By M. C. Beaton
Unique ebook: 1997
Lovable Scottish constable Hamish Macbeth -- who may otherwise be fishing than detecting -- needs to root out one other legal in his 13th charmingly smart case.
As the small village of Lochdubh has no dentist, locals shuttle 20 miles to Frederick Gilchrist's dental surgical procedure within the city of Braikie. even supposing Lochdubh's one-man police strength, Hamish Macbeth, prefers the extra sleek, painless approaches practiced by means of dentists within the urban of Inverness, a dazzling toothache one morning convinces him to provide Gilchrist a test. Upon arriving, Hamish unearths the dentist useless at the flooring, a sufferer of nicotine poisoning. getting to know that the deceased used to be a non-smoker, Hamish needs to positioned his personal toothache on ice -- to extract a assassin at the unfastened.
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Extra info for Death of a Dentist (Hamish Macbeth, Book 13)
28 Bartholomew Gill “Well—I object. You and I were agreed. ” Tallon wagged his head, his face suddenly a tragic mask. “Nor this village. You’re going to let this . . thing”— he flourished a hand at the bed—“what we had nothing to do with, what was done by some outsiders, ruin our lives. “Peter, I implore you. I beseech you. ” There was a histrionic element to Tallon’s personality that was both curious and distressing and McGarr tried to remember if he’d always been that way. But the truth was—McGarr had had as little to do with Tallon as possible, and that little had been ugly.
Or at least the report had not been so unusual that it had been brought to the attention of the Tallons. Perhaps the murderer was already in the room before they arrived. Where would he have concealed himself in the sparsely furnished quarters? Not in the closet where they’d hung their clothes. Under the bed? No, not there either, McGarr judged, when—back at the door, as though entering—he scanned the room. The bed, which was the only large piece of furniture, was so tall that he could see right under.
Suddenly angry—perhaps because of what had happened down in the bar, or because he had been dealing with the Carsons of the country for too long—McGarr said through his teeth, “You think so? ” McGarr seized Carson under the arm and rushed him toward the door behind which the two corpses lay. Still powerfully built in spite of his fifty-plus years, McGarr threw open the door and shoved Carson in, grabbing a handful of the man’s graying hair and pulling him across the carpet. At the bed he yanked the head down hard, so it was nearly touching Ellen Finn’s mortally wounded head that was lying on Pascal Burke’s dead chest.