Scots on the Rocks

17

That bunch was in the dark in more ways than one,” Renie remarked as they walked into the pub’s empty serving area. “If some of them didn’t know why Philip Fordyce wasn’t there, they haven’t heard about Chuckie. Now what?”

Judith saw Ian hang up the open sign. “Let’s drink beer.”

“And eat. Hey, Ian!” Renie motioned to the young publican. “Who’s cooking?”

“Me mum,” he said. “She’s in the kitchen.”

Judith joined Renie and Ian. “How often are these séances held?”

Ian scratched his high forehead. “Once a month? Nae—four, five times a year? I’ve only worked at the pub since last summer.”

“Why have the séances here instead of a private home?”

“This was Mr. Gunn’s favorite place,” Ian replied, acknowledging a trio of young men who had just entered the Rood & Mitre. “To drink and eat, that is. Mrs. Gunn thinks his spirit is close by.” He uttered a short laugh. “People act odd sometimes, don’t they?”

“True,” Judith agreed. “Did Mrs. Gunn come with her husband?”

Ian cocked his head to one side and grinned impishly. “Never. He came alone.” The lad lowered his voice. “Me mum and dad own this pub. They could tell some tales about the local folk. Me dad said Mr. Gunn jumped from the frying pan into the fire when he’d stop for a pint or two.” Ian winked. “Coming from the lady friend’s, going to the wife.”

Judith nodded. “The lady friend who owned the house where Mrs. Gunn lives now.”

“Aye. Mr. Gunn built it for Mrs. B.P.”

“You mean,” Judith corrected politely, “for Porter-Breze, right?”

Ian ran a hand through his shaggy magenta hair. “Aye, but me mum always calls her Mrs. B.P. because Mr. Gunn gave her a big chunk of Blackwell Petroleum.” A half dozen other customers had entered the pub. “Pardon, I must serve these regulars.”

Judith moved closer to the bar, trying to get a peek at Ian’s mother. She could see the service counter at the back, but a canvas flap hid the opening to the kitchen.

“If we ate something,” Renie said, sidling up to Judith, “we could offer our compliments to the chef in person.”

“True,” Judith said. “Ian’s mother sounds like a useful source.” She gazed around the pub where four older people were sitting down while Archie Morton came through the front door. “Don’t look now, but your foe in a potential bar fight has arrived.”

“Who?”

“Archie.” Judith moved to a barstool and sat down. “Ignore him and order something when Ian finishes with his other customers.”

Renie bristled. “Wish I could see out of both eyes. Where is he?”

“Coming to the other end of the bar,” Judith replied. “He’s sitting next to a guy in a hat.”

“What guy? What hat?”

Judith took a quick peek at the man who was a dozen barstools away with a couple of younger men in football jerseys sitting between him and the cousins. “Slouched posture, hat pulled down, raincoat collar pulled up. What some might call suspicious.”

“You suspect he’s—?”

Ian pushed the food orders under the canvas flap and started pouring drinks only a few feet away from the cousins. “Yo!” Renie called to him. “How about a couple of dark ales and a menu?”

Ian nodded. “Be right back after I set up these pints.”

Judith discreetly watched Archie talk to the man in the hat. “I think,” she whispered, “the mysterious stranger is Jimmy Blackwell.”

“In semidisguise?” Renie nodded. “That figures. It’s stupid, but it figures. Jimmy’s well known around here. If he doesn’t want to be recognized, he should be dressed as a bottle of Scotch.”

The pub was filling up not only with drinkers but with supper customers. Judith noticed that no one seemed to be paying attention to Archie and the man she thought was Jimmy Blackwell.

“Typical,” Judith remarked sadly. “A terrible murder occurs and causes a big fuss for a short time—then people return to their self-absorption and go on with their lives. It always strikes me as sad.”

“They have to make sure that they’re still alive,” Renie pointed out. “Or else they think death is contagious.”

Ian had come back to the bar where he took the cousins’ orders for salmon, chips, salad, and two glasses of a reddish-hued beverage.

“What is this?” Renie asked after Ian had given them their drinks.

“Dark Island,” Ian replied. “It’s a traditional Orkney ale, from the same brewers who make SkullSplitter. Some say it has a magical flavor.”

“Mmm,” Renie murmured after a sip. “A bit like chocolate malt.”

Judith sampled hers. “Nutty, too.” She made a slight gesture to her right. “Is that Jimmy Blackwell with Archie Morton?”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t think so. Jimmy B never comes here.”

“B for Blackwell?” Judith said.

Ian looked embarrassed. “Nae. For ‘bastard.’ Not his fault, of course, but that’s what folks around here call him behind his back.”

“We heard,” Judith said, “Jimmy hangs out at the Yew and Eye.”

Ian shook his head again. “He doesn’t hang out at any of the pubs. Not much of a drinker or party type.”

“But,” Judith pointed out, “he recently got into a fight with Harry Gibbs at the Yew and Eye.”

“Oh—aye, so he did,” Ian agreed. “But I heard Jimmy B went there not to drink but to…well, have it out with Harry.”

Judith lowered her voice even more as two older men sat down next to the cousins at the bar. “Over how to run Blackwell Petrol?”

Ian shrugged and started to edge toward the newcomers. “I suppose that, and Harry wanting to run the show.” He smiled apologetically before moving on.

“I’m sure that’s Jimmy,” Judith whispered to Renie. “What’s he doing with Archie Morton? And how did Eanruig Gunn get the Blackwell shares for his mistress? The company’s family-owned.”

“Let me see,” Renie muttered, taking a pen out of her purse and sliding a napkin closer. “Phil is currently married to Beth, who is Kate and Earwig’s—I’m calling him that because I can’t pronounce his name—daughter, whose brother Frankie was married to Moira. So maybe Frankie got some Blackwell shares through his marriage.”

“Yes, Eanruig was alive when Moira and Frankie married.” Judith tried to peer around the bar customers but the pub was filling up. Her view of Archie and the alleged Jimmy was blocked. “Dang. I can’t see.”

“Stop,” Renie snapped. “You’re not making me feel any better.”

“They’re really busy,” Judith said. “Ian’s mom might need help.”

“Oh God!” Renie held her head.

Undeterred, Judith slipped off the barstool and went to find the kitchen door. It was just to the right off of the bar; she’d passed it when they’d gone to the storage room.

Ian’s mother was surprisingly young, an auburn-haired woman of forty with freckles and a plump prettiness. “What’s this?” she demanded, flipping hamburger patties on a smoking grill. “A complaint?”

“No,” Judith replied, wearing her most ingratiating smile. “I came to help you. Your son says you’re overworked.”

Ian’s mother looked up from the grill. “He did, did he? I don’t believe it! Kids these days!” She smacked one of the patties with the spatula. “Go away. The rules forbid customers in the kitchen.”

“I’m an innkeeper, a cook, and a bartender,” Judith said. “My first husband and I owned a restaurant, and now I have a B&B. I’ve had decades of experience and I’ve got dish towels older than you are.”

The woman laughed. “That’s good, I like it. Make salads. The greens are in that plastic bin.” She sighed as she swiftly buttered the buns. “Hard to believe Ian’s so thoughtful. Maybe he’s growing up.”

“Eventually, they do,” Judith said, putting on a pair of latex gloves. “I have a son, too.”

“What’s your name? I’m Grizel. Grizel Callum. Roy—that’s me husband—is down with flu. It’s going round, I hear.”

“I’m Judith Flynn, from the States. My cousin and I are here with our husbands. The men are off fishing.”

“Leaving you to work in my kitchen?” Grizel made a face. “Just like men. Where’s your cousin? Can she cook?”

“Uh…sort of,” Judith replied, slicing lettuce. “But at the moment, she has eye troubles. She’s half blind.”

“Ah.” Grizel wiped perspiration from her forehead. “Ian tells me you have the sight.”

“The sight?” Judith frowned. “I said I was a medium. I lied.”

Grizel looked startled. “You did? Why?”

Judith debated with herself about being candid. Her conscience won. “My husband’s a retired policeman. I’ve gotten involved in some investigations over the years, and discovered I have a certain knack for solving crimes. When Harry Gibbs was killed, I couldn’t help myself. I started trying to figure out who had committed such a terrible crime.”

“Ah.” Grizel’s face softened. “You must have a good heart.”

Judith shrugged modestly. “Sometimes I think it’s an obsession.”

“A good one,” Grizel remarked, putting the burgers on serviceable beige plates. “Salads, please.” She took the mixed greens from Judith and called to her son from under the canvas flap. “Ian! Orders here!”

“You must know the people involved in Harry’s death,” Judith said, slicing a firm tomato. “Is that Jimmy Blackwell at the end of the bar?”

“Jimmy B? I didn’t see him,” Grizel replied. “A brassy blonde’s sitting on the end stool next to that ornery devil Archie. She’s a hairdresser, by the name of Petula.”

“But you know Jimmy B?”

Grizel nodded after scanning the new batch of orders Ian had handed to her. “In the way that everybody knows everybody in a village. Not that he and I would stop for a chat. Jimmy B is far too grand for the likes of me. And him born on the wrong side of the blanket! Putting on airs, more so than his sister, whose parents were joined in holy wedlock.”

“Moira?”

“Lovely lass to look at,” Grizel declared, “though not having the good sense God gave a goose. Unlucky in love. And silly, if ye ask me. It’s a good thing we live in a village. So few of us, and not dependent on a big company like Blackwell Petrol.” She licked her lips, as if she were savoring the gossip she’d stored inside. “Up to no good, I figure, like all those greedy oil folk. Might as well live in Saudi Arabia.”

“No good?” Judith repeated. “In what way?”

Grizel shrugged. “I’ve no head for business except running our own. But I hear things. Maybe Harry’s doing, maybe Jocko Morton’s. As I said, Moira should never have gotten mixed up with Harry.”

“I understand she fell in love,” Judith remarked.

“She’s always falling in love.” Grizel made a disgusted gesture. “Oh, Harry could turn a lassie’s head, but his own was empty. Come here bragging about how he was the big man at Blackwell Petrol and the rest were past their prime. No wonder Harry and Jimmy B got into it at the Yew and Eye!” She scooped up a handful of sliced potatoes and tossed them into the deep-fry basket with a vengeance. “I wouldn’t put it past Jimmy B to have murdered Harry. But then again, the whole Blackwell lot probably wanted to do the same.”

“You think Harry was killed by one of his business associates?” Judith asked, chopping scallions and beginning to feel the heat from the grill and the deep fryers.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Grizel replied. “Of course I know it couldn’t have been Jimmy B even if he’d be my odds-on pick.”

“Jimmy couldn’t have done it?” Judith asked in surprise.

Grizel sighed. “Nae. He was here most of that afternoon.”

“I thought he didn’t drink,” Judith said.

“He’ll take an occasional pint or a wee dram,” Grizel replied, draining grease from a basket of golden-crusted plaice. “On Saturday he came here with his laptop and had a late lunch and a pint and worked for more than three hours. Chatty, too, with some of the regulars, but then I was the only one working that shift and we weren’t so busy.” She dished up four plates of fish and chips, collected more salads from Judith, and called again to Ian. “A lull,” Grizel said, again wiping her forehead. “Ye put in an order, didn’t ye?”

“I did,” Judith answered, “but I can wait.”

“Good thing,” Grizel commented, lighting a cigarette. “The woman with the eye patch is eating two orders.”

“She’s my cousin,” Judith said. “That’s interesting about Jimmy spending Saturday afternoon here. Has he done that before?”

“Never. Jimmy B told Will Fleming he had to work out some big problem and didn’t want to drive into Inverness to the Blackwell headquarters.” Grizel flicked ash into the sink. “Jimmy’s wife was ailing. A miscarriage, I heard. Maybe she wanted him out of the house.”

“Will Fleming was here all afternoon, too?”

Grizel shook her head. “Only to have a pint. Will works hard, often goes to Inverness Saturday mornings, then stops here before going home.” She shrugged. “Nice man. Quiet. Polite.”

“I’ve heard rumors about Moira and Patrick Cameron,” Judith said, wishing she hadn’t started to perspire in one of her new sweaters.

Grizel laughed. “Oh, Patrick! He does like the lassies! If Moira had married him instead of Harry, there wouldn’t be all this nasty talk.”

“But Patrick was already married,” Judith pointed out.

“Oh no,” Grizel insisted. “He was still a bachelor after Frankie Gunn fell off the twig. Patrick and Jeannie were wed only a year ago. Shame on him if he’s carrying on with Moira. Jeannie is—what’s that?” Grizel put out her cigarette in an ashtray and peeked under the canvas flap. Judith could hear raised voices and a great clatter. “Och!” Grizel exclaimed. “We’ve got a rumpus!” She raced to the kitchen door.

Dreading the worst, Judith followed. Her fear was well founded. Renie was shoving Archie Morton’s face into a salad bowl even as the blonde named Petula attacked her from the rear. A sharp elbow from Renie sent Petula sailing into the lap of an old man who was sitting ramrod straight at one of the tables. He ignored the blonde and took a toothless bite from his fish. Ian dropped a tray of drinks and was attempting to break up the melee. Several young people had taken the opportunity to plug in their iPods and dance on the bar.

“Coz!” Judith shouted. “Knock it off!”

Renie spotted Judith from the corner of her good eye. “The Arch Hog wanted all the salt, let’s see how he likes it now!” She leaned her full weight on the man as he struggled to get free. “Hey, Arch! Cry ‘uncle’!”

Renie’s victim made a muffled noise, though it didn’t sound like ‘uncle’ to Judith. Apparently it was good enough for Renie. She moved off of him and grabbed a napkin to wipe her hands. “Never tangle with a middle-aged woman who’s decked a coke addict in the Sacramento bus depot,” she shouted, referring to an incident from the past while she and Bill were Reno-bound. “Especially when she’s hungry.”

Wiping lettuce and dressing off of his face, Archie sputtered as he staggered to his feet. The old man at the table had finally noticed the blonde in his lap. “Get your hand off my tar-tar,” he rasped, and gave her a shove. She fell against Archie’s legs.

Renie was pointing to what was left of her meal for two, a hodgepodge of scattered chips, salad, and a piece of fish floating in her Dark Island ale. “I’m finished,” she called to Ian. “It was yummy.”

Ian was busy shooing the dancers off the bar. Grizel was clearing away the spilled drinks from the tray her son had dropped. Archie was working up a head of steam while peeling lettuce leaves from his cheek.

“I’ll bring charges!” he roared at Renie.

“Neener-neener,” Renie replied, tossing a generous amount of money on the part of the bar that wasn’t being used as a dance floor. “You started it, Chunky Monkey.”

Judith had gone to help Grizel. “I’m terribly sorry about this,” she said. “Mr. Morton must have done something to aggravate my cousin. She’s usually very…ah…refined.”

Renie was sashaying out of the pub, head held high, impervious to the mixed cheers and jeers from the other customers. Her exit was marred only by her attempt to open a window she mistook for the front door. Still appalled, Judith apologized again to Grizel and Ian before she followed her errant cousin.

“You!” Archie Morton called. “Which one of you Yank bitches attacked my brother Jocko?”

“Never heard of him,” Judith called over her shoulder. Archie’s efforts to come after her were frustrated by a bosomy redhead who wanted him to listen to hip-hop on her iPod and exchange a brake job for some other kind of job Judith didn’t want to hear.

Out of breath and sore of hip, Judith gratefully got out into the fresh, damp air of the misty night. Renie was nowhere in sight.

“Coz?” she called, wondering if her cousin had decided to hide from Archie in one of the nearby alleys or closes. The white cat crept out from behind a dustbin, haughty with gleaming golden eyes. “You can’t scare me,” Judith muttered. “I’m Sweetums’ human. I’ve seen it all.”

The mist swirled and ebbed through the narrow, winding cobbled side street. The cat was the only living creature Judith could see. There were no customers coming or going from the Rood & Mitre. She could hear a car out on the High Street and a snatch of laughter. Suddenly she was afraid, not just for herself but for Renie.

Feeling a need for the reassuring presence of ordinary people, Judith took a few steps back toward the pub. She felt slightly buoyed by the murmur of human voices, but realized that the sound wasn’t coming from the Rood & Mitre some ten yards away, but from outside. Cautiously, she walked past the entrance and turned the corner into a narrow walkway between the pub and the adjacent antiques shop. The voices—or rather the voice of a man—had become quite clear.

“You’re lying,” he said. “You must stop. Now.”

Judith saw the outline of a man whose back was turned to her. She couldn’t see the object of his threat, but she recognized the raincoat and slouch hat. It had to be Jimmy Blackwell, she thought with another rush of fear. She was almost certain he was talking to Renie, and his manner definitely didn’t sound friendly.

“Coz!” Judith shouted again. “I’m here!”

Renie’s head appeared from behind Jimmy’s shoulder. “Call the cops!” she yelled. “This guy’s assaulting me!”

“I am not assaulting you!” Jimmy retorted angrily. “I’m trying to help you! You’re in grave danger!” He glanced quickly at Judith. “So is she. Don’t be reckless. It’s none of your affair.”

Seeing that Renie didn’t appear to be in immediate danger, Judith gathered her courage. “Why do you think we know anything?” she asked, moving toward Jimmy and Renie.

Jimmy turned abruptly, looking at Judith from his six-foot-plus frame. He was imposing, with a bearing that was almost regal. “You’ve been meddling,” he said. “Asking questions. Going out of your way to make the acquaintance of any number of people connected to Harry Gibbs. That’s not typical behavior of vacationing Americans.”

“We’re at loose ends,” Judith said, shrugging. “What else can we do with no car and our husbands off fishing? We’re bored. We Yanks enjoy excitement. That’s why we have such a high crime rate.”

Jimmy looked more exasperated than angry. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “See here,” he went on, making an effort to lower his voice and sound reasonable, “I’m not threatening you, but giving a warning for your own good. You have no idea how your meddling can affect the wrong sort of people. I’ll be frank—the stakes are very high.”

Renie spoke before Judith could say anything. “I’d like to know what these stakes are, since they seem to be worth killing Harry Gibbs.”

“No, no,” Jimmy responded, looking aggrieved, “I didn’t say that. This is no place to talk. We should go somewhere less public.”

If no longer frightened, Judith remained wary. “Such as?”

“There’s a fine restaurant in a small hotel a short drive from here,” Jimmy said. “I have a car parked nearby. Shall we?”

Judith and Renie looked at each other. “Well…” Judith began, “I’m not sure. How do we know you don’t intend to harm us?”

Jimmy’s exasperation returned. “Why would I? For God’s sake, I’m already in enough trouble for eluding the police when I tried to leave for Paris. You and one or two others are the only ones who know my whereabouts. I wouldn’t be talking to you if I didn’t feel you’re at risk.”

Judith was unconvinced. “A good reason to dump us over a cliff.”

Jimmy made a face. “Then why don’t one of you drive? Preferably the one who can see. It’s a rental, a simple Honda.”

“How about this?” Judith suggested. “I drive us down to the beach where we can talk. The tide’s going out and there can’t be many people strolling along the shore, so we’ll have privacy.”

“Fair enough,” Jimmy agreed. “The Honda’s parked near Morton’s garage, only a short walk from here.”

He led the way, stopping to make sure the street was empty. It wasn’t. Archie Morton and the blonde were coming out of the pub, arm in arm. Jimmy held out a hand to keep the cousins back in the shadows. Archie and his conquest went in the other direction.

“This way,” Jimmy murmured, heading down to the coast road.

They reached the High Street’s dead end where the mist was blowing more heavily in from the sea. Judith’s face felt damp by the time they crossed over to the side of the street where the car repair was located. Jimmy pointed out a dumpster not far from Archie’s office. “The Honda’s behind that,” he said quietly.

As they headed in the direction he’d indicated, Judith heard the sound of a car driving on the coast road. She looked behind her to make sure they were out of the way of any oncoming traffic. Due to the poor visibility, the car was creeping along.

They were some ten yards off of the verge when a voice called out: “James Blackwell, stop where you are! This is the police!”

Jimmy swore under his breath and paused for only an instant. Then, before Judith could see who had spoken, Jimmy ran off into the swirling mist.