couple of abstract paintings and whitewashed walls. “Phil’s second wife did this. She stripped it of all the old character. I’d like to change it, but I’m not sure how to go about it.”
Renie looked at the space with her artistic eye. “Ghastly. What was she trying to prove?”
“That she was young and hip,” Beth replied. “Wait until you see the sitting room,” she continued, heading down a narrow corridor with black-and-white photographs of London street scenes on the walls. “Poor Phil. His first wife, Bella, died young from an aneurysm. His second wife, Rosemary, was much older, but very rich, and at the time, Phil was having financial problems. The dot-com crash, 9/11, the whole global downturn hurt business. His second wife died of cancer, only two years after they were married. Phil’s always felt guilty about marrying Rosemary for money, which makes him touchy whenever I mention redecorating this part of the castle. I suppose it’s his memorial to Rosemary, expressing gratitude for bailing him out of shark’s waters.”
They’d reached an open archway into what appeared to be the sitting room, all black and white with a couple of red accent pillows to break the monotony. “He’s doing well now, I gather,” Judith said as all three women sat down on the large U-shaped sofa.
“Yes,” Beth replied, “but he got a bad scare when things turned sour. Phil talks about diversifying, maybe merging with Gunn Shipping.”
Renie looked surprised. “Is your mother the sole owner?”
“Basically,” Beth replied. “My father, like Phil and his father and grandfather before him, believed strongly in keeping their businesses in the family. After my father died, Frankie inherited the position of chief officer, but the will was set up so that Mummy would actually run the business until the eldest son turned thirty. Frankie never lived that long, and all my brothers are under the official age, so Mummy is still in charge. She has quite a good head for business.”
Judith recalled overhearing the conversation between Philip and Kate Gunn. “There are no ties to Blackwell Petroleum through either Grimglen or the shipping company, are there?”
“No,” Beth replied, “though I’ve heard Jimmy has been considering some changes. The North Sea is a difficult area for oil exploration and requires investing in very expensive equipment. Production peaked a few years back, but there’s been a steady decline since. All of Blackwell’s operations are offshore, and quite far north. Jimmy, I understand, wants to merge with some of the other UK companies. Harry didn’t like that idea and thought Blackwell should invest in some of the marginal fields and put money into better exploration and drilling equipment. Jimmy and a couple of the other top executives felt that the initial expense wouldn’t be worth the return down the road.”
“If,” Judith said, “Jocko is the CEO, what exactly is Jimmy’s title? He seems to wield quite a bit of power.”
Beth smiled faintly. “Officially, he’s their legal counsel, though most of the work is delegated to Seumas Bell. But because Moira doesn’t always involve herself too deeply in the business, Jimmy acts as her proxy with the right to overrule everybody else, including Jocko. Or did, until Harry barged in and started to interfere.”
“Harry was a thorn in many people’s sides,” Judith remarked.
Beth thought for a moment. “He was young and arrogant. That didn’t sit well with the people who’d been with Blackwell a long time. I don’t know much about the company. Moira,” she added with a wry expression, “rarely discusses it.”
Judith had intended to bring up the relationship between Moira and Patrick when what sounded like a pager went off. Beth went to the phone on a side table. “Yes, Mrs. Gibbs?” she said into the receiver. “Of course. I’ll meet them in the courtyard.” She hung up and turned back to the cousins. “More police are arriving to search for Chuckie.”
Judith and Renie had stood up. “Can we help?” Judith asked.
Beth shook her head. “Thanks, but no. All I can do is suggest some of Chuckie’s hiding places. Oh, damn—I wish Phil were here!”
“Men go missing around here,” Renie said. “Ours are AWOL, too.”
Beth nodded once. “Then they’re the lucky ones, aren’t they?”
It was three-thirty when the cousins returned to the Flynns’ room. “Do you suppose,” Renie asked wistfully, “Mrs. Gibbs is serving tea?”
“Good grief,” Judith said in disgust, “you can’t be hungry again.”
“I will be in half an hour,” Renie asserted. “I’m thinking ahead.”
“Then stop it,” Judith said. “Turn off your stomach and turn on your brain. What should I do with those blasted emails?”
Renie shrugged. “Bearnaise sauce might improve their flavor.”
Judith shot her cousin a menacing glance. “I’m serious. Should I turn them over to the police?”
Renie brightened. “You think they have better recipes?”
“Knock it off!” Judith went to the bureau where she’d put the silver case. “I’m already frustrated. I’m getting cabin fever. I’d like to tour Speyside and Inverness and the glens and the lochs and do some of things regular tourists do.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Renie said. “You’re having a wonderful time trying to solve your latest murder. As a hobby, I suppose it beats stamp collecting and fantasy baseball.”
“Shut up.” Judith rummaged in the drawer, moving her new sweaters and wondering if the castle had a laundry for guests.
“Just think,” Renie said, stretching out on the bed, “you get to go to a real inquest tomorrow. Sound like fun?”
“Coz,” Judith said, “didn’t I put the silver case in this drawer?”
Renie sat up. “Uh…I think so. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
“It’s gone.” Judith felt the color drain out of her face as she turned to stare at Renie. “Someone stole it.”
