Judith shook her head. “Sometimes kids are just bad apples.”
“Maybe.” Renie checked her watch. “Ten-twenty. I wonder how many people attend Mass in this Scottish Reformed Church country? Which reminds me, speaking of parents. It was Saint Margaret of Scotland who had six kids, and three turned out fine but the other trio was awful. She once remarked that even Ted Williams never batted five hundred.”
Judith smiled. “I doubt she used those words, since she must’ve died about nine hundred years before Ted Williams was born.”
“Oh?” Renie feigned innocence. “Maybe Saint Margaret meant shooting from the field. Or pass completions. You get the point, though I’m not sure I agree with it.”
The dining room door from the passageway opened. Beth Fordyce entered, wearing a very short yellow nightgown. “Coffee!” she exclaimed, her slanting brown eyes widening. “Where?”
“Try the silver urn,” Renie said. “We’re drinking tea this morning.”
“What a ghastly night,” Beth said, taking a cup and saucer from the sideboard. “I hardly slept. I’ve never been interrogated by the police. What do I know about Harry’s death? It’d be like him to blow up his own car, from what I’ve heard. He craved attention.” She poured her coffee and sat down a couple of places from Judith. “Phil is wild.”
Judith was puzzled. “You told us the explosion didn’t kill Harry.”
Beth nodded. “That’s what I was told. The autopsy’s tomorrow. The Sabbath is sacred around here.” With delicate fingers, she picked up her cup and saucer. “I must dress for Mass.”
After Beth left, Judith looked at Renie. “So she’s RC. Who else?”
Renie shrugged. “We seem to have fallen into a nest of papists.”
“Ordinarily, that’d be fine with me,” Judith said, “but at the moment, I have my doubts about whether these people practice what they preach. Especially,” she added grimly, “‘Thou shalt not kill.’”
Father Keith was elderly, white-haired, and rail-thin, but he zipped through the liturgy at top speed. The only reference to Harry Gibbs was during the intercessions when the priest asked the small congregation to pray for the dead man’s soul.
Despite the brevity of the service, Judith had time to take in the age-old beauty of the chapel. The statues of Jesus, Mary, St. Joseph, and St. Fergna probably weren’t the originals, but they definitely dated from the eighteenth or even seventeenth century. The Stations of the Cross in bas-relief also looked as if they’d been added later. Behind the altar the stained-glass windows depicted various saints Judith couldn’t identify. The workmanship looked very old, though a few sections looked as if they’d been replaced after attacks by enemies or Mother Nature. The tabernacle was crafted from ancient gold and studded with jewels.
Philip and Beth Fordyce, Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs, and—to Judith’s surprise—Mrs. Gunn were in attendance. So were a dozen strangers, though she couldn’t help but notice a pretty young woman in the back pew wearing a gorgeous sable coat. As Father Keith concluded the Mass after the final blessing, he all but darted out of the chapel. Judith surmised that he was a kind of circuit-riding priest who still had at least one more Mass to celebrate in another nearby village or town.
As the worshippers left the chapel, Judith noticed that Beth had paused to light a votive candle.
“Hold it,” Judith whispered to Renie.
“Why?” Renie shot back. “Father Speedo skipped the sign of peace. I wanted to take the opportunity to deck Mrs. Gunn again.”
“She might have decked you,” Judith said. “Here comes Beth.”
“Is there a priest shortage in Scotland, too?” Judith asked.
“Oh yes,” Beth replied, “especially in the Highlands. The few younger priests who are ordained all seem to want to teach. Pardon, I must speak with Will and Marie.”
The cousins trailed behind Beth as she called to the couple Judith had noticed in the last pew. The woman, who apparently was Marie, exuded a lush air with her fair skin, masses of auburn hair, and all that expensive fur. The man at her side was of average height, with a receding hairline, a long, lean face, and a slightly hooked nose.
Judith’s observations were cut short by a commotion on the cobbled walkway to her left. Philip and Chuckie were arguing. Or rather, Chuckie was screaming at his father and jumping up and down.
“I’m not going to hell!” Chuckie shouted. “I get bored in church! That’s why I threw oranges at the priest during Christmas Mass!”
Philip grabbed his son by the collar, dragging him away from the others. Judith couldn’t hear what Philip was saying, but Chuckie wore a truculent expression and kept shaking his head as he leaned against the half-timbered wall. Judith noticed that Beth had abruptly stopped talking to Will and Marie. Except for Mrs. Gunn, the rest had left.
“Phil!” Beth shouted. “Let me speak with Chuckie!”
Chuckie took a couple of swings at his much taller father but missed. With a weary expression, Philip walked off. He’d gone only a few feet before Chuckie raced up from behind and tackled the older man. Philip fell flat on his face. Chuckie sat on him and hooted in derision.
Beth headed toward her husband and her stepson. “Chuckie, Chuckie, what are you doing?” she asked in a resigned voice. “Get up. I’ll make you some cocoa.”
“Really?” Chuckie grinned at her as Philip tried to dislodge his errant son. “With biscuits?”
“Of course. Come along now. Be my good boy.”
Chuckie sprang off of his father and hurried to take Beth’s outstretched hand. “What kind of biscuits?” he inquired.
“Your favorites,” Beth said, leading Chuckie away.
The man called Will was helping Philip get up. The woman named Marie strolled over to Judith and Renie. She
