Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

Judith paused at the entrance. “But not crying their eyes out and wringing their hands over Harry’s death.”

“They’re stiff-upper-lip types,” Renie responded. “They grieve in private.” She leaned against the door. “I’m famished.”

“Me, too,” Judith said. “Let’s see if the police really will take us to dinner. It’s going on ten o’clock.”

The police, however, no longer had food on their minds. “The tide is almost out,” MacRae said after the cousins got into the waiting car. “We’ll take you to the castle. Sorry about the restaurant, but with the inquest set for tomorrow, we should speak with Jocko Morton tonight.”

“Sure, fine, great,” Renie muttered. “Who needs nourishment?”

Making a disapproving face at Renie, Judith leaned forward to speak to MacRae. “Did you meet Harry’s parents?”

“No,” MacRae replied, surprised. “Where were they?”

“Here,” Judith said. “Moira refused to see them so they left.”

MacRae considered this turn of events. “Maybe they went to Grimloch. I’d no idea they’d returned from Argentina.”

“I thought it was Brazil,” Judith said.

MacRae shrugged. “It was somewhere in South America. It all sounded rather vague. We’ll check with the newly arrived Gibbses before we leave you at the castle.”

The rest of the short trip from Hollywood House to the beach turnoff was made in silence. Renie sulked; Judith pondered. It wasn’t until they arrived at the water’s edge that anyone spoke again.

“Five, ten minutes,” Ogilvie said. “The tide’s not quite all the way out.” He smiled at the cousins. “Don’t want to get your feet wet.”

“I’d walk a mile for a camel,” Renie murmured. “And then I’d roast it with a side of sage dressing.”

“Ha-ha,” Ogilvie responded politely.

MacRae was on his cell phone. “Oh yes? Would you tell your son and his wife we wish to speak with them as soon as we arrive? Thank you. We’ll be at Grimloch in just a few minutes.”

The cousins parted company with the police at the castle. There was no sign of Harry’s parents, but Judith assumed they’d agree to meet MacRae and his sergeant. Heading straight for the kitchen with Renie, they found Mrs. Gibbs putting china away in a glass-fronted cupboard.

“You must be glad to see your son and his wife,” Judith said. “How long have they been gone?”

The older woman shrugged. “A year, more or less.” She made quite a clatter stacking soup bowls. “Venezuela, it was. Lived in something called a palafito . Sounds like a sheiling without the sheep. Very lush country, they say. Bugs, I suspect, more than just the wee midges. Spiders, too, and don’t tell me different.” She banged a couple of kettles together for emphasis.

“They must be terribly upset about their son,” Judith said.

Mrs. Gibbs didn’t respond. She closed the cupboard with a vengeance and turned her keen eyes on Renie, who was gnawing on a small block of cheese she’d found in the refrigerator.

“Eat what’s on hand,” Mrs. Gibbs finally said. “I’m for bed.”

Judith watched her stalk away. “That woman’s made of iron. I can’t figure out if that’s good or bad.”

“Forget it for now,” Renie advised. “Lots of sandwich possibilities. Grab something and let’s go upstairs. I’m beat.”

“Me, too,” Judith agreed. “It’s been a long day.”

“And tomorrow is…” Renie looked at her cousin. “Doomsday?”

Judith’s expression was ironic. “Let’s hope the doom isn’t for us.”

Mother Nature rose—or fell—to the occasion Tuesday morning with heavy rain and blustery wind. “Looks like home,” Renie noted.

“I can barely see the village through the rain,” Judith said, gazing out of the Joneses’ room while Renie put on her makeup.

“The weather might literally put a damper on a turnout of Moira’s detractors,” Renie said.

“Like us, the locals must be used to it,” Judith pointed out, pausing in front of the dresser mirror to check her hair. “Even Jocko’s imported non-villagers shouldn’t be daunted.”

“I’m daunted by being up, dressed, and fed before ten,” Renie complained. “Why can’t they hold inquests in the afternoon, say around teatime? Then we could have a Little Something while they droned on.”

“A Big Something for you,” Judith said with a wry smile. “Ready?”

Renie nodded. The cousins headed downstairs to reach the lift. Wind and rain pelted them as soon as they entered the courtyard. Arrangements had been made to transport Grimloch’s residents by police launch at nine-thirty. It would be a short trip, with the outgoing tide.

The lift had just returned to the top of the cliff. Judith saw four people standing below. She recognized Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs, and assumed that the other couple must be their son and daughter-in-law.

Renie nodded as they stepped into the cage. “The funeral’s tomorrow.”

“There’ll be another inquest and funeral for Chuckie,” Judith murmured, seeing Philip and Beth Fordyce hurrying toward them.

“Wow, what a vacation!” Renie exclaimed in a low voice while Judith prevented the lift from closing its gate on the Fordyces.

“Thanks,” Beth said. “Such a ghastly way to start the day.”

Philip said nothing, merely nodding curtly at the cousins and keeping his eyes gazing upward. When they reached the wet, sandy beach, Judith pulled the hood of her cape over her hair and held it in place against the strong wind blowing off of the sea.

Beth also had a hood on her chic mid-calf belted coat. “This will be excruciating,” she murmured. “Have you met the traveling Grubbs?”

Judith suppressed a smile. “You don’t like them?” she whispered.

“I don’t know them,” Beth retorted. “But I know how they feel about Moira. I’ll introduce you. Try to act pleased.”

Judith pulled Renie along. “Be civil,” she said under her breath.

Like the rest of the Grimloch contingent, Matt and Peggy Gibbs were wearing black. Matt was tall and angular, with chiseled features and graying light brown hair; Peggy’s refined beauty was unmarred by age—or alleged jungle hardships. Her hands had long, manicured nails that didn’t indicate recent digging for long-lost artifacts.

“A pity to have your holiday spoiled,” Peggy said calmly. “You must be eager to seek the sanctuary of your own home and hearth.”

“We can’t blame the setting,” Judith said, tempted to tell Peggy Gibbs that the hearth at Hillside Manor was one of the few places where a corpse had not yet been found. “We’re very sorry about your son.”

“A harsh season for sons,” Matthew Gibbs muttered, keeping his hands clasped behind his back and glancing at Philip Fordyce. “The Devil’s afoot, it seems.”

The sound of the police launch was heard before Judith could actually see it. A few moments later the eight passengers were helped aboard by Sergeant Ogilvie and a couple of constables Judith didn’t recognize. She wondered if the Grimloch tragedies had strained the local police force’s personnel resources.

The trip to the shore took less than three minutes. A van awaited the group, with another constable and a driver holding umbrellas to shield the octet from the driving rain.

“Don’t bother,” Renie said to the driver who proffered the umbrella. “I come from rain country. It perks me up. I’m almost awake.”

Judith and Renie sat together in the van. No one spoke during the short ride up the cliffside and through the High Street. Despite the stormy elements, several residents were going about their business. Judith noticed that the banner over the village green had blown down at one end and drooped like laundry on a broken clothesline.