Beneath the Abbey Wall Read Online Free PDF Page A

reading.
    â€œSounds like a fiddle to me.” Rob wished he had this story. It would be a chance to make mischief.
    â€œIt’s a good story, Joanne,” McAllister said. “It gives an innocuous lead into what some might see as a fiddle, as Rob so aptly put it.” He turned to the photographer.
    â€œHector?”
    â€œI’ve football photos and some people getting their trophies from the bowling club.”
    â€œWrite a few lines to go with the pictures, and make sure you get the names right.”
    Hector looked terrified at the idea he might have to touch a typewriter.
    Rob sighed, knowing he would end up doing the writing, with Hec waving his arms, windmilling the action. “I’ll help him.”
    â€œRight.” McAllister was not in the mood for any more chat. “Let’s get through this edition, and hopefully Don will be back soon.” He gathered his notes. “Let’s hope Betsy can cope with the advertisers until we appoint a new manager. In the meantime . . . ”
    â€œWe will all help as best we can,” Joanne spoke for all of them.
    That week, the Gazette was produced without Mrs. Smart and Don McLeod, but barely. The compositors pointed out the more glaring changes in style, McAllister being out of practice at marking up the layout.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said to the father of the chapel—a formidable man with a formidable title, who was in charge of the printers and also their union representative. “I haven’t done this since I was a cadet.”
    â€œAye, I can see that,” the man replied. As McAllister turnedto go he added, “I’m right sorry about Mrs. Smart—she was a good woman.”
    A good woman, that’s what everyone says, McAllister thought. Yet I still know so little about her. He had written up the story of her death but ended up asking Beech to compose the obituary.
    The Fatal Accident Enquiry had declared the death “Killed by person or persons unknown,” and ordered the Procurator Fiscal to investigate. The Gazette front page contained the bare facts. The Aberdeen press coverage was much more sensational.
    McAllister knew DI Dunne was telling the truth when he said there was no new information. “Sorry, McAllister, but we have no more other than the fact she was stabbed. Not that I want that published.”
    There was a good relationship between McAllister and the new detective inspector—unlike with the previous incumbent, a venal man, corrupt, cruel, incompetent, who had met an unfortunate end—an end known only to McAllister and two McPhee brothers.
    â€œI’ll write the usual ‘Anyone with any information’ appeal, then.”
    â€œThat would be good. One other thing, could you tell Don McLeod we need to interview him? From what I’ve heard, he knew her the longest of anyone hereabouts.”
    â€œI’ll try.” McAllister was thoughtful after he put down the phone. He picked up the copy of the yesterday’s Gazette, didn’t like what he saw—lightweight, was his opinion—and reread the obituary.
    When he had finished, McAllister still felt none the wiser. The facts of her birth, marriage, and career gave no real impression of the private person. I presume that is how she wanted it, he thought, but death, violent death, is no protector of secrets.
    Somehow it seemed crass to find a replacement for Mrs.Smart so soon after her death, but he knew it must be done. He walked across to the reporters’ room.
    â€œJoanne, we need your help.”
    At those words she was immediately on her guard.
    Joanne went with McAllister into the editor’s office. She had noticed the dark under his eyes a few days before but assumed it was overwork. It was more than that; McAllister feared the unraveling of all he had striven for, dreamed of, all he had come to the Highlands to achieve.
    â€œBetsy Buchanan needs help. Since you know