“That must rankle,” Judith said.
“Aye, especially after Harry got a plush job with the company.”
A Jaguar sedan had slowed to see what was going on by the side of the road. Judith thought the driver was Jocko Morton, the man who’d been giving the speech on the village green. He looked, he saw—and sped on. Curious, she followed the car with her eyes, wondering if it would turn in at Hollywood. But Morton kept going. “What did Harry do at Blackwell?” she asked, turning back to Barry.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” Finishing with the tank, he put the cork back in and screwed the cap onto the petrol can. “Anyway, Harry and Jimmy got into it at the Yew and Eye pub last week. A regular brawl, it was. What should we do with this can?”
“We’ll drop it off at the gate,” Judith said. “You mean a fistfight?”
“Aye, with chairs thrown and bottles broken and pints spilled.”
“Were you there?” Judith asked as Barry escorted her to the passenger side.
“Aye, me and my mates. Quite a show they put on until Will Fleming broke it up. Here,” he said as Judith got into the seat, “move a mite to the right and I’ll fetch the rope to keep you in.”
While Barry went to get the rope from the boot, Judith turned to Renie. “Did you hear that about Jimmy and Harry at the pub?”
Renie nodded. “I wouldn’t have known who to root for.”
“I don’t understand much about any of this,” Judith admitted. “I always think of the oil business as a Middle Eastern thing—or Texas.”
“I don’t think about it at all,” Renie said. “Bill takes care of Cammy. For all I know, gas could cost a hundred bucks a gallon.”
Judith shot her cousin a dirty look. “It’s a global concern. You shouldn’t be so cavalier.”
“Is there something I can do about it?” Renie demanded.
“No,” Judith allowed as Barry struggled with securing the rope, “but this Blackwell business may be the reason why Harry was killed.”
“Moira thinks it was an accident,” Renie reminded Judith.
“I don’t believe it,” Judith countered.
Barry finally fastened the rope and came around to the driver’s side. “What’s your fancy, ladies? We could drive to John O’ Groats with this much petrol. ’Course we couldn’t drive back.”
“Bill made a list,” Renie said, taking a small notepad out of her purse. “Culloden, where Bonnie Prince Charlie was defeated. Cawdor and Brodie Castles. Moray Firth for dolphin sightings. Nairn, where the sun shines more than anywhere else along the northern coast. Culbin Sands, to watch a bunch of birds. We might also consider food. It’s been a long time since breakfast.”
“Um…” Judith stared out through the windscreen, which had several squiggly cracks. “Barry, why don’t you just drive us around this area? I’m a people person, not a nature or history lover. Where does Jimmy live? Or the Flemings? And tell us more about Jocko Morton.” She ignored Renie’s groan.
“Jimmy and his wife live on the other side of St. Fergna,” Barry replied. “Nice house, modern-like. The Flemings have a place down the road here. You can’t see either of them from the car. Morton has a condo in Inverness and a shooting lodge somewhere—I forget.”
“Oh.” Judith was disappointed. “What about Mrs. Gunn?”
“Ah, she’s got a grand house on Spey Bay. I hear she took it from her husband’s ladylove.”
“My, my,” Judith said. “Do all businessmen here have mistresses?”
Barry looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know. We could ask.” He turned a serious face to Judith. “Might be cheeky, though.”
“I mean,” Judith clarified, “Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Gunn both played around, right?” She saw Barry nod. “Who is Jimmy’s mother?”
“Lucy Morton,” Barry answered. “I forget her maiden name. Later on, she married Jocko’s cousin, Rob. They live in Inverness.”
“Please tell me that Rob doesn’t work for Blackwell Petroleum.”
“Nae—he’s a dentist.”
“And Mr. Gunn’s girlfriend?”
“She’s not a dentist.”
Judith sighed. “I don’t mean that. Who was she?”
“A ladyship,” Barry replied. “Let me get this right…the Honorable Diana Porter-Breze. Bonniest woman I ever saw, though not young, not at all. Older than Mr. Gunn, much older than Mrs. Gunn. Nice, too.”
“Does she still live around here?”
Barry shook his head. “She moved to Inverness. Or Paris.”
“Gee,” Renie said plaintively, “The Bruce and I are fading away back here. Any chance of finding a restaurant?”
“There should be pizza in one of those boxes,” Barry said.
“The Bruce may like cold pizza,” Renie said, “but The Cousin doesn’t. Try again.”
