“Names, please?” the shorter policeman queried in a soft burr.
The cousins spoke simultaneously:
“Judith Flynn.”
“Serena Jones.”
“We’re guests at Grimloch Castle,” Judith explained, noticing that their name tags read adamson and glen.
“From the States?” Glen inquired.
Judith nodded. “We got here yesterday.”
“You’d best go back to the castle,” Adamson said.
Judith noticed that they were both young, probably not yet thirty. “Can you tell us what happened? We heard an explosion.”
“No need for concern,” Glen said stoically.
Judith persisted. “Was it a…bomb?”
“Please return to Grimloch.” Adamson’s voice turned sharp.
“But,” Judith countered, “we must tell Hugh MacGowan.”
The policemen exchanged glances. They seemed surprised that Judith knew the name. “Detective Inspector MacGowan?” said Adamson.
Judith assumed that was MacGowan’s title. “He’s our host. Right now he’s fishing with our husbands. Have you spoken with him?”
Renie brandished her cell phone. “I’ll call Bill so he can tell Hugh.”
“No!” Glen turned red. “That is, we’ll do it. It’s police business. Ma’am,” he added, and tugged at his cap, “there’s been an accident.”
“We realize that,” Judith said calmly. “Did it involve injuries?”
“Yes.” Adamson grimaced. “A fatality.”
“Who?” Judith asked.
“I’m sorry,” Adamson said. “We can’t say until next of kin are notified. We’re waiting for assistance.”
Judith looked over to the bank where the fire had practically burned out. Flashlights played around the area, probably wielded by emergency personnel. “Was it Harry Gibbs?”
Neither constable replied.
“If so,” Judith said, “you must inform his grandparents.”
“Regulations,” Adamson said. “Next of kin first.”
“Of course.” Judith nodded. “Moira, his wife.”
Again, the men said nothing.
“How very sad,” Judith said softly. “With a new baby and all. He had everything to live for.”
The constables both touched their caps in salute. “If you’ll excuse us…” Glen said politely.
“Sure,” Renie said. “I guess it’s over for Rover.”
Adamson looked puzzled. “Eh?”
Renie waved at the sputtering flames. “The Rover. Harry’s car.”
The policemen walked away. Up by the track that led to the beach, several people had gathered to gawk. Apparently they weren’t being allowed to come closer. Of course, Judith realized, the sands weren’t only an accident scene, but private property.
She flipped the cape’s hood over her head as a breeze picked up off the water. The salt air was strong; the receding surf was muffled. “The victim must be Harry. He’s so young. Moira’s a widow twice over.”
“Are you thinking ‘accident’?” Renie asked.
Judith frowned. “Just once, I’d like to avoid a murder.”
Renie laughed harshly. “With your track record, don’t count on it.”
Judith’s expression was bleak. “I won’t. What should we do? We can’t go back and face the Gibbses,” Judith said. “They suspect the explosion involved Harry, and we have no official word.”
“Are you up to walking into the village?” Renie asked. “It’s either that or spending the night on the beach.”
Judith considered their options. “I suppose we could have dinner in St. Fergna. But we still have to get back to the castle.” She stared as another vehicle drove onto the sands. “Somebody else just arrived. Let’s see who it is. The tide’s out enough that we won’t get our feet wet.”
Judith and Renie proceeded with caution in the wet sand, watching for rocks or any debris that might cause them to stumble. As they grew closer to the accident site, they saw the constables’ footprints. Adamson and Glen were approaching the car that had just come to a stop. A man wearing a raincoat and hat got out from the driver’s side.
Judith assumed he must be the local detective chief inspector—if that was indeed the correct title. But as the
