Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

“I don’t mean to be an alarmist,” Judith said, and explained what she’d been told by the woman at the hotel.

“Rather odd,” MacRae agreed. “I hope there hasn’t been an accident. Some of the terrain in that part of the country is quite rugged.”

The words only increased Judith’s concern. “Surely not all of them could have been…incapacitated.”

“Probably not.” MacRae paused. “Don’t upset yourself, Mrs. Flynn,” he said in a more cheerful voice. “When it comes to fishing, the word ‘lure’ takes on a strong double meaning.”

“Are you friendly with MacGowan?” Judith inquired. “I thought you might know where he was likely to take our husbands.”

“I know Hugh,” MacRae replied, “but not intimately. I was transferred from Edinburgh to the Moray division only a year ago.”

“Oh.” Judith’s expression was bleak. “Is Ogilvie any better acquainted with him?”

“No,” MacRae said ruefully. “Ogilvie was transferred with me.”

“Somebody at headquarters must know him,” Judith said, growing impatient. “He seems to be quite a legendary figure around here.”

“He is that,” MacRae said hastily. “Please don’t fret. To ease your mind, I’ll look into the matter straightaway.”

“Thanks,” Judith said, and clicked off.

“Zip?” Renie said, still looking anxious. “What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Judith said in disgust. She paced up and down on the cobbled street, breaking her thought only to muster a smile at two older women walking past her. “Who thought MacGowan’s absence was odd?”

“Patrick Cameron,” Renie replied. “He implied that the killer had deliberately chosen a time when MacGowan would be out of the way.”

“Patrick may be right.” Judith made way for a blind man tapping his white cane as he moved cautiously up the High Street.

“He’s worse off than I am,” Renie murmured. “But Bill and Joe may be in an even bigger mess. Are the cops sending out searchers?”

“Yes,” Judith replied, finally standing still. “I don’t know what they do in a case like this, but they’re doing something. We’re helpless.” She scanned the shop signs along the High Street. “MacRae and Ogilvie must be staying somewhere around here, but I don’t see an inn.”

“There has to be one,” Renie said. “Let’s go to the source. Alison at the woolen shop seems to know everything.”

Judith agreed. Their destination was only three doors down the street, where they found Alison waiting on Harry’s mother, Peggy Gibbs.

“Can’t you overnight it?” Harry’s mother asked in an arch tone. “I must have it for the funeral tomorrow at eleven.”

Alison glanced at the cousins but didn’t greet them. It was clear to Judith that the girl had her hands full with Peggy Gibbs. “I’ve never done that with an order from Paris, but I can try.”

“Of course you can,” Peggy said. “You have my credit card. Tell the express driver to take it to the castle. By nine-thirty, do you hear?” Without so much as a look in the cousins’ direction, she walked out of the shop in a decidedly regal manner.

Alison’s eyes widened. “Imagine! Buying a two-thousand-quid suit from Paris just to wear for the funeral!”

“I guess she’s really rich,” Judith said. “Did she seem sad?”

“Sad?” Alison frowned. “Oh—about Harry. Aye, she did, in her way. Angry, too. Maybe more angry than sad.”

Judith nodded. “A mother might react that way. By the way,” she went on, “is there an inn here in the village?”

“Aye,” Alison replied. “The Hearth and Heath, just down the road from the green. The opposite direction of Hollywood House, that is.”

“Do you know if DCI MacRae and his sergeant are staying there?”

“They are for a fact,” Alison said. “Set up a regular office, I hear. Barry delivered a pizza to them last night.”

“How far down the road?” Renie inquired.

“Next to the Women’s Institute there’s the cobbler shop and the thrift shop,” Alison said. “Then the inn. Not far at all. Visit the thrift shop when you’ve got the time,” she suggested. “They’ve got all sorts of bargains. Barry and I both find things we fancy. He bought that Italian lad’s suede jacket for two pounds.”

Judith’s curiosity was aroused. “David Piazza’s clothes were sold at the thrift shop?”

“Aye,” Alison replied. “Barry and Davey worked together at Tonio’s Pizza Parlor. That was before Davey got his job with Moira Gibbs. Davey had no family nearby, so Moira donated his things to the thrift shop. Part of the proceeds go to the veterans’ relief fund.”

Judith was surprised. “Davey delivered pizza before he became Moira’s personal assistant?”

“No, no,” Alison said. “He made the pizzas. In fact, he invented one, being a vegetarian. It’s still on the menu—Piazza’s Veggie Variation. The Bruce loves it.”

“It still seems odd that Moira hired him,” Judith noted.

Alison shrugged. “He was hot.”

“From the pizza oven, no doubt,” Renie murmured. “Or do you mean Davey was handsome?”

“Quite,” Alison said. “Not my type, but curly dark hair, huge black eyes, good body. Soulful-looking.” She shrugged again. “A pity The Bruce chewed up Davey’s suede jacket. Barry was ever so sad.”

“No doubt,” Judith said, not without sympathy. “Thanks again.”

Outside, Judith felt aimless. “What now besides worry?” She looked into the fishmonger’s window where a bug-eyed haddock stared back at her. “It’s frustrating. There’s nothing we can do.”

Renie sighed. “I know. Damn!”

“We could have lunch,” Judith said.

“I’m not hungry.”

Loss of appetite was a measure of Renie’s concern. “I don’t care much about eating, either,” Judith admitted. “I feel adrift.”

“Grab an anchor,” Renie murmured. “Kate Gunn just came out of the chemist’s shop and she’s headed this way.”

To Judith’s surprise, Kate waved. “A moment,” she called.

“Yes?” Judith said. “What is it?”

Kate looked all around to see if anyone was listening. Only a half dozen people were on the High Street, and they all seemed to be going about their own business. Still, Kate apparently had qualms.

“We’ll go to the Rood & Mitre,” she said. “We must talk.”

She led the way across the High, back up the incline, and around the corner where the pub was tucked away in the narrow street. Judith realized it was almost noon and was puzzled by Kate’s choice of a setting for a private conversation. Lunch hour should be starting at the pub.

Ian was already waiting on a middle-aged couple and two of the booths were occupied. He looked up as Kate entered with the cousins.

“Mrs. Gunn,” he said politely, ushering the women inside. “And the American ladies.” Ian looked curious. “The common room…or…?”

“Or,” Kate replied. “This is a meeting.”

Ian nodded. “The door’s unlocked,” he said, heading for the service counter. “If you want food or drink, fetch me.”

Kate nodded and wordlessly led the cousins through the corridor they’d traversed earlier when they’d spied upon the séance. “This is the office,” she said, opening the door. “It’s small and crowded, but ensures privacy. You never know who might be lurking about.”

Judith and Renie avoided looking at each other lest they seem guilty for having been numbered among the lurkers. The office arrangement was somewhat different from what Judith had seen through the spy-hole. The table had been moved and apparently was used as a desk. There was an old rail-back chair behind the table. A half dozen folding chairs leaned against the far wall.