Judith checked her watch. “It’s almost three. When’s high tea?”
“How about the village tearoom?” Barry asked.
“We went there yesterday,” Renie said. “What else is nearby?”
Barry considered. “There’s a fine place down the road. Cummings House, it’s called. Alison and I ate there once. It’s pricey, though.”
“Money’s no object,” Renie declared. “I’m starved.”
Barry struggled to start the car, but eventually the engine caught and the vehicle lurched forward. They passed the gate to Hollywood and continued on the road for at least a mile. Judith admired the rowan and birch trees, though after another mile or two, the road climbed slightly. Now they were winding among alder and pine. Then the road dipped precipitously. The car sped down the hill into a glen.
Judith saw a two-story timber-fronted building up ahead. As they raced along the road, she saw the sign proclaiming Cummings House. “Is that the place?” she asked.
“Aye,” Barry said, and gulped.
“I thought we were stopping there,” Judith said.
“I thought we were, too,” Barry agreed, pumping the brakes, “but I guess not. The car won’t stop. Oh well.”
The road had flattened out. “You don’t have seat belts in this thing!” Renie shouted. “You’re going to get us killed!”
“Nae,” Barry responded, turning around to look at Renie. “Mind The Bruce. Don’t let his cage slip off the seat.”
“Watch the damned road!” But Renie put a steadying hand on the cage as the car began to slow down.
On the next bend, Barry aimed for a hedgerow. The car thudded into the barrier and groaned to a stop. Judith hazily guessed they were going only about ten miles an hour. She caught herself on the dashboard; Renie was holding The Bruce’s cage and cussing her head off.
Barry was slumped over the wheel. “Whew!” he exclaimed, and whistled softly. “Sorry. How’s The Bruce?”
“He’s filing a lawsuit for whiplash,” Renie snapped. “How are we getting to the restaurant? Afoot?”
Before Barry could answer, Judith’s cell phone rang.
“How’s it going?” Joe inquired in a cheerful voice.
Judith gritted her teeth as she peered through the windscreen and saw a goat peering back from the other side of the hedgerow.
“Uh…we’re not going at the moment,” she replied, mouthing her husband’s name for Renie’s benefit. An acrid stench filled Judith’s nostrils—no doubt, she figured, the odor of burning brakes. Or the goat. “Where are you?” she asked Joe. “At the castle?”
Joe’s chuckle sounded forced. “No. No, actually we’re at Invergarry by Loch Oich. We had some luck on the Spey, but Hugh thought we should try some of the other nearby streams and lochs. He’s on leave, you know, so he doesn’t have to get back to work for a week or so. We’ll go from here to the River Beauly and Beauly Firth, maybe on Tuesday. Hugh says the salmon fishing there is amazing.”
“You mean,” Judith said, looking at Renie, “you and Bill aren’t returning to Grimloch anytime soon?”
“Well…this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to fish these waters,” Joe explained. “Not just anybody can access them. Since Hugh’s offered us the opportunity, we could hardly turn him down.”
“Hardly,” Judith said dryly. “Are you camping out?”
“What? Oh—no, you know Bill. He’s not one for camping.”
“Neither are you,” Judith pointed out. “Your idea of camping is a rustic five-star lodge with a jazz combo for your evening entertainment. Where are you staying tonight?”
“We just checked into the Glengarry Castle Hotel. Hold on,” Joe said. “Bill, you got the remote? Thanks.” There was a pause. “Great digital TV reception here. Tell Renie that Bill’s eating a banana ice cream sundae. I think I’ll talk him into giving me a taste.”
“I won’t mention that,” Judith said as the goat wandered away.
“Lots of other stuff around here, too,” Joe said. “There’s a ruined castle right by the hotel and we’re not far from Ben Nevis and—”
“Stop,” Judith interrupted. “You’re breaking up at this end.” It was a lie, but Barry had gotten out of the car and was trying to push it away from the hedgerow.
“Oh—sorry,” Joe said. “Everything okay with you and Renie?”
“It’s swell,” Judith replied. “We’ve gone for a country drive.”
“Great,” Joe enthused. “I knew you and Renie would find plenty to do around St. Fergna. Bill sends his love. Talk to you later.”
Judith shoved the cell phone back in her purse. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or peeved. Joe and Bill and even Hugh MacGowan don’t seem to know anything about Harry’s death. Hugh’s taking a short leave to cart our husbands around the Highlands—in style, I might add.”
“The Bruce doesn’t like that goat,” Renie asserted. “It sounds like the husbands have gotten our goat. Why are they having all the fun?”
Judith ignored the question. “Let’s get out of the car. Barry can’t budge it with us sitting here.”
