Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

“That weird call,” Judith said softly. “It sounds like the bird is mourning.”

“Maybe,” Renie allowed. “Or uttering a cry for help.”

Despite the sun, Judith shivered. “I’m not a fanciful person, but there is something spooky about this place. Maybe it’s all the history.”

“History is nothing but old gossip,” Renie declared. “Who did what to whom and why and how it all turned into a war or a revolution.”

Judith frowned. “Maybe. I wonder if there really is a ghost here. Certainly there’s a voice, telling us to open the gate or the window. Where does it come from?”

“TV,” Renie said. “For not being fanciful, you’re sounding a little loopy. Remember on our first trip to Europe we reached Deauville the night before taking ship for home, we got to the cheap B&B and were terrified before we rang the bell?”

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.”