“Watch what?” Judith asked.
“You’ll see.”
Judith and Renie waited for three, maybe four minutes. “I can barely make out the castle’s outline,” Judith complained.
“Just wait.”
At last the mist floated to the east, revealing Grimloch’s bulk on top of the steep cliff.
“Do you see the light on your far right?” Renie inquired.
“Yes. So?”
“It’s in our room.”
Judith frowned. “Are you sure? Or did you leave it on?”
“This morning in broad daylight? You know I hate bright lights when I wake up. I’m a mole person. Think about the castle layout. That light’s coming from the second floor, near the stairway in the guest wing. Bill and I overlook the village and the beach. It’s got to be our room.”
“Maybe Mrs. Gibbs is cleaning it,” Judith suggested.
“At six o’clock on the Sabbath?” Renie shook her head.
Judith stared at the amber glow in the lighted window. Before she could say anything else, the light went out.
11
Mrs. Gibbs looked as if she’d aged ten years in eight hours. She was not only still pale, but her body seemed to have withered. Her hands shook and her lips trembled as she met the cousins at the castle door.
“How are you feeling?” Judith asked with concern.
Mrs. Gibbs didn’t answer immediately. She stepped aside, a hand clutching at the fabric of her gray dress. “How should I feel?” she finally responded. “Sad, helpless, angry. Who did this horrid thing?”
“The police will find out,” Judith asserted. “I’m sure they’re very capable. Have they contacted you today?”
Mrs. Gibbs shook her head. “The inquest is Tuesday. Moira called to tell us. Imagine, being too sick to come to Mass here in the chapel to pray for the poor laddie’s soul! She’s young, she should carry on, she’s not bowed down with age like some of us. Where’s her spunk?”
Judith didn’t dare look at Renie. Moira had seemed to have plenty of spunk when they’d seen her at Hollywood. “We heard she’d taken to her bed,” Judith remarked.
“Aye, Moira’s a great one for that when there’s trouble.” Mrs. Gibbs’s voice was uneven. “An excuse, that’s all.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “God help us, life must go on. Will ye want supper?”
Judith glanced at Renie. “I don’t know. We ate a late lunch.”
“So we’ll eat a late supper,” Renie said, adding hastily, “if it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. Gibbs.”
“In truth, work keeps my mind off my troubles,” Mrs. Gibbs replied. “Nine o’clock in the dining room?”
“We’ll come get it,” Judith volunteered. “We can eat in our rooms.”
“Say,” Renie put in, “was anyone in my room in the last hour?”
Mrs. Gibbs scowled at Renie. “No. Why do ye ask?”
“We thought we saw a light on in there just before we returned to the castle,” Renie explained.
“Oh.” Mrs. Gibbs hesitated. “’Twas probably a trick of the eyes. Oftentimes the lights from the village reflect on the castle windows. Excuse me, I must tend to The Master and his wife.”
“A quick question,” Judith put in. “Can we hire a car?”
Mrs. Gibbs shook her head. “Only if the garage has one to rent out. You might ring them tomorrow.”
“Your own car won’t be back by then?” Judith inquired.
Their hostess shrugged. “You must ask Gibbs. I canna drive.”
The cousins proceeded upstairs where Renie wanted Judith to help her inspect the Joneses’ room. “We don’t have anything worth stealing,” Renie said. “I suspect it might have been Chuckie wandering around. Unless his father grounded him after the debacle in the courtyard.”
There was no sign of anything missing or out of order, however. Judith sat on the bed, perusing a list of services and goods in the area.
“I’d forgotten what Barry told us,” she remarked. “The local garage is owned by Archibald Morton, Jocko’s brother.”
Renie sank into an armchair. “No luck eavesdropping at The Hermitage?”
“I’m afraid not,” Judith admitted. “Except for hearing Harry’s name mentioned, it sounded like business.”
“You’re working in the dark,” Renie said, and yawned. “By the way, if you want to talk to Mrs. Gunn, tell her I’m subject to fits of violence.”
“You are,” Judith said.
“Only when provoked.”
Judith slid off of the bed and went to the door. “I thought I heard someone out in the passageway.” She peered out into the empty corridor. “Nothing. I could’ve sworn I heard a noise.”
“I didn’t hear it,” Renie said with a shrug.
“I’d like to explore the rest of the castle,” Judith declared. “Of course I wouldn’t want to disturb Philip and Beth.”
“Beth seems okay,” Renie said. “Maybe she’ll give you a tour.”
Judith looked at her watch. “It’s going on seven. I’m going down to the drawing room for a drink.”
“You already had a drink at the pub.”
“I never finished it.”
“Too bad. I paid for it.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“No.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.” Judith went out into the passageway and closed the door behind her.
The drawing room was dark. Judith found the switch and turned on the lights. It wasn’t yet seven. The Fordyces still might show up for drinks, though it was possible that, owning a distillery, Philip would keep his favorite Scotch in his suite.
After passing the time by studying the furnishings and other decor, Judith poured herself a small Scotch-rocks. If nothing else, it’d be a conversation starter if and when the Fordyces appeared.
At seven-fifteen, she heard voices in the corridor. Female voices, she realized. A moment later, Beth Fordyce and Marie Fleming entered the drawing room.
“Mrs. Flynn,” Beth said with a smile, “did you meet Marie?”
“Yes,” Judith said, putting out her hand to Will’s voluptuous wife. “We spoke while Chuckie was misbehaving.”
Beth shook her head. “I feel so sorry for Chuckie. He’s epileptic.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Judith said. “But I assume he receives excellent medical treatment.”
“When he wants it,” Beth replied, making drinks for herself and Marie. “He’s also had a growth problem, a lack of certain hormones. You’d never guess it, but he’s almost twenty-three. Naturally, he’s bitter, and blames his father for everything.”
“What about his mother?” Judith held up a hand. “I’m sorry, I’m prying. But I assume his mother was Philip’s first wife.”
Beth nodded. “Yes, Bella. She died. So did his second wife. Philip has had bad luck with wives.”
“Until now,” Marie put in, accepting her glass from Beth. “My Will’s first wife passed away, too. The early demise of spouses around here is positively frightening.”
“Phil’s second wife wasn’t really that young,” Beth pointed out. “She was older than Phil, and died of cancer. Phil and I hope that the third time’s a charm for him. Maybe it’ll be the same way for Moira.”
“I doubt it,” Marie said with bite. “Moira’s in love with love. She’s shown terrible judgment when it comes to men. If they’re good-looking and have a great body, she goes for them. Beth and I are smarter than that. We both married real men, not callow boys.”
Judith was reminded of Grandma Grover’s advice: “It’s better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave.” Marie and Beth might have agreed with her. “Didn’t you go to school together?” Judith asked.
“Ah yes,” Beth replied. “We three, we merry little band of lassies at a French boarding school. Moira fell for the headmaster, the gardener, and the man from animal control. She was always losing her dog.”