"Everyone starts refusing?"

"I cannae envisage that."

"It could happen. Just become unfashionable. Like smoking. You're having a quiet time these days, Hamish."

"Long may it last. I wouldnae like to see another murder in Lochdubh."

"There may be one shortly."

"Who? What?"

"Nessie and Jessie Currie are joint chairwomen of the Mothers' Union at the church this year."

"Oh, dear." Jessie and Nessie were middle-aged twin sisters, both unmarried.

"The others are complaining it's like being run by the Gestapo."

"Can't they vote them out?"

"Not for another year."

"What are they doing that's so bad?"

"Well, at the cake sale, they criticised the quality of the baking and reduced little Mrs. McWhirter to tears for one. Then they have lately become obsessed with germs and the church hall has to be regularly scrubbed. They have pinned up a cleaning rota and all women must remove their shoes before entering the hall."

"I'll have a word with them."

"Would you, Hamish? I don't know what you can say. Everyone's tried."

"I'll have a go."

Hamish said goodbye to her and strolled off in the direction of the Currie sisters' cottage.

He knocked at the highly polished brass lion's head on the door. Jessie answered, blinking up at him through her thick glasses. "It's you. It's you," said Jessie, who had an irritating way of repeating everything.

"I just dropped by for a wee word," said Hamish easily. "Come ben." Hamish ducked his head and followed Jessie into the living room, where sister Nessie was seated.

Nessie was knitting ferociously, steel pins flashing through magenta wool.

"What brings you?" asked Nessie.

Hamish sat down. "I'll get tea. I'll get tea," said Jessie.

Hamish raised a hand. "Not for me, thank you. This'll only take a minute."

Jessie folded her arms and eyed the tall red-haired policeman nervously. "It must be serious for you to refuse a free cup of tea, free cup of tea."