Scots on the Rocks

19

Moira let out an anguished wail. “No! Not Harry’s parents!

Oh, God help me! Make it all stop!” She threw pillows on the floor, yanked at the duvet, and began clawing at the sheets.

Fergus stood as unbending as a lighthouse. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Shall I tell them to wait, madam?”

Judith leaned close enough to grab one of Moira’s flailing arms. “Please calm down,” she urged softly. “You must relax.”

Moira tried to pull away but suddenly slumped, her energies spent. “Cruel, cruel, cruel,” she mumbled. “Why must I suffer so?”

Renie had moved closer to Fergus. “Let me handle this,” she told him. “And one word out of you and we’re going to war.” She stomped past the rigid butler and left the room.

Judith put her arms around Moira and rocked her like a baby. Fergus turned around in his robot-like manner and slowly walked away.

“Shall I send for Elise?” Judith asked.

Moira gulped and slumped against Judith’s arm. “No,” she whispered. “Not now. Oh my God!” Moira gasped. “I can’t face Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs! They’ll blame me for Harry’s death!”

“Why?” Judith asked, handing Moira several tissues.

“They’ve never liked me,” Moira said between sniffs as she wiped at her eyes. “Their niece, Liza, lived with them in London while I was away at school in France. Harry’s parents treated her like a princess because they’d never had a daughter. When Harry and I started seeing each other, Liza told the most terrible lies about me. They believed her, even though I’d never even met their wretched niece. In fact, I hardly know Harry’s parents, but it’s obvious they think I’m some kind of silly little slut and was never worthy of their handsome, charming, spoiled boy.”

“Spreading vicious rumors is a nasty habit some people have,” Judith said as Moira sank back onto the pillow. “I’m surprised that Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs found out about Harry so quickly. They must not have been as hard to reach as I’ve been told.”

Moira scowled and blew her nose. “They can be found if they want to be,” she asserted. “I don’t believe half their tales from abroad. It sounds too rugged for what I know of them. If they took a trip up the Amazon, they’d hire a limousine.”

Renie came back into the boudoir, dusting off her hands. “Your in-laws have left. I told them you were in bed with Fergus.”

Moira looked appalled. “That’s not very amusing, given their opinion of me.”

Renie shrugged. “They don’t think highly of Fergus, either.”

“We should probably leave you in peace,” Judith said to Moira. “You’ve had very little of that these past few days. Will you be able to attend the inquest tomorrow?”

Moira flung a hand over her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know. I’m afraid there’ll be another mob. Morton could be behind it. He’s always resented me. The police suggested that the demonstration was staged.”

Judith wasn’t sure how to respond. “Jocko Morton? What would be the point of damaging your reputation? It gives the company a black eye. How can that help him as the CEO?”

“You don’t understand,” Moira said. “It’s not about public image, it’s personal. He wants me out. Jocko wants to be in total control.”

“But you own the company,” Judith pointed out.

Renie leaned against the bedpost. “There must be a buyout in the wind,” she said. “Who’s making the offer?”

Moira was surprised. “How did you guess?”

“I don’t guess,” Renie replied. “I work with big businesses. I know the game—or as much of it as I need to in order to not design a pharmaceutical company’s logo using a skull and crossbones.”

Moira nodded once. “I suspected for some time that something was going on behind my back. Much as it galled me, I asked Harry what he knew about it. He insisted he didn’t know anything. Then I humbled myself even further by talking to Jimmy. He can be such a stick, but basically, I trust him. We are kin, after all, and sometimes I feel he acts in my best interests. Jimmy assured me that nothing was happening, and then Morton left for Greece—‘on indefinite leave’ was the official word. I didn’t believe it. I thought he was one step ahead of serious trouble. But now he’s back and creating havoc. Or so it appears.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m so tired. I wish I could sleep.”

“We’ll go now,” Judith said.

Moira didn’t respond.

The cousins left the boudoir. Euphemia was coming down the hall. “Is Madam awake?” she inquired in a husky voice.

“She’s trying to sleep,” Judith said. “How’s the baby?”

“Quiet as a wee mouse,” the governess replied. “A good bairn, despite Madam’s fussing. Should I fetch Elise to keep watch?”

Judith shrugged. “Is that what Mrs. Gibbs would want?”

Euphemia’s strong jaw jutted slightly. “Perhaps. Though what that silly Frenchwoman would do in a crisis is beyond me. Useless, I say. But I’ll get her—unless she’s had her snout in the cognac too long.” The governess turned on her heel and went in the opposite direction.

“Not a happy house,” Renie remarked.

“Tell me about Harry’s parents,” Judith said as they started down the handsome staircase.

“Good-looking couple, mid-fifties, Dad’s balding, Mom’s got gold highlights in her hair. Well-dressed, well-spoken.” Renie smirked. “I wouldn’t trust either of them an inch.”

“Are they grief-stricken?”

“Hard to figure,” Renie answered as they reached the foyer. “I spoke to them for only about ninety seconds.”

“What did you really tell them?”

“That Moira had passed out,” Renie said. “They didn’t act surprised. Peggy—Harry’s mother—murmured ‘typical,’ and Matt—the dad—sort of sneered.”

Judith paused at the entrance. “But not crying their eyes out and wringing their hands over Harry’s death.”

“They’re stiff-upper-lip types,” Renie responded. “They grieve in private.” She leaned against the door. “I’m famished.”

“Me, too,” Judith said. “Let’s see if the police really will take us to dinner. It’s going on ten o’clock.”

The police, however, no longer had food on their minds. “The tide is almost out,” MacRae said after the cousins got into the waiting car. “We’ll take you to the castle. Sorry about the restaurant, but with the inquest set for tomorrow, we should speak with Jocko Morton tonight.”

“Sure, fine, great,” Renie muttered. “Who needs nourishment?”

Making a disapproving face at Renie, Judith leaned forward to speak to MacRae. “Did you meet Harry’s parents?”

“No,” MacRae replied, surprised. “Where were they?”

“Here,” Judith said. “Moira refused to see them so they left.”

MacRae considered this turn of events. “Maybe they went to Grimloch. I’d no idea they’d returned from Argentina.”

“I thought it was Brazil,” Judith said.

MacRae shrugged. “It was somewhere in South America. It all sounded rather vague. We’ll check with the newly arrived Gibbses before we leave you at the castle.”

The rest of the short trip from Hollywood House to the beach turnoff was made in silence. Renie sulked; Judith pondered. It wasn’t until they arrived at the water’s edge that anyone spoke again.

“Five, ten minutes,” Ogilvie said. “The tide’s not quite all the way out.” He smiled at the cousins. “Don’t want to get your feet wet.”

“I’d walk a mile for a camel,” Renie murmured. “And then I’d roast it with a side of sage dressing.”

“Ha-ha,” Ogilvie responded politely.

MacRae was on his cell phone. “Oh yes? Would you tell your son and his wife we wish to speak with them as soon as we arrive? Thank you. We’ll be at Grimloch in just a few minutes.”

The cousins parted company with the police at the castle. There was no sign of Harry’s parents, but Judith assumed they’d agree to meet MacRae and his sergeant. Heading straight for the kitchen with Renie, they found Mrs. Gibbs putting china away in a glass-fronted cupboard.

“You must be glad to see your son and his wife,” Judith said. “How long have they been gone?”

The older woman shrugged. “A year, more or less.” She made quite a clatter stacking soup bowls. “Venezuela, it was. Lived in something called a palafito. Sounds like a sheiling without the sheep. Very lush country, they say. Bugs, I suspect, more than just the wee midges. Spiders, too, and don’t tell me different.” She banged a couple of kettles together for emphasis.

“They must be terribly upset about their son,” Judith said.

Mrs. Gibbs didn’t respond. She closed the cupboard with a vengeance and turned her keen eyes on Renie, who was gnawing on a small block of cheese she’d found in the refrigerator.

“Eat what’s on hand,” Mrs. Gibbs finally said. “I’m for bed.”

Judith watched her stalk away. “That woman’s made of iron. I can’t figure out if that’s good or bad.”

“Forget it for now,” Renie advised. “Lots of sandwich possibilities. Grab something and let’s go upstairs. I’m beat.”

“Me, too,” Judith agreed. “It’s been a long day.”

“And tomorrow is…” Renie looked at her cousin. “Doomsday?”

Judith’s expression was ironic. “Let’s hope the doom isn’t for us.”

Mother Nature rose—or fell—to the occasion Tuesday morning with heavy rain and blustery wind. “Looks like home,” Renie noted.

“I can barely see the village through the rain,” Judith said, gazing out of the Joneses’ room while Renie put on her makeup.

“The weather might literally put a damper on a turnout of Moira’s detractors,” Renie said.

“Like us, the locals must be used to it,” Judith pointed out, pausing in front of the dresser mirror to check her hair. “Even Jocko’s imported non-villagers shouldn’t be daunted.”

“I’m daunted by being up, dressed, and fed before ten,” Renie complained. “Why can’t they hold inquests in the afternoon, say around teatime? Then we could have a Little Something while they droned on.”

“A Big Something for you,” Judith said with a wry smile. “Ready?”

Renie nodded. The cousins headed downstairs to reach the lift. Wind and rain pelted them as soon as they entered the courtyard. Arrangements had been made to transport Grimloch’s residents by police launch at nine-thirty. It would be a short trip, with the outgoing tide.

The lift had just returned to the top of the cliff. Judith saw four people standing below. She recognized Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs, and assumed that the other couple must be their son and daughter-in-law.

Renie nodded as they stepped into the cage. “The funeral’s tomorrow.”

“There’ll be another inquest and funeral for Chuckie,” Judith murmured, seeing Philip and Beth Fordyce hurrying toward them.

“Wow, what a vacation!” Renie exclaimed in a low voice while Judith prevented the lift from closing its gate on the Fordyces.

“Thanks,” Beth said. “Such a ghastly way to start the day.”

Philip said nothing, merely nodding curtly at the cousins and keeping his eyes gazing upward. When they reached the wet, sandy beach, Judith pulled the hood of her cape over her hair and held it in place against the strong wind blowing off of the sea.

Beth also had a hood on her chic mid-calf belted coat. “This will be excruciating,” she murmured. “Have you met the traveling Grubbs?”

Judith suppressed a smile. “You don’t like them?” she whispered.

“I don’t know them,” Beth retorted. “But I know how they feel about Moira. I’ll introduce you. Try to act pleased.”

Judith pulled Renie along. “Be civil,” she said under her breath.

Like the rest of the Grimloch contingent, Matt and Peggy Gibbs were wearing black. Matt was tall and angular, with chiseled features and graying light brown hair; Peggy’s refined beauty was unmarred by age—or alleged jungle hardships. Her hands had long, manicured nails that didn’t indicate recent digging for long-lost artifacts.

“A pity to have your holiday spoiled,” Peggy said calmly. “You must be eager to seek the sanctuary of your own home and hearth.”

“We can’t blame the setting,” Judith said, tempted to tell Peggy Gibbs that the hearth at Hillside Manor was one of the few places where a corpse had not yet been found. “We’re very sorry about your son.”

“A harsh season for sons,” Matthew Gibbs muttered, keeping his hands clasped behind his back and glancing at Philip Fordyce. “The Devil’s afoot, it seems.”

The sound of the police launch was heard before Judith could actually see it. A few moments later the eight passengers were helped aboard by Sergeant Ogilvie and a couple of constables Judith didn’t recognize. She wondered if the Grimloch tragedies had strained the local police force’s personnel resources.

The trip to the shore took less than three minutes. A van awaited the group, with another constable and a driver holding umbrellas to shield the octet from the driving rain.

“Don’t bother,” Renie said to the driver who proffered the umbrella. “I come from rain country. It perks me up. I’m almost awake.”

Judith and Renie sat together in the van. No one spoke during the short ride up the cliffside and through the High Street. Despite the stormy elements, several residents were going about their business. Judith noticed that the banner over the village green had blown down at one end and drooped like laundry on a broken clothesline.

As the van pulled up in the car park by the Women’s Institute, a small group of protesters held up hand-printed signs accusing Moira and Patrick of murdering Harry. The dozen or so men and women looked dispirited. They moved their feet constantly, but not in marching tempo. It appeared to Judith that they were trying to keep warm.

“Not a sellout crowd,” Renie murmured as they rose from their seat. “Or maybe it is. Some kind of sellout anyway.”

“True,” Judith agreed, “but where’s the media?”

“At the pubs?” Renie retorted.

But as soon as the cousins got out of the van and walked around toward the side entrance of the institute’s brick building, they saw a horde of reporters and cameramen standing behind a wooden barricade.

“Fordyce!” several voices called out, followed by a barrage of questions Judith couldn’t quite catch. Philip kept moving, eyes averted, staring straight ahead.

Apparently no one recognized the four members of the Gibbs family. Unlike Philip, Judith figured their faces probably weren’t known to the out-of-town media.

The meeting room was already packed, but seats had been reserved up front for the Grimloch group. Seated between Renie and Beth, Judith scanned the crowd for other familiar faces: Patrick, sitting with a pretty blonde who was probably his wife, Jeannie; Seumas Bell, looking slightly feral, but alert to every nuance in the room; Jocko Morton, wedging his portly frame onto the folding chair with his narrow, beady eyes fixed on the two vacant places on the dais; his brother Archie, looking pugnacious and untidy in an ill-fitting brown suit; Will and Marie Fleming, handsome and poised, holding hands in the first row.

There was no sign of Moira or Jimmy Blackwell.

“Maybe they’re still coming,” Renie said. “Obviously the police didn’t catch up with Jimmy yet or we’d have heard about it.”

Judith nudged Beth. “Is Moira going to attend?”

Beth shrugged. “I didn’t talk to her this morning. I doubt she can manage. Frankly, I don’t blame her.”

A moment later, the crowd’s chatter was silenced by the arrival of a white-haired man with a solemn expression and piercing black eyes. With an air of authority, he sat down in the chair that had been placed behind the table. Judith assumed that the other chair was for the individuals who would give their findings.

The inquest started with the police constables who had been first on the homicide scene. Alpin MacRae stood off to one side of the room, arms folded, eyes taking in every detail of the gathering.

There was nothing new in their testimony. Judith’s mind drifted, taking in the austere surroundings, including a spinet piano, the flag of Scotland, and the portrait of a grim-looking woman who, judging from the black dress and lace collar, had probably founded the local institute at least a century earlier. Judith also studied the expressions on the villagers’ faces. They were a hardy lot, some of them careworn, a few from the younger set who would seem to be more at home attending a rock concert. An honest bunch, she decided, but perhaps a bit judgmental. Their history of strict, old-fashioned Presbyterianism and their life on the edge of the harsh North Sea lent them an aura of rigidity. Or maybe, she thought, it was just her lively imagination.

Dr. Carmichael gave the medical findings. “Death was caused by pressure to the deceased’s face with an item that resulted in suffocation.” No, Harry Gibbs had not been in the car at the time of the explosion.

A young man in tweeds and an old school tie succinctly described the type of bomb that had blown up Harry’s car. “Ammonium nitrate,” he stated, and not that difficult to make.

The magistrate declared that Harry Gibbs’s death had been caused by the malicious mischief of a person or persons unknown. He immediately adjourned the inquest.

Renie didn’t lower her voice. “No doughnuts? No cookies?”

“Shut up,” Judith muttered as they began to file out of the meeting room. “I just realized we’ll have to give statements at Chuckie’s inquest since we found the body.”

“Then we can insist on being fed,” Renie retorted.

Judith ignored her. The gathering had suddenly stopped halfway to the exit.

“There must be a bottleneck,” Marie Fleming said, turning around. “Where are Beth and Phil?”

Judith tried to find them among the dozen or so people at her rear. “Not anywhere I can see. Is there another way out?”

Will Fleming looked over his shoulder. “Yes. Off of the meeting room on the side of the building that faces the green. I suspect the Fordyces want to avoid the media. The reporters must be causing this delay by crowding at the front.” He put a hand on Marie’s arm. “Let’s duck out that other door, darling. I’d rather not get waylaid, either. I’ll leave that up to Seumas.”

“He doesn’t mind talking to the media?” Judith asked as she and Renie followed the Flemings’ lead.

“Our Mr. Bell can say less by saying more,” Will replied wryly. “He’s a very artful dodger, if a rather good lawyer.”

There was no chance to question Will further. A few others had the same idea, getting in the way and preventing the cousins from staying close to the Flemings. Outside, the rain had turned into a drizzle and the wind had become only a slight breeze. “Do we have a plan?” Renie inquired after they reached the green.

“Unfortunately, no,” Judith replied. “But I really don’t want to spend the day at the castle.”

“Gosh, no,” Renie said in an ironic tone. “It’s much more fun standing here getting soaked.”

“Okay, okay,” Judith said impatiently. “Maybe we should find a way to get to Hollywood House and see how Moira’s—” She stopped, spotting a familiar figure entering the churchyard next to the green. “Kate Gunn,” Judith said. “I didn’t see her at the inquest.”

“Why would she be there? Harry had no ties to her,” Renie pointed out. “As I recall, we heard Kate and Moira weren’t close even when Frankie Gunn was alive.”

Again, Judith didn’t say anything immediately. Instead she kept walking toward the church.

“Swell,” Renie grumbled. “Getting soaked and having a chinwag in a cemetery. Isn’t there a nice gallows around here someplace where we could stand with a noose around our necks and eat lunch?”

“You don’t mind the rain,” Judith said, leading the way to the lich gate. “Kate’s by the Gunn family plot. If she’s praying, we’ll wait.”

“I’m praying for cozy comfort,” Renie asserted.

Judith stopped by a guardian angel statue that was patchy with moss and missing a few fingers. “Kate’s lips are moving,” she said softly, “but not exactly like a prayer—more like conversation.”

“Talking to Earwig?” Renie suggested.

“Eanruig,” Judith corrected. “Yes, maybe. Hunh. She’s wagging her finger and acting agitated.”

“Does she really expect Earwig to answer back?”

“Maybe,” Judith allowed, signaling for Renie to hush. Before she could hear any words, Kate turned in their direction. Judith poked Renie. “Pretend to study this tombstone,” she whispered.

“It’s David Piazza’s,” Renie murmured. “The roses Moira brought last week look pretty beat up.”

“Speak to Kate,” Judith urged. “She thinks you’ve got the sight.”

“Half the sight,” Renie retorted. “She’s better off with Marie playing the part of a medium.”

Judith grabbed Renie’s arm. “Do it.”

With a sigh of resignation, Renie walked over to the Gunn family plot. Judith trailed behind.

“Hi, Kate,” Renie said. “The spirits must be on vacation.”

Kate gave a start and turned around to scowl at Renie. “You! What happened? Your eye!”

Renie shrugged. “A chronic condition, affecting my vision. In fact, I have no sight at all of the type you mean. I’m a phony. Sorry.”

Judith stopped abruptly, unable to believe that Renie would blurt out the truth.

Kate made a menacing gesture. “Fraud! Liar! How dare you? I should’ve known you were evil when I met you in the woolen shop!”

“That’s pushing it,” Renie said. “I’m kind of crabby, but not evil. My intentions were good.”

Kate looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re a mother, I’m a mother,” Renie explained. “Quite a few young men around here, including one of your sons, have died before their time. That’s a horrible thing. I felt guilty about getting into it with you at the shop. I wanted to make it up to you after I found out about your background and your interests.”

“My interests?” Kate looked even more confused.

“Astrology, for one thing. I…well, to pretend I could help you.” Renie made a limp gesture. “It was stupid of me.”

Kate’s gaze moved to Judith, who had come up behind Renie. “That cape! And the hood! She was the witch I saw in my herb garden!”

“No,” Renie said, “that was me, wearing my cousin’s cape.”

“Americans are very peculiar,” Kate muttered. “I find your actions deplorable. You’ve no idea how vital the spirit world really is. You mock it. You mock me. I can’t forgive you.”

“Okay.” Renie shrugged. “I hope you get a message from Ear—Eanruig. It’s difficult to make sound business decisions these days. The real world’s all topsy-turvy.”

Kate turned her back on Renie. Judith finally spoke up. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, “even if you’re not in a forgiving mood. We’ll leave you in peace now.”

The cousins started walking away, but before they got more than a few feet from the Gunn memorial, Kate called out to them. “Wait!”

“Yes?” Judith said, turning back.

“If you don’t have the sight,” Kate said to Renie, “how did you know I needed business advice?”

Hoping Renie wouldn’t reveal spying on the séance at the pub or eavesdropping on Kate and Philip’s conversation at Grimloch, Judith held her breath.

“Your husband was a shrewd businessman,” Renie said. “If you came here to commune with his spirit, you must be seeking his counsel.”

“Ah.” Kate’s homely features softened. “That’s so. You’re perceptive, I’ll say that for you.”

“Good luck,” Renie said. “The shipping business is always risky. At least whiskey is one product that rarely has a downswing.”

Kate frowned. “Meaning…what?”

“Uh…” Renie faltered. “Gosh, I don’t know. I thought I’d heard that you were involved in some kind of negotiations with Philip Fordyce.”

“We’ve shipped his whiskey for years,” Kate said. “That’s not new.”

“Oh.” Renie looked sheepish. “I haven’t been here long enough to know all the local commercial connections. I do know that oil and water don’t mix, and neither do oil and whiskey.”

Kate shot Renie a sharp look. “Why not?”

Renie wore her most ingenuous expression. “I don’t know.”

“It seems,” Kate said stiffly, “that there’s a great deal you don’t know. Just like the police. It seems they have no idea who killed Harry Gibbs or Chuckie Fordyce. ‘Malicious mischief’ indeed!”

She stalked past the cousins and headed out of the graveyard.

Renie frowned. “Kate and Philip in a takeover of Blackwell?”

“Sounds crazy,” Judith said, leaving the Gunn family plot behind, “but not impossible. It’s not the only interesting thing, though.”

“Such as?”

“Kate wasn’t at the inquest,” Judith said. “I know, I looked for her. How did she know the magistrate’s conclusion?”

“Aha. Kate has a small hole in the wall of the Women’s Institute?”

Judith nodded. “This entire investigation is full of holes. Why do I have a feeling that we could step in one and never get out?”

Renie shuddered. “Not a good thing to say in a cemetery. A really bad thing to say since that’s what happened to Chuckie.”

Judith nodded again, her expression grim. “That’s what scares me. I wish our husbands would come back. I’m worried about them.”

The sun was peeking from behind the shifting clouds, but the weather’s improvement didn’t lift Judith’s spirits. “I don’t care what you say about fishermen,” she declared as they reached the village green, “I’m calling Joe.” She dug her cell phone out of her purse and dialed.

After six rings, a message came on, telling her that the person at this number was unavailable. Frowning, Judith stared thoughtfully in the direction of the now deserted Women’s Institute. “I’ll call the Glengarry Castle Hotel. Where did I put that information?” She did some more digging in her purse. “Ah. Here it is.”

“You’re nuts,” Renie murmured. “They’ll be fishing this morning.”

“I know,” Judith agreed, “but I can leave a message. Hello?” she said as a woman’s voice answered on the other end. “I’m calling for Joe Flynn. This is his wife. Is he in?”

“He left yesterday,” the woman informed her in a brusque tone.

“Oh.” Judith glanced at Renie who had walked over to the drooping banner and was trying to rip it down from the tree where it had been hung. “I assume Mr. Jones and Mr. MacGowan went with him.”

“Yes,” the woman said.

“Did they tell you where they’d gone?” Judith inquired.

“No.”

Judith tried to remember what Joe had told her about their plans. “I thought,” she said, “they were going to do some sightseeing in your area. Ben Nevis, Beauly Firth, a castle ruin close by. Didn’t they expect to stay at your hotel for at least another night or two?”

“Yes.” The woman sounded rather testy. “They were booked through tonight. They didn’t bother to check out, so I charged their partial stay to Mr. MacGowan’s credit card and added a cancellation fee. It was, if I may say so, quite rude of them.”

Alarmed, Judith motioned to Renie, who had succeeded in yanking down the banner and was stuffing it into a dustbin. “Did they take their belongings with them?” Judith asked.

“Not all of it. But they also put at least six fish in our freezer. Shall I send everything on to you?”

“Could you hold for a moment?” Judith said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice and putting a hand over the cell. “Coz!” she whispered urgently to Renie, who was coming toward her. “The husbands are missing!”