Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

“Very nice. Mrs. Gibbs, I suppose.”

“Who else?” Renie spooned the thick dressing into the salad bowl. “Do we eat here or in the dining room?”

“Let’s not do either,” Judith responded. “We don’t know where the dining room lights are and there’s really no place to sit in here. We should check out the drawing room and maybe have an after-dinner drink from the liquor cabinet.”

Judith and Renie put their meals on a pewter tray and carried them out through the door Beth had used. They found themselves in a small hallway by the indoor elevator. Around the corner was the passageway that led to the drawing room. The lights were on. Someone had recently used the room. Cigar smoke hung in the air.

“Philip Fordyce?” Judith said as they settled onto a Regency sofa covered in dark green velvet. “I can’t imagine Gibbs sitting around smoking cigars.”

“Maybe it’s Chuckie,” Renie said. “He’d do just about anything.”

“I wonder if the police have tracked him down for questioning,” Judith mused. “Want half of this apple?”

“No, thanks.” Renie took a large bite of sandwich. “AhwunnerufChuggienosowtomakabum.”

“Chuckie may be the type who’d not only know how to make a bomb, but would enjoy setting it off to hear it go bang,” Judith said, accustomed to hearing Renie talk with her mouth full. “Although he did ask what the noise was, indicating it surprised him.”

The drawing room door opened. A tired-looking Philip Fordyce entered, appearing surprised to see the cousins. “Pardon,” he said, going to the liquor cabinet. “Did I leave my drink in here?”

Judith scanned the large room. “I don’t see it. Do you remember where you were sitting?”

“I wasn’t,” Philip answered tersely. “Never mind. I’ll pour a fresh one.” He went to the cabinet and got out a bottle of Scotch.

“I understand,” Judith said, “you own the Glengrim distillery. I had some of your whiskey last night. It’s excellent.”

Philip didn’t look up from the glass he was filling halfway. “Yes.”

Judith glanced at Renie, who was chomping away at her sandwich. She hoped her cousin would keep her mouth shut about her dislike of Scotch. Philip remained by the liquor cabinet, savoring his drink.

“How long will you be?” he inquired after a long pause.

Judith turned to look directly at him. “In here?”

“Yes.”

“As long as it takes,” Renie said, fortunately not with her mouth full. “Why? Isn’t this the guest part of the castle?”

“I’m expecting someone momentarily,” Philip explained.

“We’re almost—”

Judith was interrupted by Renie. “Anybody we know?”

“Doubtful,” Philip replied with a severe look for Renie. “You arrived only yesterday, did you not?”

“Right, but my coz and I get around. You’d be surprised.” For emphasis, Renie wiggled her eyebrows.

“If you don’t mind…” Philip began, but at that moment the door opened and a haggard Gibbs showed Mrs. Gunn into the drawing room.

“A fine mess this is, Philip,” she declared, though her manner seemed almost jubilant. The sparkle in her eyes dimmed when she saw Judith and Renie. “My word! What are they doing here?”

“Told you so.” Renie chortled and flexed her bare toes.

“You’re acquainted?” Philip asked Mrs. Gunn, who was eyeing Renie’s unshod feet with disgust.

“We’ve met,” Mrs. Gunn said through taut lips. “I’d no idea you were offering them hospitality.”

“It’s rather involved,” Philip said. He raised his voice and addressed the cousins. “Would you mind? Mrs. Gunn and I have private matters to discuss.”

Judith gathered up the remains of her dinner. “Of course,” she said, wishing for once that she could be as rude as Renie. There was nothing she’d like more than to hear what type of “private matters” Philip Fordyce and Mrs. Gunn wanted to talk about. “Is it possible that we could take a small bottle and glasses to our rooms?”

“Please.” Philip took a backward step, as if he was afraid the cousins might contaminate him.

“No Scotch for me,” Renie said. “I’d rather drink motor oil.”

Judith went to the cabinet and got two glasses, a pint of Glengrim Scotch, and an airline-sized bottle of Drambuie. Renie was already out of the room. With her hands full, Judith had trouble closing the door before she joined her cousin in the passageway.

“You were awful,” Judith declared. “Though I don’t actually blame you. Despite your loathing of Scotch, I got you some Drambuie, which, as you damned well know, has Scotch in it.”

“The other ingredients disguise the taste,” Renie replied blithely. “Here, let me take your food. I finished mine and left the dirty plate in the drawing room.”

Judith handed over everything but the Scotch. She and Renie were almost to the stairs when Judith stopped. “I’m going back to take your plate to the kitchen. I’m also going to apologize for your big mouth.”

Renie sighed. “You’re going to listen at the keyhole. If there is a keyhole. Go ahead. I’ll see you upstairs in your room.”

Judith didn’t care if a keyhole existed. She hadn’t been able to shut the door tightly because of her burdens. Her only concern was if Philip or Mrs. Gunn had closed it after the cousins’ departure.

But, no doubt because of what Judith perceived as their sense of urgency, the door remained slightly ajar.

“Journalists!” Mrs. Gunn was saying in her husky voice. “If that’s all you’re worried about…” The rest of the sentence was lost to Judith.

“Harry must have died on our property,” Philip said. “I don’t like scandal attached to Glengrim. It’s rotten publicity. Why couldn’t he have stayed at Hollywood?”

“Because of his flu,” Mrs. Gunn replied impatiently. “Moira didn’t want Harry near the baby. She’s very protective, a natural nurse. Moira was a pillar of strength for my poor Frankie when he became ill.”

“Come, come, Kate,” Philip said so loudly that Judith figured he must be near the door. “Harry seemed quite recovered when Beth and I arrived this afternoon. He took one of his bare-bum swims.”

Mrs. Gunn chuckled. “I didn’t say he was clever. Harry has always behaved foolishly. What would you expect with his parents half a world away most of the time he was growing up? A poor choice on Moira’s part, I must say. Still, the lad had charm and looks.”

“That’s all he had,” Philip said as Judith heard the sound of glassware and pouring liquid. “Some might be relieved that he’s dead.”

A brief silence followed. “True,” Mrs. Gunn finally said. “I don’t trust Moira’s judgment. She may act imprudently again.”

“Patrick?”

“Yes.”

“He has a wife. Jeannie’s a lovely girl. Wealthy in her own right.”

“Not as wealthy as Moira.”

“Not many are,” Mrs. Gunn pointed out. “Where does Harry’s death leave us? If he was an obstacle…” Her words became inaudible.

Judith could only catch phrases of Philip’s response. “The plan is…Jimmy’s influence is…if Beth can…out of the way…”

Judith had stood still for so long that her joints were stiff. Lurching slightly, she fell against the door, causing it to open.

“Excuse me,” she said as a startled Philip and Mrs. Gunn looked up from their chairs near the unlit fireplace. “I came to collect my cousin’s things. I don’t want to make more work for Mrs. Gibbs.”

“By all means,” Philip said.

Judith didn’t dare look at him—or at Mrs. Gunn. She sensed they were both suspicious. She also had the feeling that suspicion of others was only one of the traits they shared.