A tense silence followed; the unidentified woman rocked back and forth in the chair.
“It’s over!” Seumas shouted. “We’re done here!”
Will Fleming sighed and leaned forward. “Darling! Wake up!”
The woman who seemed to be acting as the medium jerked in her chair and sat up straight. “What? Where am I?”
“It’s Marie Fleming,” Judith said, surprised.
“Bedbug City,” Renie muttered.
Judith kept her eye on the gathering as the lights were turned up and the quartet rose from the table.
“I told you this wouldn’t accomplish anything,” Seumas said to Kate. “It’s all speculation. Harry had no real knowledge of alternative energy or renewable sources. He was showing off.”
Will Fleming turned a stern face to Seumas. “I told you Philip should be here. What can have happened to him?”
“He’s lost his only son,” Kate retorted. “Where’s your pity?”
Judith couldn’t see Seumas’s expression. He merely shrugged and put on his hooded jacket. Marie spoke to Kate, apologizing for her lack of psychic ability.
Kate nodded. “I’m sorry, too, but you’ve had flu. It must affect your contact with the spirit world. All those dreadful germs.”
They started for the door. “Maybe,” Will said, “I should phone Philip to find out why if he—” The door shut behind them.
After their footsteps had gone past the storage room, Judith closed the peephole’s flap. “Whose idea was this?”
“The seance? Or the peephole?”
“I figure the answer is the same for both.” Judith smiled wryly at Renie. “Kate Gunn. But what’s she up to?”
“No good?”
“No doubt.”
17
That bunch was in the dark in more ways than one,” Renie remarked as they walked into the pub’s empty serving area. “If some of them didn’t know why Philip Fordyce wasn’t there, they haven’t heard about Chuckie. Now what?”
Judith saw Ian hang up the open sign. “Let’s drink beer.”
“And eat. Hey, Ian!” Renie motioned to the young publican. “Who’s cooking?”
“Me mum,” he said. “She’s in the kitchen.”
Judith joined Renie and Ian. “How often are these seances held?”
Ian scratched his high forehead. “Once a month? Nae—four, five times a year? I’ve only worked at the pub since last summer.”
“Why have the seances here instead of a private home?”
“This was Mr. Gunn’s favorite place,” Ian replied, acknowledging a trio of young men who had just entered the Rood & Mitre. “To drink and eat, that is. Mrs. Gunn thinks his spirit is close by.” He uttered a short laugh. “People act odd sometimes, don’t they?”
“True,” Judith agreed. “Did Mrs. Gunn come with her husband?”
Ian cocked his head to one side and grinned impishly. “Never. He came alone.” The lad lowered his voice. “Me mum and dad own this pub. They could tell some tales about the local folk. Me dad said Mr. Gunn jumped from the frying pan into the fire when he’d stop for a pint or two.” Ian winked. “Coming from the lady friend’s, going to the wife.”
Judith nodded. “The lady friend who owned the house where Mrs. Gunn lives now.”
“Aye. Mr. Gunn built it for Mrs. B.P.”
“You mean,” Judith corrected politely, “for Porter-Breze, right?”
Ian ran a hand through his shaggy magenta hair. “Aye, but me mum always calls her Mrs. B.P. because Mr. Gunn gave her a big chunk of Blackwell Petroleum.” A half dozen other customers had entered the pub. “Pardon, I must serve these regulars.”
Judith moved closer to the bar, trying to get a peek at Ian’s mother. She could see the service counter at the back, but a canvas flap hid the opening to the kitchen.
“If we ate something,” Renie said, sidling up to Judith, “we could offer our compliments to the chef in person.”
“True,” Judith said. “Ian’s mother sounds like a useful source.” She gazed around the pub where four older people were sitting down while Archie Morton came through the front door. “Don’t look now, but your foe in a potential bar fight has arrived.”
“Who?”
“Archie.” Judith moved to a barstool and sat down. “Ignore him and order something when Ian finishes with his other customers.”
