Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

Chuckie looked unperturbed. “Someday I’ll own all this. And more, when I marry my true love.” He grinned at Judith, skittered past Renie, and went out into the passageway.

“Really, really weird,” Renie murmured. “I hope he’s harmless.”

“Maybe he’s the voice I heard,” Judith said, putting on her jacket. “No—I heard it from your room, not ours. Let’s go.”

As they descended the winding staircase, they could hear voices. It took Judith a few seconds to realize that Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs were in the passageway near the foot of the steps.

“We must know!” Mrs. Gibbs cried, leaning against the stone wall for support. “I feel faint. It canna be!”

“Becalm yerself,” Gibbs exhorted. “We’ll hear soon enough.”

“But if…” Mrs. Gibbs began, and broke off.

“It should be Moira,” Gibbs said.

His wife didn’t respond but dabbed at her eyes with her apron. She finally looked up and saw the cousins.

Judith hesitated before approaching the distraught couple. “I’m very sorry,” she said, “but what’s happened?”

Gibbs set his face in stone. “We dinna ken. We must bide.”

“Bide for what?” Judith asked. “Can’t you call someone from St. Fergna? Like the police?”

“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?”