Scots on the Rocks

22

I really do feel sorry for Moira,” Judith said as they exited Hollywood House. “Living in a village makes gossip even worse.”

“I’ll bet she moves after all this,” Renie remarked, walking along the driveway in a soft drizzle of rain. “Back to France, maybe. These days she could run Blackwell from an ice floe off of Antarctica.”

Judith nodded. “Oh well. We found out who the Leopard is—Will Fleming. He changed his spots.”

“Power struggle,” Renie said. “Harry versus Jimmy. Jimmy versus Jocko Morton. Seumas Bell versus Patrick. Any number of combinations, all struggling for control while Philip and Kate wait in the wings to make their buyout offer.”

“Right,” Judith agreed, taking out her cell phone. “At least I’m fairly sure who killed Davey Piazza.”

Renie stared at her cousin. “You are?”

“I wasn’t kidding about this jacket being evidence, though I’m not exactly sure how.” She dialed Alison’s number again. “It just dawned on me we’re stuck here. I got so focused on that jacket…Alison? Hi, Mrs. Flynn again. Could Barry pick us up at Hollywood House?”

“He’s making a delivery outside of St. Fergna so he won’t be back for a while,” Alison said. “Can you wait?”

“We don’t have much choice,” Judith said. “Thanks.”

“No luck?” Renie asked as they went through the open gates.

Judith nodded. “Gibbs,” she said suddenly. “Maybe he can collect us.” She dialed Grimloch’s number and got better results. Mrs. Gibbs informed her that Mr. Gibbs would be along in fifteen minutes. The tide was changing; he’d have to take his skiff. Judith called Alison back to tell her not to bother Barry.

“So,” Renie said, moving under the shelter of a hawthorn tree, “who killed Davey?”

“Harry,” Judith answered simply. “Who else resented Davey that much? His sudden rise was fodder for gossip about an attraction between employer and employee. Jealousy is such a powerful motive. It must have gnawed at Harry. I assume he tampered with Davey’s brakes. Judging from the Dolphin receipt, we know Davey wasn’t alone. He paid cash for the meal because Harry never carried money.”

“Aha!” Renie exclaimed. “The burger. Davey was a vegetarian, not to mention that even I couldn’t eat that much food and drink that many drinks by myself.”

“Right,” Judith said as a lorry drove past the cousins. “I finally remembered what Kate Gunn told Beth about her fancy fern. Kate mentioned that it was the feast day of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, which should have dawned on me earlier as the first of October. But all I could think of was Cousin Marty’s birthday until you griped to me about the old church calendars and my own birthday. I’ll bet that was Harry, driving around in a panic after Davey crashed his car. MacGowan may have checked the garage repair records and discovered that Harry’s Rover had been in for a repair—after he wiped out Kate’s fern. Harry followed Davey and went down to the site to make sure his rival was dead. He took off Davey’s suede jacket, knowing that the telltale receipt was in the pocket. But because Harry wasn’t the brightest guy around and flustered to boot, he never removed it.”

“Harry also had to deal with Patrick’s arrival,” Renie pointed out. “That must’ve scared the hell out of him. I wonder if Patrick saw Harry’s Rover before he climbed down the cliff.”

“Maybe not,” Judith replied. “Patrick was walking from the opposite direction. Anyway, Harry had to act fast, clobber Patrick, and flee the scene. He finally went home, put the jacket with Davey’s clothes in the carriage house, and later gave them to the thrift shop without getting rid of the receipt. As I mentioned, Harry wasn’t very smart.”

“No wonder Moira didn’t give him any real power at Blackwell,” Renie said. “But he lucked out because Patrick got amnesia.”

Judith shook her head. “No.” A midsize sedan approached but kept going. “Not Gibbs,” she murmured. “I think Moira guessed that Davey’s crash was no accident. Harry must have returned that night in some kind of emotional state. She’s pregnant, with a husband who’s just killed the man he thought was his rival. Think bloodlines. Everybody here does, including Moira’s father, who refused to let his illegitimate son inherit the company despite Jimmy’s competence. Moira couldn’t risk people thinking her baby’s father wasn’t Harry, so they reconciled, which must have galled her, but was necessary. Somehow pressure was put on MacGowan, who may have had his own ideas about what happened. And Patrick kept quiet for the sake of Moira’s reputation. He’s always been loyal to her, and arresting Harry wouldn’t have been in Moira’s long-term interests involving her son.”

“But with Harry dead,” Renie said, “why would his killer want MacGowan out of the way?”

Judith shrugged. “Maybe Moira didn’t exaggerate. It’s possible that she was intended to be a victim, too. Harry may have told someone he’d invited her to join him on the beach. Whether or not that’s so, his killer didn’t want MacGowan around to reopen the matter of Davey’s death and link both crimes. Harry was probably gullible. Who fed him tales about Moira and Davey? Somebody was goading Harry to get rid of his wife’s alleged lover and go to prison.” She paused. “Here’s Gibbs.”

After getting in the car, Judith thanked Gibbs for coming. “If you don’t mind,” she added, “could we stop at the Hearth and Heath inn?”

“Aye.” Gibbs kept his eyes on the wet road. The rest of the brief trip was made in silence.

Judith and Renie got out, asking Gibbs to wait.

“Do you suppose Bill and Joe are here already?” Renie asked as they entered the inn through the guest entrance.

“Let’s hope,” Judith responded.

They were in a foyer, replete with framed swatches of tartans of various clans. MacRae was on the phone, standing by an antique table Judith guessed served as the registration desk. Two dried arrangements of heather, thistle, and some plants she didn’t recognize stood at each end of a shelf holding maps and tourist guides.

Seeing the cousins, MacRae ended the call after a few brief words. “Sorry,” he said. “Your husbands weren’t at Morton’s garage.”

Judith was stunned. “They weren’t?”

“No,” MacRae said regretfully. “Nor the MacGowan, either.”

Judith and Renie exchanged anxious looks. “I was so sure…” Judith began, and trailed off, feeling helpless and panicky.

“I must confess,” MacRae said, “I had doubts about your idea, but I checked with my superior, who knows MacGowan quite well, and he confirmed that Hugh doesn’t use a cell phone.”

“They must be somewhere,” Judith said in a strained voice. “Are you still searching?”

“Indeed,” MacRae replied. “One of ours is missing, too.” He grimaced. “The cell number belongs to your husband, Mrs. Flynn.”

“I thought so,” Judith said. “Bill is like MacGowan—he won’t carry a cell phone, either.” She glanced at Renie, seeking comfort. But Renie seemed equally shaken, pale and wide-eyed. Trying to dampen her fears, Judith turned back to MacRae. “We have to talk. I’ve something to show you and a confession to make.”

MacRae ushered the cousins into the study, which was lined with bookshelves stocked with popular fiction. There were comfortable chairs and a gas-powered fireplace. Judith figured the room was designed for guests, though the police had made it their own with computers, phones, and file folders. A map of the vicinity hung above the fireplace. Judging from the pushpins and red X’s on the beach and at Grimloch Castle, it wasn’t there for the convenience of visitors, but to show the crime scenes and other pertinent locations.

“Ogilvie’s searching with the constables,” MacRae said, sitting at the desk. “What is it you have to tell me?”

Judith and Renie had also sat down. “It’s about some emails we found in the jewel case.” Briefly, Judith summed up the contents, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, rather than fretting about Joe and Bill. “At first I thought the exchanges were between Moira and Patrick. But it occurred to me just now when we came in that those emails aren’t as recent as I’d assumed.”

Renie stared at Judith. “It did? Why didn’t you say so?”

Judith looked faintly sheepish. “It was the dried heather by the desk.” She turned back to MacRae. “One of the messages mentioned the last heather of the season. I grow the plant in my garden at home, and heather doesn’t bloom past September. There was also something about going to bed early and the sun setting. That sounds more like late summer or early fall than this time of year.”

MacRae looked impressed; Renie seemed annoyed. “Do go on,” the detective urged.

“That means,” Judith explained, “they were written months ago, probably in September, before David Piazza died. Those emails were intended to sound as if Davey and Moira were the ones having the affair and possibly plotting to get rid of Harry. Whoever wrote them probably showed the emails to Harry in order to incite him to violence.”

“Fascinating.” MacRae smiled in approval, cleared his throat, and folded his hands on the desk. “Please don’t take this as criticism. I realize you have your own methods when you’re on the job.”

“I…” Judith started to ask if there might be confusion about what the “job” really was, but thought better of it. This wasn’t the time to get sidetracked. “The emails were mistakenly put into my purse by Moira’s maid, Elise. They were meant for Beth Fordyce, not me. I think Moira wanted Beth to see them and perhaps get rid of them for her. If you ask Will Fleming, I think you’ll learn that he found them and brought them to Grimloch. The case they were in ended up at Hollywood House in my purse. I have no idea who later took it out of my room.” She paused and put Davey’s jacket on the desk. “There’s one more important thing,” Judith said, and offered her theory about the pub receipt.

“My word!” MacRae exclaimed softly. “You are the goods, Mrs. Flynn! I’ll review MacGowan’s notes on the accident. Are you returning to Grimloch?”

“Yes,” Judith said, getting up. “Gibbs is waiting for us. Unless we can help find Joe and Bill. Doing nothing will drive us crazy.”

MacRae thought for a moment. “Really, I don’t see how you can help. I’ve requested extra personnel to expand the search. I’ll keep in close touch, of course.”

“I understand,” Judith said as she and Renie were escorted from the study by MacRae. “I can’t believe all three were abducted.”

“Very puzzling,” MacRae admitted.

MacRae escorted the cousins outside. The Morris saloon was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Gibbs?” Renie asked, looking in every direction.

“Perhaps,” MacRae suggested, “he was called away.”

“I don’t think he has a cell phone,” Judith said.

A horn honk caught their attention. “Need a lift?” Barry shouted.

“We do,” Renie said. “We’ve been stranded by Gibbs.”

“Come on,” Barry said from where he’d stopped in the middle of the road. “Where to?”

“Grimloch,” Judith replied, “but if Gibbs went there without us, the skiff’s on the other side. We’ll be stuck on the beach.”

“Let’s look,” Barry said, making a wide U-turn in the middle of the road and almost running down MacRae, who was still standing in front of the inn. “Whew! Good thing I missed him.”

Judith braced herself on the dashboard. “You might be a little more careful,” she advised. “The rain is coming down harder and the roads are slick.”

“Aye,” Barry said blithely. “Sorry I couldn’t fetch you earlier. Mrs. Gunn ordered four pizzas, and it takes a bit to go to her place and back. Family doings, maybe,” Barry said.

“It’s early for dinner,” Judith pointed out.

“Mrs. Gunn’s different from other folk,” Barry said.

“Yes.” Judith made no further comment, but she wondered if Kate had called some kind of emergency meeting. Maybe, she thought, the reason was related to Kate’s abrupt departure from the Rood & Mitre.

The High Street was almost deserted on this stormy late afternoon. Barry shot through the coast road intersection; the car rumbled down to the beach where the skiff was tied up at the edge of the paved area.

“Guess Gibbs went on a lark,” Barry said. “Want me to row?”

“Well…you’ll have to,” Judith said. “We owe you two jackets.”

Barry helped the cousins get into the skiff. “What about The Bruce?” Renie asked. “Doesn’t he like boats?”

“He gets seasick,” Barry said as he plied the oars.

Five minutes later, the cousins were inside the castle. “I wonder where Gibbs went,” Judith said as they trudged up the stone stairs to their rooms. “I hope nothing’s happened to him.”

“Why should he be spared?” Renie snapped. “A lot of us are in danger.” She stopped at the top of the stairs. “Your room or mine?”

Judith shrugged. “Yours, I guess. You’ve got a view of the village.”

“If we can see it through the rain,” Renie said, leading the way. “It’s after four o’clock and I’m still not hungry, but I’m getting crabby as well as worried sick.”

Inside the Joneses’ room, Renie spotted a piece of paper a few inches from the door. “What’s this? A ransom note for our husbands?”

“What does it say?” Judith asked anxiously.

“‘Dinner will not be served tonight.’ That’s it.”

“I wonder why,” Judith said. “Does this have to do with Gibbs?”

“Maybe it’s got more to do with Harry’s funeral tomorrow,” Renie said. “Both Gibbses must be terribly upset.”

“True,” Judith agreed, beginning to pace and fighting the urge to bite her nails. “I cannot just stay here and have a nervous breakdown!”

“We don’t have a choice,” Renie pointed out, taking her eye medication kit off of the bureau. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“I don’t feel like drinking.” Judith stopped pacing and stared at Renie. “You aren’t wearing your patch!”

Renie’s smiled wanly. “My eye’s much better. I wish my nerves were.”

“Me, too.” Judith wandered over to the window. “There’s a boat heading this way. It looks like the police launch.” She turned back to face Renie. “Let’s see who it is.”

“Bill and Joe?” Renie asked excitedly, heading for the stairs.

“Wouldn’t MacRae call us if they’d been found?” Judith asked.

“Maybe the storm screwed up the phones,” Renie suggested. “The wind sounds like it’s blowing through the chinks in the castle walls.”

The cousins waited at the courtyard door. Five minutes passed. Judith and Renie exchanged several worried glances. Judith finally opened the door to peer outside. “Nothing.”

Another five minutes passed. Judith looked again. Several people Judith couldn’t identify in the gathering gloom were crossing the courtyard, headed for the Fordyce apartments. Except, she noticed, one lone figure was heading their way.

“Gibbs,” Judith said, leaving the door open.

Wind and rain blew into the entry area. Gibbs walked slowly, head down, shoulders slumped. He didn’t look up when he entered. “Patrick jumped out of the window and escaped,” he mumbled, and continued down the passageway.

“Whoa!” Renie said under her breath. “How does he know? Did he help Patrick get away? And why did Gibbs arrive in the police launch?”

Judith leaned against the door she’d just closed. “Patrick probably jumped out of the window at the inn. He’s very fit. He could do it easily.”

“Did Gibbs help him get away?” Renie asked.

“Maybe,” Judith said, “that’s why he left us stranded. Come on. Let’s ask him.”

The cousins headed for the kitchen. When they entered, there was no sign of Gibbs. His wife glanced up from the counter where she’d been peeling carrots. Mrs. Gibbs’s red-rimmed eyes indicated that she’d been crying.

“Where’s Gibbs?” Judith asked politely.

“I dinna ken,” Mrs. Gibbs mumbled, and dropped the peeler onto the floor.

“I’ll get it,” Renie volunteered.

The older woman’s hands were shaking. “Thank ye,” she said to Renie. “It’s all for naught.”

“What is?” Judith asked.

Mrs. Gibbs sniffed twice and wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand. “Everything.”

Judith moved closer. “I don’t understand.”

“My whole life…wasted,” Mrs. Gibbs declared, avoiding Judith’s gaze. “Naught to show for it. A reckless son and a butchered grandson!” Her voice rose. “Work, work, work—and why? This was ours!” She swept a hand in a wide arc. “Then Matthew and his silly schemes lost it for us to that Fordyce! Bought it out from under us for not half its worth! The Master indeed! Och, Philip Fordyce is The Master all right! Treats us like slaves, he does! And now it’s finished.” She looked at the framed MacIver tartan on the wall. “My clan motto—‘I will never forget.’ How could I not remember how our lives were ruined?” Mrs. Gibbs turned on her heel and walked away.

“I’ll be damned,” Renie said under her breath.

“I’ve wondered about this whole setup,” Judith admitted. “The old folks working their tails off while Matt and Peggy travel the world.”

“Harry’s marriage was intended to bail them out?” Renie suggested.

“Very likely,” Judith said. “But there’s got to be more to it.”

“Like what?” Renie asked.

“I’m trying to sort through what Mrs. Gibbs meant,” Judith said, starting out of the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go to the Fordyce suite.”

Renie was right on Judith’s heels. “We’re party crashers?”

“Whatever’s going on there isn’t a celebration,” Judith asserted as they entered the passageway connecting the castle’s living sections. “I’m not sure what it really is, but I don’t want to miss it.”

They reached the two doors, one of which led to the Fordyce suite, the other to the storage room and dungeon. Judith shuddered. “Poor Chuckie.” She opened the other door and walked down the carpeted hallway with the ugly abstract paintings chosen by Philip’s second wife. The corridor took a sharp left turn into a wider hall with zebra-striped wallpaper. “Gack,” Renie said. “The second Mrs. F had ghastly taste. Why do so many people with money lack the knack for using it wisely?”

“Not our problem,” Judith said, taking in several doors along the way. “Where would everybody have gone?”

The answer came when they reached an alcove where Constable Adamson stood at the door. “DCI MacRae was going to fetch you when he got here,” the constable said. “They’re in the drawing room.”

The cousins entered a large, unattractive room decorated in red, black, and white with furniture that looked impossibly uncomfortable. PC Glen stood by a white stone fireplace. Gathered in various states of impatience and anxiety were Philip and Beth, Marie and Will, Jocko and his brother Archie, Peggy and Matt Gibbs, and Seumas Bell.

Beth rose from a red tufted divan and went to greet the cousins. “You don’t have to be here. This is going to be ugly.”

“It already is,” Renie murmured, her eyes roaming around the room. “And I don’t just mean some of the people.”

“I know, I know,” Beth said nervously. “Phil called this meeting.”

Jocko Morton lumbered away from a table where drinks had been set up. “It’s outrageous!” He shot Philip a nasty look. “You’ve never invited any of us for a social occasion! Now you have the police haul us here as if we were common criminals! I’ll sue!”

“Quiet!” Seumas snapped. “You’ve made enough mischief already!”

“Haven’t you all?” Marie said quietly from the crook of Will’s sheltering arm. “I feel as if I’m in a vipers’ den.”

“Ha!” Jocko cried. “You should know. You married one!”

“Don’t speak to my wife that way,” Will said calmly, though there was steel in his voice. “Where’s that self-righteous villain Jimmy?”

“Slunk off,” Seumas said, refreshing his drink. “Slippery bastard.”

Archie Morton sneered. “What about Patrick? He killed young Gibbs. Patrick’s spent more time in Moira’s bed than Harry ever did.”

“But not,” Seumas put in snidely, “more than Davey.”

“That’s a lie!” Marie exclaimed. “Moira never slept with Davey!”

“Please!” a grim Matt Gibbs begged. “We’ve lost a son.”

“You’ll lose more than that,” Jocko threatened, fists clenched. “Your Venezuelan oil gambit is in checkmate now!”

Matt and Peggy exchanged quick glances. “Nonsense,” Peggy Gibbs snapped. “You can’t undo what’s done.”

“You’re done,” Seumas asserted with a nasty smirk. “And,” he added, looking at Philip, “why are the police here?”

“Venus goo,” Judith murmured. “That’s what Jocko’s note on the napkin meant—Venezuela.”

Philip strode to the middle of the room. “I’m your host.” His keen eyes moved slowly, taking in each member of the fractious gathering. “I invited the constables because I anticipated tempers would flare.”

“What’s the point of all this?” Jocko rasped.

“I have also lost a son,” Philip said calmly. “Chuckie was as dear to me as any child could be. Perhaps more so, because of his physical and emotional flaws.” His eyes fixed on Matt and Peggy. “Your son’s flaws weren’t obvious. Chuckie might still be alive if Harry hadn’t been killed. You’re guilty of both of their deaths.”

“You’re horrible!” Peggy shouted. “We’d never harm Harry! We weren’t even in Scotland when he was murdered and we can prove it!”

Philip shrugged. “I didn’t say you personally did the deed, but you caused his death. He was your ticket to great wealth and power.”

Peggy’s brittle façade was cracking. “It’s business,” she said in an unsteady voice. “Taking risks, seizing opportunities, using—” She stopped and buried her head against Matt’s chest.

“You don’t cross the line,” Philip said sternly. “You don’t connive with corrupt foreign officials who have huge oil interests. You don’t,” he went on, his voice rising, “use your son to sell out his wife’s inheritance.”

“That’s right!” Seumas shouted. “Harry was your frigging puppet! He had to have his strings cut!”

Peggy let out a piercing cry. Matt let go of her and charged at Seumas. Constable Glen moved swiftly between the two men. “That’ll do!” he cried. “No violence! Please!”

Matt backed off. Seumas stood still, his expression belligerent. Peggy had collapsed onto an empty chair.

“Where’s MacRae?” Renie whispered. “This is really ugly.”

“Why don’t you bop somebody?” Judith murmured. “It’s perfect timing for you to get into another brawl.”

Archie Morton swallowed a big gulp of Scotch. “I’m leaving. I’ve got cars to fix.”

“No, sir,” Glen said politely. “You’re staying. You can’t work now anyway. Your repair site is a crime scene.”

“What?” Archie’s face grew red. “Why the bloody hell is that?”

“I think you know,” Glen replied.

Archie snarled at the constable and poured himself another shot.

“Bomb,” Will said.

Beth stared at him. “What?”

“The one that killed Harry,” Will said. “Who else but Archie would know how to make a bomb?” He avoided looking at Archie, who appeared nearly apoplectic. “Isn’t that so, Constable?” Will inquired of Glen.

“I couldn’t say, sir,” Glen answered stoically.

Archie downed three shots in a row before turning to his brother. “It wasn’t my idea! It was yours, Jocko! I thought it was a prank!”

“Ridiculous!” Marie exclaimed. “You’re all crooks!”

Jocko turned his back on Archie and looked at Will. “You and your wife better keep quiet. You’re as guilty as any of us, Fleming.”

“We’ll see about that,” Will said mildly.

Seumas advanced on Will. “You made a deal with the coppers.”

“Unlike you,” Will said, “I own a conscience. I’d never betray Moira.” He patted Marie’s hand. “You convinced me where my loyalties lie. You also knew Moira never sent those lovesick emails to Davey.”

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Marie said. “Moira spoke perfect French. When it came to love, she always wrote in longhand and in French. It’s much more romantic.” She stroked Will’s cheek. “Isn’t that so, darling?”

“Those emails you gave me when you came to dinner?” Beth asked. “I took them to Moira, but she was ill and irrational, so I decided to wait until she felt better and could deal with the situation. It wasn’t until later that day that I realized the case containing the emails was gone from my bag. Knowing what a snoop Elise was, I believed she’d gone through my things, found the case, and put it aside to read the contents at her leisure. When I phoned to ask her about the case, she swore she hadn’t kept it.”

“That might be true,” Glen said. “Apparently the maid removed the case but returned it to the wrong purse.” He glanced at Judith. “Then the emails disappeared from Grimloch where they’d been taken inadvertently. Unfortunately, we don’t know who wrote them.”

“I do,” Will said grimly. “Jocko concocted the emails to prove that Moira and Davey were having an affair.” He ignored Jocko’s voluble protests and paused to give the other man a venomous stare. “You created those emails before fleeing to Greece. I found them in your safe at headquarters. You forgot that as chief financial officer, I know all the safe combinations. I also turned up some very interesting and imaginative figures intended to bloat the company’s bottom line.”

“Bloody parasite!” Jocko shouted, and had to be restrained by Glen. “You’d betray your own mother if you thought it’d line your fancy bespoke pockets!”

Renie smirked. “I didn’t think Jocko knew words like ‘bespoke.’ His own clothes look like he bought them at Rummage ‘R’ Us.”

Will’s gaze turned to Archie. “The police have found them in your garage. I learned from Moira that you, Seumas,” he went on, pointing a finger at the attorney, who had resumed his usual air of smug respectability, “went to Hollywood House to supposedly apologize for the dustup you and Jocko had with Patrick. Elise turned you away—but not before you managed to elicit the information that the maid had erroneously put the jewel case in Mrs. Flynn’s purse instead of Beth’s.”

“Please,” Seumas said with disdain. “Leave me out of this farce.”

“Are you taking notes?” Renie asked Judith.

“I don’t need to,” she said. “Beth is Kate’s daughter. The apple never falls far from the tree. I bet this whole mess is being taped.”

Will was still speaking: “Don’t play the innocent with me, Seumas. You relayed that information to Jocko, who had Archie steal the case from Mrs. Flynn when he came to Grimloch about Gibbs’s car.”

“Of course!” Judith whispered to Renie. “We knew Archie had been at the castle that day.”

“Your batting average on this one’s pretty high—” Renie stopped, looking startled.

Archie had set upon Will. Jocko broke free from Constable Glen to join his brother in the fracas. Glen blew his whistle, summoning Adamson from outside. Seumas and Matt argued loudly; Philip shielded Beth; Marie smashed a table lamp over Archie’s head; Peggy curled up in a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Where are our husbands?” Renie said suddenly. “Joe could shoot these people and Bill could ship the survivors to a mental home.”

Judith sighed. “Let’s not think about it. I’m getting a headache.”

Adamson and Glen had subdued the combatants just before DCI MacRae entered the drawing room, accompanied by Sergeant Ogilvie and two more constables. MacRae turned to Jocko Morton. “I’m placing you under arrest for complicity in the murder of Harry Gibbs,” he announced.

Jocko started to bluster but Seumas spoke up: “Don’t say a word! I’m your attorney, remember?”

Adamson cuffed Jocko, who glared at Seumas. MacRae faced the other Morton and recited the same charge to Archie. “You,” MacRae said to Seumas, “are a person of interest, and will come along, too.” He looked at Matt. “The Yard’s special unit will deal with you. Don’t leave the area.”

“What about Patrick?” Seumas demanded. “He’s already been charged with homicide and you let him get away.”

“Did I?” MacRae smiled slightly. “Careless of me.” He herded the group out the door.

A solemn Matt Gibbs went to his wife. “Get up, Peggy.” He shook her recumbent figure gently. “It’s over.” He sighed. “It’s all over.”

Peggy sat up slowly and let her husband ease her out of the chair. She leaned on him, her eyes half shut. “It wasn’t worth it,” she mumbled. “The price was too high.” Without looking at anyone, she let Matt guide her out of the room.

“My God!” Beth exclaimed. “I’m not sure I understand any of this!”

Philip held his head in his hands. “What is there to understand? A conspiracy of greedy people destroyed the lives of my Chuckie and Harry Gibbs, all for their own gain. The age of the robber baron never ended. It’s stronger than ever in big business these days.”

“But who actually killed Harry?” Beth asked.

Philip looked at Will; Will looked at Marie; Marie looked at Beth; Judith and Renie looked at all of them.

“I don’t know,” Philip finally said in a weary voice.

“I think I do.” Judith grimaced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t intrude.”

Everyone, including Renie, turned to stare at her. Feeling a bit foolish and worn out from worrying, Judith sank into the chair Peggy Gibbs had vacated. “First,” she began as Renie handed her a half inch of Scotch, “I have to ask you a question, Will.”

He looked surprised. “Well…of course.”

“Why did you really switch sides?”

Will put his arm around Marie. “It was my wife who insisted.”

Judith smiled slightly. “That’s not the entire reason.”

Will laid his head back on the sofa. “No. It was Jimmy. He desperately wanted to take over the company. The man is driven, eaten alive by resentment over his illegitimate birth and deprived of what he feels is his inheritance.” Will paused and sat up straight. “Jimmy is astute and competent, with an excellent head for business. Given Moira’s indifference to Blackwell, Harry’s meddling, and Jocko urging me to alter the company’s books to make him look better as well as richer, I believed it was in everyone’s best interests to have Jimmy in charge.”

“What made you change your mind?” Judith asked.

“Jocko came back from Greece,” Will explained. “Jimmy was furious. I’d told him about Jocko’s attempts at deception with company records. Instead of telling the police, he did nothing. I knew something was going on behind my back. It was the South American buyout.”

“Which,” Philip put in, “would’ve placed Harry in charge.”

Will nodded. “On the day of Harry’s murder, I ran into Jimmy at the Rood & Mitre. I thought it odd. He rarely frequented pubs, and when he did, he had a drink and left. Then I heard about Harry. I figured Jimmy was giving himself an alibi.”

“But,” Beth pointed out, “he was in the pub, so he couldn’t have committed the actual crime.”

“He didn’t,” Judith said. “But he put everything in motion, including connivance with Jocko and Archie Morton.”

“How do you know that?” Marie asked.

Judith shrugged. “All along, I felt jealousy was the motive. It caused Davey’s death, the jealous husband angle.” She saw the expressions of surprise and incredulity on the two couples’ faces. “Jocko goaded Harry into murdering Davey, hoping Harry would get caught and go to prison. But someone—Patrick, I suspect—put pressure on Hugh MacGowan to hold off with the investigation. Or was it you, Will?”

Will sadly shook his head. “Both of us. Moira and the company couldn’t afford that kind of scandal, not with Jocko already playing the numbers game. When Jocko left for Greece right after Davey’s death, we urged MacGowan to back off until Jocko came back—which we were sure he’d do eventually.”

Judith nodded. “Jocko figured the motive for Davey’s murder could be used again for Harry’s. The work of a jealous lover, this time around it was Patrick. If Jocko could concoct a romance between Moira and Davey, why not do the same with Moira and Patrick? She was very close to both men. But who told Jocko about Matt and Peggy’s schemes in Venezuela?”

“Archie?” Will guessed.

Judith shook her head. “He had no entrée into Blackwell except through his brother. It had to be Jimmy. Somehow he found out what the Gibbses were up to, and could only stop them by killing Harry. He wouldn’t do the dirty work, so the Morton brothers did it for him. Jimmy and the Mortons were kin. Jimmy’s mother was married to Archie and Jocko’s cousin. Family—or clan ties, if you will—mean a great deal around here.”

Marie nodded. “That’s so, even among villains. But who actually smothered Harry?”

Judith grimaced. “Archie Morton is my best guess. His repair shop was close to the beach. No one would question his presence there. I can’t see Jocko sullying his hands with murder. But Archie might if his brother and Jimmy promised to pay him well.” She shot Renie a wry glance. “My cousin gave me the idea.”

“I did?” Renie said in surprise.

Judith nodded. “You mentioned that Archie couldn’t be a real mechanic because he didn’t have dirt under his fingernails. At the time, I thought that was just you, being perverse and getting into it with Archie. Then I realized you were right. Archie’s conscience may have bothered him. Like Pontius Pilate, he literally wanted to wash his hands of the whole tragedy. Not to mention that he’d know about forensic science, being in the car repair business and having to deal with the police about vehicles that had been involved in crimes. He probably spent the next few days after the murder washing and washing his hands and clothes.”

“Hunh,” Renie said. “Even Lumpa-Lumpa gets an aria.”

Philip looked puzzled. “What?”

“Never mind,” Judith said. “Jimmy set everything in motion, using the others to get control of Blackwell and going back to Davey’s death. The rest of them were his puppets.”

“But what about Chuckie?” Beth asked.

Judith sighed. “I wondered if Chuckie had recognized Harry’s killer through his binoculars,” she said. “I also conjectured that he’d seen the killer here at Grimloch. After the explosion, people rushed to see what had happened. The killer needed time to escape and could have sought refuge in the castle. The elevator had been used after my cousin and I took it. Then Chuckie bragged about his knowledge. At first, I assumed his killer and Harry’s was the same person. Then I realized Chuckie’s killer knew this castle intimately, which ruled out most of the other suspects. It also dawned on me that someone else could’ve gone down to the beach and returned before we did.” Judith pressed her lips together before addressing Philip. “I believe Gibbs killed your son.”

Why?” Philip demanded, rising halfway out of his chair.

“I think you know,” Judith said somberly. “Gibbs was torn apart by his grandson’s death. A son for a son, an eye for an eye…” She paused, looking away. “But more than that, it was your purchase of Grimloch that neither of the Gibbses could forgive—or forget.”

Philip looked aghast. “I did them a favor! That was almost thirty years ago. Matthew and Peggy were foolishly throwing the family’s money around to finance all their ridiculous schemes. They were both unethical and damned lucky they didn’t end up in prison. The price I offered was fair, given all the work that needed to be done to restore and renovate this place. My God, they should’ve been grateful, not resentful!”

“It didn’t work that way,” Judith said quietly. “Both of the elder Gibbses had misplaced anger. They definitely resented what you’d done and your presence here. They felt like peasants with you as their feudal lord. It must’ve seemed so unfair to them when Harry was murdered. To his grandparents, he was perfect, while Chuckie was tragically flawed. The irony wasn’t lost on them. Gibbs is old, but strong as an ox.” Again she gazed at Philip. “I’m so sorry.”

Philip closed his eyes. “God help me, so am I.”

Well?” Renie said after the cousins went up to the Joneses’ room. “Why didn’t you tell me your solutions sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure until we got to the Fordyce suite and I had time to hear what everybody said,” Judith explained a bit sheepishly. “And Gibbs’s guilt only came to me after I pondered what Mrs. Gibbs told us in the kitchen.”

Renie’s expression was sour. “Okay. I think. Thanks for the credit you gave me regarding Archie. Now what?”

“We wait.” Judith was staring out of the window, where a heavy rain still fell. “What else can we do?”

Renie was gnawing on her thumb. “Call the American embassy?”

Judith turned around. “If it comes to that—”

“Open the door.”

Judith and Renie jumped. The voice was muffled, but there was no mistaking that it was the same one they’d heard on other occasions.

“Holy Mother!” Renie gasped. “I’m going crazy!”

“Open the door.”

Judith looked at Renie. “Then we’re both crazy. It must be coming from the hall.” She walked to the door and slowly opened it.

“My God!” Judith shrieked. “Joe! Bill!” She fell into her husband’s arms.

Renie raced to meet Bill. “Where’ve you been? Are you okay? How—” Suddenly overcome, she let Bill envelop her in a tight hug.

After a few moments, Judith raised her head to see that another man stood behind the husbands. He was tall and stalwart with iron gray hair and deep-set brown eyes.

“MacGowan?” Judith said over Joe’s shoulder.

“Aye.” The newcomer smiled ruefully. “Sorry to detain Mr. Flynn and Mr. Jones. Of course I was detained as well.”

Judith and Renie both moved out of their husbands’ embrace. “Come in,” Judith said. “Sit down. Oh, I’m so relieved!”

“Who found you?” Renie asked, unable to sit still.

“Nobody,” Bill replied. “We weren’t lost.”

“But—” Judith began.

Joe held up a hand. “Let Hugh tell you.”

“Simple enough.” Hugh leaned on the mantelpiece and stroked his chin. “Patrick Cameron tracked me down at the Glengarry Hotel. He knew I suspected that Harry Gibbs might have arranged David Piazza’s accident. But Patrick felt Jimmy was behind it and was afraid that Jimmy was ultimately responsible for Harry’s murder. Patrick knew Jimmy didn’t trust Harry, and if arrested, he’d point a finger at the culprit who egged him on to kill Davey. Patrick was at his cottage when the explosion occurred. He started for the beach but saw Jimmy already heading that way and held off for a few minutes. When Patrick went down to see what was happening, he ran into Jimmy, who mentioned how terrible it was that Harry had been killed by a bomb.”

“This is simple?” Renie whispered to Judith.

“Hush,” Judith snapped. “This guy’s good.”

“Of course the bomb hadn’t killed Harry,” Hugh said. “Patrick didn’t know that then, but he saw an odd look in Jimmy’s eyes that he could only describe as ‘triumphant.’ Patrick made some crack about Harry’s death opening a big door for Jimmy, and they started to argue. Patrick left in a rage, but only figured out Jimmy’s role after the autopsy.”

“I wish Patrick had told us that earlier,” Judith murmured.

Hugh’s smile was ironic. “Patrick wanted proof, not just a slip of the tongue. He should have told MacRae sooner rather than waiting until he got himself arrested. But nobody’s perfect, and Patrick was determined to solve the crime by himself. The man has quite an ego. He’s also brave and conscientious. He figured that Jimmy wanted me out of the way when the murder was committed, and that I might be in danger when I returned, so he sent two of his security people to take us to a safe house. We stayed there until this morning, when I learned Patrick was going to be arrested. A trick, of course, to bring the elusive Jimmy out into the open. I insisted on moving closer to the action. Philip Fordyce arranged another safe house for us nearby.”

“Where?” Rene asked.

“Kate Gunn’s home,” Hugh replied.

“What?” Renie exploded. “You were eating pizza and guzzling God-knows-what while we were driving ourselves nuts with worry?”

“The pizza was second-rate,” Bill said. “No sausage. One was vegetarian. What’s the point of that?”

Hugh moved away from the fireplace. “I must go. Jimmy still hasn’t been found. But he will be.” He stopped in front of Judith. “And thank you and your agency for the invaluable help.” He saluted and left.

“Agency?” Judith repeated. “Not the CIA, surely!”

“Why not?” Joe said. “It’s better than being called FATSO.”

Judith was stunned. “How could they make such a mistake?”

Joe shrugged. “You know government red tape. I suppose Scotland Yard or British intelligence asked for help in this international oil scam and some bureaucrat lost the memo.”

Judith shook her head. “It could happen. But,” she said, beaming at Joe, “you’re safe. That’s the main thing.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Renie agreed, still on an adrenaline rush. Suddenly she stood still. “Wait a minute. Where did that voice come from? The one that said ‘Open the door’?”

Bill reached into his jacket pocket. “This?” He held out a metal gadget about the size of a matchbook and squeezed the front: “Open the window.” He squeezed again: “Open the gate.” “It’s my latest invention. I brought it along because Hugh knows somebody in the real estate business who’s looking for a gimmick to show houses when the agent isn’t around. I forgot to take it when we went fishing. I left it on the dresser.” Bill frowned at the gadget. “It’s got my name on the back, so MacRae gave it back to me. His sergeant found it in the storage room after Chuckie’s body was removed. It was on top of some boxes.”

“I fell on that box!” Renie exclaimed. “I must have activated it! I’ll bet Chuckie loved playing tricks with that, the little—” She stopped and turned somber. “The poor wee laddie.”

“My, yes,” Judith said, and snapped her fingers as she turned to Renie. “That light in your room that we saw the other evening—I’ll bet it was Chuckie, looking for more gadgets.”

“He must have been disappointed,” Renie said.

“Okay,” Joe said, slapping his hands together. “We’re not going fishing for a couple of days until MacGowan and MacRae wind up this case. What do you lovely ladies want to do tomorrow?”

Judith and Renie exchanged doleful looks. “Uh…” Judith began, “we have to attend a funeral.”

“At least there won’t be another inquest,” Renie put in.

Joe’s face fell; Bill scowled at his wife. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

“Oh,” Joe finally said, “let the girls have their fun. We could take a boat out on the sea if it’s not too rough.”

“The wind’s almost stopped,” Bill noted as the two men walked toward the window. “I’ve got the names of a couple of rental places.”

“Sounds good,” Joe said. “They’ll have the gear. We need heavy—”

Renie collapsed on the bed. “I’m starved.”

Judith sank into an armchair. “Me, too. And exhausted.”

“We need a vacation,” Renie declared.

“Maybe we should have gone to California,” Judith said.

Renie eyed Judith doubtfully. “You’re kidding!”

Judith smiled. “Of course.”