“I don’t guess,” Renie replied. “I work with big businesses. I know the game—or as much of it as I need to in order to not design a pharmaceutical company’s logo using a skull and crossbones.”
Moira nodded once. “I suspected for some time that something was going on behind my back. Much as it galled me, I asked Harry what he knew about it. He insisted he didn’t know anything. Then I humbled myself even further by talking to Jimmy. He can be such a stick, but basically, I trust him. We are kin, after all, and sometimes I feel he acts in my best interests. Jimmy assured me that nothing was happening, and then Morton left for Greece—‘on indefinite leave’ was the official word. I didn’t believe it. I thought he was one step ahead of serious trouble. But now he’s back and creating havoc. Or so it appears.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m so tired. I wish I could sleep.”
“We’ll go now,” Judith said.
Moira didn’t respond.
The cousins left the boudoir. Euphemia was coming down the hall. “Is Madam awake?” she inquired in a husky voice.
“She’s trying to sleep,” Judith said. “How’s the baby?”
“Quiet as a wee mouse,” the governess replied. “A good bairn, despite Madam’s fussing. Should I fetch Elise to keep watch?”
Judith shrugged. “Is that what Mrs. Gibbs would want?”
Euphemia’s strong jaw jutted slightly. “Perhaps. Though what that silly Frenchwoman would do in a crisis is beyond me. Useless, I say. But I’ll get her—unless she’s had her snout in the cognac too long.” The governess turned on her heel and went in the opposite direction.
“Not a happy house,” Renie remarked.
“Tell me about Harry’s parents,” Judith said as they started down the handsome staircase.
“Good-looking couple, mid-fifties, Dad’s balding, Mom’s got gold highlights in her hair. Well-dressed, well- spoken.” Renie smirked. “I wouldn’t trust either of them an inch.”
“Are they grief-stricken?”
“Hard to figure,” Renie answered as they reached the foyer. “I spoke to them for only about ninety seconds.”
“What did you really tell them?”
“That Moira had passed out,” Renie said. “They didn’t act surprised. Peggy—Harry’s mother—murmured ‘typical,’ and Matt—the dad—sort of sneered.”
Judith paused at the entrance. “But not crying their eyes out and wringing their hands over Harry’s death.”
“They’re stiff-upper-lip types,” Renie responded. “They grieve in private.” She leaned against the door. “I’m famished.”
“Me, too,” Judith said. “Let’s see if the police really will take us to dinner. It’s going on ten o’clock.”
The police, however, no longer had food on their minds. “The tide is almost out,” MacRae said after the cousins got into the waiting car. “We’ll take you to the castle. Sorry about the restaurant, but with the inquest set for tomorrow, we should speak with Jocko Morton tonight.”
“Sure, fine, great,” Renie muttered. “Who needs nourishment?”
Making a disapproving face at Renie, Judith leaned forward to speak to MacRae. “Did you meet Harry’s parents?”
“No,” MacRae replied, surprised. “Where were they?”
“Here,” Judith said. “Moira refused to see them so they left.”
MacRae considered this turn of events. “Maybe they went to Grimloch. I’d no idea they’d returned from Argentina.”
“I thought it was Brazil,” Judith said.
MacRae shrugged. “It was somewhere in South America. It all sounded rather vague. We’ll check with the newly arrived Gibbses before we leave you at the castle.”
The rest of the short trip from Hollywood House to the beach turnoff was made in silence. Renie sulked; Judith pondered. It wasn’t until they arrived at the water’s edge that anyone spoke again.
“Five, ten minutes,” Ogilvie said. “The tide’s not quite all the way out.” He smiled at the cousins. “Don’t want to get your feet wet.”
“I’d walk a mile for a camel,” Renie murmured. “And then I’d roast it with a side of sage dressing.”
“Ha-ha,” Ogilvie responded politely.
MacRae was on his cell phone. “Oh yes? Would you tell your son and his wife we wish to speak with them as soon as we arrive? Thank you. We’ll be at Grimloch in just a few minutes.”
The cousins parted company with the police at the castle. There was no sign of Harry’s parents, but Judith assumed they’d agree to meet MacRae and his sergeant. Heading straight for the kitchen with Renie, they found Mrs. Gibbs putting china away in a glass-fronted cupboard.
“You must be glad to see your son and his wife,” Judith said. “How long have they been gone?”
The older woman shrugged. “A year, more or less.” She made quite a clatter stacking soup bowls. “Venezuela, it was. Lived in something called a
