generations.
The silence was broken by the sound of a slamming door. An angry Beth Fordyce was marching out of Moira’s suite. “The nerve!” she exclaimed. “Elise ordered me out! And Moira just lay there with the baby and didn’t say a word! Where’s her pluck?”
“I got the heave-ho, too,” Judith said. “But you’re an old friend.”
“I thought I was,” Beth muttered. “Oh—here’s your handbag. Elise practically threw it at me. We might as well go see Mummy.”
“Thanks,” Judith said, juggling the purse, which seemed unusually heavy. Or maybe she was unusually tired. The vacation had become more stressful than restful.
Judith and Beth got only halfway downstairs when they heard a commotion coming from outside of the house.
“The press?” Judith suggested. “I thought the police were going to make them go away.”
Beth stopped with her hand on the gilded balustrade. “It sounds like Morton and…Patrick?”
Fergus was moving across the entry hall at a faster pace than usual. He stopped at the door, his ear pressed against the wood.
Beth continued downstairs; Judith followed.
“What’s going on out there?” Beth demanded.
Fergus looked down his long nose at Beth. “A dispute, I believe, possibly involving violence.”
“Oh, for—!” Pushing Fergus aside, Beth dashed to the door. The startled butler kept his balance by grasping the legs of a marble Artemis.
As Beth opened the door, Judith drew closer. To her astonishment, she saw Patrick Cameron take a swing at Jocko Morton, knocking the heavyset man onto the steps. Seumas Bell jumped on Patrick’s back, trying to restrain him. Morton squealed like a pig when Patrick landed a second and third blow.
“Stop!” Beth screamed. “You’ll kill each other!”
Her words went unheeded. All three men were rolling around on the gravel drive. Beth shouted at Fergus, “Get a gun! Now!”
“Which gun, madam?”
“One that’s loaded, you cretin! Hurry!”
Judith stood in the doorway, watching in horror as Seumas Bell broke free from the writhing pile and yanked a heavy urn off of a pedestal. He was about to bring it down on Patrick’s skull when Judith used all her might to throw her purse at him. By a stroke of luck it hit Seumas in the temple, momentarily stunning him. He reeled slightly and looked to see where the missile had come from.
“Who are you?” he asked, blinking several times.
“I’m a peacemaker!” Judith shouted as Patrick jumped up from an apparently unconscious Jocko and decked Seumas, who dropped the urn before falling backwards into the driveway. The urn smashed, strewing chards of concrete and soil onto Jocko’s elevator shoes.
Fergus appeared on the porch holding what looked to Judith like a blunderbuss. “Will this do?” he asked Beth.
“Oh, good Lord!” Beth cried. “There must two dozen guns in this house and you bring me a freaking musket? Did you call the police?”
“No coppers!” Patrick looked defiant as he smoothed his dark red hair and rubbed his knuckles. “These two are out of it. I’m going to see Moira.” He jumped over Jocko and took the stairs two at a time.
Seumas was coming to, moaning and rolling around in the driveway, getting gravel all over his dark pinstripe suit. Jocko had opened his eyes, but was staring straight up into the noonday sun.
“Turn out that bloody light,” he mumbled. “Pull the curtains. Douse the glim.”
For the first time, Judith noticed the red BMW sports car she’d seen on her previous visit. Directly behind it was Jocko Morton’s Jaguar sedan. She guessed that Jocko and Seumas had followed Patrick to Hollywood House.
“I think,” Beth said calmly, “that you should both leave. I presume at least one of you is able to drive.”
“No,” Morton said, poking at various body parts. “I’m injured.”
“I’ll drive,” Seumas said, standing up and brushing the gravel from his suit. “But Patrick hasn’t heard the last of this.”
“I hope I have,” Beth said sternly. “Don’t you dare get me or Philip mixed up in your squalid affairs.”
“Our squalid affairs?” Seumas was indignant. “I’m an attorney, and a highly ethical man.”
“How odd,” Beth said blithely. “How can you possibly be both?”
“You’re on their side,” Seumas sneered. “Don’t pretend that you and Philip haven’t got your own ax to grind. And never try to tell me that the bairn is Harry’s! We all know who sired the little bastard!”
Beth kept her lips closed tightly, but her lively eyes shot arrows at Seumas as he helped get Jocko to his feet. Fergus was still holding the musket, cocking the weapon as the two men staggered to the Jaguar.
“Shall I fire now?” he inquired of Beth.
Beth flipped a thick strand of black hair over her shoulder. “Why not? Shoot over their heads, just to hurry them along.”
The butler fumbled with the musket. “Wait!” Judith cried. She hurried to retrieve her purse, backtracked inside
