The woman laughed. “That’s good, I like it. Make salads. The greens are in that plastic bin.” She sighed as she swiftly buttered the buns. “Hard to believe Ian’s so thoughtful. Maybe he’s growing up.”
“Eventually, they do,” Judith said, putting on a pair of latex gloves. “I have a son, too.”
“What’s your name? I’m Grizel. Grizel Callum. Roy—that’s me husband—is down with flu. It’s going round, I hear.”
“I’m Judith Flynn, from the States. My cousin and I are here with our husbands. The men are off fishing.”
“Leaving you to work in my kitchen?” Grizel made a face. “Just like men. Where’s your cousin? Can she cook?”
“Uh…sort of,” Judith replied, slicing lettuce. “But at the moment, she has eye troubles. She’s half blind.”
“Ah.” Grizel wiped perspiration from her forehead. “Ian tells me you have the sight.”
“The sight?” Judith frowned. “I said I was a medium. I lied.”
Grizel looked startled. “You did? Why?”
Judith debated with herself about being candid. Her conscience won. “My husband’s a retired policeman. I’ve gotten involved in some investigations over the years, and discovered I have a certain knack for solving crimes. When Harry Gibbs was killed, I couldn’t help myself. I started trying to figure out who had committed such a terrible crime.”
“Ah.” Grizel’s face softened. “You must have a good heart.”
Judith shrugged modestly. “Sometimes I think it’s an obsession.”
“A good one,” Grizel remarked, putting the burgers on serviceable beige plates. “Salads, please.” She took the mixed greens from Judith and called to her son from under the canvas flap. “Ian! Orders here!”
“You must know the people involved in Harry’s death,” Judith said, slicing a firm tomato. “Is that Jimmy Blackwell at the end of the bar?”
“Jimmy B? I didn’t see him,” Grizel replied. “A brassy blonde’s sitting on the end stool next to that ornery devil Archie. She’s a hairdresser, by the name of Petula.”
“But you know Jimmy B?”
Grizel nodded after scanning the new batch of orders Ian had handed to her. “In the way that everybody knows everybody in a village. Not that he and I would stop for a chat. Jimmy B is far too grand for the likes of me. And him born on the wrong side of the blanket! Putting on airs, more so than his sister, whose parents were joined in holy wedlock.”
“Moira?”
“Lovely lass to look at,” Grizel declared, “though not having the good sense God gave a goose. Unlucky in love. And silly, if ye ask me. It’s a good thing we live in a village. So few of us, and not dependent on a big company like Blackwell Petrol.” She licked her lips, as if she were savoring the gossip she’d stored inside. “Up to no good, I figure, like all those greedy oil folk. Might as well live in Saudi Arabia.”
“No good?” Judith repeated. “In what way?”
Grizel shrugged. “I’ve no head for business except running our own. But I hear things. Maybe Harry’s doing, maybe Jocko Morton’s. As I said, Moira should never have gotten mixed up with Harry.”
“I understand she fell in love,” Judith remarked.
“She’s always falling in love.” Grizel made a disgusted gesture. “Oh, Harry could turn a lassie’s head, but his own was empty. Come here bragging about how he was the big man at Blackwell Petrol and the rest were past their prime. No wonder Harry and Jimmy B got into it at the Yew and Eye!” She scooped up a handful of sliced potatoes and tossed them into the deep-fry basket with a vengeance. “I wouldn’t put it past Jimmy B to have murdered Harry. But then again, the whole Blackwell lot probably wanted to do the same.”
“You think Harry was killed by one of his business associates?” Judith asked, chopping scallions and beginning to feel the heat from the grill and the deep fryers.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Grizel replied. “Of course I know it couldn’t have been Jimmy B even if he’d be my odds-on pick.”
“Jimmy couldn’t have done it?” Judith asked in surprise.
Grizel sighed. “Nae. He was here most of that afternoon.”
“I thought he didn’t drink,” Judith said.
“He’ll take an occasional pint or a wee dram,” Grizel replied, draining grease from a basket of golden-crusted plaice. “On Saturday he came here with his laptop and had a late lunch and a pint and worked for more than three hours. Chatty, too, with some of the regulars, but then I was the only one working that shift and we weren’t so busy.” She dished up four plates of fish and chips, collected more salads from Judith, and called again to Ian. “A lull,” Grizel said, again wiping her forehead. “Ye put in an order, didn’t ye?”
“I did,” Judith answered, “but I can wait.”
“Good thing,” Grizel commented, lighting a cigarette. “The woman with the eye patch is eating two orders.”
“She’s my cousin,” Judith said. “That’s interesting about Jimmy spending Saturday afternoon here. Has he done that before?”
“Never. Jimmy B told Will Fleming he had to work out some big problem and didn’t want to drive into Inverness to the Blackwell headquarters.” Grizel flicked ash into the sink. “Jimmy’s wife was ailing. A miscarriage, I heard. Maybe she wanted him out of the house.”
“Will Fleming was here all afternoon, too?”
