Glen was staring at Renie. “I didn’t realize…”
“Never mind. My brother-in-law’s the attorney. Bub and I have the same initials. That’s because,” she went on, “his real name isn’t Bub. Still, he’s a terrific lawyer, and he did come to England once. For something. I forget.”
Glen seemed justifiably confused. “If you’ll excuse me, I should—” Shouts and loud noises suddenly erupted, and not, Judith judged, from outside. “What’s that?” Alarmed, the constable raced from the parlor.
Judith and Renie followed him to the door from which he’d entered. They saw Patrick Cameron pummeling Seumas Bell before hurling him onto the floor.
“Now, now,” PC Glen called. “None of that! Oops!” He lost his balance as Seumas rolled into his legs.
“Keep that swine away from me!” Patrick barked. “He’s the one who should be under arrest!” He went back into what was presumably the study and slammed the door.
“We’re out of here,” Judith said to Renie. “Let’s go.”
Leaving through the tradesmen’s entrance, Judith stopped to catch her breath on the brick path. “Between you and these crazy Scots, I can only take so many brawls in one short span of days. Besides, we can’t do anything about Joe and Bill until MacRae gets our message. We’ll have to trust him to act fast. I’m sure he will with a fellow cop at risk.”
“Let’s hope.” Renie sighed and clutched at the ruined suede jacket she was still holding. “Damn and double damn. Maybe we should’ve gone to California after all.”
Judith looked askance. “Right. It’s so safe. Nothing bad ever happens in California,” she said.
“Now what do we do?” Renie asked. “We’ve no wheels.”
Judith studied the inn’s well-tended garden and tried to calm herself by imagining how it would look when the bulbs were in bloom and the herbaceous borders had leafed out. At home, she found working with plants, digging in the dirt, and pruning overgrown shrubs was a form of therapy after a difficult day. But just thinking about the process and its results came as no comfort ten thousand miles away from Hillside Manor. “We could sit in the gazebo and pray,” she suggested.
“Sounds good to me,” Renie said.
They walked the twenty feet to the gazebo with its dark green latticework and sat down after making sure the wooden seats weren’t wet from the rain and mist. “I don’t hear any noise coming from the front of the inn,” Judith said after a couple of minutes of silence. “Maybe the media’s gone.”
“Good,” said Renie. “Then MacRae can find our husbands. What makes you think Morton’s got them locked up in the repair shop?”
“Because he wouldn’t let Barry deliver the pizza there,” Judith replied. “According to Barry, he always takes…What was the mechanic’s name? Rob?” She saw Renie nod. “Barry always delivers Rob’s pizza in person to get his big tip.”
“You’re scaring me,” Renie declared. “Why would Morton be holding our husbands?”
“It has to do with MacGowan,” Judith said. “Whoever killed Harry wanted MacGowan out of the way because he’s a smart cop who probably knows too much. Somehow MacGowan must’ve found out about the murder—that is, both murders. Unfortunately, Joe and Bill were with him, and…” She shook her head. “I know it all sounds crazy, but I’m sure MacGowan didn’t send that text message to MacRae. Joe told me MacGowan detested new technology and refused to use it.”
Renie was nervously fidgeting with the jacket. “I don’t see how all three of them could’ve been kidnapped.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” Judith admitted. There was a pause while the cousins fretted in silence.
“Maybe we should go to Morton’s garage,” Renie said.
“No. Too dangerous,” Judith responded. “Let the cops do it.”
“Damn,” Renie said softly. “The Bruce chewed the label off of this jacket. Now we don’t know the maker. The lining’s all stained, too, probably from pizza sauce. Let me see if there’s a label inside the pockets.” She checked the two on the exterior. “No luck.” Turning the jacket over, she poked a finger in the half-eaten inside pocket. “No…wait, there is something…” She pulled out a receipt, which bore The Bruce’s teeth marks. “This is from the Dolphin pub on October first. Wasn’t that the date of Davey’s death on his grave?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “I remember because it’s Cousin Marty’s birthday. Let’s see.”
Renie handed over the receipt. “Nineteen pounds four shillings and sixpence,” Judith murmured. “Four beverages, one burger, chips, a side of onion rings, and a spinach salad, not to mention a dab of catsup on the—” She stopped. “Let me see that lining.”
“Here.” Renie gave the jacket to Judith. “It’s clouding over. I’ll bet it’s going to rain again.” She looked at her watch. “Good Lord, it’s almost three! Where has the day gone?”
“This isn’t pizza sauce or catsup.” Judith stared at Renie. “I’m no expert, but it looks like dried blood.”
“So?” Renie looked puzzled. “Davey must’ve been wearing this jacket when he crashed his car. Of course there’d be blood on it.”
“It’s all wrong,” Judith said. “Who’d donate a bloodstained jacket to a thrift shop, even for a worthy cause?”
“Moira?”
“I wonder.” Judith carefully folded the jacket and tucked the receipt into her purse. “Davey was dead when Dr. Carmichael found him. Patrick was injured, but lying away from the wreck. Let’s call Carmichael,” Judith said, taking out her cell phone and dialing Alison’s number. “It’s pesky Mrs. Flynn. Have you got Dr. Carmichael’s listing?”
“I know it by heart,” Alison replied. “Have to, for emergencies.” She rattled off the doctor’s surgery number. “Are you ill?” “No,” Judith assured her. “Just an idle query. Thanks so much.” She dialed the doctor’s number. A pleasant female voice answered. She informed Judith that Dr. Carmichael was seeing a patient and had three more scheduled before the surgery closed at five. “Please,” Judith begged, “tell him this is urgent.” She gave the woman her cell number.
“But that’s not local,” the woman said. “Where are you?”
“At the Hearth and Heath,” Judith informed her.
“Then come along,” the woman said. “We’re next door to the east.”
Judith rang off and stood up. “We’re going to see the doctor.”
When the cousins exited the garden through the gate facing the road, they saw what they presumed was the last of the media vehicles pulling away. Only a couple of onlookers lingered by the inn.
“Luckily,” Judith said, “we don’t look important.”
“We’re not,” Renie asserted as they approached the small whitewashed one-story building that housed the surgery. “How could the cops have missed that jacket if Davey was wearing it?”
“Because,” Judith said, ringing the bell, “I don’t think Davey was wearing it when the cops got there. That’s what we’re going to find out.”
A slim blonde about forty-odd opened the door. “You’re Americans,” she said. “I figured it out after I studied your cell phone number. Not traveler’s tummy, is it? The water’s perfectly safe here.”
“No,” Judith said as an elderly man shuffled into the waiting room from another direction. “Till next time,” he said. “Always a next time.” He went out the front door.
“Poor Mr. Murchison,” the blonde said. “Old age is painful.”
Dr. Carmichael appeared from the same part of the surgery Mr. Murchison had just left. “Susan told me you’d called,” he said, nodding at a woman with a toddler who’d just been admitted by the blonde. The doctor nodded at the mother and child. “I assumed it was you ladies. Let’s go into my office.”
“We won’t keep you,” Judith assured him as they left the waiting room. “In fact, we can do this right here.” She held out the jacket. “Do you recognize this?”