“No,” Beth replied. “You know she’s having a difficult pregnancy.”
“Jimmy’s up to something,” Moira said in disgust. “What can it be? Surely nothing to do with—”
A knock interrupted Moira’s speculations. Beth got up to admit Elise. The maid carried a tray with an array of tea items. Wordlessly, she set the tray on the bedside table and left. Before she could close the door, Fergus announced Alpin MacRae and Malcolm Ogilvie.
MacRae assured Moira that the press would be dispersed. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t trouble you if this wasn’t urgent. You must be desperate to have us find your husband’s killer.”
“I’m not,” Moira replied.
MacRae, who had struck Judith as imperturbable, seemed taken aback by Moira’s response. He recovered quickly, however. “That’s a peculiar attitude,” he said mildly. “I’d like to hear your reasons.” He glanced at Judith and Beth. “It will be easier if we speak privately.”
“Mrs. Fordyce must stay,” Moira insisted. “We’re having tea.”
MacRae smiled indulgently. “I’m sure Mrs. Fordyce and…Mrs. Flynn, isn’t it?” he said, looking at Judith and seeing her nod. “The ladies can enjoy their tea in the sitting room and join you later.”
“Then my maid must be present.” Moira looked beseechingly at Beth. “Please. Send Elise in.”
MacRae shook his head. “No, no. This is just a simple chat. Your friends will be outside should you need them. Sergeant Ogilvie and I have no intention of upsetting you.”
“We’ll have tea later,” Beth said, moving to leave. “Relax, Moira.”
Judith followed Beth out of the boudoir. The younger woman went to another door and opened it. “I assume you want to eavesdrop, too,” she said. “This is Moira’s closet. There’s a vent in the wall. We can hear some of the conversation coming from the other side in the boudoir.”
The offer surprised Judith. “I’m a virtual stranger. I’m not sure I should listen in on such a private matter.”
Beth was solemn. “If Marie had come, she’d be in this closet with me. Four ears are better than two. Moira needs any help she can get.”
Judith dismissed her qualms. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to eavesdrop. The only thing that would be worse, she told herself, was if she were an interloper who was deaf. She studied the capacious closet, which was almost as big as her bedroom at Hillside Manor. Moira’s extensive wardrobe hung in zippered bags in two long rows. Three chests contained drawers labeled sweaters, shirts, blouses, and tops. There were ten stacks of shoe boxes, plastic containers marked for accessories, and two more chests for lingerie. The faint smell of mothballs mingled with the scent of jasmine.
Beth noticed Judith’s reaction and laughed softly. “These are her transitional winter-to-spring clothes. The rest are in storage, along with most of her furs, and the valuable jewelry is in a bank vault.”
“How can she possibly wear all this?” Judith asked.
Beth shrugged. “Clothes are her security blanket. Love hasn’t worked out nearly as well for her as Armani and Dolce & Gabbana.” She beckoned to Judith. “Come. The vent’s above the end of this rack.”
The first words she heard were spoken by MacRae. “When did you receive this note?”
“Saturday, around noon,” Moira said, though her voice was rather faint. “That is, my husband left it for me then. I wasn’t home. I didn’t get back until much later.”
“Did Mr. Gibbs specify what time he wanted you to meet him at the beach?” MacRae asked.
“Not exactly.” Moira paused. “Please, may I see if my baby’s awake from his nap? Could you summon his governess?”
MacRae’s next words were inaudible. Judith guessed that he had turned away to speak to Ogilvie. “This won’t take long, Mrs. Gibbs,” he said in a louder voice. “Did your husband mention a time frame?”
“Well…that afternoon. Harry loved the beach. He loved to swim. He loved the outdoors. Hunting, fishing, hiking, climbing, all kinds of outdoor activities. Most of them I enjoyed, too. But I was otherwise engaged on Saturday, you see.”
“I gather you hadn’t been living together at the time of his death,” MacRae noted, and paused, apparently waiting for Moira’s response.
“A temporary arrangement,” she replied after a few seconds had passed. “Due to his recent illness. He had very bad flu, and I felt it unwise to risk him contaminating our baby. A virus can be dangerous to a wee one. Are you sure the governess will bring Jamie to me?”
“All in good time,” MacRae assured her. “Are you positive you destroyed the note your husband left for you?”
“Of course. I told you that during our previous interview. Why would I keep it?”
MacRae didn’t answer. “Earlier,” he went on, “you insisted that your husband had no enemies. Yet we’ve learned since that he was not on good terms with several of the other executives at Blackwell, including your own brother.”
“Half brother,” Moira corrected. “His last name is Blackwell only because my father insisted upon it. Jimmy’s mother wasn’t married to my father. Ever.”
Judith heard a door open. “Euphemia,” Moira said, “give the baby to me. My governess, Euphemia Beaton.”
“Your bairn is handsome,” MacRae remarked.
“Yes,” Moira agreed. “You must go now. It’s time for his midday feeding. I prefer giving the bottle to him myself. I’m sure you understand. Thank you, Euphemia.”
Beth pursed her lips. Judith moved to fend off a leg cramp.
“Very well.” MacRae’s voice sounded strained. “We’ll speak again, after the inquest Tuesday.”
“Oh—yes, of course.” Moira sounded vague.
Beth gestured for Judith to move out of the closet. “My God,” Beth said when they reached the sitting room, “what’s going on with Moira?”
“You know her,” Judith said. “I don’t.”
Beth threw up her hands. “I shouldn’t be talking about all this, but I’m terribly upset. Moira can be the most charming, generous, kindest woman on earth, but she has no common sense. She’s doesn’t know how to protect herself from predators. I don’t give bloody all about Harry. That marriage was a disaster. He married her for money and the power he hoped to get through Blackwell Petroleum.”
Judith nodded sympathetically. “Moira has no head for business?”
“She’s intelligent, but she’s young,” Beth said, standing near the door to the boudoir and keeping her voice down. “She likes to party. But she also likes being the nominal head of Blackwell. In time, she could—”
The door opened and the two policemen entered the sitting room.
“Mrs. Gibbs is feeding her baby,” MacRae said, and looked questioningly at Beth. “She and the governess need quiet time.”
“I’ll wait here,” Beth said, looking slightly truculent.
“Certainly.” MacRae started across the room but turned around. “Mrs. Flynn, may I speak to you for a moment in the hall?”
Surprised, Judith left with MacRae and Ogilvie. “I realize,” she said when they were in the hallway, “that I’m a stranger, but—”
MacRae held up a hand. “No need for explanations. Do you have your passport with you?”
Judith felt alarmed. “I left it at Grimloch. I can get it if you—”
“No need. The question was a ruse.” MacRae moved a few steps away from Moira’s suite but spoke softly. “You know that in this era of terrorism the authorities do background checks on foreign visitors.”
“Of course,” Judith said, her apprehension mounting.
“Thus,” MacRae continued, “we learned who you really are.”
Judith’s eyes widened. “You did?”
MacRae smiled. “Indeed. Even though you appear to be on vacation, we’d appreciate any help you can give us. This case may have international implications, as I’m sure you realize.”
“Oh. Yes. Oil.” Judith nodded several times.