by Mary Daheim
Beth rose from a red tufted divan and went to greet the cousins. “You don’t have to be here. This is going to be ugly.”
“It already is,” Renie murmured, her eyes roaming around the room. “And I don’t just mean some of the people.”
“I know, I know,” Beth said nervously. “Phil called this meeting.”
Jocko Morton lumbered away from a table where drinks had been set up. “It’s outrageous!” He shot Philip a nasty look. “You’ve never invited any of us for a social occasion! Now you have the police haul us here as if we were common criminals! I’ll sue!”
“Quiet!” Seumas snapped. “You’ve made enough mischief already!”
“Haven’t you all?” Marie said quietly from the crook of Will’s sheltering arm. “I feel as if I’m in a vipers’ den.”
“Ha!” Jocko cried. “You should know. You married one!”
“Don’t speak to my wife that way,” Will said calmly, though there was steel in his voice. “Where’s that self-righteous villain Jimmy?”
“Slunk off,” Seumas said, refreshing his drink. “Slippery bastard.”
Archie Morton sneered. “What about Patrick? He killed young Gibbs. Patrick’s spent more time in Moira’s bed than Harry ever did.”
“But not,” Seumas put in snidely, “more than Davey.”
“That’s a lie!” Marie exclaimed. “Moira never slept with Davey!”
“Please!” a grim Matt Gibbs begged. “We’ve lost a son.”
“You’ll lose more than that,” Jocko threatened, fists clenched. “Your Venezuelan oil gambit is in checkmate now!”
Matt and Peggy exchanged quick glances. “Nonsense,” Peggy Gibbs snapped. “You can’t undo what’s done.”
“You’re done,” Seumas asserted with a nasty smirk. “And,” he added, looking at Philip, “why are the police here?”
“Venus goo,” Judith murmured. “That’s what Jocko’s note on the napkin meant—Venezuela.”
Philip strode to the middle of the room. “I’m your host.” His keen eyes moved slowly, taking in each member of the fractious gathering. “I invited the constables because I anticipated tempers would flare.”
“What’s the point of all this?” Jocko rasped.
“I have also lost a son,” Philip said calmly. “Chuckie was as dear to me as any child could be. Perhaps more so, because of his physical and emotional flaws.” His eyes fixed on Matt and Peggy. “Your son’s flaws weren’t obvious. Chuckie might still be alive if Harry hadn’t been killed. You’re guilty of both of their deaths.”
“You’re horrible!” Peggy shouted. “We’d never harm Harry! We weren’t even in Scotland when he was murdered and we can prove it!”
Philip shrugged. “I didn’t say you personally did the deed, but you caused his death. He was your ticket to great wealth and power.”
Peggy’s brittle façade was cracking. “It’s business,” she said in an unsteady voice. “Taking risks, seizing opportunities, using—” She stopped and buried her head against Matt’s chest.
“You don’t cross the line,” Philip said sternly. “You don’t connive with corrupt foreign officials who have huge oil interests. You don’t,” he went on, his voice rising, “use your son to sell out his wife’s inheritance.”
“That’s right!” Seumas shouted. “Harry was your frigging puppet! He had to have his strings cut!”
Peggy let out a piercing cry. Matt let go of her and charged at Seumas. Constable Glen moved swiftly between the two men. “That’ll do!” he cried. “No violence! Please!”
Matt backed off. Seumas stood still, his expression belligerent. Peggy had collapsed onto an empty chair.
“Where’s MacRae?” Renie whispered. “This is really ugly.”
“Why don’t you bop somebody?” Judith murmured. “It’s perfect timing for you to get into another brawl.”
Archie Morton swallowed a big gulp of Scotch. “I’m leaving. I’ve got cars to fix.”
“No, sir,” Glen said politely. “You’re staying. You can’t work now anyway. Your repair site is a crime scene.”
“What?” Archie’s face grew red. “Why the bloody hell is that?”
“I think you know,” Glen replied.
Archie snarled at the constable and poured himself another shot.
“Bomb,” Will said.
Beth stared at him. “What?”
“The one that killed Harry,” Will said. “Who else but Archie would know how to make a bomb?” He avoided looking at Archie, who appeared nearly apoplectic. “Isn’t that so, Constable?” Will inquired of Glen.
“I couldn’t say, sir,” Glen answered stoically.
Archie downed three shots in a row before turning to his brother. “It wasn’t my idea! It was yours, Jocko! I thought it was a prank!”
“Ridiculous!” Marie exclaimed. “You’re all crooks!”
Jocko turned his back on Archie and looked at Will. “You and your wife better keep quiet. You’re as guilty as any of us, Fleming.”
“We’ll see about that,” Will said mildly.
Seumas advanced on Will. “You made a deal with the coppers.”
“Unlike you,” Will said, “I own a conscience. I’d never betray Moira.” He patted Marie’s hand. “You convinced me where my loyalties lie. You also knew Moira never sent those lovesick emails to Davey.”
“Of course she wouldn’t,” Marie said. “Moira spoke perfect French. When it came to love, she always wrote in longhand and in French. It’s much more romantic.” She stroked Will’s cheek. “Isn’t that so, darling?”
“Those emails you gave me when you came to dinner?” Beth asked. “I took them to Moira, but she was ill and irrational, so I decided to wait until she felt better and could deal with the situation. It wasn’t until later that day that I realized the case containing the emails was gone from my bag. Knowing what a snoop Elise was, I believed she’d gone through my things, found the case, and put it aside to read the contents at her leisure. When I phoned to ask her about the case, she swore she hadn’t kept it.”
“That might be true,” Glen said. “Apparently the maid removed the case but returned it to the wrong purse.” He glanced at Judith. “Then the emails disappeared from Grimloch where they’d been taken inadvertently. Unfortunately, we don’t know who wrote them.”
“I do,” Will said grimly. “Jocko concocted the emails to prove that Moira and Davey were having an affair.” He ignored Jocko’s voluble protests and paused to give the other man a venomous stare. “You created those emails before fleeing to Greece. I found them in your safe at headquarters. You forgot that as chief financial officer, I know all the safe combinations. I also turned up some very interesting and imaginative figures intended to bloat the company’s bottom line.”
“Bloody parasite!” Jocko shouted, and had to be restrained by Glen. “You’d betray your own mother if you thought it’d line your fancy bespoke pockets!”
Renie smirked. “I didn’t think Jocko knew words like ‘bespoke.’ His own clothes look like he bought them at Rummage ‘R’ Us.”
Will’s gaze turned to Archie. “The police have found them in your garage. I learned from Moira that you, Seumas,” he went on, pointing a finger at the attorney, who had resumed his usual air of smug respectability, “went to Hollywood House to supposedly apologize for the dustup you and Jocko had with Patrick. Elise turned you away—but not before you managed to elicit the information that the maid had erroneously put the jewel case in Mrs. Flynn’s purse instead of Beth’s.”
“Please,” Seumas said with disdain. “Leave me out of this farce.”
“Are you taking notes?” Renie asked Judith.
“I don’t need to,” she said. “Beth is Kate’s daughter. The apple never falls far from the tree. I bet this whole mess is being taped.”
Will was still speaking: “Don’t play the innocent with me, Seumas. You relayed that information to Jocko, who had Archie steal the case from Mrs. Flynn when he came to
Grimloch about Gibbs’s car.”
“Of course!” Judith whispered to Renie. “We knew Archie had been at the castle that day.”
“Your batting average on this one’s pretty high—” Renie stopped, looking startled.
Archie had set upon Will. Jocko broke free from Constable Glen to join his brother in the fracas. Glen blew his whistle, summoning Adamson from outside. Seumas and Matt argued loudly; Philip shielded Beth; Marie smashed a table lamp over Archie’s head; Peggy curled up in a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Where are our husbands?” Renie said suddenly. “Joe could shoot these people and Bill could ship the survivors to a mental home.”
Judith sighed. “Let’s not think about it. I’m getting a headache.”
Adamson and Glen had subdued the combatants just before DCI MacRae entered the drawing room, accompanied by Sergeant Ogilvie and two more constables. MacRae turned to Jocko Morton. “I’m placing you under arrest for complicity in the murder of Harry Gibbs,” he announced.
Jocko started to bluster but Seumas spoke up: “Don’t say a word! I’m your attorney, remember?”
Adamson cuffed Jocko, who glared at Seumas. MacRae faced the other Morton and recited the same charge to Archie. “You,” MacRae said to Seumas, “are a person of interest, and will come along, too.” He looked at Matt. “The Yard’s special unit will deal with you. Don’t leave the area.”
“What about Patrick?” Seumas demanded. “He’s already been charged with homicide and you let him get away.”
“Did I?” MacRae smiled slightly. “Careless of me.” He herded the group out the door.
A solemn Matt Gibbs went to his wife. “Get up, Peggy.” He shook her recumbent figure gently. “It’s over.” He sighed. “It’s all over.”
Peggy sat up slowly and let her husband ease her out of the chair. She leaned on him, her eyes half shut. “It wasn’t worth it,” she mumbled. “The price was too high.” Without looking at anyone, she let Matt guide her out of the room.
“My God!” Beth exclaimed. “I’m not sure I understand any of this!”
Philip held his head in his hands. “What is there to understand? A conspiracy of greedy people destroyed the lives of my Chuckie and Harry Gibbs, all for their own gain. The age of the robber baron never ended. It’s stronger than ever in big business these days.”
“But who actually killed Harry?” Beth asked.
Philip looked at Will; Will looked at Marie; Marie looked at Beth; Judith and Renie looked at all of them.
“I don’t know,” Philip finally said in a weary voice.
“I think I do.” Judith grimaced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t intrude.”
Everyone, including Renie, turned to stare at her. Feeling a bit foolish and worn out from worrying, Judith sank into the chair Peggy Gibbs had vacated. “First,” she began as Renie handed her a half inch of Scotch, “I have to ask you a question, Will.”
He looked surprised. “Well…of course.”
“Why did you really switch sides?”
Will put his arm around Marie. “It was my wife who insisted.”
Judith smiled slightly. “That’s not the entire reason.”
Will laid his head back on the sofa. “No. It was Jimmy. He desperately wanted to take over the company. The man is driven, eaten alive by resentment over his illegitimate birth and deprived of what he feels is his inheritance.” Will paused and sat up straight. “Jimmy is astute and competent, with an excellent head for business. Given Moira’s indifference to Blackwell, Harry’s meddling, and Jocko urging me to alter the company’s books to make him look better as well as richer, I believed it was in everyone’s best interests to have Jimmy in charge.”
“What made you change your mind?” Judith asked.
“Jocko came back from Greece,” Will explained. “Jimmy was furious. I’d told him about Jocko’s attempts at deception with company records. Instead of telling the police, he did nothing. I knew something was going on behind my back. It was the South American buyout.”
“Which,” Philip put in, “would’ve placed Harry in charge.”
Will nodded. “On the day of Harry’s murder, I ran into Jimmy at the Rood & Mitre. I thought it odd. He rarely frequented pubs, and when he did, he had a drink and left. Then I heard about Harry. I figured Jimmy was giving himself an alibi.”
“But,” Beth pointed out, “he was in the pub, so he couldn’t have committed the actual crime.”
“He didn’t,” Judith said. “But he put everything in motion, including connivance with Jocko and Archie Morton.”
“How do you know that?” Marie asked.
Judith shrugged. “All along, I felt jealousy was the motive. It caused Davey’s death, the jealous husband angle.” She saw the expressions of surprise and incredulity on the two couples’ faces. “Jocko goaded Harry into murdering Davey, hoping Harry would get caught and go to prison. But someone—Patrick, I suspect—put pressure on Hugh MacGowan to hold off with the investigation. Or was it you, Will?”
Will sadly shook his head. “Both of us. Moira and the company couldn’t afford that kind of scandal, not with Jocko already playing the numbers game. When Jocko left for Greece right after Davey’s death, we urged MacGowan to back off until Jocko came back—which we were sure he’d do eventually.”
Judith nodded. “Jocko figured the motive for Davey’s murder could be used again for Harry’s. The work of a jealous lover, this time around it was Patrick. If Jocko could concoct a romance between Moira and Davey, why not do the same with Moira and Patrick? She was very close to both men. But who told Jocko about Matt and Peggy’s schemes in Venezuela?”
“Archie?” Will guessed.
Judith shook her head. “He had no entrée into Blackwell except through his brother. It had to be Jimmy. Somehow he found out what the Gibbses were up to, and could only stop them by killing Harry. He wouldn’t do the dirty work, so the Morton brothers did it for him. Jimmy and the Mortons were kin. Jimmy’s mother was married to Archie and Jocko’s cousin. Family—or clan ties, if you will—mean a great deal around here.”
Marie nodded. “That’s so, even among villains. But who actually smothered Harry?”
Judith grimaced. “Archie Morton is my best guess. His repair shop was close to the beach. No one would question his presence there. I can’t see Jocko sullying his hands with murder. But Archie might if his brother and Jimmy promised to pay him well.” She shot Renie a wry glance. “My cousin gave me the idea.”
“I did?” Renie said in surprise.
Judith nodded. “You mentioned that Archie couldn’t be a real mechanic because he didn’t have dirt under his fingernails. At the time, I thought that was just you, being perverse and getting into it with Archie. Then I realized you were right. Archie’s conscience may have bothered him. Like Pontius Pilate, he literally wanted to wash his hands of the whole tragedy. Not to mention that he’d know about forensic science, being in the car repair business and having to deal with the police about vehicles that had been involved in crimes. He probably spent the next few days after the murder washing and washing his hands and clothes.”
“Hunh,” Renie said. “Even Lumpa-Lumpa gets an aria.”
Philip looked puzzled. “What?”
“Never mind,” Judith said. “Jimmy set everything in motion, using the others to get control of Blackwell and going back to Davey’s death. The rest of them were his puppets.”
“But what about Chuckie?” Beth asked.
Judith sighed. “I wondered if Chuckie had recognized Harry’s killer through his binoculars,” she said. “I also conjectured that he’d seen the killer here at Grimloch. After the explosion, people rushed to see what had happened. The killer needed time to escape and could have sought refuge in the castle. The elevator had been used after my cousin and I took it. Then Chuckie bragged about his knowledge. At first, I assumed his killer and Harry’s was the same person. Then I realized Chuckie’s killer knew this castle intimately, which ruled out
most of the other suspects. It also dawned on me that someone else could’ve gone down to the beach and returned before we did.” Judith pressed her lips together before addressing Philip. “I believe Gibbs killed your son.”
Why?” Philip demanded, rising halfway out of his chair.
“I think you know,” Judith said somberly. “Gibbs was torn apart by his grandson’s death. A son for a son, an eye for an eye…” She paused, looking away. “But more than that, it was your purchase of Grimloch that neither of the Gibbses could forgive—or forget.”
Philip looked aghast. “I did them a favor! That was almost thirty years ago. Matthew and Peggy were foolishly throwing the family’s money around to finance all their ridiculous schemes. They were both unethical and damned lucky they didn’t end up in prison. The price I offered was fair, given all the work that needed to be done to restore and renovate this place. My God, they should’ve been grateful, not resentful!”
“It didn’t work that way,” Judith said quietly. “Both of the elder Gibbses had misplaced anger. They definitely resented what you’d done and your presence here. They felt like peasants with you as their feudal lord. It must’ve seemed so unfair to them when Harry was murdered. To his grandparents, he was perfect, while Chuckie was tragically flawed. The irony wasn’t lost on them. Gibbs is old, but strong as an ox.” Again she gazed at Philip. “I’m so sorry.”
Philip closed his eyes. “God help me, so am I.”
Well?” Renie said after the cousins went up to the Joneses’ room. “Why didn’t you tell me your solutions sooner?”
“I wasn’t sure until we got to the Fordyce suite and I had time to hear what everybody said,” Judith explained a bit sheepishly. “And Gibbs’s guilt only came to me after I pondered what Mrs. Gibbs told us in the kitchen.”
Renie’s expression was sour. “Okay. I think. Thanks for the credit you gave me regarding Archie. Now what?”
“We wait.” Judith was staring out of the window, where a heavy rain still fell. “What else can we do?”