Renie sighed. “I know. Damn!”
“We could have lunch,” Judith said.
“I’m not hungry.”
Loss of appetite was a measure of Renie’s concern. “I don’t care much about eating, either,” Judith admitted. “I feel adrift.”
“Grab an anchor,” Renie murmured. “Kate Gunn just came out of the chemist’s shop and she’s headed this way.”
To Judith’s surprise, Kate waved. “A moment,” she called.
“Yes?” Judith said. “What is it?”
Kate looked all around to see if anyone was listening. Only a half dozen people were on the High Street, and they all seemed to be going about their own business. Still, Kate apparently had qualms.
“We’ll go to the Rood & Mitre,” she said. “We must talk.”
She led the way across the High, back up the incline, and around the corner where the pub was tucked away in the narrow street. Judith realized it was almost noon and was puzzled by Kate’s choice of a setting for a private conversation. Lunch hour should be starting at the pub.
Ian was already waiting on a middle-aged couple and two of the booths were occupied. He looked up as Kate entered with the cousins.
“Mrs. Gunn,” he said politely, ushering the women inside. “And the American ladies.” Ian looked curious. “The common room…or…?”
“Or,” Kate replied. “This is a meeting.”
Ian nodded. “The door’s unlocked,” he said, heading for the service counter. “If you want food or drink, fetch me.”
Kate nodded and wordlessly led the cousins through the corridor they’d traversed earlier when they’d spied upon the seance. “This is the office,” she said, opening the door. “It’s small and crowded, but ensures privacy. You never know who might be lurking about.”
Judith and Renie avoided looking at each other lest they seem guilty for having been numbered among the lurkers. The office arrangement was somewhat different from what Judith had seen through the spy-hole. The table had been moved and apparently was used as a desk. There was an old rail-back chair behind the table. A half dozen folding chairs leaned against the far wall.
“I’m afraid,” Kate said as she sat down behind the table, “you’ll have to use those metal chairs. The amenities here are sparse.”
“No problem,” Judith said as Renie hauled out two chairs and set them up. “You look troubled, Kate.”
The other woman nodded. “I am. I was very curt with you in the cemetery. Afterwards, I realized you were only trying to help.” Kate turned to Renie. “You claim not to have the sight. Yet by my husband’s grave you mentioned whiskey and oil and water. It dawned on me after I walked away that you understood my conundrum.”
“I was guessing,” Renie said.
Kate smiled ironically. “More than a guess.” As Renie started to protest, Kate held up a hand. “No. You must be a Scorpio, Serena.”
“True,” Renie said.
Kate turned to Judith. “You’re a Libra, Judith, a social animal, magnetic, charming, and always seeking balance in your life. You’re oversensitive, though.” She looked again at Renie. “You are competitive, energetic, and hurl yourself into your work, which is often of a creative nature. You do nothing in moderation and you make a fearsome foe. But there is a deeply intuitive side to Scorpios. That’s why I had to speak with you.” She paused, apparently to let her words sink in.
Judith smiled. “I have to admit your assessment of our personalities is accurate.”
“You’re perceptive, Kate,” Renie said. “But how are we to help?”
“I’ll explain,” Kate replied. “My children are the most important thing in my life. I’ve already lost too many of them. Now I may lose my former daughter-in-law.” She paused again and licked her dry lips. “I believe that Moira is in mortal danger.”
“Why?” Judith blurted.
Kate picked up some paper clips from a small box and began linking them together. “This is very confidential. As I mentioned, Philip Fordyce and my husband had a long-standing agreement to ship Grimglen liquor. That’s how Beth met Philip. He’s known her since she was born.” Kate smiled faintly, as if recalling the moment when her baby daughter was first placed in her arms. “Philip has had some misfortune along the way, not just with his distillery business, but with his family life. He’s lost two wives, and his only son was born with severe problems. Now, of course, poor Chuckie is dead. Philip has no heir. If only Beth…” Kate dropped one of the paper clips onto the desk and slowly picked it up. “Beth hasn’t been able to get pregnant. She’s been to fertility clinics all over the world. Philip won’t adopt. Like my own husband, he’s convinced that bloodlines are all that matter.”
“That’s ego,” Judith remarked. “But how does this affect Moira?”
“Blackwell Petroleum,” Kate said, the paper-clip chain now at least two feet long. “Many years ago Moira’s father gave shares of the company’s stock to his closest friends, including my husband.” She grimaced, causing Judith to wonder if Eanruig Gunn had passed on part of his gift to his mistress, Diana Porter-Breze. “After James Blackwell died, his widow wasn’t so generous. The majority shares were left to Moira. If she dies or is convicted of murder, her half brother Jimmy will wrest those shares from her or become her baby’s legal guardian. I don’t trust him an inch, despite his professed moral rectitude.”
“I still don’t understand,” Judith put in.
