Scots on the Rocks

11

Mrs. Gibbs looked as if she’d aged ten years in eight hours. She was not only still pale, but her body seemed to have withered. Her hands shook and her lips trembled as she met the cousins at the castle door.

“How are you feeling?” Judith asked with concern.

Mrs. Gibbs didn’t answer immediately. She stepped aside, a hand clutching at the fabric of her gray dress. “How should I feel?” she finally responded. “Sad, helpless, angry. Who did this horrid thing?”

“The police will find out,” Judith asserted. “I’m sure they’re very capable. Have they contacted you today?”

Mrs. Gibbs shook her head. “The inquest is Tuesday. Moira called to tell us. Imagine, being too sick to come to Mass here in the chapel to pray for the poor laddie’s soul! She’s young, she should carry on, she’s not bowed down with age like some of us. Where’s her spunk?”

Judith didn’t dare look at Renie. Moira had seemed to have plenty of spunk when they’d seen her at Hollywood. “We heard she’d taken to her bed,” Judith remarked.

“Aye, Moira’s a great one for that when there’s trouble.” Mrs. Gibbs’s voice was uneven. “An excuse, that’s all.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “God help us, life must go on. Will ye want supper?”

Judith glanced at Renie. “I don’t know. We ate a late lunch.”

“So we’ll eat a late supper,” Renie said, adding hastily, “if it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. Gibbs.”

“In truth, work keeps my mind off my troubles,” Mrs. Gibbs replied. “Nine o’clock in the dining room?”

“We’ll come get it,” Judith volunteered. “We can eat in our rooms.”

“Say,” Renie put in, “was anyone in my room in the last hour?”

Mrs. Gibbs scowled at Renie. “No. Why do ye ask?”

“We thought we saw a light on in there just before we returned to the castle,” Renie explained.

“Oh.” Mrs. Gibbs hesitated. “’Twas probably a trick of the eyes. Oftentimes the lights from the village reflect on the castle windows. Excuse me, I must tend to The Master and his wife.”

“A quick question,” Judith put in. “Can we hire a car?”

Mrs. Gibbs shook her head. “Only if the garage has one to rent out. You might ring them tomorrow.”

“Your own car won’t be back by then?” Judith inquired.

Their hostess shrugged. “You must ask Gibbs. I canna drive.”

The cousins proceeded upstairs where Renie wanted Judith to help her inspect the Joneses’ room. “We don’t have anything worth stealing,” Renie said. “I suspect it might have been Chuckie wandering around. Unless his father grounded him after the debacle in the courtyard.”

There was no sign of anything missing or out of order, however. Judith sat on the bed, perusing a list of services and goods in the area.

“I’d forgotten what Barry told us,” she remarked. “The local garage is owned by Archibald Morton, Jocko’s brother.”

Renie sank into an armchair. “No luck eavesdropping at The Hermitage?”

“I’m afraid not,” Judith admitted. “Except for hearing Harry’s name mentioned, it sounded like business.”

“You’re working in the dark,” Renie said, and yawned. “By the way, if you want to talk to Mrs. Gunn, tell her I’m subject to fits of violence.”

“You are,” Judith said.

“Only when provoked.”

Judith slid off of the bed and went to the door. “I thought I heard someone out in the passageway.” She peered out into the empty corridor. “Nothing. I could’ve sworn I heard a noise.”

“I didn’t hear it,” Renie said with a shrug.

“I’d like to explore the rest of the castle,” Judith declared. “Of course I wouldn’t want to disturb Philip and Beth.”

“Beth seems okay,” Renie said. “Maybe she’ll give you a tour.”

Judith looked at her watch. “It’s going on seven. I’m going down to the drawing room for a drink.”

“You already had a drink at the pub.”

“I never finished it.”

“Too bad. I paid for it.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“No.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Judith went out into the passageway and closed the door behind her.

The drawing room was dark. Judith found the switch and turned on the lights. It wasn’t yet seven. The Fordyces still might show up for drinks, though it was possible that, owning a distillery, Philip would keep his favorite Scotch in his suite.

After passing the time by studying the furnishings and other decor, Judith poured herself a small Scotch-rocks. If nothing else, it’d be a conversation starter if and when the Fordyces appeared.

At seven-fifteen, she heard voices in the corridor. Female voices, she realized. A moment later, Beth Fordyce and Marie Fleming entered the drawing room.

“Mrs. Flynn,” Beth said with a smile, “did you meet Marie?”

“Yes,” Judith said, putting out her hand to Will’s voluptuous wife. “We spoke while Chuckie was misbehaving.”

Beth shook her head. “I feel so sorry for Chuckie. He’s epileptic.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Judith said. “But I assume he receives excellent medical treatment.”

“When he wants it,” Beth replied, making drinks for herself and Marie. “He’s also had a growth problem, a lack of certain hormones. You’d never guess it, but he’s almost twenty-three. Naturally, he’s bitter, and blames his father for everything.”

“What about his mother?” Judith held up a hand. “I’m sorry, I’m prying. But I assume his mother was Philip’s first wife.”

Beth nodded. “Yes, Bella. She died. So did his second wife. Philip has had bad luck with wives.”

“Until now,” Marie put in, accepting her glass from Beth. “My Will’s first wife passed away, too. The early demise of spouses around here is positively frightening.”

“Phil’s second wife wasn’t really that young,” Beth pointed out. “She was older than Phil, and died of cancer. Phil and I hope that the third time’s a charm for him. Maybe it’ll be the same way for Moira.”

“I doubt it,” Marie said with bite. “Moira’s in love with love. She’s shown terrible judgment when it comes to men. If they’re good-looking and have a great body, she goes for them. Beth and I are smarter than that. We both married real men, not callow boys.”

Judith was reminded of Grandma Grover’s advice: “It’s better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave.” Marie and Beth might have agreed with her. “Didn’t you go to school together?” Judith asked.

“Ah yes,” Beth replied. “We three, we merry little band of lassies at a French boarding school. Moira fell for the headmaster, the gardener, and the man from animal control. She was always losing her dog.”

“On purpose, I think,” Marie said, and both young women laughed.

Judith smiled, thinking about the rich, pretty trio making mischief away from home. It was a world she’d never known, but imagined it as an enchanted life. And knew that it was no preparation for reality.

“I met Moira at the graveyard,” Judith said. “She was putting flowers on the grave of a young Italian man.”

The young women laughed again. “Davey Piazza was her personal assistant,” Beth replied. “She met him when he was playing in a rock band in Edinburgh, but the group broke up soon afterwards, and somehow he ended up in St. Fergna at loose ends. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to play the drums or race sports cars. Moira felt sorry for him—he had wrenching dark eyes—so she offered him a job.”

“And bought him a sports car,” Marie added. “He drove it over a cliff just beyond the village.”

“My goodness!” Judith exclaimed. “What’s the average age around here? About twenty-five?”

The remark had a sobering effect on both young women. “Well,” Beth began, “several people have died young. My brother Frankie was sickly from birth. My mum worried so about him. She’d waited so long to have children, and even consulted astrologers. She still does, in fact.”

“A fertility doctor would have been more to the point,” Judith said.

To her dismay, both young women again went into peals of laughter. “You Americans are always so practical,” Marie said after overcoming her latest giggle spasm. “Beth’s mum enjoys hocus-pocus. But she’s a wizard in the kitchen. You should taste her marmalade.”

“Maybe,” Beth said, “you have. She’s always giving it away.”

Judith remembered the jars of jams and condiments marked with the letter G. “Oh—yes, I thought the initial stood for Mrs. Gibbs.”

“No, for Mrs. Gunn,” Beth said, and looked at her diamond-studded watch. “It’s after seven-thirty. Want another, Marie?”

“Certainly,” Marie said.

“Mrs. Flynn?” Beth inquired.

“No, thank you. But your husband’s Scotch is wonderful.”

“Oh, he runs a fabulous distillery.” Beth poured refills from a cut-glass decanter. The Venetian chandelier over the bar created a sparkling effect on the glassware, the diamonds in Beth’s watch, the sheen of the satin trim on her tiered georgette halter dress, and even the luster of her fair skin. Judith felt as if she were watching a princess tend bar.

“What time do you expect Will to get here?” Beth asked Marie.

“For dinner,” Marie replied. “Poor man, he has to work on Sundays. It’s not fair.”

“You mean,” Judith said, “he has to go into the office? I understand that Blackwell’s headquarters is in Inverness.”

“It is,” Marie said, “but he’s working at home. He said he’d leave our house shortly before eight. I got here before the tide was all the way out. Poor Gibbs had to come fetch me in his funny little boat.”

Settled in with their second drinks, the young women began to talk of clothes. Judith had finished her own cocktail. She had no excuse to linger. Bidding Beth and Marie good evening, she left the drawing room.

Chuckie was in the corridor, rolling oranges on the stone floor.

“Hullo,” he said glumly. “Are you drunk?”

“Not in the least,” Judith replied, filled with compassion for the young man. “Where did you get the lovely oranges?”

“My father brought them from Spain,” Chuckie replied. “He says they’re good for me, but I never eat them.”

“Say, Chuckie, could you give me a quick tour of the castle?”

His face brightened. “Really? You want to see my secret places?”

“Sure. Where do we go first?”

“Outside,” Chuckie replied.

“Shouldn’t we collect your oranges?”

“No. Someone else will pick them up.” He paused, his small, bright eyes darting from orange to orange, a total of six scattered along the corridor’s cold stones. “My father’s very rich. Why doesn’t he hire more people here? Only old Gibbs and Gibbs until summer. I’d like a valet and a groom and…an orange picker-upper.” He smiled broadly.

“I thought you didn’t live here all the time,” Judith said.

“I don’t.” He turned slightly sullen. “Didn’t, I should say. But the last year or so, I’ve been kept here. I’m bored.” He stared at the oranges. “Oh, come on, let’s do the tour.” Chuckie scurried down the corridor and waited for Judith by the entrance.

“Hurry up!” Chuckie called. “You’re slow. You’d never escape the enemy marauders.”

“I’m kind of crippled,” Judith responded. “I have an artificial hip.”

“You do?” Chuckie frowned. “I thought you were normal.”

“Nobody’s normal,” Judith said. “The worst abnormalities,” she went on as she joined him by the door, “are inside.”

“But then nobody knows,” Chuckie argued.

“Oh yes they do,” Judith assured him. “They behave badly and cause trouble.”

Chuckie’s long face revealed intense concentration as he considered the statement. “You mean, like Harry?”

“Harry? Do you mean what happened to him or what he did?”

“Harry was mean,” Chuckie declared, leaning against the heavy door to open it. “He was nasty to me and unkind to Moira. He deserved getting blown up.”

“Nobody deserves to be killed,” Judith pointed out.

“Yes they do,” Chuckie insisted. “I’ll show you.”

He led the way into the courtyard. Judith felt the damp air on her cheek as soon as she moved outside. The only light came from a half dozen electric lanterns that hung from stanchions along the stone walls.

Chuckie pointed to their left. “See there, by the corner?”

Judith peered into the darkness at a wall fountain where water spewed from the mouth of a stone face resembling Neptune. “Yes?”

“That’s where the well was in the old days,” Chuckie said. “Sometimes bad people were thrown in to drown. Served them right.”

Judith refrained from making a comment.

“The guest rooms are where the barracks used to be,” Chuckie went on, strolling ahead and kicking at an occasional pebble. “There was a postern gatehouse in the old days when the castle was still connected to the land. It led to the barracks, where you’re staying now. Have you heard the horses stomping in their stalls at night?”

“Not yet,” Judith replied. She was tempted to say that she had, in fact, heard a voice saying “Open the gate” and “Open the window.” But she decided not to play into what appeared to be Chuckie’s fantasy.

“You saw the chapel,” Chuckie said. “Did my father make you go?”

“Of course not,” Judith replied. “I always attend Sunday Mass.”

“You do? Why?”

“I want to receive the sacraments,” Judith replied. “They give me the grace to try to lead a good life.”

“That’s bosh,” Chuckie declared. “I wager my father told you that.”

“I’ve been going to Mass since I was a child,” Judith said. “I didn’t meet your father until yesterday.”

Chuckie pointed to the second story of the castle’s west wing. “He and bonnie Beth live there, in the apartments for important people.”

“Where do you live?” Judith inquired.

“Wherever I want,” Chuckie replied. He gestured at the central part of the castle. “That was the great hall. It still is, in a way. It’s used for meetings. The kitchen adjoins it.”

“What kind of meetings?”

“Any kind. Sometimes my father holds them there. Sometimes strangers rent them. They go there and plot terrible things. Last month the Rotary Club came to conspire.”

“The Rotary Club?” Judith echoed, wondering if she’d misheard.

Chuckie nodded. “They came from Inverness for the weekend. The world is full of evil.”

“The Rotary Club does good things,” Judith pointed out.

“That’s bosh, too.” Chuckie nudged Judith’s arm. “Look up to the top of the wall,” he urged in an excited voice. “See the twin towers?”

“Not very well,” Judith said. “They’re hidden by the mist.”

“Just as well. Along the entire wall on both sides, there were stone spikes where they used to put the heads of their enemies to frighten anybody else who meant them harm. A fine idea, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s gruesome,” Judith said. “And I’m getting cold. I thought you were going to show me the inside of the castle.”

Chuckie cocked his head to one side. “Oh. Then…if you insist.” He started for the area he’d indicated was the original great hall. “Can you see the smaller towers?”

“I’ve seen them before,” Judith said. “I can’t see much of anything now except for the courtyard and the walkway.”

“The floors were mainly wood,” Chuckie said. “They were covered with rushes in the beginning and later overlaid with carpets, but the wood rotted, so it was torn up in the guest section.” He stopped by a narrow door with iron hinges and removed a small keychain from the pocket of his khaki slacks. “Do you know why this is locked?”

“Not really,” Judith admitted. “I doubt that you have much trouble with burglars.”

“To keep the prisoners in, of course.” Chuckie laughed merrily. “This smaller tower holds the dungeon. And the torture chamber. That’s my favorite place. Come on.”

“Ah…” Judith didn’t budge. “Can we skip that part? I’m not really interested in barbarity.”

Chuckie scowled and stamped his foot. “I thought you wanted to see my secret places.”

“Not if they’re…unpleasant. I should go back to meet my cousin. We haven’t yet had dinner, and frankly, you’re spoiling my appetite.”

Chuckie waved his fists. “I thought you liked me!”

Judith was slowly backing away, hoping she wouldn’t fall over some unseen obstacle. “I like you,” she insisted, though she wasn’t sure it was true. “But I don’t like tales of cruelty and suffering. I get upset.”

“Then you won’t know my secrets!” Chuckie asserted, his voice rising in pitch.

Fearing that he might have a seizure, Judith smiled. “Tomorrow my cousin and I will have a picnic with you if the weather’s nice. Would you like that?”

“No.” Chuckie’s voice dropped as he began to sulk. “I don’t like that other woman. She has an angry face. Yours is kind, like Beth’s and Moira’s. Go away. I’ll play with the rack in the dungeon.”

“Have fun,” Judith said, and turned toward the main walkway. “See you tomorrow.”

“Maybe.”

Judith heard Chuckie slam the tower door behind him. In spite of herself she shivered. Pity mingled with revulsion. Chuckie was a very strange young man in many ways.

She was almost to the guest entrance when she heard footsteps behind her. Had Chuckie changed his mind? Not wanting to turn around, Judith quickened her pace.

Whoever was following her also moved faster. She was almost to the door when she heard a voice:

“Allow me. That door is heavy.”

Judith finally turned around. She saw Will Fleming emerging from the mist with a faint smile on his long face.

“You must be one of the guests,” he said, removing his gloves. “I saw you at Mass this morning.” He opened the door and let Judith enter first. “I don’t think we met officially. I’m Will Fleming, the unworthy man who’s married to Marie.”

Judith put out her hand. “Yes. I was chatting with Marie and Beth a few minutes ago. They’re in the drawing room.”

Will was taking off his navy raincoat. A package the size of a toddler’s shoe box wrapped in brown paper fell to the floor with a clunking sound. “Sorry,” he murmured, picking up the parcel. “I was afraid I’d be late to dinner. It’s a nuisance to have to bring work home on the weekends—but there it is. A global economy never rests. Will you be joining us?”

“No,” Judith replied. “My cousin and I had a late lunch. We’ll dine later, probably in our rooms. It’s very good of Mrs. Gibbs to do the cooking despite her grief.”

“Indeed,” Will agreed, cradling the package. “They’re a wonderfully old-fashioned pair. Philip is fortunate to have them at Grimloch.”

“Apparently their son and his wife are quite different,” Judith remarked. “I haven’t heard if they’ve been notified of their son’s tragedy.”

“Hardly surprising,” Will said, taking off his mackintosh. “They prefer not to be found.”

“Aging hippies?”

Will’s chuckle seemed forced. “Let’s say they find it best to keep moving.” He nodded to Judith, and headed down the corridor.

When Judith returned to Renie’s room, she found her cousin reading a mystery novel.

“Research,” Renie said, putting the book aside. “I’m betting that the LAPD detective catches the killer before you do. Where’ve you been?”

Judith explained how she’d visited with Beth and Marie before running into Chuckie. “He’s very disturbed—and disturbing,” Judith said. “I wanted him to show me the castle, but he spent most of the time dwelling on the awful things that used to happen here.”

“‘Used to’? As opposed to happening since we got here?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and speaking of awful, we were going to call our mothers, remember? Your cell phone or mine?”

Judith shrugged. “We can each use our own. But remember, at home it’s almost noon. My mother will be about to have lunch.”

“Mine, too.” Renie got out her cell. “Let’s see if these things will work inside the castle. I have doubts after our first failure.”

Renie stayed on the bed; Judith took her phone to the window embrasure. This time there was static, but she heard the ring at the other end.

And more ringing. Gertrude refused to pick up the phone until the caller was ready to hang up—or pass out. Finally Judith heard her mother’s raspy voice, snarling an unwelcoming “Hello.”

“How are you?” Judith asked.

“Who is this?” Gertrude demanded. “Whatever you’re peddling, I don’t want any.”

“It’s me, Mother—Judith.”

“Speak up, young man. I’m deaf.”

“Mother! I’m on a trip, remember?” Judith was practically screaming. She saw Renie motioning for her to lower her voice.

“I can’t hear you, Mom,” Renie was saying. “Are you sick?”

“A drip in December?” Gertrude said. “The only drip I know of is my daughter’s dim-bulb husband. You want to talk to my daughter?”

“Did you call the doctor, Mom?” Renie asked as she rolled over onto her stomach. “What kind of pain?”

Judith tried to open the window to see if the reception would be better. But the panes were sealed shut. She moved toward the garderobe and slipped inside. “Can you hear me now?” she asked just as Renie said in alarm, “What ambulance?”

Judith shut the garderobe door. “I said—”

“Lunch is here,” Gertrude interrupted. “Mmm…tuna sandwiches with the crusts cut off, deviled eggs, strawberries from California, and oatmeal raisin cookies right out of the oven. You’re a doll, Arlene.”

Judith could barely hear her neighbor’s voice in the background asking who was on the phone.

“Nobody,” Gertrude said, and rang off.

Judith swore under her breath. It was pointless to call back. Her mother would be eating lunch, an inviolable occasion. At least the old lady sounded in fine fettle, which apparently was more than could be said for Aunt Deb. Judith exited the garderobe to find Renie tugging at her unmanageable chestnut hair.

“It’s probably gas,” Renie said in a testy voice. “Mom, you feel puny every time I go more than five miles from Heraldsgate Hill. It’s nerves. You’re trying to make me feel guilty. It won’t work.” She put her hand over the speaker part of the phone. “It does work, but I won’t let her know it,” she whispered to Judith, who’d come to sit on the bed. “No,” Renie told her mother, “I’m not taking you to the doctor tomorrow. Ask one of your friends. You’ve got dozens of them.”

Judith wondered what was worse—Gertrude’s ornery disposition or Aunt Deb’s martyrdom. She waited for Renie to finish listening to her mother’s complaints and queries. “Yes, the bed’s clean,” Renie replied wearily. “No bugs in the food. The white slavers went to Florida. My shoes are sturdy, my nose isn’t running, my coat is plenty warm. No contact with germs, I won’t eat food off the floor, I wash my hands after…I am grown-up. I stopped teething sixty-odd years ago…Why didn’t you say so? Tell Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince hello. I’m hanging up now.”

Looking drained, Renie clicked off the cell. “Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince came down from their place on the island and are taking Mom out to lunch. Then they’re going to see your mother. My poor ear!”

“I don’t even know if my mother knew it was me calling,” Judith complained. “She did her deaf bit, and I’m never sure if she really doesn’t hear or is just being contrary.”

Renie sat up. “Let’s eat in ten minutes, maybe have a drink first. That Old Engine Oil didn’t see me through the phone call.”

“Well…okay,” Judith said. “I imagine the Fordyces and the Flemings have moved on to the dining room. But…”

“What?” Renie said as she slipped into her shoes.

“I thought I’d call Mrs. Gunn about coming to see her tomorrow.”

“No apology!” Renie cried. “If you go, it’s on your own.”

Dialing for directory assistance, Judith shot Renie a look of reproach. “You have no remorse.”

Renie started shadowboxing.

Ignoring her cousin’s antics, Judith was again connected to Alison. “It’s me, Mrs. Flynn,” she said. “How long do you have to work?”

“I’m home,” Alison replied. “Nobody calls after I leave at five on the Sabbath. The rare request is trunked over to the phone in my bedroom.”

Renie continued punching at the air. “Remember the Alamo!” she cried. “Don’t Shoot Until You See the Whites of Their Eyes!” “Fifty-four Forty or Fight.” She frowned. “Or was it Forty-five Fifty?”

Walking to the window embrasure to get away from Renie’s distractions, Judith asked if Alison knew Mrs. Gunn’s phone number.

“Yes, she being such a good customer,” Alison said, and relayed the number to Judith. “Uh…is Mrs. Jones making amends?”

“Mrs. Jones doesn’t make amends,” Judith said with a stern look for Renie, who had removed a length of green and white twine from her luggage and was fashioning it into a garrote. “She’s unrepentant. But I’d like to apologize for her. I didn’t want to leave Mrs. Gunn with a bad impression of Americans. Most of us have good manners.”

“Oh,” Alison said, “I’m sure you do. I’m afraid Mrs. Gunn can be aggravating. And your cousin was in a hurry. Here’s the number.”

Judith thanked Alison before asking if Barry’s car had been towed.

“Aye,” Alison replied. “It’s gone to the shop. Barry’s on his way here now that he’s back on his bicycle.” She paused. “Well…almost here. He just fell off his cycle by the stoop. I must help him get up.”

Seeing that Renie was having some of her usual manual dexterity problems with the twine, Judith dialed Mrs. Gunn’s number. The voice that answered sounded like Kate Gunn.

“You may remember me from the drawing room at Grimloch last night,” Judith said after giving her name. “I’m calling to apologize for the altercation at the woolen shop with my cousin, Mrs. Jones.”

Renie had gotten the would-be garrote tangled on the bedstead and was uttering various obscenities.

“Can’t she speak for herself?” Mrs. Gunn demanded.

“Ah…she’s tied up right now.” Judith said as Renie stopped cursing and made a rude gesture. “May I drop by tomorrow to bring you a small gift to make up for your…inconvenience?”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Finally Mrs. Gunn posed an unexpected question: “When were you born?”

“You mean the date?”

“Year, date, time of day,” Mrs. Gunn said.

Judith rattled off the day and year, but confessed that she didn’t know the actual time. “I think it was in the morning.”

“It’s better to be exact,” Mrs. Gunn stated with a hint of reproach.

“I can’t,” Judith admitted, warily watching Renie, who had finally disentangled the twine. “Why do you ask?”

“So I can confer with my astrologer,” the other woman replied. “This information will have to do. I’ll ring you up tomorrow to let you know if and when I’m available.” She disconnected, leaving Judith with dead air and a puzzled expression.

Renie, who had been approaching Judith with a menacing look and the garrote in hand, stopped abruptly. “Now what?”

“Put that thing down,” Judith ordered, pointing to the twine. “Apparently,” she went on, as Renie backed off, “Mrs. Gunn has to confer with her astrologer to figure out if I’m worthy of an audience.”

“Why not? Like Bill, you enjoy the occasional nutcase.”

“Maybe her astrologer knows who killed Harry.”

Renie tossed the garrote in the direction of her luggage. “I leave that up to you. But I’m not apologizing. Now, let’s drink and eat.”

Judith looked worried. “This is all very strange. We don’t even know how Harry was murdered.”

Renie seemed about to dismiss the comments, but instead she put a hand on Judith’s arm. “Has it ever occurred to you that it might be better if you never found out? Safer, too.”

Judith took a deep breath. “I’m all for safety. But I’m against killers. Dead set against them, you might say.”

“That,” Renie responded, “is what I’m afraid of.”