Scots on the Rocks

20

What do you mean, ‘missing’?” Renie responded with an anxious expression.

Judith explained what the woman at the hotel had just told her. “Joe and Bill wouldn’t walk out of a hotel and leave stuff behind.”

“How can they get into trouble when they’re with a topnotch policeman?” Renie demanded. “Maybe they intended to come back but the fishing got so hot wherever they were that they decided to stay put.”

It was possible, Judith realized. She hesitated before speaking into the phone. “Could you store their belongings for a day or so? It’s just not like them.”

“If you say so,” the woman said, unconvinced. “Twenty-four hours. That’s all we can allow to keep their luggage. This is a hotel, not a storage locker.” She hung up.

Judith held the phone in her hand. “I don’t like this. I told you I had a feeling something was wrong when we didn’t hear from them. I’m calling MacRae.” After the third ring, he answered. “This is Judith Flynn. Have you heard from DCI MacGowan recently?”

“No,” MacRae answered, faintly surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t mean to be an alarmist,” Judith said, and explained what she’d been told by the woman at the hotel.

“Rather odd,” MacRae agreed. “I hope there hasn’t been an accident. Some of the terrain in that part of the country is quite rugged.”

The words only increased Judith’s concern. “Surely not all of them could have been…incapacitated.”

“Probably not.” MacRae paused. “Don’t upset yourself, Mrs. Flynn,” he said in a more cheerful voice. “When it comes to fishing, the word ‘lure’ takes on a strong double meaning.”

“Are you friendly with MacGowan?” Judith inquired. “I thought you might know where he was likely to take our husbands.”

“I know Hugh,” MacRae replied, “but not intimately. I was transferred from Edinburgh to the Moray division only a year ago.”

“Oh.” Judith’s expression was bleak. “Is Ogilvie any better acquainted with him?”

“No,” MacRae said ruefully. “Ogilvie was transferred with me.”

“Somebody at headquarters must know him,” Judith said, growing impatient. “He seems to be quite a legendary figure around here.”

“He is that,” MacRae said hastily. “Please don’t fret. To ease your mind, I’ll look into the matter straightaway.”

“Thanks,” Judith said, and clicked off.

“Zip?” Renie said, still looking anxious. “What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Judith said in disgust. She paced up and down on the cobbled street, breaking her thought only to muster a smile at two older women walking past her. “Who thought MacGowan’s absence was odd?”

“Patrick Cameron,” Renie replied. “He implied that the killer had deliberately chosen a time when MacGowan would be out of the way.”

“Patrick may be right.” Judith made way for a blind man tapping his white cane as he moved cautiously up the High Street.

“He’s worse off than I am,” Renie murmured. “But Bill and Joe may be in an even bigger mess. Are the cops sending out searchers?”

“Yes,” Judith replied, finally standing still. “I don’t know what they do in a case like this, but they’re doing something. We’re helpless.” She scanned the shop signs along the High Street. “MacRae and Ogilvie must be staying somewhere around here, but I don’t see an inn.”

“There has to be one,” Renie said. “Let’s go to the source. Alison at the woolen shop seems to know everything.”

Judith agreed. Their destination was only three doors down the street, where they found Alison waiting on Harry’s mother, Peggy Gibbs.

“Can’t you overnight it?” Harry’s mother asked in an arch tone. “I must have it for the funeral tomorrow at eleven.”

Alison glanced at the cousins but didn’t greet them. It was clear to Judith that the girl had her hands full with Peggy Gibbs. “I’ve never done that with an order from Paris, but I can try.”

“Of course you can,” Peggy said. “You have my credit card. Tell the express driver to take it to the castle. By nine-thirty, do you hear?” Without so much as a look in the cousins’ direction, she walked out of the shop in a decidedly regal manner.

Alison’s eyes widened. “Imagine! Buying a two-thousand-quid suit from Paris just to wear for the funeral!”

“I guess she’s really rich,” Judith said. “Did she seem sad?”

“Sad?” Alison frowned. “Oh—about Harry. Aye, she did, in her way. Angry, too. Maybe more angry than sad.”

Judith nodded. “A mother might react that way. By the way,” she went on, “is there an inn here in the village?”

“Aye,” Alison replied. “The Hearth and Heath, just down the road from the green. The opposite direction of Hollywood House, that is.”

“Do you know if DCI MacRae and his sergeant are staying there?”

“They are for a fact,” Alison said. “Set up a regular office, I hear. Barry delivered a pizza to them last night.”

“How far down the road?” Renie inquired.

“Next to the Women’s Institute there’s the cobbler shop and the thrift shop,” Alison said. “Then the inn. Not far at all. Visit the thrift shop when you’ve got the time,” she suggested. “They’ve got all sorts of bargains. Barry and I both find things we fancy. He bought that Italian lad’s suede jacket for two pounds.”

Judith’s curiosity was aroused. “David Piazza’s clothes were sold at the thrift shop?”

“Aye,” Alison replied. “Barry and Davey worked together at Tonio’s Pizza Parlor. That was before Davey got his job with Moira Gibbs. Davey had no family nearby, so Moira donated his things to the thrift shop. Part of the proceeds go to the veterans’ relief fund.”

Judith was surprised. “Davey delivered pizza before he became Moira’s personal assistant?”

“No, no,” Alison said. “He made the pizzas. In fact, he invented one, being a vegetarian. It’s still on the menu—Piazza’s Veggie Variation. The Bruce loves it.”

“It still seems odd that Moira hired him,” Judith noted.

Alison shrugged. “He was hot.”

“From the pizza oven, no doubt,” Renie murmured. “Or do you mean Davey was handsome?”

“Quite,” Alison said. “Not my type, but curly dark hair, huge black eyes, good body. Soulful-looking.” She shrugged again. “A pity The Bruce chewed up Davey’s suede jacket. Barry was ever so sad.”

“No doubt,” Judith said, not without sympathy. “Thanks again.”

Outside, Judith felt aimless. “What now besides worry?” She looked into the fishmonger’s window where a bug-eyed haddock stared back at her. “It’s frustrating. There’s nothing we can do.”

Renie sighed. “I know. Damn!”

“We could have lunch,” Judith said.

“I’m not hungry.”

Loss of appetite was a measure of Renie’s concern. “I don’t care much about eating, either,” Judith admitted. “I feel adrift.”

“Grab an anchor,” Renie murmured. “Kate Gunn just came out of the chemist’s shop and she’s headed this way.”

To Judith’s surprise, Kate waved. “A moment,” she called.

“Yes?” Judith said. “What is it?”

Kate looked all around to see if anyone was listening. Only a half dozen people were on the High Street, and they all seemed to be going about their own business. Still, Kate apparently had qualms.

“We’ll go to the Rood & Mitre,” she said. “We must talk.”

She led the way across the High, back up the incline, and around the corner where the pub was tucked away in the narrow street. Judith realized it was almost noon and was puzzled by Kate’s choice of a setting for a private conversation. Lunch hour should be starting at the pub.

Ian was already waiting on a middle-aged couple and two of the booths were occupied. He looked up as Kate entered with the cousins.

“Mrs. Gunn,” he said politely, ushering the women inside. “And the American ladies.” Ian looked curious. “The common room…or…?”

“Or,” Kate replied. “This is a meeting.”

Ian nodded. “The door’s unlocked,” he said, heading for the service counter. “If you want food or drink, fetch me.”

Kate nodded and wordlessly led the cousins through the corridor they’d traversed earlier when they’d spied upon the séance. “This is the office,” she said, opening the door. “It’s small and crowded, but ensures privacy. You never know who might be lurking about.”

Judith and Renie avoided looking at each other lest they seem guilty for having been numbered among the lurkers. The office arrangement was somewhat different from what Judith had seen through the spy-hole. The table had been moved and apparently was used as a desk. There was an old rail-back chair behind the table. A half dozen folding chairs leaned against the far wall.

“I’m afraid,” Kate said as she sat down behind the table, “you’ll have to use those metal chairs. The amenities here are sparse.”

“No problem,” Judith said as Renie hauled out two chairs and set them up. “You look troubled, Kate.”

The other woman nodded. “I am. I was very curt with you in the cemetery. Afterwards, I realized you were only trying to help.” Kate turned to Renie. “You claim not to have the sight. Yet by my husband’s grave you mentioned whiskey and oil and water. It dawned on me after I walked away that you understood my conundrum.”

“I was guessing,” Renie said.

Kate smiled ironically. “More than a guess.” As Renie started to protest, Kate held up a hand. “No. You must be a Scorpio, Serena.”

“True,” Renie said.

Kate turned to Judith. “You’re a Libra, Judith, a social animal, magnetic, charming, and always seeking balance in your life. You’re oversensitive, though.” She looked again at Renie. “You are competitive, energetic, and hurl yourself into your work, which is often of a creative nature. You do nothing in moderation and you make a fearsome foe. But there is a deeply intuitive side to Scorpios. That’s why I had to speak with you.” She paused, apparently to let her words sink in.

Judith smiled. “I have to admit your assessment of our personalities is accurate.”

“You’re perceptive, Kate,” Renie said. “But how are we to help?”

“I’ll explain,” Kate replied. “My children are the most important thing in my life. I’ve already lost too many of them. Now I may lose my former daughter-in-law.” She paused again and licked her dry lips. “I believe that Moira is in mortal danger.”

“Why?” Judith blurted.

Kate picked up some paper clips from a small box and began linking them together. “This is very confidential. As I mentioned, Philip Fordyce and my husband had a long-standing agreement to ship Grimglen liquor. That’s how Beth met Philip. He’s known her since she was born.” Kate smiled faintly, as if recalling the moment when her baby daughter was first placed in her arms. “Philip has had some misfortune along the way, not just with his distillery business, but with his family life. He’s lost two wives, and his only son was born with severe problems. Now, of course, poor Chuckie is dead. Philip has no heir. If only Beth…” Kate dropped one of the paper clips onto the desk and slowly picked it up. “Beth hasn’t been able to get pregnant. She’s been to fertility clinics all over the world. Philip won’t adopt. Like my own husband, he’s convinced that bloodlines are all that matter.”

“That’s ego,” Judith remarked. “But how does this affect Moira?”

“Blackwell Petroleum,” Kate said, the paper-clip chain now at least two feet long. “Many years ago Moira’s father gave shares of the company’s stock to his closest friends, including my husband.” She grimaced, causing Judith to wonder if Eanruig Gunn had passed on part of his gift to his mistress, Diana Porter-Breze. “After James Blackwell died, his widow wasn’t so generous. The majority shares were left to Moira. If she dies or is convicted of murder, her half brother Jimmy will wrest those shares from her or become her baby’s legal guardian. I don’t trust him an inch, despite his professed moral rectitude.”

“I still don’t understand,” Judith put in.

“I’m getting to that,” Kate said, adding the last paper clip in the box. “As a wedding present, Moira gave Beth some shares of Blackwell. Moira and Beth and Marie were so close, like sisters—and, of course, when Moira married Frankie, she and Beth became sisters-in-law. I won’t say that Moira and I had a loving relationship, but I appreciated her care for Frankie, who was never physically strong. Strangely enough,” Kate continued, almost as if musing to herself, “when Marie married Will Fleming, Moira didn’t attend the wedding, and gave them a rather ugly vase.”

“No stock?” Renie asked.

Kate shook her head. “There was a falling-out between Moira and Marie for a time. I don’t think Moira cared for Will or trusted him. Recently, they’ve all made up. But Moira’s most significant lack of generosity was her refusal to give Harry any Blackwell shares when she married him. Naturally, he was resentful. The company is in turmoil, possibly because Jocko Morton had been up to no good. Moira has been indifferent, but she’s never had a head for business—which is why Philip and I want to buy the company from her.”

“Wow!” Renie exclaimed softly. “That’s quite an acquisition.”

“Yes,” Kate agreed. “But we can manage it financially. My own family is very wealthy—banking, mainly. Now that Harry’s dead, the real obstacle is Jimmy Blackwell. I wouldn’t put it past him to harm Moira and prevent Philip and me from buying her out. Jimmy is power-mad.”

“Do you think he killed Harry?” Judith asked.

Kate held up the paper-clip chain, which she’d fashioned into a loop with a dangling tail. “Perhaps. That’s not important to me at the moment. Jimmy must go.” She dangled the paper clips from her fingers. They reminded Judith of a rosary.

Or a noose.

Judith still didn’t understand why Kate Gunn had unburdened herself so frankly.

“Kate,” Judith began, “why are you telling us all this?”

Kate put the paper-clip chain aside. “I have my sources of information. I’m aware of who you really are. That’s why I know you have ways to help me solve my problem with Jimmy.” Kate’s eyes sparkled with apparent excitement. “You’re CIA.”

“What?” Judith gasped.

“There’s no need to pretend,” Kate asserted. “My source is above reproach. Let’s say that the law is on my side.”

Judith was so flabbergasted she couldn’t speak.

Renie looked a bit dazed, but recovered quickly. “You’re talking about a covert operation,” she said to Kate. “We need information about Jimmy’s habits, schedule, and so on. We also need lunch. Judith and I will give our orders to Ian. What would you like?”

“Ah…” It was Kate’s turn to look taken aback. “A sandwich. Fish paste will do.”

“Fine.” Renie got up and hauled Judith out of the chair. “Let’s go. I feel like a burger.”

“You act like an idiot!” Judith hissed as soon as the cousins were in the corridor. “Why in the world are you stringing Kate along? And where did she hear that we’re a couple of spies?”

“Listen,” Renie said, deadly serious. “Kate’s got spy-holes all over the place. I’ll bet she’s got the cops bugged somehow. Maybe she overheard MacRae and Ogilvie talking about your detection skills. Or,” she added a bit uncertainly, “they also think you’re from the CIA.”

“They’ve never actually mentioned the FATSO web site,” Judith said. “It’s possible they’re confused, too.”

“Then make the most of it,” Renie said. “Kate probably knows more about what’s going on than the cops do. Let’s find out.”

“Brilliant,” Judith said as they went down the hall. “I think.”

Renie sought out Ian while Judith poked her head into the kitchen. “Grizel?”

Ian’s mother looked up from the grill. “Ah! I hear there’s a meeting in the back room. What’s Mrs. Gunn up to now?”

“A few tricks,” Judith said, offering Grizel a confidential smile. “You know her. Who’d resist an occasional peek in that spy-hole?”

Grizel laughed softly. “Only when I’m not busy.”

“Did David Piazza ever come here?”

Grizel flipped rashers of bacon on the grill. “Aye, often. A charmer, he was. Clever, I have to think. Come up in the world, did Davey. He came to this country with nothing, worked at Tonio’s, and the next thing we know, he’s got an important post with Moira Blackwell. Imagine! And him not knowing the language all that well.”

“Sounds like home,” Judith murmured, recalling the temporary mailman on the Heraldsgate Hill route who couldn’t read English.

Grizel was studying a new order. “Fish paste sandwich and two burgers,” she noted. “Mrs. G must want the fish paste—nobody else ever does. Are the burgers yours?”

“Yes,” Judith answered. “I can wait and save you a trip.”

“Ian will do it,” Grizel said.

Judith thanked Grizel and went back to the office. To her surprise, Renie was standing by the open door. “The hen flew the coop.”

Judith looked into the cramped office. “Did you see her leave?”

Renie shook her head and pointed to a door marked exit. “It leads to a path that ends at Patrick Cameron’s cottage.”

Judith was mystified. “Why? I thought Kate wanted our help.”

“Somebody called on her cell phone?” Renie suggested.

Judith opened the door. The dirt path ran behind two smaller buildings before abutting Patrick’s property. “I wonder if he’s there.”

“Do we find out?” Renie asked.

“Are you really hungry?”

“No. I’m still too worried about our guys.”

Judith went into the office, wrote a brief note to Ian explaining their hasty departure, and left twenty pounds on the desk.

“Since when,” Renie inquired as they walked along the narrow path, “did we get stupid? This could be a trap.”

“Why? There’s no reason for Kate to harm us,” Judith replied.

“The trap might be for Kate. Maybe she knows too much.”

“Kate can take care of herself,” Judith said, opening a gate in the hedge that went around the cottage. “Let’s try the back way.”

Her knock drew no response. “We’ll try the front,” Judith said.

The result was also futile, and there was no sign of Patrick’s car. “I’m stymied,” Judith admitted. “I assume Kate drove to the village, but we’ve no idea what she drives. Now what?”

Her cell phone rang. Hurriedly, she took it out of her purse.

“MacRae here,” he said. “I’ve good news. MacGowan sent us a text message saying they’d found a hot spot on the Findhorn and changed their plans. They’ll be in touch.”

“Oh!” Judith exclaimed. “That’s a relief! I’ll tell my cousin they’re safe. Thanks so much.” She rang off.

“So we’re not widows after all?” Renie said with a big grin.

“No, thank heavens,” Judith replied, putting the cell back in her purse. “So where is Kate? And where is Patrick?”

Part of the answer came in the form of Barry, driving his rattletrap car down the High Street. “Hullo!” he called. “Busy time. Lunch hour.” Brakes squealing like so many piglets, he managed to stop just short of Patrick’s fence. “He’s not home.”

“How do you know?” Judith inquired, moving cautiously toward the unpredictable vehicle.

“Because he’s at Hollywood House, giving a press conference,” Barry replied. “I just came from there. Those reporters like pizza.”

“What kind of press conference?” Judith asked, one eye on the Bruce, who was nibbling on pepperoni in what was left of the backseat.

“Oh—you know,” Barry said vaguely. “The reporters all ask questions at once, and the nob who’s behind the mike goes blahblah and never really answers.”

“Patrick must have had a reason for calling the press conference,” Judith asserted. “Do you remember anything he said?”

The hamster had polished off the pepperoni and was nibbling on a much-abused suede jacket.

“The Bruce is eating your outerwear,” Renie said. “Do you mind?”

Barry turned around to look into the backseat. “Nae, he likes it better than I do. It’s too short in the sleeves for me.”

“It’s getting shorter,” Renie noted. “That’s the part he’s chewing.”

Barry shrugged. “It came cheap, being second—” He stopped and snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. Patrick was talking about Davey Piazza. That’s who the jacket belonged to before it was sent to the thrift shop. Patrick claimed that Davey’s accident wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t an accident?” Judith said.

“Right. Patrick told the reporters that if they wanted to find out who killed Harry they should go after whoever made Davey’s car crash.” Barry tapped the padded container next to him in the front seat. “Sorry. Got two more pizza deliveries—the post office and the auto repair.”

The cousins gave Barry and his car a wide berth. After a couple of false starts, the engine caught and he rattled off toward Archie’s garage.

Judith was silent for a few moments. “Davey’s death has always struck me as a little too convenient.”

“His rise and fall seem odd,” Renie agreed. “It’s not as if someone immigrating to a new country doesn’t have to take a menial job for starters, but they usually spend a long time working their way up. Davey fell into the cream awfully fast.”

Judith nodded. “Moira didn’t hire him for his ability to toss pizza dough. Her habit of falling in love indicates she was thinking with the wrong part of her anatomy.” She paused, shielding her eyes from the midday sun. “This is starting to make sense. I think.”

“Ah.” Renie smiled. “Your customary logic has kicked in.”

Judith shrugged. “I don’t understand big business, but I know people. There aren’t many motives for cold-blooded murder, but jealousy is a big one.” She gazed toward the sea where the sun glinted off of the incoming waves. “There are plenty of reasons for envy with this bunch. You might say,” she said wryly, “we’ve got too much of a bad thing.”

For once, Judith was walking so fast Renie had to hurry to catch up with her. “Where are we going?” she demanded as Judith crossed the High Street and headed for the coast road.

“Hollywood House,” Judith called over her shoulder. “But we need transport. Maybe Barry’s still at Morton’s garage.”

As soon as the cousins reached the auto shop, they saw Barry’s beater parked in front of Archie Morton’s office. Judith suggested that they wait outside.

“Why?” Renie said. “Another rumpus with Archie might be fun.”

“Not for me,” Judith declared. “You’re getting ornerier as you grow older. I refuse to spend my twilight years with you in a nursing home. You’d probably get tossed anyway for outrageous brutality.”

“I’m learning how your mother drives that wheelchair,” Renie said. “She’s got some great moves. She should be licensed to kill.”

“Don’t mention it,” Judith said, and winced. “I shouldn’t have moved so fast. Now I feel wobbly.”

Barry and Archie came out of the office. They seemed to be arguing, but Judith couldn’t hear what they were saying. Barry finally shrugged and stalked back to the car. He didn’t seem surprised to see the cousins.

“Poor tipper?” Renie inquired.

“No tipper at all,” Barry replied, still annoyed. “He says all his expenses at the garage go into the computer and he can’t figure in tips. That’s bosh. I had two pizzas, one for Archie and one for his main mechanic. Rob’s a good lad, always gives me a quid. But Archie wouldn’t let me take Rob’s pizza to the back shop like I do usually. Just mean, that’s Archie Morton.”

“We didn’t have computers when I worked at the Meat & Mingle years ago,” Judith said. “We were lucky to have a cash register. If the help wanted to get paid, they had to roll the drunks when they fell off of the—” She stopped. “Never mind. I just had the strangest thought.”

“What?” Renie asked sharply.

Judith shook her head. “It was silly.” But she was suddenly worried, though she tried to hide her concern from Renie and Barry.

“Last stop,” he announced. “Uh…Do you want a lift?”

“Yes,” Judith said quickly. “That’s why we’re here. After your post office stop, can you take us to Hollywood House?”

Barry considered briefly. “I suppose. No more deliveries just now.”

Judith got in the front seat, grateful that the door had been reattached to the passenger side; Renie again sat with The Bruce in back. “Sleeve’s gone,” she said as the car went forward with a loud ka-pock-eta-ka-pock-eta sound. “He’s going for the silk lining and the inside pocket. Won’t he get indigestion?”

“Maybe,” Barry warned. “Better move. He may toss up the suede.”

“We’ll buy you a replacement jacket,” Judith said, “to thank you.”

“Nae.” Barry chuckled, heading up the High Street. “It’s been jolly. Most of it, anyway.”

“I mean it,” Judith insisted. “You’re a good guy. Lad, that is.”

The post office was two doors down from the confectioner’s. Barry double-parked and zipped inside. Renie tapped Judith’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? I can tell you’re upset. You’re making rash and expensive promises.”

“I’m serious about the jacket,” Judith replied, turning to look at Renie. “We owe Barry. But you’re right. It’s probably a stupid notion, but suddenly I got the feeling that Joe and Bill aren’t safe. In fact, I think I know where they are, and I’m certain they’re in grave danger. The question is, how do we rescue them?”