Judith was mystified. “Why? I thought Kate wanted our help.”
“Somebody called on her cell phone?” Renie suggested.
Judith opened the door. The dirt path ran behind two smaller buildings before abutting Patrick’s property. “I wonder if he’s there.”
“Do we find out?” Renie asked.
“Are you really hungry?”
“No. I’m still too worried about our guys.”
Judith went into the office, wrote a brief note to Ian explaining their hasty departure, and left twenty pounds on the desk.
“Since when,” Renie inquired as they walked along the narrow path, “did we get stupid? This could be a trap.”
“Why? There’s no reason for Kate to harm us,” Judith replied.
“The trap might be for Kate. Maybe she knows too much.”
“Kate can take care of herself,” Judith said, opening a gate in the hedge that went around the cottage. “Let’s try the back way.”
Her knock drew no response. “We’ll try the front,” Judith said.
The result was also futile, and there was no sign of Patrick’s car. “I’m stymied,” Judith admitted. “I assume Kate drove to the village, but we’ve no idea what she drives. Now what?”
Her cell phone rang. Hurriedly, she took it out of her purse.
“MacRae here,” he said. “I’ve good news. MacGowan sent us a text message saying they’d found a hot spot on the Findhorn and changed their plans. They’ll be in touch.”
“Oh!” Judith exclaimed. “That’s a relief! I’ll tell my cousin they’re safe. Thanks so much.” She rang off.
“So we’re not widows after all?” Renie said with a big grin.
“No, thank heavens,” Judith replied, putting the cell back in her purse. “So where is Kate? And where is Patrick?”
Part of the answer came in the form of Barry, driving his rattletrap car down the High Street. “Hullo!” he called. “Busy time. Lunch hour.” Brakes squealing like so many piglets, he managed to stop just short of Patrick’s fence. “He’s not home.”
“How do you know?” Judith inquired, moving cautiously toward the unpredictable vehicle.
“Because he’s at Hollywood House, giving a press conference,” Barry replied. “I just came from there. Those reporters like pizza.”
“What kind of press conference?” Judith asked, one eye on the Bruce, who was nibbling on pepperoni in what was left of the backseat.
“Oh—you know,” Barry said vaguely. “The reporters all ask questions at once, and the nob who’s behind the mike goes blahblah and never really answers.”
“Patrick must have had a reason for calling the press conference,” Judith asserted. “Do you remember anything he said?”
The hamster had polished off the pepperoni and was nibbling on a much-abused suede jacket.
“The Bruce is eating your outerwear,” Renie said. “Do you mind?”
Barry turned around to look into the backseat. “Nae, he likes it better than I do. It’s too short in the sleeves for me.”
“It’s getting shorter,” Renie noted. “That’s the part he’s chewing.”
Barry shrugged. “It came cheap, being second—” He stopped and snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. Patrick was talking about Davey Piazza. That’s who the jacket belonged to before it was sent to the thrift shop. Patrick claimed that Davey’s accident wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t an accident?” Judith said.
“Right. Patrick told the reporters that if they wanted to find out who killed Harry they should go after whoever made Davey’s car crash.” Barry tapped the padded container next to him in the front seat. “Sorry. Got two more pizza deliveries—the post office and the auto repair.”
The cousins gave Barry and his car a wide berth. After a couple of false starts, the engine caught and he rattled off toward Archie’s garage.
Judith was silent for a few moments. “Davey’s death has always struck me as a little too convenient.”
“His rise and fall seem odd,” Renie agreed. “It’s not as if someone immigrating to a new country doesn’t have to take a menial job for starters, but they usually spend a long time working their way up. Davey fell into the cream awfully fast.”
Judith nodded. “Moira didn’t hire him for his ability to toss pizza dough. Her habit of falling in love indicates she was thinking with the wrong part of her anatomy.” She paused, shielding her eyes from the midday sun. “This is starting to make sense. I think.”
“Ah.” Renie smiled. “Your customary logic has kicked in.”
Judith shrugged. “I don’t understand big business, but I know people. There aren’t many motives for cold- blooded murder, but jealousy is a big one.” She gazed toward the sea where the sun glinted off of the incoming waves. “There are plenty of reasons for envy with this bunch. You might say,” she said wryly, “we’ve got too much
