish Macbeth.
The vast heathery area of his beat which lay outside the village of Lochdubh had been crime-free, and so he had little to do but look after his small croft at the back of the police station, feed his sheep and hens, mooch around in his lazy way and dream of nothing in particular.
His beat had of late merely been a series of social calls- a cup of tea at some farm, a cup of coffee in some whitewashed little croft house. He was on his way to visit a crofter called Parry McSporran, who lived up in the wilderness of moorland near the source of the River Anstey, just outside the village of Glenanstey.
There are two types of Highlander, the entrepreneur and the cowboy. The entrepreneurs are hardworking, and set up schemes to earn money from tourists, and the cowboys are usually drunken louts, jealous of the entrepreneurs, and set out to sabotage their efforts. A taxi driver, for instance, who started to build up a successful business would suddenly find he was getting calls to pick up people in remote places and when he got there, he would find the call had been a hoax. One who had started a trout farm found the water had been poisoned.
Parry McSporran had built three small holiday chalets on his land. During the building of them, he had experienced some trouble. Building materials had mysteriously gone missing; rude spray-painted graffiti desecrated his house walls.
Hamish had tracked down the youths who had done the damage and had threatened them with prison. After that Parry had been left in peace. He had recently started to take in long lets. He said this way he saved himself the bother of changing linen every week and cleaning the chalets. It was a good move, for the tourist season in Sutherland, that county which is as far north in mainland Britain as you can go, was very short.
Parry was moving his sheep from one field to the other when Hamish arrived. He waved. Hamish waved back and leaned against the fence to watch Parry's sheepdogs at work. There was nothing better, he reflected lazily, than watching a couple of excellent sheepdogs at work on this perfect day. All it would take to complete the bliss would be a cigarette. Stop that, he told his brain severely. He had given up smoking some time ago, but occasionally the craving for one would come unbidden, out of nowhere.
The transfer of the sheep being completed, Parry waved Hamish towards the croft house. "Come ben," he said. "You are chust in time for the cup of tea."
"Grand," said Hamish, following him into the stone-flagged kitchen. Parry was not married. According to all reports, he had never wanted to get married. He was a small, wiry man with sandy hair and an elfin face with those light grey eyes which give little away, as if their bright intelligence masked any feeling lurking behind them in the same way that a man walking into a dim room after bright sunlight will not be able to distinguish the objects lying around.
"Got anyone for your chalets?" asked Hamish, sitting down at the kitchen table.
"I haff the two long lets," said Parry, "and the other one is booked up by families for the summer."
"Who are your long lets?" asked Hamish as Parry lifted the kettle off the black top of the Raeburn stove which he kept burning, winter and summer.
"In number one is Felicity Maundy, English, Green."
"You mean she's a virgin?"
"Come on, Hamish. Don't be daft. I mean one o' thae save-the-world Greens. She is worried about the global warmings."
"In the Highlands!" exclaimed Hamish. "A wee bit o' the global warming up here would chust be grand."
"Aye, but she chust shakes her heid and says it's coming one day."
He put a mug of tea in front of Hamish. "Pretty?" asked Hamish.
"If you like that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?"
"Wispy hair, wispy clothes, big boots, no makeup."
"And what is she doing up here in Glenanstey?" asked Hamish curiously.
"Herself is finding the quality of life."
"Oh, one of those."
"Aye, but she's been here three months now and seems happy enough. Writes poems."
Hamish lost interest in Felicity. "What about the other one?"
"Nice young man. Tommy Jarret. Early twenties. Writing a book."
"Oh, aye," said Hamish cynically. The ones who locked themselves away from civilisation to write a book were usually the ones who couldn't write anywhere. "Jarret," he mused. "That rings a bell."
"Meaning he has a criminal record?"
"Probably not, Parry. I'll check into it if you like."
"Aye, do that. I'd be grateful to ye, Hamish."
"Mr. McSporran," called a soft voice from the open doorway. "I wondered if I could buy some eggs from you."
Hamish swung round. This, then, must be Felicity Maundy. The sunlight streaming in through the kitchen door shone through her thin Indian-style dress of fine patterned cotton and turned the wisps of her no-colour hair into an aureole. She moved forward into the shadow revealing herself to be a thin, young girl with a pale anxious face and nervous pale blue eyes which slid this way and that.
She was wearing a heavy string of amber beads which made her neck look fragile. Under the long skirts of her dress, she was wearing a pair of what looked like army boots.
"I'll get some for ye," said Parry. "Sit down. This here is Hamish Macbeth."
Felicity nervously eyed Hamish's uniform. "I'll just stand." Her voice was as soft and insubstantial as her appearance.
"How do you pass the time up here, Miss Maundy?" asked Hamish.
"What do you mean?" There was now a shrill edge to her voice.
"I mean," said Hamish patiently, "it's a wee bit remote here. Don't you find it lonely?"
"Oh, not at all!" She spread her arms in a theatrical gesture. "The hills and the birds are my companions."
"Och," snorted Parry, returning with a box of eggs, "you should put on some makeup and heels and go down to Strathbane and have some fun."
Next page
Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

Similar books «Death of an Addict»

Look at similar books to Death of an Addict. We have selected literature similar in name and meaning in the hope of providing readers with more options to find new, interesting, not yet read works.


Reviews about «Death of an Addict»

Discussion, reviews of the book Death of an Addict and just readers' own opinions. Leave your comments, write what you think about the work, its meaning or the main characters. Specify what exactly you liked and what you didn't like, and why you think so.