Judith gathered up the remains of her dinner. “Of course,” she said, wishing for once that she could be as rude as Renie. There was nothing she’d like more than to hear what type of “private matters” Philip Fordyce and Mrs. Gunn wanted to talk about. “Is it possible that we could take a small bottle and glasses to our rooms?”
“Please.” Philip took a backward step, as if he was afraid the cousins might contaminate him.
“No Scotch for me,” Renie said. “I’d rather drink motor oil.”
Judith went to the cabinet and got two glasses, a pint of Glengrim Scotch, and an airline-sized bottle of Drambuie. Renie was already out of the room. With her hands full, Judith had trouble closing the door before she joined her cousin in the passageway.
“You were awful,” Judith declared. “Though I don’t actually blame you. Despite your loathing of Scotch, I got you some Drambuie, which, as you damned well know, has Scotch in it.”
“The other ingredients disguise the taste,” Renie replied blithely. “Here, let me take your food. I finished mine and left the dirty plate in the drawing room.”
Judith handed over everything but the Scotch. She and Renie were almost to the stairs when Judith stopped. “I’m going back to take your plate to the kitchen. I’m also going to apologize for your big mouth.”
Renie sighed. “You’re going to listen at the keyhole. If there is a keyhole. Go ahead. I’ll see you upstairs in your room.”
Judith didn’t care if a keyhole existed. She hadn’t been able to shut the door tightly because of her burdens. Her only concern was if Philip or Mrs. Gunn had closed it after the cousins’ departure.
But, no doubt because of what Judith perceived as their sense of urgency, the door remained slightly ajar.
“Journalists!” Mrs. Gunn was saying in her husky voice. “If that’s all you’re worried about…” The rest of the sentence was lost to Judith.
“Harry must have died on our property,” Philip said. “I don’t like scandal attached to Glengrim. It’s rotten publicity. Why couldn’t he have stayed at Hollywood?”
“Because of his flu,” Mrs. Gunn replied impatiently. “Moira didn’t want Harry near the baby. She’s very protective, a natural nurse. Moira was a pillar of strength for my poor Frankie when he became ill.”
“Come, come, Kate,” Philip said so loudly that Judith figured he must be near the door. “Harry seemed quite recovered when Beth and I arrived this afternoon. He took one of his bare-bum swims.”
Mrs. Gunn chuckled. “I didn’t say he was clever. Harry has always behaved foolishly. What would you expect with his parents half a world away most of the time he was growing up? A poor choice on Moira’s part, I must say. Still, the lad had charm and looks.”
“That’s all he had,” Philip said as Judith heard the sound of glassware and pouring liquid. “Some might be relieved that he’s dead.”
A brief silence followed. “True,” Mrs. Gunn finally said. “I don’t trust Moira’s judgment. She may act imprudently again.”
“Patrick?”
“Yes.”
“He has a wife. Jeannie’s a lovely girl. Wealthy in her own right.”
“Not as wealthy as Moira.”
“Not many are,” Mrs. Gunn pointed out. “Where does Harry’s death leave us? If he was an obstacle…” Her words became inaudible.
Judith could only catch phrases of Philip’s response. “The plan is…Jimmy’s influence is…if Beth can…out of the way…”
Judith had stood still for so long that her joints were stiff. Lurching slightly, she fell against the door, causing it to open.
“Excuse me,” she said as a startled Philip and Mrs. Gunn looked up from their chairs near the unlit fireplace. “I came to collect my cousin’s things. I don’t want to make more work for Mrs. Gibbs.”
“By all means,” Philip said.
Judith didn’t dare look at him—or at Mrs. Gunn. She sensed they were both suspicious. She also had the feeling that suspicion of others was only one of the traits they shared.
“I must apologize,” Judith said as she gathered up Renie’s plate, silverware, the pewter tray, and the salt and pepper containers. “Mrs. Jones was ungracious. She’s very distraught, of course. My cousin and I,” Judith added, lying through her teeth, “aren’t used to violence.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Gunn said with irony. “I thought you were Americans.”
Judith glanced at Kate Gunn. “Contrary to media reports, we don’t live in constant dread of finding corpses on our doorsteps.”
The other woman said nothing. Judith left the drawing room and headed for the kitchen via the door near the elevator. She had just entered by the old scullery when she heard voices from somewhere in another part of the kitchen.
“Forget about it, Chuckie,” a woman said firmly. “You always think you’re falling in love. I don’t care how old Phil is. I married your father because I wanted to. Please leave me alone.”
“You’re unkind,” Chuckie said. “Now I won’t tell you my secret.”
“You always have secrets, Chuckie,” Beth said in a weary voice. “You shouldn’t listen at doors or hide in closets.”
