Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

“Last stop,” he announced. “Uh…Do you want a lift?”

“Yes,” Judith said quickly. “That’s why we’re here. After your post office stop, can you take us to Hollywood House?”

Barry considered briefly. “I suppose. No more deliveries just now.”

Judith got in the front seat, grateful that the door had been reattached to the passenger side; Renie again sat with The Bruce in back. “Sleeve’s gone,” she said as the car went forward with a loud ka-pock-eta-ka-pock-eta sound. “He’s going for the silk lining and the inside pocket. Won’t he get indigestion?”

“Maybe,” Barry warned. “Better move. He may toss up the suede.”

“We’ll buy you a replacement jacket,” Judith said, “to thank you.”

“Nae.” Barry chuckled, heading up the High Street. “It’s been jolly. Most of it, anyway.”

“I mean it,” Judith insisted. “You’re a good guy. Lad, that is.”

The post office was two doors down from the confectioner’s. Barry double-parked and zipped inside. Renie tapped Judith’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? I can tell you’re upset. You’re making rash and expensive promises.”

“I’m serious about the jacket,” Judith replied, turning to look at Renie. “We owe Barry. But you’re right. It’s probably a stupid notion, but suddenly I got the feeling that Joe and Bill aren’t safe. In fact, I think I know where they are, and I’m certain they’re in grave danger. The question is, how do we rescue them?”

21

Renie looked dubious. “Now you have the sight?”

“No,” Judith said. “But I remembered something after Barry mentioned Archie’s computer. When Joe was telling me about Hugh MacGowan, he—” She stopped as Barry raced out of the post office.

“Big news!” he cried, jumping into the car. “Patrick’s been arrested!”

“For what?” Judith asked.

“Murder,” Barry replied excitedly. “Imagine! Patrick killed Harry!”

“Maybe,” Judith said softly. “Where did they arrest him?”

“Hollywood House, after the press conference,” Barry replied. “Still want to go there?”

Judith’s thought process was hampered by her concern for Joe and Bill. “I don’t know…Maybe we should go to the Hearth and Heath.”

“The inn?” Barry sounded puzzled. “Oh—because that’s where the coppers are staying?”

“Yes,” Judith said as horns honked behind them. “They’d take him there for questioning instead of to Inverness or Elgin. Do you have a jail in St. Fergna?”

A half dozen vehicles now clogged the High Street. Barry started the car, ignoring the honks and shouts of the impatient drivers. “Nae. No need. The nearest jail is only seven kilometers from here.”

The minor traffic jam didn’t abate after they reached the village green and made a right turn. It appeared that the media had followed Patrick and his captors from Hollywood House. Their vans and cars and trucks blocked the narrow road as they tried to find parking places.

“Now what?” Barry said, mildly exasperated.

“We can walk,” Judith said. “I think.”

“Well…” Barry snapped his fingers. “I know a shortcut. Hang on.” He hit the gas and took a sharp left, driving across the green, beyond the bandstand and onto a rough dirt path that ran behind the Women’s Institute. The old car bounced and thumped, causing Judith and Renie to grit their teeth and try to stay upright.

“The Bruce is getting carsick!” Renie shouted. “So am I!”

“Almost there!” Barry took another turn onto a grassy area partially surrounded by shrubbery growing in front of a brick wall. “Back of the inn,” he said, coming to a jarring stop just short of a leggy rhododendron. “There’s a gate at the end of the wall.”

“Not locked, I hope,” Judith said.

“Nae,” Barry assured her. “We dinna have much crime here.”

“Really?” Renie said dryly.

Barry looked rueful. “Well…not until lately.”

Judith was trying to open the car door. “It’s jammed,” she said.

“Pull up the string on the handle,” he advised.

Judith complied; the door opened. “Are you coming with us?” she asked Barry.

“Nae,” he replied. “I should get back to Tonio’s.”

Renie was already out of the car, holding Barry’s tattered jacket. Judith eyed her cousin curiously. “Why did you take that?”

“For comparison shopping,” Renie said. “You told Barry you were going to replace it. This is—was—real quality. I assume you don’t want to buy a cut-rate item.”

“True,” Judith responded, keeping an eye on Barry’s efforts to back the car away from the grassy area. “At the moment, all I want to do is talk to MacRae about our husbands.”

“Then let’s do it,” Renie said, marching to the end of the brick wall.

The iron gate was unlocked and led to a narrow brick path between the inn’s garden and the main building. Renie stopped at what Judith assumed was the service entrance. She didn’t bother to knock, but turned the knob. The door opened easily.

“So far so good,” Renie murmured. “The innkeeper must be your kind of person—an open-door policy during the day.”

They had entered a small hallway that went into the kitchen. Ordinarily, Judith would have paused to study the layout and compare it with her own at Hillside Manor. But not now, not when her priority was finding Joe and Bill.

The cousins entered the dining room, which was empty though it appeared that the big oval table was being prepared for the afternoon tea. Reaching the parlor, they heard loud voices that sounded as if they were coming from in front of the inn.

“Damn!” Judith exclaimed softly. “Now MacRae’s probably having his own press conference.”

Before she could look out of the windows, Constable Glen entered through a side door. “Mrs. Flynn, Mrs. Jones!” he said in surprise. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “Can you please tell DCI MacRae that we’ve reason to believe that neither our husbands nor Hugh MacGowan are safe? That text message didn’t come from them. It was a hoax, meant to deceive all of us.”

Glen frowned. “Pardon? How do you know?”

“Never mind,” Judith said, trying to remain patient. “Just tell him. I think I know where they are.”

Glen looked disconcerted. “He’s with the media. I can’t interrupt.”

“Then do it as soon as he’s done,” Judith said, more sharply than she’d intended. “Please. Tell MacRae I think they’re at Morton’s garage.”

Glen looked flummoxed. “The auto repair?”

“Yes.” She composed herself and tried to smile. She failed.

“I’ll relay the message…” He broke off as Seumas Bell came into the parlor.

“Where’s Cameron?” Seumas demanded of Glen.

“In our temporary headquarters in the study across the hallway,” Glen answered. “You’re his legal counsel?”

“No,” Seumas snapped. “I refuse to represent him. I’m not a criminal lawyer and I detest murderers. I’ll tell him in person.” He suddenly seemed to notice the cousins. “What are they doing here?”

Glen’s color rose. “They…ah…”

“I’m going to represent Patrick,” Renie declared. “Go ahead, look me up under the American Inns of Court under S. E. Jones. I’m big stuff on the other side of the pond and I’ve practiced as a barrister over here.”

Bell tried to conceal his astonishment but didn’t quite manage it. “You’re a…” He cleared his throat. “Then you’re welcome to him.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

Glen was staring at Renie. “I didn’t realize…”

“Never mind. My brother-in-law’s the attorney. Bub and I have the same initials. That’s because,” she went on, “his real name isn’t Bub. Still, he’s a terrific lawyer, and he did come to England once. For something. I forget.”