Scots on the Rocks

by Mary Daheim

  “Nae!” Gibbs cried. “Not wi’ The Master here!”

  “But…” Judith’s patience snapped. “We saw an emergency vehicle arriving. The police may be there already. What’s wrong with you people? Where is the…Mr. Fordyce?”

  “Gone,” Gibbs replied without expression.

  “Then,” Judith said emphatically, “he’s not here.”

  “I’m getting my cell phone,” Renie muttered.

  “No!” Mrs. Gibbs wrung her hands. “Ye’ll cause only harm!”

  “Shove it,” Renie snarled, and rushed back up the stairway.

  Judith didn’t blame her cousin, but Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs were in obvious distress. “We only want to help,” Judith said quietly. “It’s frustrating not to know what’s happened.”

  Mrs. Gibbs was sobbing, her pink cheeks pale and her fingers pressing her forehead. Ignoring Judith, Gibbs moved closer to his wife.

  “Come, come, lass, let’s have a wee dram.” Gently, he guided Mrs. Gibbs down the passageway.

  Judith heard their footsteps echo on the stone floor even after they were out of sight. She guessed they had retreated to the kitchen. The walls seemed to be closing in. Her thin cotton jacket didn’t ward off the drafts. She tried to imagine nobles and servants, soldiers and clerics, all engaged in their routines in the castle precincts. Grimloch had been built for protection, but its old stones felt menacing to Judith.

  A sudden sound startled her. She let out a little yip before she saw Renie coming from the stairwell.

  “This phone doesn’t work well inside these walls,” Renie declared. “Here,” she said, tossing Judith’s new cape at her. “We’re going outside.”

  Judith saw that Renie was wearing her fur-lined raincoat. “And?”

  “We call the cops,” Renie replied, leading the way to the main entrance. “We look over the ramparts to see what’s happening on the beach. We find out what blew up. We get chilled and catch bad colds and ruin our vacation.”

  Mist was settling over the courtyard. There was no moon, but Judith could still see the fire’s glow lighting up the night sky. She could hear voices but couldn’t make out the words.

  “I should’ve brought a flashlight,” Renie muttered. “Oh well. Let’s take the lift down to the beach.”

  “I thought we were going to watch from the ramparts,” Judith said.

  “We can’t,” Renie responded, “because of the mist. Oops!” Renie stumbled on an uneven stone but caught herself. “Aren’t you curious?”

  “Well…” Judith paused. “I had this crazy idea that I was going to relax and enjoy myself. No worries. Just R&R instead of B&B.”

  “You’d be bored,” Renie pointed out as the lift doors opened.

  “It may be nothing serious,” Judith said as the cage rattled and clattered. “It may not have been Harry Gibbs’s car that was on fire. For all we know, this is a public beach.”

  “It doesn’t work that way over here,” Renie asserted. “It’s staked out with the cement parking areas for the castle’s visitors’ cars. Didn’t you notice the ‘Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted’ sign at the top of the beach road when Gibbs brought us back from the village?”

  “No,” Judith answered as the lift lurched to a stop. “I was too busy trying to hang on in the sidecar.”

  Stepping onto the beach, the cousins saw that the tide had receded several yards since their return from St. Fergna. It was, however, still impossible to reach the mainland without getting soaked to the knees.

  “The fire’s burning out,” Judith said, peering through the mist. “Is that an ambulance or a fire truck parked off of the road?”

  “I can’t tell,” Renie admitted.

  She had barely finished speaking when more flashing lights could be seen coming down the track to the beach.

  “Damn!” Judith swore softly. “This is frustrating. If that was Harry’s car that caught fire and—or—blew up, where’s Harry?”

  “Harry—and his car—may have left a long time ago,” Renie pointed out. “It’s almost seven o’clock. For all we know, it’s a prank.”

  Judith looked at Renie. “You know it’s not.”

  Grim-faced, Renie nodded once.

  Judith rearranged her cape, which she’d donned in a hurry. “This is very warm. The tags are still on it.”

  “I didn’t have time to cut them…” Renie stopped. “Can you row?” She pointed to the skiff that was tied up near the lift. “Why don’t we go ashore? Frankly, we could almost wade through the water.”

  “Not in my new cape we don’t,” Judith replied. “And we can’t row with your virtual shoulder replacement and my artificial hip.”

  “We don’t have to,” Renie said. “The shore’s coming to us.”

  Two men were moving toward the cousins through the outgoing tide that splashed no higher than the ankles of their mid-calf boots.

  “Hallo!” one of them called. “Stay as you are, please.”

  As the pair came closer, Judith saw that they were both in police uniform. Constables, she guessed, as the mist cleared enough so that she could see firefighters extinguishing the blaze on the far shore.

  “What’s happened?” she asked when the men were closer.

  “Names, please?” the shorter policeman queried in a soft burr.

  The cousins spoke simultaneously:

  “Judith Flynn.”

  “Serena Jones.”

  “We’re guests at Grimloch Castle,” Judith explained, noticing that their name tags read adamson and glen.

  “From the States?” Glen inquired.

  Judith nodded. “We got here yesterday.”

  “You’d best go back to the castle,” Adamson said.

  Judith noticed that they were both young, probably not yet thirty. “Can you tell us what happened? We heard an explosion.”

  “No need for concern,” Glen said stoically.

  Judith persisted. “Was it a…bomb?”

  “Please return to Grimloch.” Adamson’s voice turned sharp.

  “But,” Judith countered, “we must tell Hugh MacGowan.”

  The policemen exchanged glances. They seemed surprised that Judith knew the name. “Detective Inspector MacGowan?” said Adamson.

  Judith assumed that was MacGowan’s title. “He’s our host. Right now he’s fishing with our husbands. Have you spoken with him?”

  Renie brandished her cell phone. “I’ll call Bill so he can tell Hugh.”

  “No!” Glen turned red. “That is, we’ll do it. It’s police business. Ma’am,” he added, and tugged at his cap, “there’s been an accident.”

  “We realize that,” Judith said calmly. “Did it involve injuries?”

  “Yes.” Adamson grimaced. “A fatality.”

  “Who?” Judith asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Adamson said. “We can’t say until next of kin are notified. We’re waiting for assistance.”

  Judith looked over to the bank where the fire had practically burned out. Flashlights played around the area, probably wielded by emergency personnel. “Was it Harry Gibbs?”

  Neither constable replied.

  “If so,” Judith said, “you must inform his grandparents.”

  “Regulations,” Adamson said. “Next of kin first.”

  “Of course.” Judith nodded. “Moira, his wife.”

  Again, the men said nothing.

  “How very sad,” Judith said softly. “With a new baby and all. He had everything to live for.”

  The constables both touched their caps in salute. “If you’ll excuse us…” Glen said politely.

  “Sure,” Renie said. “I guess it’s over for Rover.”

  Adamson looked puzzled. “Eh?”

  Renie waved at the sputtering flames. “The Rover. Harry’s car.”

  The policemen walked away. Up by the track that led to the beach, several people had gathered to gawk. Apparently they weren’t being allowed to come closer. Of course, Judith realized, the sands weren’t only an
accident scene, but private property.

  She flipped the cape’s hood over her head as a breeze picked up off the water. The salt air was strong; the receding surf was muffled. “The victim must be Harry. He’s so young. Moira’s a widow twice over.”

  “Are you thinking ‘accident’?” Renie asked.

  Judith frowned. “Just once, I’d like to avoid a murder.”

  Renie laughed harshly. “With your track record, don’t count on it.”

  Judith’s expression was bleak. “I won’t. What should we do? We can’t go back and face the Gibbses,” Judith said. “They suspect the explosion involved Harry, and we have no official word.”

  “Are you up to walking into the village?” Renie asked. “It’s either that or spending the night on the beach.”

  Judith considered their options. “I suppose we could have dinner in St. Fergna. But we still have to get back to the castle.” She stared as another vehicle drove onto the sands. “Somebody else just arrived. Let’s see who it is. The tide’s out enough that we won’t get our feet wet.”

  Judith and Renie proceeded with caution in the wet sand, watching for rocks or any debris that might cause them to stumble. As they grew closer to the accident site, they saw the constables’ footprints. Adamson and Glen were approaching the car that had just come to a stop. A man wearing a raincoat and hat got out from the driver’s side.

  Judith assumed he must be the local detective chief inspector—if that was indeed the correct title. But as the cousins moved closer, it was apparent that the newcomer was arguing with the constables.

  “Don’t patronize me,” he warned in a stern voice. “If it’s Harry, I’ll tell Moira.”

  Judith recognized Jimmy, Moira’s brother, from seeing him at the cemetery. The constables were trying to reason with him, but he brushed them aside. “Where’s the body?” he demanded.

  Adamson glanced at the other emergency personnel who were finishing their part in the disaster operation. At that moment, Jimmy spotted the cousins. “And who are you?” he asked in an imperious tone.

  “Does it matter?” Renie shot back.

  “Of course it does!” Jimmy exploded, striding closer to Judith and Renie. “Are you witnesses?” he asked in a calmer tone.

  “Are you a cop?” Renie asked.

  “No.” He jammed his hands in the raincoat’s pockets. He was over six feet tall, with a dark goatee and hooded dark eyes. “I’m an attorney.”

  Renie smirked. “We call them ambulance chasers in the States.”

  “You’re not in the States,” Jimmy said dryly. “I understand the pejorative term. I represent Blackwell Oil, as well as my sister, Moira Gibbs. Did you witness the accident?”

  Judith tried to nudge Renie out of the way. “We heard it. We’re staying at Grimloch Castle.”

  Jimmy looked displeased. “You’re friends of Philip Fordyce?”

  “Not exactly,” Judith said. She hesitated mentioning Hugh MacGowan. “It’s complicated.”

  “But you saw nothing? Were you here or at the castle?”

  “The castle,” Judith replied, as Renie wandered toward the track leading to the village. “You’re here because Moira’s husband is—”

  Before Judith could finish, Jimmy turned swiftly and raced to meet a man wearing a leather jacket and Levi’s. “Patrick!” Jimmy shouted. “Where…?” The rest of the question was lost in the mist.

  The two men engaged in deep conversation. After a minute or two, they walked over to the place where the Range Rover had burned into a smoking hulk. Judith noticed that the crowd at the top of the bank had grown. Half the village’s population had come to learn what caused the big bang.

  “Do you expect Bill and Joe to come back tonight?” Judith asked.

  “Only if MacGowan is called in because of this mess,” Renie said. “I don’t know the Highlands very well. Everything’s much smaller than at home in terms of distances. I don’t do kilometers.”

  “Neither do I,” Judith admitted. Her attention was diverted by the man in the leather jacket who was storming away from Jimmy and heading in the opposite direction from the track to the beach. “Jimmy must have said the wrong thing to that guy, too. He seems angry.”

  “He disappeared,” Renie noted. “There must be another way up from the beach.”

  Judith gazed at the steep track. “I don’t want to try climbing up that tonight. We’d have to go through the spectator section and then get back to Grimloch. I won’t pester Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs when their grandson has probably been killed. Let’s walk back to the castle and try to avoid the Gibbses until they get official notification.”

  “What about dinner?” Renie asked. “You must be starving.”

  Judith gave Renie a wry look. “I tend to lose my appetite when tragedies occur. You, on the other hand, could’ve eaten your way through a torture session with the Inquisition.”

  “I like Spanish food,” Renie said.

  “What do you suppose happened? Did Harry stay in his car the rest of the afternoon after his swim? Or did he go somewhere and come back later? Did you see him at the castle while I was napping?”

  “No,” Renie said. “His name wasn’t mentioned.”

  Judith slowed her step as the mist grew thicker. “I can’t see the castle but we must be almost there.”

  “We’d better be.” Renie finished speaking when the cousins were able to make out the dark stone walls rising above the rocky cliff. “Let’s hope we can summon the lift. It strikes me as problematical.”

  Judith grimaced at the sheer cliff with its rugged face covered in moss and lichen. Despite the darkness, a movement about ten feet above the ground caught her eye. She looked up.

  “It’s that bird Harry hated,” she said, “perched above us on a rock.”

  “Where? I can’t see it,” Renie complained.

  At that moment the great northern diver let out an eerie, haunting cry and flew off into the night. Judith shivered. “Never mind. It’s gone.”

  The lift arrived a few seconds later, heralded by the contraption’s creaks and groans. Moments later, Judith and Renie were moving across the courtyard. To their relief, the door was unlocked.

  “They must not need much security here,” Judith murmured.

  An eerie silence echoed through the empty passageway. Despite her cape, Judith could feel a draft. “Let’s go to your room,” she suggested as they wound their way up the stone staircase. “Maybe we can watch what’s happening on the beach.”

  After the cousins reached the Joneses’ room, Judith checked her watch. It was almost eight o’clock. She wondered if she should call Joe to tell him what had happened, but decided against it. If he and the other two men didn’t know, the news might ruin their fishing expedition. They’d find out soon enough, when they got back Sunday afternoon.

  “Where are Philip and Beth?” Judith asked as the cousins sat in the window embrasure. “Where’s Chuckie?”

  “Have you looked in the bathtub?”

  Judith sighed. “Beth can’t be his mother. She’s too young. And what did Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs mean when they said something about ‘it should be Moira’?”

  “Oh, coz,” Renie said resignedly, “you’re already turning this into a murder case. You don’t know if foul play was involved.”

  “Range Rovers don’t blow up on their own.” Judith resumed her speculations. “It should be Moira who blew up Harry? It should be Moira who was blown up? It should be Moira and Harry?”

  “Any or none of the above.” Renie leaned closer to the window. “Somebody’s coming. A car’s driving onto the beach parking area.”

  Judith peered through the old, irregular glass. “An unmarked car, dark color. But it’s not the Fordyce Daimler.”

  Two men got out and walked toward the lift. “Cops?” Renie said.

  “Could be.”

  The men disappeared, hidden by the cliff’s outcropping. “Should we go downstairs after they deliver the bad news?” Judith asked.<
br />
  “Wouldn’t that be intrusive?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs aren’t young. No one else seems to be around except for Chuckie,” Judith reasoned. “We may be virtual strangers, but we could offer some kind of support.”

  Renie considered. “And forage for food. Okay. Ten minutes?”

  “That sounds about right. Besides,” Judith went on, “we have to find out what happened.” She looked at her watch again. It was 8:06. Renie got up and began pacing around the room. Judith stayed by the window. The mist thinned and thickened, blown to and fro by the wind. The activity on the beach appeared to have diminished, and the onlookers on the bluff had dwindled to only a dozen or so curious souls.

  At fifteen minutes past eight, a knock on the door startled the cousins. Renie hurried to answer it.

  “Alpin MacRae,” the older of the two men announced. “Detective chief inspector, Moray division headquartered in Elgin. This is my sergeant, Malcolm Ogilvie. You must be the guests, Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones.”

  “Right,” Renie said as Judith joined her. “I’m Jones, she’s Flynn.”

  “No matter,” MacRae said easily. “We won’t tarry. The constables told us you were on the beach after the explosion.”

  “Yes,” Judith said. “Would you like to sit?”

  “No, thank you,” MacRae said politely. “This won’t take long. Do sit.” His keen blue eyes studied Judith. “You look quite tired.”

  “Well…I am, I guess,” Judith said, and sank into an arm-chair near the hearth. “I have an artificial hip. Walking too much wears me down. Not to mention the long flight.” She stopped speaking. MacRae was a big man whose solid presence invited confidences. His sergeant was no more than thirty, with fair hair and a skimpy mustache. He seemed somewhat intimidated, either by his surroundings or by his superior.

  MacRae had moved to the hearth, hands clasped behind his back. “You know Hugh MacGowan, I understand.”

  “Our husbands do,” Judith replied. “They’re on a fishing trip with him now. My husband is a retired police detective.”

  MacRae nodded and looked at Renie, who was sitting on a large oak chest at the foot of the bed. “Mr. Jones is a psychologist, I believe.”