by Mary Daheim
Judith’s mind traveled back to that chilly October night in Normandy. “Yes. The house was dark, it looked run-down, and when we finally rang the bell nobody answered. We almost grabbed our suitcases and ran off.”
“Oh yes. It was raining and blowing like mad. We were sure the owners were inside plotting our imminent demise.” Renie grinned. “Instead they had the lights out and wouldn’t come to the door because they wanted to finish watching a rerun of I Love Lucy. In French.”
Judith smiled. “So I’m imagining the atmosphere at Grimloch?”
Renie was studying the daffodil and hyacinth greenery that was poking its way out of the peaty ground. “I can’t dismiss the murder that’s occurred since we arrived, but we should be used to it.”
“If people knew about my track record when it comes to dead bodies,” Judith said, “they’d avoid me like the plague.”
“But they don’t,” Renie pointed out. “As I told you years ago when the first homicide happened at Hillside Manor, it was good advertising.”
Judith grimaced. “I’ve never been convinced of that. Most people don’t pay attention to anything that goes on outside of their own little world.” She looked around the courtyard again. All seemed quiet except for the flags that fluttered gently at half-staff in the occasional wind from the sea. “There’s a third flag today,” Judith noted. “It’s got the stag’s head on it. They must hoist it when The Master’s in residence.”
“Makes sense,” Renie said. “So what are we going to do with ourselves until Bill and Joe get back later today?”
Judith considered. “Do you suppose there’s a taxi?”
“Land or water?”
“We can walk to the beach now,” Judith pointed out. “Let me use my cell. I’ll call local directory information. I wonder if I just dial zero…”
Renie was sorting through her wallet. “I’ve got a number on my bill from the woolen shop. Try that.” She handed the invoice to Judith.
“They won’t be open,” Judith said, but tried the number anyway. There was neither a live response nor a recorded message. “Drat.”
“Hold on,” Renie said. “Bill gave me a list of helpful contacts before we left home. You know how thorough he is. I forgot I had it in my…Ah!” Renie read from her husband’s hand-printed list. “Directory assistance for Scotland is 192.”
Judith dialed the three digits. An operator answered, asking for what city or town. Judith said St. Fergna. The ring changed to a different sound but was picked up on the third beep. The voice at the other end sounded strangely familiar.
“I’m calling from Grimloch Castle,” Judith said. “Is there a taxi service in the village?”
“Mrs. Jones? Or is it Mrs. Flynn?” asked the female voice on the other end. “This is Alison, from the woolen shop.”
Judith laughed. “I thought you sounded like someone I knew,” she said. “It’s Mrs. Flynn. We feel stranded. Are you the local directory service person in addition to working in the store?”
“I have two jobs,” Alison said. “I’m saving to get married. There’s not much to do here in winter. There’s no taxi as such, but my fiancé, Barry, can give you a lift. He’s bored. Where do you want to go?”
“We’re not sure,” Judith admitted, “but we’ll make up our minds by the time he gets here. How soon, do you think?”
“Let me ask him.” Alison turned away from the phone. Judith could still hear her voice, followed by a brief male response. “Five minutes, if you like, Mrs. Flynn.”
“That sounds fine,” Judith said. “We’ll pay, of course.”
“Well…you don’t have to. Barry’s not a very good driver. But we can use the money.”
“Of course,” Judith said. “We’ll head for the beach. Thank you so much.” She hung up and grinned at Renie. “A local lad who apparently has no connection to the castle and its crew. He may prove very helpful.”
Renie sighed. “Here we go again.”
When Judith and Renie got out of the lift, they noticed that there were several people on the beach in both directions. Families, couples, young, old, and in-between—but no one was within a hundred yards of the strand in front of the castle. Although there was no visible barrier, apparently there was an understanding between the villagers and Philip Fordyce. It might be the twenty-first century, but when his flag flew over Grimloch, The Master still reigned in his fiefdom.
The cousins had almost reached the parking area when a small old car came rattling down the track. Judith couldn’t distinguish the make or model, but parts of it were painted blue, other parts red, and the rest of the exterior was rusted out.
“Hallo!” called the driver, leaning out through the window. Except, Judith realized as she approached the beat-up vehicle, there was no window. A clear plastic flap was held in place by a big piece of masking tape. “I’m Barry MacPherson. You must be the American ladies.”
“We are,” Judith said. “Thanks for coming to get us.”
“Gives me something to do,” Barry replied cheerfully. “Which of you is which?”
The cousins introduced themselves. Barry nodded. He was in his early twenties, with a crown of dark red hair shaved into a mullet. He had freckles, and although he was sitting, he struck Judith as the lanky type, with long fingers and big knuckles.
“So,” Barry said, “you being the tall one, Mrs. Flynn, sit up front, please. Mrs. Jones, you’ll have to make do in the backseat. Just move the trash. I didn’t take time to tidy up as I wanted to collect you before the tide came in much higher.”
Judith glanced at the backseat. Or in the area of the backseat, since it wasn’t visible, but was covered with discarded fast-food boxes, CDs, items of clothing, and a small cage containing a dwarf hamster.
“That’s The Bruce,” Barry said. “He bites. Mind your fingers.”
“I bite, too,” Renie said, showing off her large front teeth. “And I’m much bigger.” Reluctantly, she crawled into the backseat and started making room for herself. “The hamster’s cute,” she said. “He smells like fish and chips.” Seeing the grease-stained newspaper wrappings, she went on: “Everything smells like fish and chips. Or worse. We have a dwarf lop bunny named Clarence. We keep him very fresh. He doesn’t bite, but he’s got a mean left hook.”
Barry chuckled good-naturedly. “The Bruce goes everywhere with me, even to work.”
“Where do you work?” Judith inquired, settled into the passenger seat despite the feel of broken springs poking her bottom.
“At Tonio’s Pizza,” Barry replied, gunning the car into gear before attempting the climb up to the village. “I deliver.”
Renie had settled into the backseat. “I smell pizza, too.”
Judith gritted her teeth at the grinding of gears. “I didn’t see a pizza parlor in the High Street yesterday.”
“One street off the High,” Barry replied, leaning into the steering wheel as if to coax the car up the steep track. “Where are we going?”
Fortunately, they were going up at the moment, slowly and noisily, but the hill was finally crested. “We’d like to know what’s in and around the village,” Judith said. “We arrived Friday night, so we couldn’t see our immediate surroundings.”
“Arrived just in time for the murder,” Barry remarked. “Very exciting for these parts. Just like the telly. I don’t think we’ve ever had a murder before, at least not in my time. Maybe the Mafia’s moved to St. Fergna.” The young man sounded thrilled at the prospect. “You’re not…what’s the term? ‘Mobbed up’?”
“No,” Judith replied. “We’re very respectable.” They were moving up the High Street’s incline. “Did you know Harry Gibbs?” she asked.
“Me?” Barry laughed. “Harry and Barry, a couple of mates. Not bloody likely. Excuse my language. Harry was a cut above. No chum for the likes of me.”
“Where did he live when he wasn’t at the castle?” Judith asked.
Barry glanced at Judith. “You don’t know?”
Judith shook her head. “We’re not friends of the family. Our stay was arranged by a fishing companion of our husbands.”
“Awkward,” Barry remarked, braking at the fork in the road by the village green. “That is, you must feel peculiar being caught up in this murder thing. What have we here?”
Barry was looking at the green where at least fifty people had assembled. A stout middle-aged man in tweeds appeared to be giving a speech from the bandstand.
“It’s ruddy Morton,” Barry murmured. “I’ll be frigged. He’s back.”
“From where?” Judith asked. “Who is he?”
“Jocko Morton,” Barry replied, letting the engine sputter and idle. “He’s Blackwell Petrol’s CEO, but he did a bunk a while back, called it taking a leave, and went to Greece. What’s he carrying on about?”
Judith tried to roll down her window but it was stuck. A florid-faced Morton was waving his pudgy hands. “Can you hear him?” she asked Barry, who was leaning his head out on the driver’s open side.
“Some. He’s telling the crowd how wonderful he is and what he can do for Blackwell Petroleum and for St. Fergna and for God and country. Full of wind, that’s Jocko Morton. He likes to be the pukka sahib, thinks he knows how to run everybody’s life better than they do.”
The gathering gave a great shout. Several people were pumping their fists in the air and others were jumping up and down. Barry’s expression turned curious. “Riled up, I’d say. Why, I wonder?”
“Flyers are being passed around by a man who looks like Jocko,” Judith noted. “Can you get us one?”
“That’s Jocko’s brother Archie,” Barry said, starting to get out of the car. “He runs the local garage. Be right back.”
Barry jogged off to fetch a flyer. The car started to inch forward, heading toward the green. “Why are we moving?” Renie asked.
“I don’t think Barry set the emergency brake,” Judith said, leaning across the front seat. “I found it.”
The car kept going, despite Judith’s hard tug on the brake. “Damn! I don’t think it works.”
The car kept crawling along, edging ever nearer to the oblivious gathering that spilled out almost into the street. Judith pulled again on the brake lever. It still didn’t stop the old rattletrap from moving. “Look out!” she cried in warning. But the crowd couldn’t hear her. Just as she was certain they were going to mow down a half dozen villagers, Barry sprinted back to the car and jumped in.
“Sorry,” he said, fumbling under the dashboard and pulling on a rope. “I should get this fixed, but then I don’t have many emergencies.” The car stopped six inches short of any would-be victims.
Judith was aghast. “You use a rope to pull on the brake?”
Barry shrugged. “It works, doesn’t it?” He handed Judith a flyer, his face grim. “Kind of ugly. They’re calling Mrs. Gibbs a murderer. Or would she be a murderess?”
“Let’s hope she’s not either one,” Judith replied.
Renie leaned over the seat to look at the white sheet of paper with the bold black lettering. “Jezebel? Whore? Scorpion? As in the critters that kill their mates?”
“Jocko Morton doesn’t seem to be in his company owner’s corner,” Judith said. “This is inflammatory.” She looked up from the flyer. Jocko used a bullhorn to call for quiet. The crowd finally stopped spewing what sounded like venom, but not before Archie Morton emerged from the fringe and appeared to make some threats.
“Save your strength for the inquest,” Jocko shouted. “Let the rich know that they can’t get away with murder!”
The crowd burst into another round of cheers and chants. Even from a distance, Judith could tell that Jocko looked smug. “I don’t get it,” she remarked. “He’s Blackwell’s CEO and he wants Moira arrested?”
“That’s not so mysterious,” Renie said. “There must be a fight over top-level decision-making, and Jocko thinks Moira’s an obstacle to his position and livelihood. I’ve seen it before with some of my graphic design clients. Dog-eat-dog, and it’s not always the money, but ego.”
Judith turned to Barry. “Where’s Hollywood?” she asked as the name suddenly popped into her head.
“To the left,” Barry said, and turned in that direction. “That’s where Harry lived when he wasn’t at the castle. It’s Moira’s house. Very nice, though I’ve only delivered there twice.”
The elderly car made several strange noises as they passed whitewashed cottages and a row of stone houses. Moments later they were going through the rather flat countryside. Judith didn’t recognize all of the trees that flanked the road, though she saw several tall rowans in bud and a few wild rhododendron bushes.
She judged they’d gone about two miles when Barry slowed down. “The gate to Hollywood’s on your right. We can’t go in, but you can get a glimpse of…Oh, bloody hell! I’m out of petrol!”
The car began to go even slower as Barry fought the wheel to reach the narrow verge. “Sorry. I’d have checked the gauge, but it broke.”
Judith turned to look at Renie, who had been unusually quiet during the ride. Her cousin was petting the hamster in her lap.
“He reminds me of Clarence,” she said. “He’s so soft, and he only tried to bite me once.”
“Great,” Judith murmured. Her thoughts weren’t with Clarence or the hamster or even Renie. She’d been given a golden opportunity and intended to seize it. “Would Moira Gibbs have any petrol to spare?”
Barry chuckled. “Aye, she does at that. But we mustn’t bother her at such a time. I can walk back to the village.” He snapped his fingers. “I forgot. The petrol pump’s closed for the Sabbath.”
“How far are we from the gate to Hollywood?” Judith inquired.
“Just up there,” Barry said, pointing to a stone marker less than twenty-five yards away.
“We have no choice,” Judith declared. “We’ll have to walk to Moira’s house. We met her yesterday at the graveyard.” She turned back to Renie. “Put the hamster in his cage, coz. Let’s go.”
Barry, however, proved reluctant. “We shouldn’t, truly,” he insisted. “Mrs. Gibbs must be all weepy and sad.”
“Then we’ll console her,” Judith said, getting out of the car.
The door fell off.
“Oh no!” she cried. “I’m so sorry!”
“Never mind. It does it all the time,” Barry assured her. “I can tie you in with the emergency brake rope on the way back. I don’t know what I’d do without that rope. Really handy, it is.”
Judith and Barry walked up the road. Renie trailed, having taken the time to restore The Bruce to his little wire home. Turning in at the stone marker, which bore the engraved name hollywood house, Judith noticed that the iron gates were shut. She could see a Georgian house with a circular drive where a red BMW sports car was parked.
She could also hear laughter.
It didn’t sound to Judith as if Moira Gibbs was mourning her late husband.
9
Moira Gibbs and the man named Patrick were holding hands as they started up the steps to the elegant three-story house. Judith recognized Patrick from his sturdy build and the leather jacket he’d worn when he met Jimmy on the beach after the explosion.
The couple apparently hadn’t seen the trio at the gate. Judith called to them while Renie looked for a buzzer or an intercom. Barry, however, simply gaped in disbelief at Patrick and Moira.
“That’s no way to act,” Barry muttered. “If somebody blew up Alison, I’d feel quite glum.”
Judith’s shouts were ignored by the couple, who headed inside the house without turning around. Renie, however, had found a keypad. She poked a button labeled visitor. Judith could hear a stilted masculine voice respond.
“You got gas?” Renie asked.
“Pardon?” the masculine voice said, sounding affronted.
“Gas, petrol, whatever you call it here. We’re stuck,” Renie said. “Tell Moira that Hugh MacGowan wouldn’t like us having problems. The n
ame’s Jones, by the way. The other one is Flynn. Moira knows us.”
Judith was leaning over Renie’s shoulder. She heard a woman respond but couldn’t make out the words. After a brief pause the stilted voice resumed speaking. “You may enter. The mistress will see you.”
“Nice work,” Judith said to Renie as the gates opened smoothly.
“Amazing!” Barry exclaimed under his breath. “I wouldn’t have dared in a million years!”
“Pushy Americans,” Renie said. “That’s why everybody hates us. We have no manners.”
The cousins started up the drive until Judith realized that Barry was still standing outside the gate. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’ll stay by the car. I wouldn’t want anyone to steal it. Ha-ha.”
“‘Ha-ha’ is right,” Renie murmured. “Nobody would steal that crate even for spare parts.”
“He’s obviously intimidated by his so-called betters,” Judith said.
“That’s the problem,” Renie said. “We think we’re better, too.”
“I think it’s called equality,” Judith pointed out.
Renie shrugged. “It’s the same thing.”
Moira Gibbs stood in the open front door, which was painted a bright blue. She was wearing a white wool dress with a glittering ruby brooch. “Come in,” she said, with a touch of warmth in her voice. “Pay no attention to Fergus. He’s beyond stodgy, but it’s difficult to find butlers these days. He’s been with the family since before I was born.”
She led the way past the colonnade and into the main hall with its soaring ceiling, marble statuary, and elegant plasterwork. “We’ll go into the library,” Moira said. “I arrived only a few ticks ahead of you.”
The library was large, complete with a balcony, wood paneling, and ladders to access books on the top shelves. Since no one was in the handsome room, Judith figured that Patrick was being discreet and making himself scarce.
Moira invited the cousins to sit in the leather chairs that formed a semicircle in the middle of the room. “A drink, perhaps?”
