“Why is Jimmy going away?” Moira demanded.
Beth sat on the edge of the bed. “Jimmy’s off to Paris. He didn’t have time to see you because he was afraid he’d miss his flight.”
“Was Angie with him?” Moira asked.
“No,” Beth replied. “You know she’s having a difficult pregnancy.”
“Jimmy’s up to something,” Moira said in disgust. “What can it be? Surely nothing to do with—”
A knock interrupted Moira’s speculations. Beth got up to admit Elise. The maid carried a tray with an array of tea items. Wordlessly, she set the tray on the bedside table and left. Before she could close the door, Fergus announced Alpin MacRae and Malcolm Ogilvie.
MacRae assured Moira that the press would be dispersed. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t trouble you if this wasn’t urgent. You must be desperate to have us find your husband’s killer.”
“I’m not,” Moira replied.
MacRae, who had struck Judith as imperturbable, seemed taken aback by Moira’s response. He recovered quickly, however. “That’s a peculiar attitude,” he said mildly. “I’d like to hear your reasons.” He glanced at Judith and Beth. “It will be easier if we speak privately.”
“Mrs. Fordyce must stay,” Moira insisted. “We’re having tea.”
MacRae smiled indulgently. “I’m sure Mrs. Fordyce and…Mrs. Flynn, isn’t it?” he said, looking at Judith and seeing her nod. “The ladies can enjoy their tea in the sitting room and join you later.”
“Then my maid must be present.” Moira looked beseechingly at Beth. “Please. Send Elise in.”
MacRae shook his head. “No, no. This is just a simple chat. Your friends will be outside should you need them. Sergeant Ogilvie and I have no intention of upsetting you.”
“We’ll have tea later,” Beth said, moving to leave. “Relax, Moira.”
Judith followed Beth out of the boudoir. The younger woman went to another door and opened it. “I assume you want to eavesdrop, too,” she said. “This is Moira’s closet. There’s a vent in the wall. We can hear some of the conversation coming from the other side in the boudoir.”
The offer surprised Judith. “I’m a virtual stranger. I’m not sure I should listen in on such a private matter.”
Beth was solemn. “If Marie had come, she’d be in this closet with me. Four ears are better than two. Moira needs any help she can get.”
Judith dismissed her qualms. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to eavesdrop. The only thing that would be worse, she told herself, was if she were an interloper who was deaf. She studied the capacious closet, which was almost as big as her bedroom at Hillside Manor. Moira’s extensive wardrobe hung in zippered bags in two long rows. Three chests contained drawers labeled sweaters, shirts, blouses, and tops. There were ten stacks of shoe boxes, plastic containers marked for accessories, and two more chests for lingerie. The faint smell of mothballs mingled with the scent of jasmine.
Beth noticed Judith’s reaction and laughed softly. “These are her transitional winter-to-spring clothes. The rest are in storage, along with most of her furs, and the valuable jewelry is in a bank vault.”
“How can she possibly wear all this?” Judith asked.
Beth shrugged. “Clothes are her security blanket. Love hasn’t worked out nearly as well for her as Armani and Dolce & Gabbana.” She beckoned to Judith. “Come. The vent’s above the end of this rack.”
The first words she heard were spoken by MacRae. “When did you receive this note?”
“Saturday, around noon,” Moira said, though her voice was rather faint. “That is, my husband left it for me then. I wasn’t home. I didn’t get back until much later.”
“Did Mr. Gibbs specify what time he wanted you to meet him at the beach?” MacRae asked.
“Not exactly.” Moira paused. “Please, may I see if my baby’s awake from his nap? Could you summon his governess?”
MacRae’s next words were inaudible. Judith guessed that he had turned away to speak to Ogilvie. “This won’t take long, Mrs. Gibbs,” he said in a louder voice. “Did your husband mention a time frame?”
“Well…that afternoon. Harry loved the beach. He loved to swim. He loved the outdoors. Hunting, fishing, hiking, climbing, all kinds of outdoor activities. Most of them I enjoyed, too. But I was otherwise engaged on Saturday, you see.”
“I gather you hadn’t been living together at the time of his death,” MacRae noted, and paused, apparently waiting for Moira’s response.
“A temporary arrangement,” she replied after a few seconds had passed. “Due to his recent illness. He had very bad flu, and I felt it unwise to risk him contaminating our baby. A virus can be dangerous to a wee one. Are you sure the governess will bring Jamie to me?”
“All in good time,” MacRae assured her. “Are you positive you destroyed the note your husband left for you?”
“Of course. I told you that during our previous interview. Why would I keep it?”
MacRae didn’t answer. “Earlier,” he went on, “you insisted that your husband had no enemies. Yet we’ve learned since that he was not on good terms with several of the other executives at Blackwell, including your own brother.”
“Half brother,” Moira corrected. “His last name is Blackwell only because my father insisted upon it. Jimmy’s mother wasn’t married to my father. Ever.”
Judith heard a door open. “Euphemia,” Moira said, “give the baby to me. My governess, Euphemia Beaton.”
