Scots on the Rocks

“Yes,” MacRae responded. “Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones are observing.”

Elise’s thin face puckered in confusion. “Observing? What sort of observation?”

“Procedural,” MacRae answered blithely. “Which way to Mrs. Gibbs?”

Elise indicated the correct door. “The doctor is still with her.”

“Maybe,” Judith suggested to MacRae, “we should wait while you and Sergeant Ogilvie go ahead.”

MacRae considered for a moment, and then nodded. He and his subordinate walked toward Moira’s boudoir.

“You know me,” Judith said to Elise. “I was here before.”

The maid looked at Renie. “Not with Madame Patch-eye. Is she a pirate?”

Renie took umbrage. “Ever see a pirate in a cashmere sweater?”

Elise studied Renie’s disheveled appearance. “You are like a tramp. Filthy, unkempt.”

Judith moved in front of Renie to prevent another outbreak of violence. “My cousin was trampled by the mob.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “Did you put Mrs. Gibbs’s jewel case in my purse?”

Elise looked affronted. “Mon Dieu! Why should I do such a thing?”

“If you didn’t,” Judith said calmly, “who did? Mrs. Gibbs?”

The maid had gone very pale, a hand to one gaunt cheek. “You have the case?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“No,” Judith replied. “It’s been stolen.”

“Oh!” Elise whirled around and covered her face with her hands. “Non, non, non! Impossible!” She started to cry.

Judith put a comforting hand on Elise’s back. “I’ve alerted the police. If you made a mistake and put the case in the wrong handbag, I’m sure your intentions were for the best. Mrs. Fordyce and I both carry large black purses.”

“I must kill myself!” Elise wailed. “I am the fool most large!”

The door to Moira’s room opened and Dr. Carmichael emerged. “What’s this?” he asked kindly, his thick gray eyebrows moving up and down as he spoke. “Elise, your mistress needs you. Are you ill?”

Trying to compose herself, the maid shook her head. “I am upset.”

“We’re all upset this evening,” the doctor said. “Becalm yourself and see to Mrs. Gibbs.” He patted her once. “Go now.”

“We’ll see to her,” Judith volunteered. “Elise needs a cup of tea.”

“Cognac,” Elise said. “Bonne idee.” Rather morosely, she went down the hall in the opposite direction.

Dr. Carmichael’s expression was wry. “The French,” he sighed. “So emotional.”

Judith introduced Renie, who was still looking out of sorts.

“You have an eye problem,” the doctor noted.

“Chronic corneal dystrophy,” Renie said, softening just a bit.

He nodded. “Then you know how to treat it.”

“Yes. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Speaking of practice,” Dr. Carmichael said with a faint smile, “I should attend to the rest of mine.”

“One question,” Judith put in. “This may sound strange, but I understand you treated Patrick Cameron the night David Piazza was killed in a car accident. Is it true that Patrick can’t remember what happened and how he got hurt?”

Dr. Carmichael frowned. “So he says. And not unusual, really. Trauma to the head. I’d just come home after delivering a baby. I heard the crash as I was getting out of my car. It wasn’t the first time a driver had gone over the cliff. It’s a treacherous spot. I notified the police and drove to the scene. I could’ve walked, it was so close, but I was tired.” He smiled in a self-deprecating manner. “Not as young as I used to be. In any event, I could see the car upside down against the rocks. It wasn’t easy, but I climbed down to the wreckage.” He sighed heavily. “I had my kit and my torch. When I looked inside the mangled car I saw David Piazza. He was dead. While I waited for the police, I wandered around a bit, not far, since the cliffside isn’t conducive to a late night stroll. About twenty yards away, I found Patrick, unconscious but alive.”

“He couldn’t have been in the car, could he?” Judith inquired as the doctor paused for breath.

“I doubt it, unless he jumped out before it crashed,” Dr. Carmichael said. “Patrick is very fit, but he doesn’t recall anything that happened after he left Hunter’s Lodge on foot three or four hours earlier.”

Judith recalled that Hunter’s Lodge was Patrick’s home outside of St. Fergna. “Were Patrick and Davey friends?”

The doctor glanced at his pocket watch. “Not particularly. I’m afraid Davey didn’t have many friends at Blackwell. Most of the executives were jealous of his intimacy with Moira.”

“Professional intimacy, you mean,” Judith said, noticing Renie, who was studying the ancestral portraits that lined the corridor’s walls.

Dr. Carmichael smiled wryly. “I assume so.”