Grizel shook her head. “Only to have a pint. Will works hard, often goes to Inverness Saturday mornings, then stops here before going home.” She shrugged. “Nice man. Quiet. Polite.”
“I’ve heard rumors about Moira and Patrick Cameron,” Judith said, wishing she hadn’t started to perspire in one of her new sweaters.
Grizel laughed. “Oh, Patrick! He does like the lassies! If Moira had married him instead of Harry, there wouldn’t be all this nasty talk.”
“But Patrick was already married,” Judith pointed out.
“Oh no,” Grizel insisted. “He was still a bachelor after Frankie Gunn fell off the twig. Patrick and Jeannie were wed only a year ago. Shame on him if he’s carrying on with Moira. Jeannie is—what’s that?” Grizel put out her cigarette in an ashtray and peeked under the canvas flap. Judith could hear raised voices and a great clatter. “Och!” Grizel exclaimed. “We’ve got a rumpus!” She raced to the kitchen door.
Dreading the worst, Judith followed. Her fear was well founded. Renie was shoving Archie Morton’s face into a salad bowl even as the blonde named Petula attacked her from the rear. A sharp elbow from Renie sent Petula sailing into the lap of an old man who was sitting ramrod straight at one of the tables. He ignored the blonde and took a toothless bite from his fish. Ian dropped a tray of drinks and was attempting to break up the melee. Several young people had taken the opportunity to plug in their iPods and dance on the bar.
“Coz!” Judith shouted. “Knock it off!”
Renie spotted Judith from the corner of her good eye. “The Arch Hog wanted all the salt, let’s see how he likes it now!” She leaned her full weight on the man as he struggled to get free. “Hey, Arch! Cry ‘uncle’!”
Renie’s victim made a muffled noise, though it didn’t sound like ‘uncle’ to Judith. Apparently it was good enough for Renie. She moved off of him and grabbed a napkin to wipe her hands. “Never tangle with a middle-aged woman who’s decked a coke addict in the Sacramento bus depot,” she shouted, referring to an incident from the past while she and Bill were Reno-bound. “Especially when she’s hungry.”
Wiping lettuce and dressing off of his face, Archie sputtered as he staggered to his feet. The old man at the table had finally noticed the blonde in his lap. “Get your hand off my tar-tar,” he rasped, and gave her a shove. She fell against Archie’s legs.
Renie was pointing to what was left of her meal for two, a hodgepodge of scattered chips, salad, and a piece of fish floating in her Dark Island ale. “I’m finished,” she called to Ian. “It was yummy.”
Ian was busy shooing the dancers off the bar. Grizel was clearing away the spilled drinks from the tray her son had dropped. Archie was working up a head of steam while peeling lettuce leaves from his cheek.
“I’ll bring charges!” he roared at Renie.
“Neener-neener,” Renie replied, tossing a generous amount of money on the part of the bar that wasn’t being used as a dance floor. “You started it, Chunky Monkey.”
Judith had gone to help Grizel. “I’m terribly sorry about this,” she said. “Mr. Morton must have done something to aggravate my cousin. She’s usually very…ah…refined.”
Renie was sashaying out of the pub, head held high, impervious to the mixed cheers and jeers from the other customers. Her exit was marred only by her attempt to open a window she mistook for the front door. Still appalled, Judith apologized again to Grizel and Ian before she followed her errant cousin.
“You!” Archie Morton called. “Which one of you Yank bitches attacked my brother Jocko?”
“Never heard of him,” Judith called over her shoulder. Archie’s efforts to come after her were frustrated by a bosomy redhead who wanted him to listen to hip-hop on her iPod and exchange a brake job for some other kind of job Judith didn’t want to hear.
Out of breath and sore of hip, Judith gratefully got out into the fresh, damp air of the misty night. Renie was nowhere in sight.
“Coz?” she called, wondering if her cousin had decided to hide from Archie in one of the nearby alleys or closes. The white cat crept out from behind a dustbin, haughty with gleaming golden eyes. “You can’t scare me,” Judith muttered. “I’m Sweetums’ human. I’ve seen it all.”
The mist swirled and ebbed through the narrow, winding cobbled side street. The cat was the only living creature Judith could see. There were no customers coming or going from the Rood & Mitre. She could hear a car out on the High Street and a snatch of laughter. Suddenly she was afraid, not just for herself but for Renie.
Feeling a need for the reassuring presence of ordinary people, Judith took a few steps back toward the pub. She felt slightly buoyed by the murmur of human voices, but realized that the sound wasn’t coming from the Rood & Mitre some ten yards away, but from outside. Cautiously, she walked past the entrance and turned the corner into a narrow walkway between the pub and the adjacent antiques shop. The voices—or rather the voice of a man—had become quite clear.
“You’re lying,” he said. “You must stop. Now.”
Judith saw the outline of a man whose back was turned to her. She couldn’t see the object of his threat, but she recognized the raincoat and slouch hat. It had to be Jimmy Blackwell, she thought with another rush of fear. She was almost certain he was talking to Renie, and his manner definitely didn’t sound friendly.
“Coz!” Judith shouted again. “I’m here!”
Renie’s head appeared from behind Jimmy’s shoulder. “Call the cops!” she yelled. “This guy’s assaulting me!”
“I am not assaulting you!” Jimmy retorted angrily. “I’m trying to help you! You’re in grave danger!” He glanced quickly at Judith. “So is she. Don’t be reckless. It’s none of your affair.”
Seeing that Renie didn’t appear to be in immediate danger, Judith gathered her courage. “Why do you think we know anything?” she asked, moving toward Jimmy and Renie.
Jimmy turned abruptly, looking at Judith from his six-foot-plus frame. He was imposing, with a bearing that was almost regal. “You’ve been meddling,” he said. “Asking questions. Going out of your way to make the acquaintance of any number of people connected to Harry Gibbs. That’s not typical behavior of vacationing Americans.”
“We’re at loose ends,” Judith said, shrugging. “What else can we do with no car and our husbands off fishing?
