Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

Will also needed explanations. “I don’t mean to pry,” he said, “but how do you two visitors to Grimloch happen to be riding in a police car?”

MacRae broke in before Judith or Renie could reply. “A coincidence,” the DCI said. “They were stranded and needed a lift.”

“Oh. Of course,” Will said, smiling politely at the cousins.

It occurred to Judith that her fellow passengers were playing a game of evasion, if not outright deception. It was no wonder, she thought, that Renie was looking skeptical.

“I thought perhaps,” Will said to MacRae as Ogilvie turned onto Monk Road, “they had to give a statement about finding Chuckie’s body.”

“They do,” MacRae said easily. “This day has been tumultuous. There’s been scant time for paperwork.”

The driveway to the Flemings’ home was marked by two stone pillars and a discreet wooden sign identifying the property as the Priory. As the mist dissipated, Judith saw a large old house that probably had been built for a religious order. The two-story exterior was gray stone, though obvious additions had been made in various styles. The result was an architectural olio, but the overall effect fell short of being ugly.

Will appeared to have been reading Judith’s mind. “Rather a hodgepodge,” he remarked in a self-effacing manner. “It has its charms, especially the garden. Marie is doing a wonderful job of restoring many original features that had been modernized.”

Ogilvie stopped under a porte-cochere on the south side of the house. “Gothic style here,” Renie noted. “But nineteenth century, right? Monks didn’t drive much before the Reformation.”

“A good eye,” Will said, unbuckling his seat belt.

“One good eye,” Renie responded. “I’m a graphic designer.”

“Ah.” Will smiled. “Perhaps you can visit during your stay at Grimloch.” He nodded to MacRae and Ogilvie. “Many thanks.”

Ogilvie kept his foot on the brake as Will entered through an oak door. Judith tried to see if Marie was waiting for her husband, but the figure outlined by the inside light was male. As Will went in and quickly closed the door, Judith recognized Patrick Cameron in his leather jacket.

MacRae turned to look at the cousins. “It’s almost nine. We do need that statement. Would you prefer doing that at Grimloch?”

“I prefer a restaurant,” Renie said. “I can put my statement on a menu.”

MacRae chuckled obligingly. “That could be arranged. It’s past our dinner hour, too.”

“Speaking of missing husbands,” Judith said to Renie, “we haven’t heard from ours lately. We should call them from the restaurant.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Renie responded, “they’re fishing. You sound like my mother. She always worried herself to a frazzle when Dad didn’t get home when she expected him. I learned a lesson long ago that you never worry about fishermen. They can’t be bothered with any other activity or consideration as long as the fish are biting.”

“Maybe,” Judith murmured, “but Joe always keeps in touch.”

The same voice Renie had responded to earlier came over the radio: “This is Control. Please come in, DCI MacRae.”

MacRae responded immediately. “Yes?”

“Would you stop at Hollywood House?” the female voice said. “Mrs. Gibbs wants to see you.”

“Of course.” MacRae sighed. “Do you know how many men are on duty to secure the premises?”

“Three now from Elgin, two more coming from Inverness,” the woman responded. “Is everything all right with you, sir?”

“Yes, certainly.” MacRae sounded mildly surprised.

“Good. You sounded rather odd when I spoke with you earlier.” The radio crackled once and went silent.

“That’s peculiar,” MacRae said to Ogilvie. “I don’t recall talking to Annie this evening.”

Ogilvie shrugged.

Judith seized the opportunity to tell the truth. “We answered the call,” she said, leaning forward. “We didn’t know what else to do. She was reporting Will Fleming as missing.”

“Ah!” MacRae chuckled. “I’m most grateful. I’ll explain to Annie. I didn’t know about Fleming until I spoke to the riot force. Inverness also got the call. You can’t imagine what a help you’ve been to us, Mrs. Flynn. You’re the best thing that’s come out of America since President Roosevelt’s lend-lease program during the war.”

“Really,” Judith protested, “I haven’t done much of anything.”

“And,” Renie said with bite, “apparently I don’t exist.”

“Now, Mrs. Jones,” MacRae soothed as Ogilvie turned onto the coast road, “I didn’t intend to ignore your contribution. We know how much support you give your cousin.”

“Yeah, right,” Renie muttered.

“Sorry about the digression,” the DCI apologized, “but we shouldn’t be long at Hollywood House. You may stay in the car if you like.”

“Oh no,” Judith said, ignoring Renie’s grumpy expression. “Having a woman…I mean, women there might make Moira feel better.”

As they approached their destination, a handful of people were walking along the road, heading back to St. Fergna. Only one of the two riot squad vans remained, and its personnel seemed to be preparing for departure. A constable stood on guard at the gate. After MacRae identified himself, admittance was granted a few seconds later.

Fergus waited stiffly at the door. “Madam is in her room with Dr. Carmichael,” he said, barely giving the newcomers so much as a glance.

The group trudged up the elegant stairway. Elise met them at the top. “Police?” she said, giving Judith and Renie a quizzical look.

“Yes,” MacRae responded. “Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones are observing.”

Elise’s thin face puckered in confusion. “Observing? What sort of observation?”

“Procedural,” MacRae answered blithely. “Which way to Mrs. Gibbs?”

Elise indicated the correct door. “The doctor is still with her.”

“Maybe,” Judith suggested to MacRae, “we should wait while you and Sergeant Ogilvie go ahead.”

MacRae considered for a moment, and then nodded. He and his subordinate walked toward Moira’s boudoir.

“You know me,” Judith said to Elise. “I was here before.”

The maid looked at Renie. “Not with Madame Patch-eye. Is she a pirate?”

Renie took umbrage. “Ever see a pirate in a cashmere sweater?”

Elise studied Renie’s disheveled appearance. “You are like a tramp. Filthy, unkempt.”

Judith moved in front of Renie to prevent another outbreak of violence. “My cousin was trampled by the mob.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “Did you put Mrs. Gibbs’s jewel case in my purse?”

Elise looked affronted. “ Mon Dieu! Why should I do such a thing?”

“If you didn’t,” Judith said calmly, “who did? Mrs. Gibbs?”

The maid had gone very pale, a hand to one gaunt cheek. “You have the case?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“No,” Judith replied. “It’s been stolen.”

“Oh!” Elise whirled around and covered her face with her hands. “ Non , non , non! Impossible!” She started to cry.

Judith put a comforting hand on Elise’s back. “I’ve alerted the police. If you made a mistake and put the case in the wrong handbag, I’m sure your intentions were for the best. Mrs. Fordyce and I both carry large black purses.”

“I must kill myself!” Elise wailed. “I am the fool most large!”

The door to Moira’s room opened and Dr. Carmichael emerged. “What’s this?” he asked kindly, his thick gray eyebrows moving up and down as he spoke. “Elise, your mistress needs you. Are you ill?”

Trying to compose herself, the maid shook her head. “I am upset.”