Judith, Joe, and Bill said yes. Renie looked apologetic. “Do you have any Canadian whiskey—or Pepsi?”
Gibbs nodded and reached into a glass-fronted cabinet next to the table. “Set aside for our colonial cousins.”
Judith accepted a flared crystal highball glass. “May I please have some ice?”
“Ah.” Gibbs’s blue eyes twinkled. “Yanks. Ye must have yer ice.”
After the drinks were poured, Gibbs announced that he’d retire to assume his other duties. “Cook serves at half past the hour,” he said.
Judith sipped her drink and explored their surroundings. “Some of these paintings must be very valuable,” she said to Renie. “Is that Venice scene a real Canaletto?”
“Could be,” Renie replied. “There’s a Turner Grand Canal on the other wall. The portraits are excellent, too.”
“Mostly ancestors, I suppose.”
“Maybe, but not all of them,” Renie said. “I spotted Mary, Queen of Scots, and her son James VI—James I, if you only count him as an English king.”
“Fascinating.” Judith looked at Renie’s wool sweater and skirt. “You were smart to pack at least one warm outfit.”
“Ah…well, you know…” Renie looked away, ostensibly studying an inlaid chess table on a pedestal. “The weather’s always unpredictable.”
Judith eyed her cousin suspiciously. “But wool?”
Still avoiding Judith’s gaze, Renie shrugged. “Wool…breathes.”
“Only when the sheep’s wearing it,” Judith snapped. “What else did you pack that you couldn’t possibly wear in eighty-degree heat?”
Renie grimaced. “A couple of other sweaters. Wool slacks. Hooded jacket. Furs.”
“Furs?”
“Faux fur,” Renie said. “Except for my raincoat’s real fox lining.”
Judith moved closer to Renie, forcing her to back up against a mahogany settee. “You knew?”
Renie shot a quick glance at Joe and Bill, who were standing on the hearth at the other end of the room. “Bill had to tell me. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to get me on the plane. But he figured that if we were headed for Scotland, I’d be willing to fly. You know I love Scottish history. And,” Renie added lamely, “Scottish weather. It’s just like home, only more so.”
“You lied to me!” Judith exclaimed softly. “How could you?”
“I didn’t really lie,” Renie insisted. “Bill didn’t tell me until the night before we left. Please don’t let Joe find out. Until now, I had to act clueless. Bill felt terrible about breaking his promise to Joe, but he realized I might stay home even if I had to fake my own death.”
Judith shook her head. “I’m speechless—and flabbergasted.”
“Hey.” Renie wagged a finger at her cousin. “This whole thing started because of your dumb bet, and the —”
“It wasn’t dumb,” Judith interrupted. “At first, it was fifty—”
“Never mind that part. I mean,” Renie clarified, “the vacation stakes. Why on earth would you, a Pacific Northwest native, want to seek sun? It’s unthinkable.”
Judith considered her cousin’s words. “Honestly, I don’t know why I said Dana Point. I’d been there a couple of times with Dan, and it was very pleasant. For a few hours. Maybe when Joe asked me where I’d like to vacation, I didn’t think it through. Maybe I forgot how much I hate heat and constant sunshine.”
“That’s okay,” Renie said in consolation. “Everybody has an occasional lapse.”
The cousins’ attention was diverted as a tall, handsome young man in classic tweeds entered the drawing room. Joe and Bill nodded as the newcomer went directly to the cabinet where the liquor was stored. He poured out a generous measure of whiskey and rather insolently gazed from the husbands to the wives. “Do I know you?” he asked in a slightly drawling voice that sounded more English than Scots.
Joe offered his hand. “We’re guests. Joe Flynn and Bill Jones. Our wives are over there.” He nodded in Judith and Renie’s direction.
The young man’s handshake lacked enthusiasm. “Oh. I heard you were coming. Or did I?” He frowned. “I’m Harry Gibbs.”
Judith and Renie had approached the young man. “I’m Mrs. Flynn, and this is Mrs. Jones.”
Harry Gibbs’s hazel eyes darted from cousin to cousin. “Oh.” He drank his whiskey neat.
Judith was taken aback by Harry’s ungracious manner. “Are you related to the Gibbses?” she asked to cover the awkward moment.
“Grandson,” he said, and finished his drink in one big gulp. Harry returned to the liquor cabinet and poured a refill. Without another glance at the visitors, he sauntered out of the drawing room.
“Not exactly the warm and fuzzy type,” Judith remarked. “I wanted to ask him who we saw at the end of the passageway. Whoever it was almost looked like a child. I should’ve asked Gibbs.”
“Maybe,” Renie suggested, “it’s another—younger—grandson. Harry’s parents may dump their offspring on Grandpa and Grandma.”
“Harry’s no kid,” Joe pointed out. “I’d figure him for over twenty. And he was wearing a wedding ring.”
