By M. C. Beaton
Unique e-book: 1988
The so much hated guy within the so much dour city in Scotland is dozing with the fishes, or-more accurately-dumped right into a tank full of crustaceans. All that stay of the murdered sufferer are his bones. yet after the lobsters are shipped off to Britain's top eating places, the full affair speedy lands at the plate of Constable Hamish Macbeth. Exiled along with his puppy, Towser, to the dreary outpost of Cnothan, Macbeth sorely misses his liked Lochdubh, his previously cherished Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, and his days of doing not anything yet observing the sheep grazing in a close-by croft. Now the lawman has to cope with a detective leader inspector who desires the modus operandi hushed up, a dark-haired lass who has an ulterior intent to seduce him, and a killer who has made mincemeat of his victim-and absolutely will strike back . . .
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Additional info for Death of an Outsider (Hamish Macbeth, Book 3)
He worked among racks of paint tins, bread knives, and Teflon frying pans. It was a place for old ladies. Andreas was the only guy who worked there. Andreas knew that Zipp's father had died years ago, but he couldn't remember what his name was or how he had died. He also knew that Zipp was unemployed and was always bumming money from him. He liked having company and he owned a car. The car had belonged to his father, of course. Zipp's mother didn't know how to drive, but she did pay for the gas.
Zipp tried to imagine what pose he took, whether he was lying on a sofa or sitting on a chair, or maybe standing up in some impossible position. He hadn't dared to ask, but he was curious. The thought of a man taking off his clothes in front of a woman and letting her look at him while he stood there, passive, made him uncomfortable. Of course they'd had sex afterward—according to Andreas. But how did it feel, Zipp wondered, to stand there, motionless, while the Woman examined his body in every detail.
Because they have more enemies, maybe that's it. To be a woman and have to be on guard all the time, what a fucking strain that must be! She had actually started in the direction of the parking lot, but then she would have to pass the car. Suddenly she turned the stroller around and set off in the opposite direction. The maneuver was pitifully obvious; he wondered what had inspired it. Maybe it was the foaming sea, blocking her path on one side, or maybe the child, the responsibility for someone other than herself.