“If,” Judith said, “Jocko is the CEO, what exactly is Jimmy’s title? He seems to wield quite a bit of power.”
Beth smiled faintly. “Officially, he’s their legal counsel, though most of the work is delegated to Seumas Bell. But because Moira doesn’t always involve herself too deeply in the business, Jimmy acts as her proxy with the right to overrule everybody else, including Jocko. Or did, until Harry barged in and started to interfere.”
“Harry was a thorn in many people’s sides,” Judith remarked.
Beth thought for a moment. “He was young and arrogant. That didn’t sit well with the people who’d been with Blackwell a long time. I don’t know much about the company. Moira,” she added with a wry expression, “rarely discusses it.”
Judith had intended to bring up the relationship between Moira and Patrick when what sounded like a pager went off. Beth went to the phone on a side table. “Yes, Mrs. Gibbs?” she said into the receiver. “Of course. I’ll meet them in the courtyard.” She hung up and turned back to the cousins. “More police are arriving to search for Chuckie.”
Judith and Renie had stood up. “Can we help?” Judith asked.
Beth shook her head. “Thanks, but no. All I can do is suggest some of Chuckie’s hiding places. Oh, damn—I wish Phil were here!”
“Men go missing around here,” Renie said. “Ours are AWOL, too.”
Beth nodded once. “Then they’re the lucky ones, aren’t they?”
It was three-thirty when the cousins returned to the Flynns’ room. “Do you suppose,” Renie asked wistfully, “Mrs. Gibbs is serving tea?”
“Good grief,” Judith said in disgust, “you can’t be hungry again.”
“I will be in half an hour,” Renie asserted. “I’m thinking ahead.”
“Then stop it,” Judith said. “Turn off your stomach and turn on your brain. What should I do with those blasted emails?”
Renie shrugged. “Béarnaise sauce might improve their flavor.”
Judith shot her cousin a menacing glance. “I’m serious. Should I turn them over to the police?”
Renie brightened. “You think they have better recipes?”
“Knock it off!” Judith went to the bureau where she’d put the silver case. “I’m already frustrated. I’m getting cabin fever. I’d like to tour Speyside and Inverness and the glens and the lochs and do some of things regular tourists do.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Renie said. “You’re having a wonderful time trying to solve your latest murder. As a hobby, I suppose it beats stamp collecting and fantasy baseball.”
“Shut up.” Judith rummaged in the drawer, moving her new sweaters and wondering if the castle had a laundry for guests.
“Just think,” Renie said, stretching out on the bed, “you get to go to a real inquest tomorrow. Sound like fun?”
“Coz,” Judith said, “didn’t I put the silver case in this drawer?”
Renie sat up. “Uh…I think so. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
“It’s gone.” Judith felt the color drain out of her face as she turned to stare at Renie. “Someone stole it.”
Renie jumped off the bed. “That’s crazy. Nobody knew you had it.”
“Not true. Whoever put the case in my purse knew it.”
“But,” Renie protested, “that was at Hollywood House.”
“So what?” Judith’s shock was giving way to anger. “Those emails may be crucial to solving this homicide. Who’s been here in the last hour since we got back?”
Renie ticked off the residents and guests. “Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs. Beth and maybe Philip. Will Fleming. Chuckie. The police.” Renie shrugged. “We wouldn’t necessarily know if someone else showed up.”
“True,” Judith agreed, sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed. “Now I’ve got to tell MacRae about the theft—and try to explain why I didn’t turn the blasted emails over to him in the first place. Toss me my cell phone. My purse is on the bed. And don’t touch anything in this room in case there are fingerprints.”
Renie flipped the phone to Judith, who trapped it between her knees. “You think I’m some kind of amateur at this crime stuff?”
Ogilvie answered. Judith phrased her words carefully. “Something has been stolen from my guest room, Sergeant. Could the policemen who are looking for Chuckie check for prints when they get done?”
“Well?” Renie said after Judith rang off.
“He’ll get hold of the cops before they leave,” Judith said. “We don’t have anything worth stealing, which is why I didn’t lock the door.”
Renie nodded faintly. Judith sat quietly on the chest, watching the pale light cast lengthening shadows across the floor. “It’s officially spring,” she said at last. “The seasons have changed since we got here.”
“A lot has changed,” Renie pointed out.
Judith shook her head. “It usually does when we go anywhere. Sometimes I feel like the harbinger of death.”
“Don’t. You think just because you showed up, somebody took that as a cue to murder Harry Gibbs?” Renie held up a hand to keep Judith from talking. “Don’t say it. If you really believed that, you’d think you were the center of the universe. That’s not the real you.”
Judith didn’t argue. “Let’s find out how we get from this part of the castle to the other part without crossing the courtyard. We’ll take the elevator at the other end of the hall and ask Mrs. Gibbs. I can’t figure it out from the castle diagram because they show only the guest section and the rest is marked private or refers to structural features. Even I know a rampart when I see one.”
“What if the cops show up in your room?” Renie asked.
“I’ll leave a note, along with my cell number. Let’s go.”
“Tea?” Renie said hopefully.
Writing a brief message for the police, Judith ignored her cousin. “Let’s go,” she repeated, putting the slip of paper on the dresser mirror.
Looking disappointed, Renie followed in silence. The elevator was a smaller version of the cage on the cliff. It could accommodate two people, or perhaps just one and a service cart. The conveyance made its own strange noises, creaking and squeaking down to the ground floor.
“The kitchen and the pantry are beyond that door,” Judith said as they exited the lift. “If you ask nicely, Mrs. Gibbs will give you a biscuit.”
“It better be shortbread,” Renie grumbled.
Mrs. Gibbs was stirring a big soup pot. “No tea today,” she said when the cousins entered the kitchen. “I couldn’t bake because the oven broke. Gibbs still isn’t back to fix it. Dinner at eight.”
“We understand,” Judith said. “Excuse us, Mrs. Gibbs. How can we get to the private quarters without crossing the courtyard?”
Mrs. Gibbs brushed a strand of gray hair from her forehead. “Back the way you came, then through the door to the right of the lift.”
“Thanks,” Judith said. “By the way, have your son and his wife been contacted yet?”
Mrs. Gibbs shook her head. “They’ll never find out what’s happened to their poor laddie until they get back from the jungle and into civilized parts. That’s the way they are. It canna be helped.”
“Are their extensive travels work-related?” Judith asked.
Mrs. Gibbs removed the ladle from the soup pot and turned down the heat. “South America, South America—that’s all they know. It’s a wonder the natives haven’t put them in a pot and eaten them.”
“How often do they come back here?” Judith inquired.
Mrs. Gibbs shrugged. “Once, sometimes twice a year. What good does it do? Promises, promises—that’s all they ever make. A fine way to help us old folk! Banks and such want more than empty words!”
“That’s so,” Judith said as Gibbs entered the kitchen.
“Car’s fixed,” he said, and kept going through to the dining room.
Mrs. Gibbs went after him, waving the soup ladle. “Now fix the oven, mon!”