Scots on the Rocks

by Mary Daheim

  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!”

  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, m
agnetic, 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.”