Scots on the Rocks

by Mary Daheim

  “Mrs. Flynn, from Grimloch,” Beth replied. “You met her yesterday. Marie has flu.”

  “Poor Marie,” Moira murmured. “Mrs. Flynn? Oh—yes, of course. You were here with your friend.”

  “My cousin,” Judith clarified.

  Elise regarded Judith with unconcealed animosity. “Strangers,” she murmured, “should keep away from sick rooms. Madam doesn’t need more visitors.”

  “Now, Elise,” Beth said in a pleasant voice, “I invited Mrs. Flynn because Mrs. Fleming is ill. Make yourself some coffee. Take your time.”

  Elise shot Beth a resentful look, but marched out of the boudoir.

  “Honestly,” Beth said after the maid left, “Elise is too prickly.”

  “You know I acquired her after my mother died,” Moira said. “She’s tenaciously faithful to our family.”

  “I’m not here to quarrel,” Beth insisted. “What can we do for you?”

  Moira sighed. “Nothing. I’d prefer to close my eyes and die.”

  “Why?” Beth scowled at Moira. “Harry’s death isn’t your fault.”

  Moira turned her head away but said nothing.

  Judith tapped Beth’s arm. “Should I go into the other room?”

  Beth shook her head and mouthed the word “drama.”

  Judith spoke up. “I lost my husband when he was fairly young.”

  Moira moved just enough to look at Judith. “Was he murdered?”

  “No,” Judith said. “It was more like suicide. He purposely lived a destructive lifestyle. I have my share of guilt for what happened to him.”

  “But nobody blew him up,” Moira said.

  “He did blow up,” Judith asserted. “Medically speaking.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He weighed over four hundred pounds,” Judith explained. “He’d developed diabetes, he could barely walk, and his entire system went berserk. I felt it was partly my fault for enabling him. That very morning, I’d brought him a big bottle of grape juice before I went to work.”

  Moira looked mildly interested. “But you didn’t drink it for him.”

  “No.” Judith gazed curiously at the young woman. “You mean…?”

  Moira looked at Judith and then turned to Beth. “That’s still not murder or suicide.” Her tone was bitter. “And,” she added, again focused on Judith, “you didn’t escape death along with your husband.”

  Judith was puzzled. “No, of course not.”

  Beth moved closer to Moira. “What do you mean?”

  Moira’s fingers plucked fretfully at the lace on the sheet. “Harry asked me to meet him at the beach that afternoon. I thought about going, but changed my mind. I’d been invited to a wedding in Inverness. I couldn’t join Harry and get to the reception on time. If I’d gone…” She shuddered. “I might have been murdered, too.”

  13

  Moira!” Beth cried. “Why would anyone want to kill you? Or Harry, for that matter?”

  “Don’t be naïve,” Moira retorted. “You know about the power struggle at Blackwell, especially now that Morton’s come back.” She looked again at Judith. “I’m sorry. You’re a stranger, so you have no idea what’s been happening. But it’s hardly a secret. We’ve had the media in the UK give us a great deal of negative coverage.”

  Beth was nodding. “Will complains about how ugly it’s gotten. His own position is precarious. The press has hounded him mercilessly about the company’s financial status. He won’t discuss it, of course. After all, it’s a privately held company.”

  Judith looked apologetic. “I’m ignorant of big business. I was a librarian before I started my B&B.”

  Moira grimaced. “I wish I’d never inherited Blackwell.”

  Beth sat down on a tufted satin-covered chair. “You don’t mean that. Neither you nor your mum wanted Jimmy in charge.”

  Moira’s color began to rise. “We certainly didn’t want Morton. Why didn’t he stay in Greece? Why did he come back now?”

  “That,” Beth said, “is a good question. When did he get here?”

  Judith felt like an interloper. She edged toward a divan a few feet from the bed and sat down. It seemed that the two women had forgotten she was in the room.

  Beth, however, appeared to have read Judith’s mind. “Oh, Mrs. Flynn, this must be so tiresome for you. Let’s get Moira up and take her out into the garden. We can have some tea or a cool drink.” She shot her friend a sharp look. “What have you eaten today?”

  “Nothing,” Moira replied. “I couldn’t possibly keep anything down. I’m very queasy.”

  “Nonsense!” Beth snapped. “You can eat toast. Or porridge. I’ll have Elise fetch you something. Come, you must get dressed.”

  But Moira was adamant. “No. I’ll try to drink some tea.”

  Beth looked disgusted. “Frankly, you…” She clamped her lips shut. “I’ll speak to Elise.”

  Beth left the boudoir. Judith had been studying Moira. Except for her pale, porcelain-like skin and the dark shadows under her eyes, the newly made widow didn’t have the appearance of someone in misery. Certainly she’d been in good health and satisfactory spirits the previous day.

  Judith dared to risk a question: “Are you taking medication?”

  “A liquid digestive aid,” Moira answered. “Aspirin for headache.”

  “No prescription drugs?”

  “No.” Moira frowned. “Dr. Carmichael is strict about prescribing them. He’s very old-fashioned. He wouldn’t renew my tranquilizers.” She began plucking at the sheets again. “What’s taking Beth so long?”

  “Maybe she couldn’t find Elise,” Judith suggested.

  “Elise wouldn’t leave her post in the sitting room. I might need her at any moment.” Moira gave a start. “I hear voices. Who is it?”

  Judith listened but couldn’t hear anything.

  “They’re outside,” Moira said. “Look out the window. But don’t part the drapes and don’t open the casement.”

  “I don’t have X-ray vision,” Judith said, getting up and crossing the room to the two tall windows. “You should’ve hired Superman.”

  “Ohhh…” Moira wadded up the sheet in her fists. “Just see what’s happening. I can’t endure a disturbance.”

  Judith peeked between the drapes. The boudoir opened onto a balcony overlooking the front of the house. She slipped through the door between the two windows. Directly below she saw a parked car that hadn’t been there earlier. A male and a female voice sounded as if they were arguing. A moment later, Jimmy moved into Judith’s line of sight.

  “Just tell her I’ll be back when I’m able,” he said impatiently.

  “She needs you,” the female voice called. “Don’t be so selfish!”

  Judith saw Beth step out into the drive. Jimmy kept going, long strides taking him to the car that was parked behind the Daimler. Without looking back, he got in and started the engine. Beth ran up the stairs and disappeared under the overhang.

  “Your brother is going away,” Judith said, closing the balcony door.

  Moira sat up. “What do you mean?”

  “Ask Beth.” Judith sat down again. “She tried to stop him.”

  “Why was he here again?” Moira’s voice was shrill. “Why didn’t he come to see me? Where’s Beth?”

  “Probably bringing your tea,” Judith said.

  Moira sank back onto the pillows and covered her eyes with the back of her hand. “Go find her. Get Elise. I’m in pain.”

  And I’m in a pickle, Judith thought. She wished Renie had come along. Her cousin would have some sharp words for Moira. It wasn’t in Judith’s nature to be rude, but her patience was wearing thin.

  “I have an artificial hip,” Judith said calmly. “It’s not easy for me to go up and down stairs. Don’t you have an intercom or some way you can contact your servants?”

  “It doesn’t always work properly,” Moira said in a sulky voice.

  “Where is your pain?”

  Moira gr
imaced and rubbed the right side of her abdomen. “Here. Why would anyone want to kill me?”

  “Would it have something to do with your petroleum company?”

  “People don’t kill people over business issues.” Moira bit her lower lip. “Or do they?”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Maybe in the States,” Moira said. “Certainly not in Scotland.” She sat up again. “Where is Beth? Where is Elise?”

  “I don’t know!” Judith snapped. “What can I do for you that doesn’t require searching all over this very large house?”

  “Nothing.” Moira avoided Judith’s gaze. “Why did you come?”

  “Beth asked me,” Judith replied. “She knew we’d met.”

  Moira slowly turned to look at Judith again. “You told her you were here yesterday?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you tell her anything else?”

  “Such as how chipper you seemed? No. I tend to be discreet.”

  Relief swept over Moira’s face. “Thank you. Harry’s death hadn’t sunk in yet. My emotional responses are often delayed.”

  “That happens. I knew you weren’t feeling well enough to attend Mass at the castle,” Judith added innocently.

  “I couldn’t face seeing where Harry died,” Moira said. “Or his grandparents. Too, too difficult.”

  That was possible, Judith thought, but it didn’t explain Moira’s vivacity with Patrick the previous day. Before Judith could speak, Beth entered the bedroom. She was out of breath and looking annoyed.

  “Those press people followed us to Hollywood,” she announced. “They’re trying to climb over the fence.”

  “Call the police!” Moira cried. “Those predators must be stopped!”

  “The police are on their way,” Beth replied. “That detective phoned a few minutes ago to say that he was coming to interview you again.”

  “No!” Moira pressed a hand to her breast. “Send him away!”

  “I can’t,” Beth asserted. “Don’t you want to help the police find who killed Harry? And who may have wanted to kill you, too?”

  “Why is Jimmy going away?” Moira demanded.

  Beth sat on the edge of the bed. “Jimmy’s off to Paris. He didn’t have time to see you because he was afraid he’d miss his flight.”

  “Was Angie with him?” Moira asked.

  “No,” Beth replied. “You know she’s having a difficult pregnancy.”

  “Jimmy’s up to something,” Moira said in disgust. “What can it be? Surely nothing to do with—”

  A knock interrupted Moira’s speculations. Beth got up to admit Elise. The maid carried a tray with an array of tea items. Wordlessly, she set the tray on the bedside table and left. Before she could close the door, Fergus announced Alpin MacRae and Malcolm Ogilvie.

  MacRae assured Moira that the press would be dispersed. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t trouble you if this wasn’t urgent. You must be desperate to have us find your husband’s killer.”

  “I’m not,” Moira replied.

  MacRae, who had struck Judith as imperturbable, seemed taken aback by Moira’s response. He recovered quickly, however. “That’s a peculiar attitude,” he said mildly. “I’d like to hear your reasons.” He glanced at Judith and Beth. “It will be easier if we speak privately.”

  “Mrs. Fordyce must stay,” Moira insisted. “We’re having tea.”

  MacRae smiled indulgently. “I’m sure Mrs. Fordyce and…Mrs. Flynn, isn’t it?” he said, looking at Judith and seeing her nod. “The ladies can enjoy their tea in the sitting room and join you later.”

  “Then my maid must be present.” Moira looked beseechingly at Beth. “Please. Send Elise in.”

  MacRae shook his head. “No, no. This is just a simple chat. Your friends will be outside should you need them. Sergeant Ogilvie and I have no intention of upsetting you.”

  “We’ll have tea later,” Beth said, moving to leave. “Relax, Moira.”

  Judith followed Beth out of the boudoir. The younger woman went to another door and opened it. “I assume you want to eavesdrop, too,” she said. “This is Moira’s closet. There’s a vent in the wall. We can hear some of the conversation coming from the other side in the boudoir.”

  The offer surprised Judith. “I’m a virtual stranger. I’m not sure I should listen in on such a private matter.”

  Beth was solemn. “If Marie had come, she’d be in this closet with me. Four ears are better than two. Moira needs any help she can get.”

  Judith dismissed her qualms. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to eavesdrop. The only thing that would be worse, she told herself, was if she were an interloper who was deaf. She studied the capacious closet, which was almost as big as her bedroom at Hillside Manor. Moira’s extensive wardrobe hung in zippered bags in two long rows. Three chests contained drawers labeled sweaters, shirts, blouses, and tops. There were ten stacks of shoe boxes, plastic containers marked for accessories, and two more chests for lingerie. The faint smell of mothballs mingled with the scent of jasmine.

  Beth noticed Judith’s reaction and laughed softly. “These are her transitional winter-to-spring clothes. The rest are in storage, along with most of her furs, and the valuable jewelry is in a bank vault.”

  “How can she possibly wear all this?” Judith asked.

  Beth shrugged. “Clothes are her security blanket. Love hasn’t worked out nearly as well for her as Armani and Dolce & Gabbana.” She beckoned to Judith. “Come. The vent’s above the end of this rack.”

  The first words she heard were spoken by MacRae. “When did you receive this note?”

  “Saturday, around noon,” Moira said, though her voice was rather faint. “That is, my husband left it for me then. I wasn’t home. I didn’t get back until much later.”

  “Did Mr. Gibbs specify what time he wanted you to meet him at the beach?” MacRae asked.

  “Not exactly.” Moira paused. “Please, may I see if my baby’s awake from his nap? Could you summon his governess?”

  MacRae’s next words were inaudible. Judith guessed that he had turned away to speak to Ogilvie. “This won’t take long, Mrs. Gibbs,” he said in a louder voice. “Did your husband mention a time frame?”

  “Well…that afternoon. Harry loved the beach. He loved to swim. He loved the outdoors. Hunting, fishing, hiking, climbing, all kinds of outdoor activities. Most of them I enjoyed, too. But I was otherwise engaged on Saturday, you see.”

  “I gather you hadn’t been living together at the time of his death,” MacRae noted, and paused, apparently waiting for Moira’s response.

  “A temporary arrangement,” she replied after a few seconds had passed. “Due to his recent illness. He had very bad flu, and I felt it unwise to risk him contaminating our baby. A virus can be dangerous to a wee one. Are you sure the governess will bring Jamie to me?”

  “All in good time,” MacRae assured her. “Are you positive you destroyed the note your husband left for you?”

  “Of course. I told you that during our previous interview. Why would I keep it?”

  MacRae didn’t answer. “Earlier,” he went on, “you insisted that your husband had no enemies. Yet we’ve learned since that he was not on good terms with several of the other executives at Blackwell, including your own brother.”

  “Half brother,” Moira corrected. “His last name is Blackwell only because my father insisted upon it. Jimmy’s mother wasn’t married to my father. Ever.”

  Judith heard a door open. “Euphemia,” Moira said, “give the baby to me. My governess, Euphemia Beaton.”

  “Your bairn is handsome,” MacRae remarked.

  “Yes,” Moira agreed. “You must go now. It’s time for his midday feeding. I prefer giving the bottle to him myself. I’m sure you understand. Thank you, Euphemia.”

  Beth pursed her lips. Judith moved to fend off a leg cramp.

  “Very well.” MacRae’s voice sounded straine
d. “We’ll speak again, after the inquest Tuesday.”

  “Oh—yes, of course.” Moira sounded vague.

  Beth gestured for Judith to move out of the closet. “My God,” Beth said when they reached the sitting room, “what’s going on with Moira?”

  “You know her,” Judith said. “I don’t.”

  Beth threw up her hands. “I shouldn’t be talking about all this, but I’m terribly upset. Moira can be the most charming, generous, kindest woman on earth, but she has no common sense. She’s doesn’t know how to protect herself from predators. I don’t give bloody all about Harry. That marriage was a disaster. He married her for money and the power he hoped to get through Blackwell Petroleum.”

  Judith nodded sympathetically. “Moira has no head for business?”

  “She’s intelligent, but she’s young,” Beth said, standing near the door to the boudoir and keeping her voice down. “She likes to party. But she also likes being the nominal head of Blackwell. In time, she could—”

  The door opened and the two policemen entered the sitting room.

  “Mrs. Gibbs is feeding her baby,” MacRae said, and looked questioningly at Beth. “She and the governess need quiet time.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Beth said, looking slightly truculent.

  “Certainly.” MacRae started across the room but turned around. “Mrs. Flynn, may I speak to you for a moment in the hall?”

  Surprised, Judith left with MacRae and Ogilvie. “I realize,” she said when they were in the hallway, “that I’m a stranger, but—”

  MacRae held up a hand. “No need for explanations. Do you have your passport with you?”

  Judith felt alarmed. “I left it at Grimloch. I can get it if you—”

  “No need. The question was a ruse.” MacRae moved a few steps away from Moira’s suite but spoke softly. “You know that in this era of terrorism the authorities do background checks on foreign visitors.”