“Merely following up,” MacRae said blandly.
Beth studied Will briefly. “You look as if you need a drink,” she said. “Let’s go to the family suite. Phil stashes his special malts there.”
MacRae watched the couple go back out through the guest door. “Very deft,” he said quietly. “For all her youth, the lovely Mrs. Fordyce is an accomplished executive’s wife.”
“She seems levelheaded, too,” Judith said.
MacRae nodded. “Yes. Beth Fordyce is blessed with a variety of gifts, including common sense. Alas, that’s not always the case with beautiful young women. Shall we go into the drawing room?”
Judith hesitated. “You don’t think Beth might know where to find Chuckie? She’s his stepmother and seems to know how to handle him.”
“All in good time,” MacRae said with a wave of the hand, indicating that Judith and Renie should precede him down the drafty passageway.
Judith didn’t budge. “No,” she said, the harshness of her tone surprising her as well as the others. “You have to find him now.”
MacRae’s thick eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well!” He turned to Ogilvie. “See if Mrs. Fordyce—or Mrs. Gibbs— knows the wee laddie’s whereabouts.”
“He was headed for the dungeon when we saw him,” Judith said.
“I see.” MacRae frowned as Ogilvie nodded and went off on his search. “This Chuckie is an odd one.”
“Yes,” Judith agreed as they walked along the passageway. “He has both physical and emotional problems.”
“Intelligent?” MacRae asked, opening the door for the cousins.
“I think so,” Judith replied, “in an offbeat kind of way.”
“Cunning is more like it,” Renie put in, sitting on one of the settees and kicking off her shoes. “Mrs. Gibbs mentioned that Chuckie will someday take over the distillery from his father. That struck us as unlikely.”
MacRae settled into one of the bergere chairs. “Yet Fordyce, I’m told, is a dynast at heart. Keep the business in the family. Still, he’s fairly young, and perhaps hopes for children by his present wife.”
“Speaking of business,” Renie said, wearing what her cousin called her professional boardroom face, “what shape is Blackwell Petroleum in? We heard Jocko Morton went off to Greece to avoid some kind of probe.”
“Yes,” MacRae replied. “An internal audit, I believe, initiated by Will Fleming, the company’s financial officer. Nothing came of it, however, and Morton is back, as you well know.” He looked directly at Judith, who had sat down next to Renie. “I understand there was a rumpus at Hollywood House this morning.”
“I’m afraid so,” Judith said. “Did someone contact the police?”
“An anonymous tip,” MacRae said. “By the time a constable arrived, everything was peaceful. The servants insisted it must be a mistake. Your version would be different, I imagine.”
Judith nodded, and gave her account of the fight between Patrick Cameron and his two adversaries. “That’s another reason I assume all isn’t running smoothly at Blackwell. Although,” she continued, “last night my cousin and I saw Will, Morton, and Bell go into the cottage called The Hermitage.”
MacRae nodded. “That’s what you might call Patrick Cameron’s bachelor pad before he married Jeannie.”
“Not a happy marriage, perhaps?” Judith suggested.
“There are rumors,” MacRae conceded. “Gossip is a natural hobby in villages. I grew up in Edinburgh, so I’m not attuned to these small places where everyone knows everyone else’s business and may be a first cousin once removed as well.”
Judith was puzzled. “Do you mean rumors or connections?”
“Both, actually,” MacRae explained. “Blackwell’s offices are in Inverness, yet several top executives live in or around St. Fergna.”
“Typical of some American companies,” Renie pointed out. “When people are transferred to a firm’s headquarters, they often play follow-the-leader. Someone finds a pleasant place to live that’s within easy commuting distance of the job, and the next thing you know, all of the newcomers congregate there because the area’s a known factor.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” MacRae agreed. “As for the rumors I spoke of, I referred to the ones about the Camerons. Several people have told us that the Camerons are quite happy together.”
“He does seem rather intimate with Moira,” Judith remarked. “Or maybe I’m reading something into it that’s not the case.”
“He’s ambitious,” MacRae said, “but most of the Blackwell executives are. Greedy, too.”
“Did you know,” Judith inquired, “that Jimmy has gone to Paris?”
MacRae grimaced. “We’re not sure he got away. The Inverness police were notified to watch the airport. There are other ways to get to Paris, so the Surete has been notified. Taking flight would be very unwise on James Blackwell’s part.”
Judith leaned forward on the settee. “Is he a serious suspect?”
MacRae’s face hardened. “They all are, don’t you think?”
Judith couldn’t disagree. “I appreciate your candor. So often I’ve been involved in situations where the local police withhold information.”
“Not here, Mrs. Flynn,” MacRae said with a warm smile. “We’re more than willing to cooperate with someone
