Joe ignored the comment. He had led the others to a heavy oak door on their right. The iron knocker was a boar’s head, which he banged three times.
Judith felt chilled as the wind picked up and the damp air crept into her bones. Like Renie, she was hungry, but she was also very tired.
Finally a rotund white-haired woman with pink cheeks opened the door. “Welcome,” she said with a tight little smile. “I’m Mrs. Gibbs, the housekeeper.”
The housekeeper didn’t offer her hand. She merely stepped aside with what might have been a little bow and allowed the visitors to enter. A shield showing three muzzled boars’ heads on a blue background hung on the opposite wall. Above it was draped a predominantly green and blue tartan plaid. Judith could feel a draft coming from somewhere in the narrow stonewalled passageway.
“You’re the ferryman’s wife?” Judith said, unable to restrain her friendly—and curious—nature.
“Aye.”
“When’s dinner served?” Renie asked.
“Bide a bit,” Mrs. Gibbs replied.
“Bite a bit?” Renie retorted. “I’ll bite more than that if you—”
Bill tugged at Renie’s arm. “Mrs. Jones’s feeding time is past due.”
“We should probably change,” Joe put in. “Perhaps you could show us to our rooms.”
“Aye.”
Mrs. Gibbs led them down the narrow passageway to a winding stone staircase. Judith regarded the steps with trepidation.
“How many flights?” she asked.
The housekeeper turned slightly. “Flights? Oh. One.”
The stairs were narrow but spaced close together. Judith realized that when the castle had been built hundreds of years ago, people had been shorter and smaller. That, she thought, was a blessing for her hip. She also noticed that the torches in the wall sconces had been replaced by electric lights shaped like flames. Maybe the accommodations weren’t as grim as the castle’s name implied.
Mrs. Gibbs stopped at the first door on their left. “Flynn,” she said, taking a set of keys on a metal ring from the leather belt she wore over her gray dress. Unlocking the door, she handed the key to Joe. Then she moved across the hall. Judith heard her say, “Jones.”
The Flynns’ room was large, with a huge fireplace ready for a match to light the logs. The windows were tall and recessed, with facing stone benches. A canopied bed stood opposite the fireplace. There was a desk, a table, two armchairs, and a settee.
Mrs. Gibbs returned. “The garderobe,” she said, pointing to another oak door.
“That would be the…bathroom?” Judith said.
“Aye.”
Mrs. Gibbs left.
“Quite a view,” Joe said, looking out the double window with its ancient glass. “That is, when we can see it. We overlook the water.”
“How could we not?” Judith murmured. “This is a virtual island.”
“Shall I light the fire?”
“No. Wait until after dinner. I’m only semifreezing now.” Judith opened the garderobe door. “At least it’s a real bathroom. Toilet, sink, and tub. Even a shower, thank goodness. I won’t have to worry about getting in and out.”
“I know,” Joe said, admiring the tapestry of a hunting scene. “I made sure of that. And,” he added, “there is an elevator. I think it’s at the far end of this passageway.”
“Ah.” Judith was relieved. “What does a place like this cost?”
Joe grinned. “Nothing.”
Judith stared. “How come?”
Joe sat in one of the armchairs. “Remember when Bill and I fished in Scotland while you and Renie stayed with your English friends?”
“They weren’t exactly our friends,” Judith said. “The connection was my longtime pen pal from high school days.”
“Right.” He shrugged. “Anyway, while we were fishing, we met a Scotland Yard detective, Hugh MacGowan. He still works, but plans to retire in June. Great guy, an old-fashioned cop who doesn’t trust modern technology and relies on solid detective work and his instincts. He still uses a typewriter and won’t touch a computer. He knew about Grimloch, and said the owners took in summer guests. I wrote to Hugh even before our bet to ask if we could come earlier in the year. Being a canny Scot, he coaxed them into a free stay for us.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs own this place?”
“No. It belongs to a whiskey distillery owner,” Joe replied. “He spends his winters in Spain, but comes here for part of the year.”
“Good,” Judith said. “You didn’t have to plunder our savings.” A knock at the door sounded as she studied a handsome armoire.
Gibbs arrived with their luggage. Joe proffered a tip but was refused. “Butler rings gong at eight,” Gibbs said,
