Scots on the Rocks

by Mary Daheim

  “Of course,” Judith said, her apprehension mounting.

  “Thus,” MacRae continued, “we learned who you really are.”

  Judith’s eyes widened. “You did?”

  MacRae smiled. “Indeed. Even though you appear to be on vacation, we’d appreciate any help you can give us. This case may have international implications, as I’m sure you realize.”

  “Oh. Yes. Oil.” Judith nodded several times.

  “Meanwhile,” MacRae said, “just be the keen observer that’s made your reputation. Your people skills are, we understand, outstanding.”

  “Thank you,” Judith said, relieved. “I had no idea how thorough these background checks could be.”

  MacRae chuckled and winked. “Perfect. The American Innocent Abroad.” He saluted Judith and turned toward the central staircase.

  Judith watched him start down the curving stairs with Ogilvie bringing up the rear. But MacRae stopped after a few steps and reached for his cell phone. He listened for at least a full minute. Judith saw him say something into the phone and signal to her. He rang off, spoke to Ogilvie, and came back up the stairs.

  “That was the autopsy report,” MacRae said barely above a whisper. “The findings won’t be released until the inquest. Harry Gibbs was smothered, probably while unconscious. There was no sign of a struggle, you see, but cocaine was found in his system along with a large quantity of alcohol. He’d probably passed out before his killer arrived. You must act surprised when you hear the official pronouncement,” the detective added solemnly. “The inquest is at ten Tuesday in the Women’s Institute.” He saluted Judith and went down the stairs.

  Judith remained in the hallway until the policemen disappeared. Apparently the security agents had checked her out on the Internet and discovered the FATSO site created by admirers of her crime solving. The acronym was actually FASTO, for Female Amateur Sleuth Tracking Offenders, but had been corrupted into the less flattering nickname, presumably because it was easier to remember.

  Just as Judith was going back into Moira’s suite, she saw Elise come out of a room farther down the hall. The maid was scowling and wagging a bony finger.

  “You must not go in,” Elise said with her slight French accent. “Madame needs rest. Mrs. Fordyce must also leave. I shall tell her now.”

  “But I left my purse in the sitting room,” Judith protested.

  “I shall retrieve it.” Elise’s dark eyes hardened. Her close-cropped black hair looked dyed and her eyebrows were haphazardly penciled in. “You think I am a thief?”

  “Certainly not,” Judith said. “I must say goodbye to Mrs. Gibbs.”

  “Non,” Elise declared, shaking her head. “I shall tell her for you.”

  “Fine,” Judith snapped. She remained in the hall, looking over the balcony above the spacious entry area with its double circular staircases, graceful columns, and Greek statuary. All seemed calm and quiet. That was, Judith thought, deceptive. Hollywood was not a peaceful house. She sensed unhappiness, perhaps handed down through generations.

  The silence was broken by the sound of a slamming door. An angry Beth Fordyce was marching out of Moira’s suite. “The nerve!” she exclaimed. “Elise ordered me out! And Moira just lay there with the baby and didn’t say a word! Where’s her pluck?”

  “I got the heave-ho, too,” Judith said. “But you’re an old friend.”

  “I thought I was,” Beth muttered. “Oh—here’s your handbag. Elise practically threw it at me. We might as well go see Mummy.”

  “Thanks,” Judith said, juggling the purse, which seemed unusually heavy. Or maybe she was unusually tired. The vacation had become more stressful than restful.

  Judith and Beth got only halfway downstairs when they heard a commotion coming from outside of the house.

  “The press?” Judith suggested. “I thought the police were going to make them go away.”

  Beth stopped with her hand on the gilded balustrade. “It sounds like Morton and…Patrick?”

  Fergus was moving across the entry hall at a faster pace than usual. He stopped at the door, his ear pressed against the wood.

  Beth continued downstairs; Judith followed.

  “What’s going on out there?” Beth demanded.

  Fergus looked down his long nose at Beth. “A dispute, I believe, possibly involving violence.”

  “Oh, for—!” Pushing Fergus aside, Beth dashed to the door. The startled butler kept his balance by grasping the legs of a marble Artemis.

  As Beth opened the door, Judith drew closer. To her astonishment, she saw Patrick Cameron take a swing at Jocko Morton, knocking the heavyset man onto the steps. Seumas Bell jumped on Patrick’s back, trying to restrain him. Morton squealed like a pig when Patrick landed a second and third blow.

  “Stop!” Beth screamed. “You’ll kill each other!”

  Her words went unheeded. All three men were rolling around on the gravel drive. Beth shouted at Fergus, “Get a gun! Now!”

  “Which gun, madam?”

  “One that’s loaded, you cretin! Hurry!”

  Judith stood in the doorway, watching in horror as Seumas Bell broke free from the writhing pile and yanked a heavy urn off of a pedestal. He was about to bring it down on Patrick’s skull when Judith used all her might to throw her purse at him. By a stroke of luck it hit Seumas in the temple, momentarily stunning him. He reeled slightly and looked to see where the missile had come from.

  “Who are you?” he asked, blinking several times.

  “I’m a peacemaker!” Judith shouted as Patrick jumped up from an apparently unconscious Jocko and decked Seumas, who dropped the urn before falling backwards into the driveway. The urn smashed, strewing chards of concrete and soil onto Jocko’s elevator shoes.

  Fergus appeared on the porch holding what looked to Judith like a blunderbuss. “Will this do?” he asked Beth.

  “Oh, good Lord!” Beth cried. “There must two dozen guns in this house and you bring me a freaking musket? Did you call the police?”

  “No coppers!” Patrick looked defiant as he smoothed his dark red hair and rubbed his knuckles. “These two are out of it. I’m going to see Moira.” He jumped over Jocko and took the stairs two at a time.

  Seumas was coming to, moaning and rolling around in the driveway, getting gravel all over his dark pinstripe suit. Jocko had opened his eyes, but was staring straight up into the noonday sun.

  “Turn out that bloody light,” he mumbled. “Pull the curtains. Douse the glim.”

  For the first time, Judith noticed the red BMW sports car she’d seen on her previous visit. Directly behind it was Jocko Morton’s Jaguar sedan. She guessed that Jocko and Seumas had followed Patrick to Hollywood House.

  “I think,” Beth said calmly, “that you should both leave. I presume at least one of you is able to drive.”

  “No,” Morton said, poking at various body parts. “I’m injured.”

  “I’ll drive,” Seumas said, standing up and brushing the gravel from his suit. “But Patrick hasn’t heard the last of this.”

  “I hope I have,” Beth said sternly. “Don’t you dare get me or Philip mixed up in your squalid affairs.”

  “Our squalid affairs?” Seumas was indignant. “I’m an attorney, and a highly ethical man.”

  “How odd,” Beth said blithely. “How can you possibly be both?”

  “You’re on their side,” Seumas sneered. “Don’t pretend that you and Philip haven’t got your own ax to grind. And never try to tell me that the bairn is Harry’s! We all know who sired the little bastard!”

  Beth kept her lips closed tightly, but her lively eyes shot arrows at Seumas as he helped get Jocko to his feet. Fergus was still holding the musket, cocking the weapon as the two men staggered to the Jaguar.

  “Shall I fire now?” he inquired of Beth.

  Beth flipped a thick strand of black hair over her shoulder. “Why not? Shoot over their heads, just to hurry them along.”

  The butler fumbled with
the musket. “Wait!” Judith cried. She hurried to retrieve her purse, backtracked inside the house, and put her fingers in her ears. Nothing happened.

  “I believe it’s jammed,” Fergus said dolefully as Morton flopped inside the Jag.

  “It probably has no balls,” Beth said in a disgusted voice. “There seems to be a serious lack of them around here.”

  Fergus coughed softly. “Beg pardon, ma’am?”

  Beth sighed and turned to Judith. “We may as well go as soon as those two idiots are out of here.”

  “Why were they fighting?” Judith asked.

  Beth grimaced. “Business? Moira?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Phil and I’ve been out of the country. Moira and Marie and I email each other when we’re not here, but it’s usually girl talk—mainly about Moira’s baby, which, frankly, gets boring since Marie and I don’t have children yet. Damn, why doesn’t Seamus move that car?”

  “Why has Morton been in Greece?” Judith asked.

  “His health,” replied Beth. “Or so he claimed. He needed better weather. But Will told Marie that Jocko was healthy as a horse, and his leave of absence was to avoid some business problems.”

  Judith recalled the get-together at the cottage by the sea but wondered how much she should reveal. “I got the impression that these Blackwell executives were fairly tight.”

  Beth stared at her. “You did? Don’t believe it. The one thing they agreed on lately is that the pup, Harry, was a huge pain in the arse.”

  At last Seumas started the Jag and drove out through the open gates at an accelerated speed.

  “Maybe,” Beth said, “he’ll get both of them killed.” She put a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t say that, not after what happened to Davey.”

  Driving away from Hollywood House, Judith posed a question. “Was Davey’s accident around here?”

  Beth nodded. “Up ahead there’s a turnoff to the coast road. About a kilometer east is a wicked curve where it happened. Davey liked speed. He had a reckless side, but the official ruling was faulty brakes.”

  “Wasn’t it a new car?”

  Beth nodded. “A Lamborghini Diablo. Aptly named, it seems. It crashed onto the rocks below, and was horribly mangled. Of course Davey was…” She grimaced. “Moira was too ill to attend the funeral.”

  The Daimler sped past the turnoff to St. Fergna. “Did I say that when I met Moira she was putting flowers on his grave?” Judith asked.

  “Oh?” Beth smiled faintly. “Moira was very fond of Davey. She relied increasingly on him.”

  “For business decisions,” Judith asked, “or…emotionally?”

  Beth sighed. “Both, I suppose. Moira and Harry were already having problems. After they married, Harry turned into a completely different person. Marie and I felt as if he’d been putting on an act all the time they were going together. He was incredibly rude to Moira even in public. God only knows how badly he behaved in private. It’s a wonder she didn’t…” Beth stopped speaking as her cheeks turned pink.

  “Kill him?” Judith finished for her.

  Beth slowed down to take a sharp curve. “You know I don’t mean that literally.”

  “Of course not.” But Judith knew from previous experience that the spouse was always the prime suspect when it came to murder.

  14

  The house Kate Gunn had confiscated from her late husband’s mistress was a modern, curving structure of glass and stucco set high above the sands. The landscaping looked almost tropical, with tall fronds, exotic grasses, and even a couple of palm trees.

  “California style?” Judith said in surprise.

  Beth laughed. “You’d be surprised—parts of this area have a very mild climate, due to the land formation and the ocean currents.”

  Judith nodded. “We have a place like that in our own state on the Northwest Coast. It’s called the Sun Belt.”

  “Exactly,” Beth agreed. She paused at the foot of a winding stone stairway. “Let’s hear the latest news from Mummy’s astrologer.”

  The double doors were made of beveled glass decorated with intersecting mahogany arcs. Judith and Beth were greeted by a middle-aged woman wearing what Judith thought was a very bad red wig.

  “Come in, Miss Beth,” she said with a deferential nod. “Mrs. Gunn has a guest in the sunroom, but I’ll tell her you’re here with…?” She looked questioningly at Judith.

  “Hello, Una. This is Mrs. Flynn,” Beth said. “Who is Mummy entertaining? It can’t be the Wizard of Oz.”

  “Now, now, Miss Beth,” Una said, though her blue eyes twinkled, “you mustn’t be unkind about Master Ross Wass. He’s a great comfort to your mother. In any case, he won’t be here until evening.”

  Upon entering the sunroom, Judith felt as if she were walking into a jungle. Hibiscus, aphelandra, anthurium, dieffenbachia, philodendron, various ferns, and even orchids were everywhere, some growing from floor to ceiling. The east wall was all glass, and the high humidity as well as the temperature hit Judith like a blast of steam. There was so much foliage, in fact, that Judith couldn’t see any sign of Mrs. Gunn.

  “Sorry about the heat,” Beth murmured after Una had shown them in and departed. “Mummy’s somewhere in here, probably between the frangipani and the Venus flytraps.”

  “Mummy” was sitting in a white wicker armchair. Her guest apparently was seated across from her, but was concealed from Judith’s sight by the chair’s high back.

  “Beth!” Kate Gunn exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were coming. How nice. Do sit.” She peered at Judith. “Is that Mrs….?”

  “Flynn,” said a voice coming from the other chair. “Hi, coz.” Renie grinned between the glossy leaves of a fiddle-leafed fig. “Kate and I are being all matey. Sit. You’ll lose a pound a minute in this humidity.”

  Kate Gunn laughed. “Oh, Serena, you’re such a tease!” She paused while Judith and Beth sat down on a love seat that matched the other chairs. “I had no idea,” she said to Judith, “that your cousin has special powers.”

  “Ah…” Judith was tempted to say, “Neither did I,” but suddenly recalled Renie’s pretense at reading fireplace ashes a few months earlier in an attempt to elicit information from a murder suspect. “She’s a sight, all right. I mean,” Judith amended, “she has the sight.”

  Renie shrugged and made an attempt to look modest. “I couldn’t help myself. I felt compelled to study the ashes in the grate at Grimloch and I saw that Kate was in trouble. I had Gibbs bring me over here on his motorcycle. Sure enough, Kate was in peril.”

  “Oh,” Kate Gunn said, “it was incredible! Una, my housekeeper, had gone to the market and I was all alone. I looked outside about an hour ago, expecting Una to be back shortly, and I saw a witch! She was bent over my herb garden, sprinkling something on the coriander and dill. I pounded on the window, but she cackled and rushed off. Serena showed up not five minutes later. Imagine!”

  Judith could imagine, though she wondered where her cousin had gotten the witch’s costume. “How fortuitous,” she murmured.

  “A witch?” Beth sounded skeptical. “Did you call the police?”

  Mrs. Gunn frowned at her daughter. “Of course not! They never believe me. You know how they’ve acted in the past when I’ve had to summon them. They think I’m fanciful or just a nuisance.”

  Beth smiled wryly. “Well, you have had some odd complaints.”

  Mrs. Gunn looked indignant. “Nonsense! The midge attacks were frightful last summer. I wanted the police to spray those pesky insects before they clogged up my ears and nose. As for the deer that ate my plants, I had to threaten to poison them before the police would do anything. Not to mention the car that destroyed my nephrolepis fern—and on the feast day of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, God’s Little Flower! Too ironic! That driver should have been arrested for recklessness. If I’d been a heavy sleeper, I’d never have heard the impact and discovered how my poor fern got run over. I’d nurtured it from a small cutting.” Her face softened as sh
e looked at Renie. “As for Serena, we’ve made amends. She said that it was at our awkward meeting in the woolen shop where she sensed my aura and later realized I was in danger.”

  “Really,” Beth said, looking benign. “Speaking of the occult, I don’t suppose Master Wass has any insights into Harry’s murder.”

  Mrs. Gunn grew serious. “Not precisely. He did mention a conspiracy, but had no specifics. The planets aren’t properly aligned.”

  “So,” Beth said, “you haven’t talked to the police at all?”

  Mrs. Gunn looked puzzled. “I told you, there was no need to call them. Serena arrived so quickly and quieted my fears.”

  Judith glimpsed her cousin’s smug expression. “She has a calming effect on people.” When she isn’t driving them to distraction, Judith thought to herself, and was aware that she’d begun to perspire.

  “I meant,” Beth clarified, “have they asked you about Harry?”

  “Why should they?” Mrs. Gunn responded, fingering the gold amulet with an odd circular design that she wore on a short chain around her neck. “I hardly knew him.”

  “Because,” Beth explained, “Moira was your daughter-in-law when she was married to Frankie. I thought they might have asked if you knew anything about her second husband.”

  “I don’t,” Kate declared, sitting back in the chair and clasping her hands in her lap. “She certainly didn’t consult me about remarrying.”

  “Hey, Kate,” Renie said, “are there any more of those scones with your divine blackberry jam?” She licked her lips for emphasis.

  “Of course!” Kate exclaimed. “Una can bring more and another pot of tea.” She beamed a rather feral smile at Judith. “Your cousin has a wonderful appetite. I like people who enjoy their food.” Turning slightly, she spoke into a large rubber plant. “Una—more tea, scones, and jam. Blackberry and Seville orange marmalade.”

  Una’s voice came from somewhere among the plant’s large green leaves. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll be quick.”

  Kate’s smile was self-satisfied. “I have speakers allowing me to communicate and monitor what goes on in every room. Very helpful.”