As Moira hurried off, Renie read the inscription aloud: “‘David Pietro Piazza. And Christ receive thy soul.’ He died last October first, at twenty-nine. An Italian in a remote village?”
“Americans aren’t the only ones who move around,” Judith said, gazing at some of the other graves. “There’s another new—and rather ostentatious—monument under that yew tree. It must be a local bigwig.”
The cousins trudged closer to the old stone arch. “It’s the Gunn family plot,” Renie said. “Same name as the pushy old bag in the shop.”
“You’re right.” Judith studied the monument, noticing that some of the letters were chipped, and ivy crept up its twin columns. Still, it was obvious from the neatly clipped grass that the plot was well tended. “Here’s Eanruig Gunn, who died four years ago at fifty-five. Maybe your Mrs. Gunn is his widow. There’s a ship on the marker.” She looked to her left where a statue of an angel overlooked another grave. “This one’s from three years ago, maybe a son, Francis Gunn, twenty-two. No wonder Mrs. Gunn is crabby. She’s had her share of tragedies.”
“I’ve had my share of graves,” Renie said. “Let’s eat.”
The cousins strolled out of the cemetery through the lich gate. Judith smiled. “Weird, huh? Our first tourist stop is a cemetery.” She paused, waiting for a couple of bicyclists to pass. “Nice,” she went on, breathing in the sea- tinged air. “No heat, no hurry, no murders.”
“That’s a dumb thing to say,” Renie chided.
Judith grimaced. “Yes. I wonder why…” She gave herself a shake. “That’s what I get for standing on top of a bunch of bodies. Oh well.”
Renie refrained from saying the obvious.
5
As Judith and Renie finished a lunch of smoked salmon tarts with cream cheese and capers, one of their cell phones rang.
“Yours,” Renie said. “Mine’s not on.”
Judith scrambled for the phone in her large travel purse. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.
The voice at the other end was faint and almost unrecognizable. “Joe?” Judith said so loudly that three elderly ladies at an adjoining table stared—discreetly. “I can’t hear you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Should I go outside to…What? You’ve been spayed?”
Renie was looking alarmed. “Where’s Bill?”
“Oh.” Judith slumped in relief. “You’re at Speyside. When will…Why not?…Joe, I can’t hear you very well…Okay, fine, goodbye.” She clicked off. “The husbands are fishing in the morning,” she informed Renie. “They’re on the River Spey and won’t be back tonight.”
Renie received the news with unusual calm. “Sure. The river’s probably hot. They can’t possibly leave. That’s why they’re there.”
Judith sighed in resignation. “Your father was an avid fisherman. Mine wasn’t. You understand the species better than I do.”
“My father considered fishing a religion,” Renie recalled. “He told me it was no accident that so many of Jesus’s disciples were fishermen, especially Saint Peter. Really, the whole fishing thing is a spiritual experience. It must be magic on these local rivers and streams.”
“You’re being too nice,” Judith pointed out, trying to calculate the tip for their lunch. “That’s not like you. We have no car, so how do we get to church for our own religious experience?”
“Don’t we get a dispensation when we’re traveling?” Renie asked with a quizzical expression. “We’re strangers in a strange land.”
Judith calculated an adequate tip and stood up. “Let’s collect our new clothes and go back to the castle. Frankly, I’m still tired.”
Renie checked her watch. “It’s going on three. The tide’s probably halfway in. Let’s call Gibbs to see if he can pick us up. Didn’t Joe say there was a chauffeur?”
“Who is also probably Gibbs,” Judith pointed out. “Strange—I didn’t see any other car parked on the beach except Harry’s.”
Renie frowned. “You’re right. But maybe we didn’t look far enough. For all we know, there’s a freight elevator somewhere on the cliff and they park their vehicles in the castle garage. Or stable.”
“I doubt that,” Judith said as they exited the tea shop. “Maybe the clerk at the woolen store knows how it’s done.”
The clerk was looking slightly frazzled. “Oh, hello,” she said in a voice that was no longer chipper. “I suppose you want your purchases.” She went to a door at the far end of the counter and disappeared.
“We’ll have to exchange our money Monday when the bank is open,” Judith said. “I can’t put everything on my credit card.”
“I saw a Royal Bank of Scotland on the corner by the village green,” Renie said. “I haven’t spotted an American Express office, but maybe there’s one off the High Street.”
“I don’t think there’s much more to the commercial section than what we’ve seen. The rest of the village looks like cottages and other private homes. I doubt that more than a few hundred people live here.”
“Probably not,” Renie agreed. “It’s off the beaten track.”
For a couple of minutes, the cousins waited in silence. Renie looked through a rack of tailored jackets; Judith resisted the old urge to bite her fingernails.
“What’s taking so long?” Judith finally said. “This place isn’t big enough to lose our packages.”
