“It sounds like he’s gone into another room,” Judith said. “I assume he’s looking for Patrick.”
Renie took a practice swing with the poker. “Shall I whack him when he comes back in here?”
“No.” Judith found a table lamp and switched it on. “Seumas doesn’t seem interested in us. Maybe we should leave.”
But it was too late. Seumas stormed back into view before the cousins could move. Once again, he paid no attention to them, but continued his search, bending down to look under the dining room table. “Well?” he demanded, straightening up. “Where is he?” His gaze fixed on Judith. “I’ve seen you somewhere. What are you doing here?”
Judith held up her glass. “We’re having a drink. Patrick went out for a bit.” She wasn’t sure why she was protecting their errant host, but having helped defend him in the previous encounter with Seumas Bell and Jocko Morton, Judith decided not to change sides. “Do you have a message for him? We can deliver it when he gets back.”
A phone rang, playing familiar notes from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Seumas reached inside his hooded jacket. “The Eagle has flown,” he said after a moment or two had passed. “The Jackal is trapped.” A longer pause followed. “The Leopard? Very well.” He clicked the phone off and put it back inside his jacket. “If I were you,” he said to the cousins in a low, menacing tone, “I’d get as far away as possible before you get hurt.” He looked more closely at Judith. “Yes…Hollywood House. Now I remember. Stop meddling! You don’t understand the danger!” He turned on his heel and ran out the front door without bothering to close it behind him.
Renie set the poker aside, shut the door, and turned the key in the lock. “Does Seumas think you’re Patrick’s accomplice from the USA?”
Judith shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s certainly trying to scare us. I wonder how he thinks we’re involved.” Her gaze ranged over the folders, files, and printouts that littered the common room. “If we snooped, I have a feeling we wouldn’t find any incriminating evidence. Patrick’s too sharp to be careless. Blackwell’s big dogs were here last night. I doubt that Patrick’s coming back soon, so let’s go.” She unlocked the door and peered outside. “The coast is clear.”
The salt air felt invigorating as they stepped along the narrow garden path. Patrick’s cottage looked cozy, but Judith sensed its isolation from the rest of the village as it faced the sea. Maybe, she thought, that was where Patrick felt most at home—aboard a ship or on an oil rig or in his little runabout.
The cousins remained cautious as they walked from The Hermitage and onto the High Street. From somewhere, a bell sounded six o’clock.
“Now what?” Renie said as they stood in front of the confectioner’s shop that had closed for the day.
“I’m not sure,” Judith admitted as her gaze scoured the High Street where the mist was drifting past the lampposts and shop fronts. Two cars went by, driving at a leisurely speed. A white cat crept out from behind a mailbox and disappeared in the scant space between the butcher’s and the post office.
“So quiet,” Judith remarked. “Who’d think there’s a murderer on the loose around here?”
“Who’d think the life expectancy in St. Fergna is about thirty?”
Judith looked up as she heard a crow cawing nearby. The bird sat on top of the High Street clock some twenty yards away. “You mean like Moira’s husbands, Frankie and Harry, along with Chuckie and Philip’s first wife, Bella?”
“Right. Not to mention,” Renie went on, “that Italian guy, Davey, who drove over the cliff. Was that an accident?”
“I’ve wondered, too,” Judith said. “Moira seems to attract men who die before their time. Even Chuckie had a crush on her.”
“Bad track record,” Renie murmured. “Two husbands, one would-be suitor, and a personal assistant. Patrick should move to Australia.”
“He’s already married,” Judith pointed out, starting to walk up the High Street. “I wish…I wish we had more resources. I’m at a loss.”
“How about a pub?” Renie suggested. “Drinkers always talk.”
“Yes, I’d like to be with seemingly harmless humans,” Judith said. “Let’s try the nice pub. We’ve already done Betsy at the Yew and Eye.”
The cousins headed for the alley where the Rood & Mitre was located. The white cat zipped out from the shadows and ran ahead of them before disappearing into the mist.
The pub’s door was locked. “Odd,” Judith said, peering through the small mullioned window. “The lights are on.” She knocked twice.
After a long pause, the young man with the shaggy magenta hair who had served Judith and Renie on their previous visit opened the door a crack. “Sorry, we’re closed,” he whispered. “Private party.”
Judith peered inside but the pub was empty. “Please,” she begged. “My cousin’s going blind. She needs water for her medicine.”
The young man’s eyes darted around the vacant pub. “Um…”
“Oh my God!” Renie wailed, though she kept her voice down as her hands flailed in Judith’s direction. “The dark! The gloom! I’m lost!”
The lad stepped back in alarm. “Aye, come in, come in. You’re the American ladies from Grimloch.” He moved aside and led them to the bar. “I’ll pour the water. But then you must go.”
“Sit,” Renie murmured, collapsing onto a barstool. “Stay. Woof.”
With a hand that wasn’t quite steady, the lad pushed the water-filled tumbler toward Renie, who was fumbling in her purse. “Weird,” he said softly. “She wasn’t blind yesterday. No patch.”
“It’s a condition that comes and goes,” Judith explained. “It’s brought on by the weather.”
