The cousins had been standing for only a minute or so when an old green and yellow bus lumbered around the bend.
“We’ll assume it has brakes,” Renie remarked, waving at the driver. “Windows and a door are a start.”
Only a dozen or so riders were on the bus, which was eventually going to Inverness. As she started to pay the fare, Judith suddenly realized she had only U.S. coins.
“We haven’t changed our money yet,” Judith whispered to Renie. “Do you have any we can use here?”
“No,” Renie said bleakly. “That change Bill left on the bureau was American.” She gazed inquiringly at the driver. “Do you take AmEx?”
The driver scowled. “No.”
“Bribes?” Renie asked.
“How far?”
“St. Fergna,” Renie replied.
The driver sighed. “Pay me next time.” He started the bus.
The ride was only slightly less jarring than the one in Barry’s beater. Ten minutes later, the cousins got off at the village green. Children were flying kites and playing soccer. One family was cleaning up the remains of a picnic. An amorous young couple nuzzled each other on a wooden bench. The air felt soft as a faint breeze blew through the rowan and birch trees that sheltered the green.
“When do you figure the tide will be back out?” Judith asked.
“It’s going on five,” Renie said, looking at an iron post clock a few doors down the High Street. “Between six and seven, I think.”
“So we’ve got an hour to kill,” Judith noted. “I wonder if the pubs around here are open on Sunday.”
“They are,” Renie said. “For some weird reason I remember that they finally changed the law back in the seventies to keep up with England. The Scots figured it was time to move into the twentieth century, at least as far as drinking was concerned.”
“Then we should have a drink,” Judith said, starting across the street. “The Yew and Eye is only a couple of doors beyond the tea shop.”
“Ah. The site of Jimmy and Harry’s brawl. I should’ve known.”
The weathered sign hanging outside showed a faded tree and a chipped eyeball. Inside, the pub was busy. Judith and Renie managed to find a tiny table near the restrooms—or water closets, as the cousins knew they were known in the UK. It wasn’t the decor that lured customers to the Yew and Eye, Judith realized, since the interior was singularly lacking in any attempt at charm. A string of Christmas lights with several burned-out bulbs hung across the back of the bar. Kewpie dolls wearing kilts lined a plate rail on one side of the room. Black-and-white photos of mud-spattered rugby players were displayed on the other. The windows facing the street were in need of washing, and somebody had left a crimson lipstick kiss on one of the small panes. Judith decided the attraction had to be the beer.
“I don’t recognize anybody,” Judith said, disappointed.
“Gee—and you’ve been here almost two whole days. Tsk, tsk.”
“Don’t be mean,” Judith retorted. “You know I love meeting new people. That’s one of the reasons I opened a B&B.”
Renie sighed. “I know. You’re the kind who’s never met a stranger.” She swiveled in her chair to look at the list of beers posted in chalk by the bar. “Not being a beer drinker, I’m doing what I do at the racetrack—picking by name. I can’t resist a brew called Old Engine Oil.”
“They have mead,” Judith noted. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”
The barmaid appeared, a far cry from the cliched buxom, rosy-cheeked vessel of good cheer. She was as old as the cousins, scrawny and scraggly, with a lean build and graying hair that hung in listless strands. Her voice was gruff, her words were terse, her name tag identified her as Betsy.
“Drat,” Judith said after Betsy had glumly taken their order. “How can I chat her up about the face-off between Jimmy and Harry?”
“Try some of the regulars,” Renie suggested. “Play darts.” She gestured at the board on the other side of the crowded room. “I’d do it, but my bad shoulder benched me years ago.”
Judith shook her head. “With my luck, I’d hit Betsy.” She surveyed the other drinkers. They were of all ages, from very young to very old. At least two tables served what looked like three generations of drinkers, from a fresh- faced girl to a gnarled old man propped up by pillows in his straight-backed chair. Apparently the Yew and Eye was a family gathering spot. “This is a waste of time. Our next move is for you to apologize to Mrs. Gunn.”
“Whoa!” Renie held up her hands in protest. “No way.”
“Mrs. Gunn must know all the dirt about everybody,” Judith pointed out. “If we don’t offer a truce, we’ll never get to talk to her.” She paused while Betsy wordlessly delivered their drinks. “Maybe we could take her a gift as a peace offering. Seek her out where she’s most comfortable in the house she took from her late husband’s girlfriend.”
“For which we’d need a car to get to,” Renie pointed out.
“You said you were going to hire one.”
“I did?” Renie frowned. “That was when I was going nuts. I’m sane now. I suspect we’d have to rent a car in Inverness.” She sipped her Old Engine Oil. “Not bad. It tastes a little like coffee—or chocolate.”
“It’s very dark, almost black,” Judith remarked. “My mead is honey-flavored. It’s sweet. I like it.”
The cousins sat and sipped in silence. When Judith finally spoke, she looked apologetic. “I hate to mention this, but we should call our mothers. It’s nine o’clock at home. They should both be up.”
