From a “master of outrageous black comedy,” a cozy whodunnit mystery in which the exiled Hamish Macbeth must solve a murder that smells more than little bit fishy ( The Times Magazine ).   The most hated man in Scotland is sleeping with the fishes—literally dumped into a tank filled with crustaceans. All that remain of the murder victim are his bones. Hamish Macbeth sorely misses his beloved Lochdubh. But wherever Hamish goes, he’s bound to find a new case to solve. He’ll have to contend with a difficult detective chief inspector, a dark-haired lass who’s trying to seduce him, and a killer who will no doubt strike again . . . M. C. Beaton has won international acclaim for her New York Times bestselling Hamish Macbeth mysteries. The BBC has aired 24 episodes based on the series. Beaton is also the author of the bestselling Agatha Raisin series, which will air as an eight-episode dramatic series on Sky1, starring Ashley Jensen. She lives in the Cotswolds with her husband. For more information, you can visit MCBeaton.com. Death of an Outsider By M. C. Beaton Grand Central Publishing Copyright © 2013 M. C. Beaton All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4555-2407-5 CHAPTER 1 See, the happy moron, He doesn't give a damn, I wish I were a moron, My God! perhaps I am! —Anonymous Constable Hamish Macbeth sat in the small country bus that was bearing him awayfrom Lochdubh—away from the west coast of Sutherland, away from hispolice-station home. His dog, Towser, a great yellowish mongrel, put a large pawon his knee, but the policeman did not notice. The dog sighed and heaved itselfup onto the seat beside him and joined his master in staring out of the window. The bus driver was new to the job. "Nae dugs on the seats," he growled over hisshoulder, determined not to be intimidated by Hamish's uniform. But theconstable gave him a look of such vacant stupidity that the driver, a LowlandScot who considered all Highlanders inbred, decided it was useless to pursue thematter. Misery did make Hamish Macbeth look dull-witted. It seemed as if only ashort time ago he had been happy and comfortable in his own police station inLochdubh, and then orders had come that he was to relieve Sergeant MacGregor atCnothan, a crofting town in the centre of Sutherland. In vain had he invented acrime wave in Lochdubh. He was told that protecting the occasional battered wifeand arresting a drunk once every two months did not amount to a crime wave. Hewas to lock up the police station and go by bus, for Sergeant MacGregor wishedhis stand-in to keep his car in running order. Hamish hated change almost as much as he hated work. He had the tenancy of somecroft land next to the police station at Lochdubh, where he kept a small herd ofsheep, now being looked after by a neighbour. He earned quite good money on theside from his small farming, his poaching, and the prize money he won for hillrunning at the Highland Games in the summer. All that he could save went to hismother and father and brothers and sisters over in Cromarty. He did notanticipate any easy pickings in Cnothan. Crofters, or hill farmers, always need another job because usually the croft orsmallholding is too small a farm to supply a livelihood. So crofters are alsopostmen, forestry workers, shopkeepers, and, in the rare case of Hamish Macbeth,policemen. It was the end of January, and the north of Scotland was still in the grip ofalmost perpetual night. The sun rose shortly after nine in the morning, where itsulked along the horizon for a few hours before disappearing around two in theafternoon. The fields were brown and scraggly, the heather moors, dismal rain-soddenwastes, and ghostly wreaths of mist hung on the sides of the tallmountains. There were only a few passengers on the bus. The Currie sisters, Jessie andNessie, two spinster residents of Lochdubh, were talking in high shrill voices."Amn't I just telling you, Nessie?" came the voice of Jessie. "I went over tothe Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals at Strathbane lastweek and I says to the mannie, 'I want a humane trap to catch the ferret thathas been savaging our ducks.' He gives me the trap, and he says, 'You take thishere humane trap, and you humanely catch your ferret, and then, if you want myadvice, you will humanely club the wee bastard to death.' Sich a going-on! Andhim supposed to be against cruelty. I have written to our Member of Parliamentto complain most strongly." "You told me a hundred times," grumbled Nessie. "Maybe he was right. For all youcaught in that humane trap was the minister's cat. Why don't you tell Mr.Macbeth about it?" "Him!" screeched Jessie. "That constable is a poacher and it was probably hisferret." The bus jerked to a halt and the sisters alighted, still quarrelling. Three months in Cnothan, thought Hamish, absent-mindedly scratching Towserbehind the ears. They say Lochdubh is quiet, but nothing ever happens inCnothan, and nothing ever will. Did I not hav