“Twelve, thirteen,” Joe guessed.
Bill disagreed. “He’s older, but very small for his age, barely five feet. I’d estimate him as closer to twenty.”
“Is he developmentally disabled?” Judith asked.
Bill, who rarely answered serious questions without a great deal of careful thought, considered the query. “That depends on what you mean. I’d have to study him much longer to decide.”
“Is he dangerous?” Renie asked.
Again, Bill took at least a full minute to respond. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” Renie said.
Mrs. Gibbs entered the dining room, bearing prawn cocktails. “Ye done with yer soup?” she asked.
Judith nodded. “It was delicious. Thank you.”
“We had a visitor,” Joe said as Mrs. Gibbs removed the soup plates. “A young fellow named Chuckie.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Gibbs wasn’t surprised. “Was the wee laddie hungry?”
“He wanted a roll,” Joe said.
Mrs. Gibbs espied the crumbs on the stone floor. “Ah.”
Judith couldn’t resist. “Who is he?”
“The master’s son and heir,” Mrs. Gibbs replied. “Chuckie Fordyce.” She placed the prawn cocktails on the table. “The laddie will one day run Glengrim distillery.” She smoothed her white apron. “Unless…” She shrugged. “Main course is next.” She made her exit.
“Don’t buy stock in Glengrim,” Renie cautioned. “The company’s future looks…grim.”
“We have locks on our doors,” Bill said. “I think we’d better use them. The residents seem to show up without warning. Both of them.”
“There could be more,” Judith pointed out. “I must ask Mrs. Gibbs about the tall young man who told us he was the grandson. If Harry is married, maybe there’s a granddaughter-in-law living here, too.”
“According to the layout of the castle that I got from Hugh MacGowan,” Joe said, “the rooms in our wing are all for guests. There must be another section where the family quarters are located.”
“I’d like to see that layout,” Judith said. “Do you have it?”
Joe nodded. “It’s in the pocket of my big suitcase.”
The rest of dinner was uneventful. Since Mrs. Gibbs was looking harried from her exertions, Judith refrained from asking any more questions. After the Flynns and the Joneses had finished their excellent Angus beefsteak, partaken of Bonchester and Cadoc cheeses, and finished with a creme brulee, they were stuffed—and sleepy.
Mrs. Gibbs had a final word for her guests. “Breakfast at five,” she announced.
“Five what?” asked an astonished Renie.
“For the gentlemen,” Mrs. Gibbs replied.
Joe looked sheepish. “Bill and I are meeting Hugh at seven to go over our fishing plans. Maybe we’ll try out a stream nearby.”
Renie looked relieved. “For a moment I thought…Never mind.”
“The ladies may come down anytime after eight,” Mrs. Gibbs informed the cousins. “Breakfast is served from the sideboard in the other part of the dining room.”
When they returned to their room, Judith was too tired to chide Joe about his early departure in the morning. “Just don’t wake me up,” she said, and kissed him good night.
She fell asleep before her husband could start the fire or even begin to undress. Judith had worried that her fatigue might bring on strange dreams, even nightmares, but she slept soundly. When she woke up the only dream she could remember was sitting in a beach tent looking at a gigantic thermometer that registered eighty-five degrees. That was as close to a nightmare as she got.
But of course they’d only been at Grimloch Castle for a few hours.
4
It wasn’t surprising that Renie wasn’t on hand when Judith went down to breakfast at nine o’clock. The food, including kippers, toast, rashers of bacon, scrambled eggs, fruit, and flat, soft rolls was tasty. When Judith finished eating, she couldn’t resist seeking out the kitchen.
It wasn’t difficult. She opened the door Mrs. Gibbs had used, and faced a second baize door. Judith knocked. Mrs. Gibbs responded.
“Aye?” the cook said. “What would ye want?”
“I shouldn’t intrude,” Judith apologized, “but I run an inn. I was curious to see how you manage your kitchen. I serve only breakfast.”
“Come along,” Mrs. Gibbs said with a resigned air.
The kitchen was huge, with an open fireplace and a spit that looked as if it was used regularly. The cast-iron stove had eight round cooking spaces of varying sizes, not unlike the smaller version Grandma and Grandpa Grover had used for years in the family home.
