By M. C. Beaton
Unique book: 2003
Trouble is afoot in a Scottish fishing village as Constable Macbeth reveals the pub empty, the church complete, and the air permeated with worry. With assistance from a journalist, Macbeth starts to ferret out the reality.
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Extra info for Death of a Village (Hamish Macbeth, Book 18)
I was becoming aware, however, that the hand with which I had dispatched Kaufmann felt like a hot balloon of agony, expanding without an upper limit. My vision was blurred and I shook my head trying to clear it. I dimly heard voices in the background, and then a particularly resonant one was near at hand, speaking with complete authority: “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. ” The woman put down the sword, and was suddenly assisted by a young Japanese girl gingerly lifting me off the floor and propelling me in the direction of a nearby chair.
They were killing me. The swords plunged in deeply. • • • I AWAKENED aboard a small jet flying in the early dawn. For a moment I thought I was tied to my seat. When I glanced to see what kind of cords had my wrists bound to the arms of the chair, I saw that I was mistaken. The feeling of constriction I attributed to the effects of the gas. Painfully I lifted a hand . . then with even more anguish I raised my head, noticing that the compartment was empty except for me. The door to the cockpit was closed.
I knew who he really was: Dr. Mabuse. “Goebbels, I thought you were made of sterner stuff,” came his grim voice. “You are a lunatic,” I told him hoarsely. “That’s unfair. ” “You said you had been anti-Semitic. Then you told me that you had rejected racism. ” “You hurt me deeply,” was his retort, but the voice sounded inhuman. “I expected more from a thoughtful Nazi. My sponsors want a project carried out for racist reasons. I do not believe in their theories, religion, or pride. This pure blonde race they worship has never existed, in fact; it was simply a climatological adaptation in Northern Europe, never as widely distributed as Nazis think.