by Mary Daheim
“I did,” Judith answered, “but I can wait.”
“Good thing,” Grizel commented, lighting a cigarette. “The woman with the eye patch is eating two orders.”
“She’s my cousin,” Judith said. “That’s interesting about Jimmy spending Saturday afternoon here. Has he done that before?”
“Never. Jimmy B told Will Fleming he had to work out some big problem and didn’t want to drive into Inverness to the Blackwell headquarters.” Grizel flicked ash into the sink. “Jimmy’s wife was ailing. A miscarriage, I heard. Maybe she wanted him out of the house.”
“Will Fleming was here all afternoon, too?”
Grizel shook her head. “Only to have a pint. Will works hard, often goes to Inverness Saturday mornings, then stops here before going home.” She shrugged. “Nice man. Quiet. Polite.”
“I’ve heard rumors about Moira and Patrick Cameron,” Judith said, wishing she hadn’t started to perspire in one of her new sweaters.
Grizel laughed. “Oh, Patrick! He does like the lassies! If Moira had married him instead of Harry, there wouldn’t be all this nasty talk.”
“But Patrick was already married,” Judith pointed out.
“Oh no,” Grizel insisted. “He was still a bachelor after Frankie Gunn fell off the twig. Patrick and Jeannie were wed only a year ago. Shame on him if he’s carrying on with Moira. Jeannie is—what’s that?” Grizel put out her cigarette in an ashtray and peeked under the canvas flap. Judith could hear raised voices and a great clatter. “Och!” Grizel exclaimed. “We’ve got a rumpus!” She raced to the kitchen door.
Dreading the worst, Judith followed. Her fear was well founded. Renie was shoving Archie Morton’s face into a salad bowl even as the blonde named Petula attacked her from the rear. A sharp elbow from Renie sent Petula sailing into the lap of an old man who was sitting ramrod straight at one of the tables. He ignored the blonde and took a toothless bite from his fish. Ian dropped a tray of drinks and was attempting to break up the melee. Several young people had taken the opportunity to plug in their iPods and dance on the bar.
“Coz!” Judith shouted. “Knock it off!”
Renie spotted Judith from the corner of her good eye. “The Arch Hog wanted all the salt, let’s see how he likes it now!” She leaned her full weight on the man as he struggled to get free. “Hey, Arch! Cry ‘uncle’!”
Renie’s victim made a muffled noise, though it didn’t sound like ‘uncle’ to Judith. Apparently it was good enough for Renie. She moved off of him and grabbed a napkin to wipe her hands. “Never tangle with a middle-aged woman who’s decked a coke addict in the Sacramento bus depot,” she shouted, referring to an incident from the past while she and Bill were Reno-bound. “Especially when she’s hungry.”
Wiping lettuce and dressing off of his face, Archie sputtered as he staggered to his feet. The old man at the table had finally noticed the blonde in his lap. “Get your hand off my tar-tar,” he rasped, and gave her a shove. She fell against Archie’s legs.
Renie was pointing to what was left of her meal for two, a hodgepodge of scattered chips, salad, and a piece of fish floating in her Dark Island ale. “I’m finished,” she called to Ian. “It was yummy.”
Ian was busy shooing the dancers off the bar. Grizel was clearing away the spilled drinks from the tray her son had dropped. Archie was working up a head of steam while peeling lettuce leaves from his cheek.
“I’ll bring charges!” he roared at Renie.
“Neener-neener,” Renie replied, tossing a generous amount of money on the part of the bar that wasn’t being used as a dance floor. “You started it, Chunky Monkey.”
Judith had gone to help Grizel. “I’m terribly sorry about this,” she said. “Mr. Morton must have done something to aggravate my cousin. She’s usually very…ah…refined.”
Renie was sashaying out of the pub, head held high, impervious to the mixed cheers and jeers from the other customers. Her exit was marred only by her attempt to open a window she mistook for the front door. Still appalled, Judith apologized again to Grizel and Ian before she followed her errant cousin.
“You!” Archie Morton called. “Which one of you Yank bitches attacked my brother Jocko?”
“Never heard of him,” Judith called over her shoulder. Archie’s efforts to come after her were frustrated by a bosomy redhead who wanted him to listen to hip-hop on her iPod and exchange a brake job for some other kind of job Judith didn’t want to hear.
Out of breath and sore of hip, Judith gratefully got out into the fresh, damp air of the misty night. Renie was nowhere in sight.
“Coz?” she called, wondering if her cousin had decided to hide from Archie in one of the nearby alleys or closes. The white cat crept out from behind a dustbin, haughty with gleaming golden eyes. “You can’t scare me,” Judith muttered. “I’m Sweetums’ human. I’ve seen it all.”
The mist swirled and ebbed through the narrow, winding cobbled side street. The cat was the only living creature Judith could see. There were no customers coming or going from the Rood & Mitre. She could hear a car out on the High Street and a snatch of laughter. Suddenly she was afraid, not just for herself but for Renie.
Feeling a need for the reassuring presence of ordinary people, Judith took a few steps back toward the pub. She felt slightly buoyed by the murmur of human voices, but realized that the sound wasn’t coming from the Rood & Mitre some ten yards away, but from outside. Cautiously, she walked past the entrance and turned the corner into a narrow walkway between the pub and the adjacent antiques shop. The voices—or rather the voice of a man—had become quite clear.
“You’re lying,” he said. “You must stop. Now.”
Judith saw the outline of a man whose back was turned to her. She couldn’t see the object of his threat, but she recognized the raincoat and slouch hat. It had to be Jimmy Blackwell, she thought with another rush of fear. She was almost certain he was talking to Renie, and his manner definitely didn’t sound friendly.
“Coz!” Judith shouted again. “I’m here!”
Renie’s head appeared from behind Jimmy’s shoulder. “Call the cops!” she yelled. “This guy’s assaulting me!”
“I am not assaulting you!” Jimmy retorted angrily. “I’m trying to help you! You’re in grave danger!” He glanced quickly at Judith. “So is she. Don’t be reckless. It’s none of your affair.”
Seeing that Renie didn’t appear to be in immediate danger, Judith gathered her courage. “Why do you think we know anything?” she asked, moving toward Jimmy and Renie.
Jimmy turned abruptly, looking at Judith from his six-foot-plus frame. He was imposing, with a bearing that was almost regal. “You’ve been meddling,” he said. “Asking questions. Going out of your way to make the acquaintance of any number of people connected to Harry Gibbs. That’s not typical behavior of vacationing Americans.”
“We’re at loose ends,” Judith said, shrugging. “What else can we do with no car and our husbands off fishing? We’re bored. We Yanks enjoy excitement. That’s why we have such a high crime rate.”
Jimmy looked more exasperated than angry. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “See here,” he went on, making an effort to lower his voice and sound reasonable, “I’m not threatening you, but giving a warning for your own good. You have no idea how your meddling can affect the wrong sort of people. I’ll be frank—the stakes are very high.”
Renie spoke before Judith could say anything. “I’d like to know what these stakes are, since they seem to be worth killing Harry Gibbs.”
“No, no,” Jimmy responded, looking aggrieved, “I didn’t say that. This is no place to talk. We should go somewhere less public.”
If no longer frightened, Judith remained wary. “Such as?”
“There’s a fine restaurant in a small hotel a short drive from here,” Jimmy said. “I have a car parked nearby. Shall we?”
Judith and Renie looked at each other. “Well…” Judith began, “I’m not sure. How do we know
you don’t intend to harm us?”
Jimmy’s exasperation returned. “Why would I? For God’s sake, I’m already in enough trouble for eluding the police when I tried to leave for Paris. You and one or two others are the only ones who know my whereabouts. I wouldn’t be talking to you if I didn’t feel you’re at risk.”
Judith was unconvinced. “A good reason to dump us over a cliff.”
Jimmy made a face. “Then why don’t one of you drive? Preferably the one who can see. It’s a rental, a simple Honda.”
“How about this?” Judith suggested. “I drive us down to the beach where we can talk. The tide’s going out and there can’t be many people strolling along the shore, so we’ll have privacy.”
“Fair enough,” Jimmy agreed. “The Honda’s parked near Morton’s garage, only a short walk from here.”
He led the way, stopping to make sure the street was empty. It wasn’t. Archie Morton and the blonde were coming out of the pub, arm in arm. Jimmy held out a hand to keep the cousins back in the shadows. Archie and his conquest went in the other direction.
“This way,” Jimmy murmured, heading down to the coast road.
They reached the High Street’s dead end where the mist was blowing more heavily in from the sea. Judith’s face felt damp by the time they crossed over to the side of the street where the car repair was located. Jimmy pointed out a dumpster not far from Archie’s office. “The Honda’s behind that,” he said quietly.
As they headed in the direction he’d indicated, Judith heard the sound of a car driving on the coast road. She looked behind her to make sure they were out of the way of any oncoming traffic. Due to the poor visibility, the car was creeping along.
They were some ten yards off of the verge when a voice called out: “James Blackwell, stop where you are! This is the police!”
Jimmy swore under his breath and paused for only an instant. Then, before Judith could see who had spoken, Jimmy ran off into the swirling mist.
18
Jimmy Blackwell had disappeared in the vicinity of the dumpster, a few feet away.
Malcolm Ogilvie and his superior, DCI Alpin MacRae, emerged from the gray cloud of fog. “Where’d he go?” Ogilvie asked.
Judith pointed to the dumpster that was almost concealed by mist. “Over there.”
“Go to our car!” MacRae shouted as the policemen gave chase.
The cousins hurried to the unmarked vehicle. “Who gave Jimmy up?” Renie asked after they’d gotten in the car.
“Archie?” Judith suggested, trying to settle into the backseat and ease her tired hip. “Maybe somebody else recognized Jimmy’s disguise.”
Renie had left the door open on her side, but her efforts to see anything were futile. “I thought I heard a car, but I can’t tell where the sound’s coming from. Say,” she said, brightening. “The cops left the keys in the ignition. Why don’t we steal this one?”
“Coz!” Judith looked horrified. “That is a crime!”
Renie’s expression was ingenuous. “Not if you make up a really good fib about why we did it.”
“I’d never do such a thing,” Judith asserted indignantly. “For heaven’s sake, I’m married to a retired policeman! What would Joe say?”
“Why does Joe have to find out?”
“Stop it,” Judith snapped. “Besides, even I couldn’t come up with a story that would keep us out of big trouble. We could be charged with aiding and abetting a fleeing criminal.” She grew silent. “Then again, maybe we should try to find the cops. We could…um…drive,” she added in an uncertain voice. “I mean, I could drive.”
“Okay.” Renie got out of the car and went to the front seat.
Trying to quiet her conscience, Judith also made the switch to the front seat. “I’m serious,” she said. “Jimmy had a car. MacRae and Ogilvie are on foot. We’ll find them and turn the car over.”
Renie stared at the windshield. “Of course we will.”
Demonstrating her good intentions, Judith started the car and backed up slowly along the verge until she could see a patchy grass and dirt surface she thought would lead them to the dumpster.
“Where are we?” Renie asked.
“I think we’re just a few yards from where Jimmy left the Honda.”
There was no car. There were no people, not Jimmy, not the two cops. “Jimmy must have driven off,” Judith speculated. “But where did MacRae and Ogilvie go? They don’t know St. Fergna like Jimmy does. He’d be able to use all sorts of escape routes.”
“It’s been less than ten minutes,” Renie pointed out. “Maybe the cops are lost in the fog.”
“That’s possible.” Judith glanced at her watch. “It’s dark as well as misty. I don’t know where to search.”
“You might try driving on a road,” Renie suggested. “The left-hand side, okay?”
“You’re holding out your right arm.”
“Huh? Oh!” Renie was chagrined. “I can’t see which is which.”
Judith turned the car around to head back to the coast road. “No cops,” she pointed out as they joined the road almost at the same spot where they’d started. “No backup in sight. I’m nervous. We can get into serious trouble for this stunt.”
“You prefer sitting in the mist on a dark night with a murderer loose and we’ve been warned several times that we’re in danger?” Renie shook her head. “It’s harder to catch a moving target. Keep driving.”
“Okay, we’ll keep moving. By the way, I gather Jimmy didn’t know about Chuckie or he’d have mentioned it. On the other hand, he was probably in the area when Chuckie was—” She jumped as a female voice came over the car’s radio. “This is Control. MacRae, please come in.” Judith eased the car to a stop. “MacRae, please come in,” the voice repeated as Judith and Renie stared stupidly at each other.
“DCI MacRae,” the woman said, slightly louder. “Are you there?”
Renie held up her hand for silence and poked several buttons on the radio. “Yes?” she said in her deepest voice, which even normally was a cross between Tallulah Bankhead and a bullfrog.
“Mrs. Marie Fleming of the Priory on Monk Road has reported her husband, Will Fleming, Blackwell Petroleum’s chief financial officer, as missing. Please contact her as soon as possible.”
The radio went silent.
“You just impersonated a police officer!” Judith exclaimed in horror. “We’re going to prison!”
“I didn’t claim to be MacRae,” Renie argued. “All I said was ‘yes.’”
Fingers clasping and unclasping the steering wheel, Judith shuddered. “I can’t believe we’re doing this! What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with me?” She took a deep breath and sat up straight. “And where’s Monk Road?”
Renie clicked open the glove compartment. “Let’s see if there’s a map. This isn’t MacRae and Ogilvie’s usual territory. Turn on the overhead light. Ah,” she said softly, “here it is. You have two eyes,” she added, handing the map to Judith. “You look.”
“It’s west a couple of miles,” Judith said after a brief pause. “It’s not on the water. We go through St. Fergna and then hook left twice.” She handed the map back to Renie. “We aren’t going there, are we?”
Renie shook her head. “Of course not.”
The cousins exchanged rueful glances.
“This is so wrong,” Judith said as she turned onto the deserted High Street. “But it’s possible that somehow MacRae and Ogilvie are at the Priory already. Maybe Marie Fleming came looking for them.”
Renie smirked. “As ever, coz, sound logic.”
“We have to start looking for them somewhere,” Judith retorted. She was almost to the fork in the road and the village green. “What’s that?” she said, espying a big banner stretched across the bandstand.
“Bedsheet?” Renie said. “Clothesline?”
Judith slowed to a stop. “It says ‘Tomorrow is Judgment Day—Inquest 10 a.m. Women’s Institute.’”
“Jocko Morton r
allying the troops,” Renie remarked. “He’s certainly got it in for Moira.”
“I suppose,” Judith said slowly as she made a left turn by the graveyard, “there’s a chance he’s right. But I despise his rabble-rousing tactics. Tell me when you see the sign for Monk Road.”
“You’re kidding, of course,” said Renie.
“Oh. Sorry.” Judith slowed down. Visibility on the road west was only about twenty feet, and subject to change.
They’d crept along for less than a mile before they saw a cluster of red and yellow lights up ahead. “What’s that?” Renie asked. “It looks like a traffic jam, which isn’t likely in a village the size of St. Fergna.”
“An accident, maybe?” Judith suggested, slowing down to less than ten miles an hour. “They’re blocking the road.” She frowned, noticing not only cars but bicyclists and pedestrians, some carrying flashlights. At first she thought they were singing, but realized as she rolled down the window that they were chanting in angry voices.
“Can you hear that?” Judith asked.
Renie had also opened her window. “I’m blind, not deaf. Yes—it sounds like ‘Jezebel.’ Isn’t that what the flyer called Moira when Jocko staged his show the other night?”
“Among other things,” Judith said grimly. “They must be marching to Hollywood House. We’re stuck behind them. If I honk, they might take out their wrath on us—and this police car. I wish it were a real cruiser. We could use the flashing lights and siren to get through.”
“We could shoot them,” Renie suggested. “Maybe there’s a weapon in here someplace.”
“You’re kidding, I trust,” Judith said, creeping along so slowly that the speedometer barely registered. “A cop wouldn’t leave a gun in a vacant car. According to the map, Monk Road is about a quarter of a mile from here.” She made a disgusted face. “Damn, this is the dumbest idea we’ve had yet! What were we thinking of?”
