“But you work here,” Judith noted, sitting in one of the side chairs.
Patrick took off his leather jacket and tossed it on the back of the sofa. “Sometimes. Drink?” He’d gone to a cupboard near the dining room table. “Any kind of Scotch you like?”
“Whatever you’ve got,” Judith said.
“I hate Scotch,” Renie replied, making a face.
Patrick looked faintly startled. “Did you tell Phil Fordyce you hated Scotch, so he put out your eye?”
“You ought to see Phil,” Renie retorted. “He’s in a body cast.”
Patrick seemed mildly amused. “Ah. Spunky American females. That’s good.” He moved some bottles around in the cupboard. “Rye?”
“That’s also good,” Renie said. “But don’t add anything lethal.”
“See here,” Patrick said, pausing as he started to pour their drinks into glass tumblers. “If I intended to harm you, I’d have done it already and tossed your spunky American bodies into the sea. I’m looking for information, not trouble.” He finished filling the glasses. “Tell me exactly what happened to Chuckie.”
Judith recounted the discovery in the dungeon while Patrick handed the cousins their drinks and eased his athletic form onto the sofa. “It was ghastly,” Judith concluded. “I was afraid something might happen because he was bragging that he knew who killed Harry Gibbs.”
Patrick frowned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, which looked as if it had been broken. He also had a small scar under his left eye. Judith wondered if they were remnants from the night Davey had crashed the Lamborghini. “So Chuckie claimed he knew whodunit. Nonsense, probably. Dangerous nonsense, of course.” He shook his head. “Chuckie seldom left Grimloch. I haven’t seen him in a year or so.” With a glint in his hazel eyes, Patrick leaned forward. “And how did you two get involved in this Harry Gibbs mess?”
“An accident,” Judith said innocently. “We’re on vacation with our husbands. They’ve gone fishing with Hugh MacGowan.”
“The MacGowan,” he murmured. “How strange to have him away at a time like this.”
“Strange?” Judith repeated. “This vacation was planned by our husbands. They met MacGowan on a previous fishing trip. My husband’s a retired police detective.”
“Mine’s a nut doc,” Renie said. “He could find several patients around here, maybe even a sociopath or two.”
“Really.” Patrick didn’t look at Renie, but kept his attention on Judith. “MacGowan would’ve made arrangements for time off,” he pointed out. “It’d be known when he’d be away.”
“I see what you mean,” Judith said. “Is MacRae not as capable?”
Patrick shrugged. “Not necessarily. MacGowan knows everybody and everything about this area. He’s very good at what he does. MacRae is an outsider, which is a hindrance. That’s why I’ve taken it upon myself to get to the bottom of Harry’s murder.”
Judith nodded. “In your capacity as security chief at Blackwell?”
“Yes.” Patrick took a quick swig of his whiskey. “I started out with the company working on oil platforms in the North Sea. It was dangerous, if exciting, work. In my off hours I figured out ways to improve employee safety. I caught upper management’s attention and found myself propelled ever upward. I’m in charge of security, which makes me a sort of corporate policeman.”
Judith’s first inclination was to say that it wasn’t wise for amateurs to get involved. Realizing her own hypocrisy, she nodded. “You think you can help with the official inquiry?”
“I know the players far better than MacRae—or even MacGowan,” Patrick said with conviction. He leaned forward, a glint in his eyes and a faint smile on his lips. “So tell me—where’s the jewel case?”
Judith was taken aback. “What jewel case?” she asked.
Patrick chuckled. “You know. The one in your purse.”
“Stolen,” Judith said. “The theft has been reported to the police.”
Patrick swore softly. He took another gulp of whiskey and recovered his composure. “Do the police know what was in the case?”
“No,” Judith said.
Patrick’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Did you read the contents?”
Judith felt the tension build inside as her hold on the cocktail glass tightened. “Yes.”
“Love stuff,” Renie said.
“Fake,” Patrick said.
“Fake?” Judith repeated.
He nodded. “Will told me about them. Contrived to make it sound as if Moira was having an affair, probably with me. It’s an obvious attempt to implicate her in Harry’s death by providing the motive of a lover.” He chuckled and shrugged.
“Do you know who got hold of the original emails in the first place?” Judith inquired.
“Will,” Patrick replied. “He didn’t know what to do with the bloody fabrications, so he brought them for Beth to read.”
Judith nodded. “All I know,” she said, “is that I ended up with the case in my purse and then it was swiped from my room. Who’d take it?”
“I don’t know,” Patrick admitted, getting up and going to the front window. “It’s all bosh anyway.” He stopped speaking and peered outside. A full minute passed while Judith tried to get comfortable in the too-soft side chair and Renie fidgeted with her unruly hair.
“Are we having company?” Renie asked as Patrick continued to stare through the window.
He didn’t answer, but moved to turn off the lamp by Judith’s chair. The only light came from the kitchen, casting a pale yellow glow as far as the dining room table.
“MacRae isn’t supposed to meet us here, is he?” Judith asked.
Again, Patrick didn’t answer. He walked past the cousins without a word, through the dining area and into the kitchen. Two faint clicks indicated the opening and closing of a door. Judith stared at Renie.
“I bet he left.” Renie jumped up and raced to the kitchen. A knock sounded at the front door. Judith sat very still. Renie came back into the common room. “Patrick’s gone,” she said. “Is somebody outside?”
Judith nodded. “Let’s sit tight.”
The knock sounded more loudly, followed by a masculine voice calling Patrick’s name.
“Who?” Renie whispered.
Judith shook her head. “Someone Patrick’s avoiding.” The pounding made the doorknob rattle. “Maybe we should find out.”
“Weaponry,” Renie said. “I’ll take the fireplace poker, you get a butcher knife.”
“Hold off on the armaments.” Judith moved to the door as the pounding and shouting continued. “Who is it?” she asked loudly.
The pounding stopped.
There was no chain on the door. Judith couldn’t open it enough to see who was there without letting the man inside. She repeated her request for him to identify himself.
“Seumas Bell,” he finally said. “Let me in.”
Judith opened the door. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “We’re just—”
Seumas brushed past her, glanced at Patrick’s leather jacket on the sofa, and went straight to the kitchen.
Renie had rejected Judith’s advice and was standing on the hearth holding the poker. “He didn’t see me. Are his eyes as bad as mine?”
“It sounds like he’s gone into another room,” Judith said. “I assume he’s looking for Patrick.”
Renie took a practice swing with the poker. “Shall I whack him when he comes back in here?”
“No.” Judith found a table lamp and switched it on. “Seumas doesn’t seem interested in us. Maybe we should leave.”
But it was too late. Seumas stormed back into view before the cousins could move. Once again, he paid no attention to them, but continued his search, bending down to look under the dining room table. “Well?” he demanded, straightening up. “Where is he?” His gaze fixed on Judith. “I’ve seen you somewhere. What are you doing here?”