Before Renie could answer, the clerk reappeared. “Sorry,” she apologized, “but I had to lock your purchases in the safe. I use it so seldom that I never get the combination right the first few times.”
Judith was curious. “Do you have a problem with theft?”
“Oh no,” the clerk asserted. “Only in the summer when the visitors come to the beach. Especially the young ones. But…” She blushed and avoided looking at Renie. “Mrs. Gunn was a mite upset.”
“Who wasn’t?” Renie retorted. “What did she do after I left? Threaten to cut up our clothes with a cleaver?”
“Ah…” The clerk winced. “Rather like that, yes.”
Judith nudged Renie. “We must apologize. I hate coming across as typical rude American tourists.”
“Yeah,” Renie mumbled. “But Mrs. Gunn pushed me first.”
“Please,” the clerk said. “My name’s Alison, by the way. Mrs. Gunn is sometimes difficult.”
Judith felt compelled to play peacemaker. “We visited the church graveyard. Mrs. Gunn has suffered recent losses.”
“That’s so,” Alison agreed. “Her husband was killed in a hunting accident. Then her eldest son died very young. It was some sort of fever he’d picked up on a trip to Africa. He was never strong. His wife—still just a bride, really —had done her best to nurse him back to health, but…” Alison stopped and shook her head. “It was all so sad. I admired Moira’s devotion.”
“Moira?” Judith echoed.
“Moira Gibbs,” Alison responded, “now that she’s remarried.” The clerk’s expression had turned sour.
“We met her at the cemetery,” Judith said. “She was putting flowers on the grave of a man with an Italian name.”
Alison nodded. “Davey. He worked for her.”
“Oh?” Judith couldn’t rein in her natural curiosity. “Moira looks so young. What does she do?”
“She inherited Blackwell Petroleum,” Alison explained. “Her parents are both dead. Her father died young, and her mother ran the company for many years until she passed away about the same time that Frankie—Moira’s first husband—died. Moira’s half brother helps run the company. Davey was her personal assistant.”
“And now,” Judith said, “Moira’s married to Harry Gibbs. Does he work for Blackwell Petroleum?”
Alison frowned. “Well—Harry’s not one for working.”
After nineteen years with Dan McMonigle, Judith understood. She was about to ask how Harry’s parents could afford to travel so much, but two young women entered the shop. Renie hurriedly asked Alison if she knew how to get back to the castle when the tide was in.
“You can use this phone,” Alison said, bestowing a friendly smile on the newcomers. “Here, I’ll do it for you.” After a pause, Alison informed whoever had answered that the American guests needed transport. “Gibbs will be along shortly,” she told the cousins.
Judith thanked Alison and exited the shop with Renie, who was already standing by the door.
“Well?” Renie said. “Is your curiosity satisfied?”
“You can hardly blame me for wanting to get to know some of the locals,” Judith said in a defensive tone.
Renie shook her head. “Coz, by the time we leave you’ll be on a first-name basis with everybody in this village.”
“So?”
“Never mind.” Renie paused as a midsize sedan came up the hill. “Maybe this is Gibbs.” But the car kept going. “Maybe it isn’t,” Renie murmured. “I wonder what he’s driving?”
“He can’t miss us,” Judith reasoned. “There are only about ten other people on the High Street.”
An older man on a bicycle went by and doffed his cap. A van that bore the lettering MACBEAN MEAT PURVEYORS came up the street and stopped in front of the butcher shop. The sun had come out again. Judith gazed down the hill toward the castle where the flags hung limp on their standards. “It’s fairly warm,” she remarked.
Renie nodded. “Probably fifty degrees. Still in my comfort zone.”
The quiet of the street was broken by the oncoming roar of a motorcycle heading in their direction.
“Bikers,” Renie said in disgust. “I understand they have problems with them over here, too.”
Before Judith could respond, the cycle slowed and stopped. She stared at the helmeted man leaning on the handlebars. “Gibbs?”
“Aye.” He pointed to a sidecar. “Who goes first?”
“Who,” Renie retorted, “doesn’t have to go at all?”
Judith considered her artificial hip. “Is the ride…bumpy?”
“Nae,” Gibbs replied. “I’ll drive slow.”
Renie nudged Judith. “You go. I’ll find an inn and stay here.”
Judith ignored the sarcasm. Gibbs dismounted to help her get in the sidecar. After securing her parcels with a rope, he started the cycle, and with a mighty roar they made a U-turn and headed down the hill.
Gibbs wasn’t going fast, though the cobbled street made for a rough ride anyway. But as soon as they left the
