nice to go somewhere and not stumble over a dead body.”
“You mean and not care if I stumble over a dead body,” Judith amended. “Everybody encounters dead bodies every day.” She saw Renie start to protest. “Hold it, coz—let me finish. At home, the morning paper often has a homicide victim in the news. The obituaries may contain someone whose death is unnatural. We’re untouched by them. But when someone is killed within my purview, I have to act. Get it?”
Renie nodded wearily. “I’ve always gotten it. I just…get fed up with it. Or maybe I get scared. It’s a dangerous avocation.”
“Life’s a risk,” Judith said. “Now will you shut up? Here’s the food, and I’d like to try hearing what Morton’s saying across the way.”
Renie was content to keep quiet as she delved into her lamb and kidney pie. But Morton and his companion were speaking quietly. Seriously, too, Judith noticed, except for Morton’s occasional hearty—if harsh—laughter. His companion was more solemn, rarely managing even a smile. Finally, they were eating what looked like puddings. Morton put aside the napkin on which he’d been scribbling some notes.
The waitress came over to Judith and Renie, asking if they were enjoying their meal.
“Very much,” Judith said. “The haddock and chips are excellent. My cousin would say the same about her meat pie if she’d stop eating long enough to talk. By the way,” she continued, dropping her voice, “the fair-haired man in the inglenook is familiar. Should I know him?”
The waitress glanced discreetly at Morton and his fellow diner. “You mean you know him from the States?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Judith fibbed. “Maybe he reminds me of someone. Is his name…Rankers, by any chance?”
The waitress shook her head. “Nae. He’s Seumas Bell, an attorney for Blackwell Petrol. Comes here often when he has business with poor Mrs. Gibbs. But you wouldn’t know her, not being from these parts.”
“We do know her,” Judith said. “It’s a shame about her husband.”
The waitress’s eyes grew round as she leaned closer, exuding a lavender scent. “Oh, isn’t it though? That laddie met a cruel fate! And now Mrs. Gibbs has taken to her bed, a nervous wreck, I hear. She’s never had good health or good luck with men.” The waitress grimaced. “I mustn’t tell tales out of school, but you’re acquainted so you know.”
“Yes,” Judith said with compassion, ignoring Renie, who had spilled gravy on her new cashmere sweater. “Two husbands dead, her parents dying fairly young, and a big oil company with no one to lean on except her half brother, who strikes me as resentful of her inheritance.”
“I suppose you can’t blame Jimmy in a way,” the waitress said. “He’s very capable. Some would tell you he’d be a much better…what do you call them?…chief executive than his sister. She’s so much younger and hasn’t had his experience. But there it is.” The waitress looked up as a young couple entered the restaurant. “Pardon, I must see to these people. Will you be wanting a sweet?”
The cousins declined, and the waitress hurried off. Renie was dabbing at her sweater with a wet napkin. “Well?”
Judith frowned. “Who said that Moira took to her bed?”
“If she has,” Renie said, “Patrick’s in it with her.”
Judith shot a surreptitious glance in Morton’s direction. “Maybe he told the waitress. Or the other man, Seumas Bell.”
“It could be anyone,” Renie said. “Gossip travels fast in small towns. They all know each other and don’t have a lot of things to do.”
“True.” Judith chewed thoughtfully on her last chip.
Morton and Bell were getting up, making ready to leave. They paid no attention to the cousins. Morton’s small piglike eyes glittered with something that might be pleasure. Bell, however, looked worried.
“They left the napkin,” Judith said after the two men departed.
“So?”
“Morton was writing on it.” Judith got up, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and went to the vacant table. With a swift gesture, she grabbed the napkin and returned to her seat.
“Let’s see what he wrote.” She unfolded the paper napkin and smoothed it out on the tablecloth. “Numbers, mostly. I don’t know what to make of them. There’s a name, though. Morton’s handwriting is wretched. See if you can read it.” She passed the napkin to Renie.
“They might be stock prices,” Renie said. She studied the jumble of letters. “The closest I can come is ‘Venus Goo.’ That can’t be right.”
Judith took the napkin from Renie and put it in her purse. “Just in case,” she murmured.
Renie didn’t comment.
The waitress presented their bill. “I have a message for you,” she said, looking apologetic. “Barry—the pizza lad from Tonio’s—rang up to say he can’t come get you. His brakes are bad, and must be fixed at the auto repair tomorrow. He said he hoped you could wait.”
“For what?” Renie retorted. “A bus?”
“There is a bus,” the waitress said. “It’s due here”—she paused to look at the watch pinned to her apron—“in six minutes.”
“It stops at the restaurant?” Judith inquired.
“If you flag it,” the waitress said.
Renie flipped her credit card onto the table. “We’re on our way.”
