“Um…they don’t have one in the guest rooms. No TV, either, but,” Joe went on cheerfully, “that’s because there’s so much else to do.”
Judith started to dress. “Such as?”
“Well…the village, shops, history. Oh—dolphins. They call them bottlenoses—or something like that.”
“You left out fishing,” Judith said sharply.
Joe looked surprised. “You want to fish?”
“Never mind.” Judith applied lipstick and blush. “Let’s eat.”
By chance, Renie and Bill were leaving their room. Renie was wearing a wool emerald green sweater with a long black wool skirt.
“For sunny California?” Judith asked with sarcasm.
Renie shrugged. “Once the sun goes down, it gets chilly in Southern California.”
“Nice room,” Bill remarked as they headed for the staircase. “Too bad it’s not on the ocean. We see the village.”
“All those bright lights,” Judith retorted. “All four of them?”
“I built a fire,” Bill said.
“That must be pleasant,” Judith responded. “Joe’s going to try that after dinner. If he can find the flint.”
They started down the circular stairs. “I’m taking the elevator back up,” Judith declared.
“What elevator?” Renie asked.
“There’s one somewhere,” Bill said vaguely.
They reached the ground floor. “The gong,” Judith said. “Have we heard the gong signaling dinner?”
“It’s two minutes after eight,” Judith said, looking at her watch. “How could we hear it through these thick stone walls?”
“Good point,” Joe said. He gestured straight ahead. “That’s where we came in. The drawing room is—” He stopped. At the far end of the passageway, a small, furtive figure skittered into view, paused, turned around, and disappeared.
“Who was that?” Judith asked.
“What was that?” Renie said. “A kid? The butler? Our waiter?”
The door to the drawing room opened just before the foursome moved on. A man in proper butler’s attire beamed at them. He looked familiar to Judith.
“Gibbs?” she said.
“Aye,” he replied, still smiling. “The finest Scottish whiskey awaits ye. Did ye hear the gong?”
“Aye,” Judith said. “I mean—nae. No.”
Gibbs nodded. “I thought not. Nobody ever does.”
The drawing room made Judith catch her breath. Some of the furnishings looked very old, perhaps from the seventeenth or even sixteenth century, but they had been lovingly restored. Brocades, silks, and velvet covered the chairs and settees. Many of the pieces were heavy and solid. The walls were paneled in oak; the ceiling was coffered. Judith immediately moved to the fireplace hearth where logs were ablaze. The chimney, she noticed, was decorated with a stag’s head, proper.
“The family crest?” she inquired as Gibbs stood by a satinwood table where decanters, glassware, and an ice bucket had been set out.
The ferryman cum butler smiled. “Aye, the Forbes clan. The master is a Fordyce, a sept o’ the Forbes. There’s a Castle Fordyce to the southeast, but distant kin, ye ken. Now and again, folks get confused, come to the wrong one.”
“That’s understandable,” Judith said. “Did this Fordyce inherit Grimloch Castle?”
“Nae.” Gibbs’s face turned stony. “The master…bought it some twenty-odd years ago.” He cleared his throat. “Will ye be drinking his special malt?”
Judith, Joe, and Bill said yes. Renie looked apologetic. “Do you have any Canadian whiskey—or Pepsi?”
Gibbs nodded and reached into a glass-fronted cabinet next to the table. “Set aside for our colonial cousins.”
Judith accepted a flared crystal highball glass. “May I please have some ice?”
“Ah.” Gibbs’s blue eyes twinkled. “Yanks. Ye must have yer ice.”
After the drinks were poured, Gibbs announced that he’d retire to assume his other duties. “Cook serves at half past the hour,” he said.
Judith sipped her drink and explored their surroundings. “Some of these paintings must be very valuable,” she said to Renie. “Is that Venice scene a real Canaletto?”
“Could be,” Renie replied. “There’s a Turner Grand Canal on the other wall. The portraits are excellent, too.”
“Mostly ancestors, I suppose.”
“Maybe, but not all of them,” Renie said. “I spotted Mary, Queen of Scots, and her son James VI—James I, if you only count him as an English king.”
“Fascinating.” Judith looked at Renie’s wool sweater and skirt. “You were smart to pack at least one warm outfit.”
“Ah…well, you know…” Renie looked away, ostensibly studying an inlaid chess table on a pedestal. “The weather’s always unpredictable.”
Judith eyed her cousin suspiciously. “But wool?”
Still avoiding Judith’s gaze, Renie shrugged. “Wool…breathes.”
“Only when the sheep’s wearing it,” Judith snapped. “What else did you pack that you couldn’t possibly wear in eighty-degree heat?”
Renie grimaced. “A couple of other sweaters. Wool slacks. Hooded jacket. Furs.”
“Furs?”
“Faux fur,” Renie said. “Except for my raincoat’s real fox lining.”
Judith moved closer to Renie, forcing her to back up against a mahogany settee. “You knew?”
Renie shot a quick glance at Joe and Bill, who were standing on the hearth at the other end of the room. “Bill had to tell me. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to get me on the plane. But he figured that if we were headed for Scotland, I’d be willing to fly. You know I love Scottish history. And,” Renie added lamely, “Scottish weather. It’s just like home, only more so.”
“You lied to me!” Judith exclaimed softly. “How could you?”
“I didn’t really lie,” Renie insisted. “Bill didn’t tell me until the night before we left. Please don’t let Joe find out. Until now, I had to act clueless. Bill felt terrible about breaking his promise to Joe, but he realized I might stay home even if I had to fake my own death.”
Judith shook her head. “I’m speechless—and flabbergasted.”
“Hey.” Renie wagged a finger at her cousin. “This whole thing started because of your dumb bet, and the—”
“It wasn’t dumb,” Judith interrupted. “At first, it was fifty—”
“Never mind that part. I mean,” Renie clarified, “the vacation stakes. Why on earth would you, a Pacific Northwest native, want to seek sun? It’s unthinkable.”
Judith considered her cousin’s words. “Honestly, I don’t know why I said Dana Point. I’d been there a couple of times with Dan, and it was very pleasant. For a few hours. Maybe when Joe asked me where I’d like to vacation, I didn’t think it through. Maybe I forgot how much I hate heat and constant sunshine.”
“That’s okay,” Renie said in consolation. “Everybody has an occasional lapse.”
The cousins’ attention was diverted as a tall, handsome young man in classic tweeds entered the drawing room. Joe and Bill nodded as the newcomer went directly to the cabinet where the liquor was stored. He poured out a generous measure of whiskey and rather insolently gazed from the husbands to the wives. “Do I know you?” he asked in a slightly drawling voice that sounded more English than Scots.
Joe offered his hand. “We’re guests. Joe Flynn and Bill Jones. Our wives are over there.” He nodded in Judith and Renie’s direction.
The young man’s handshake lacked enthusiasm. “Oh. I heard you were coming. Or did I?” He frowned. “I’m Harry Gibbs.”
Judith and Renie had approached the young man. “I’m Mrs. Flynn, and this is Mrs. Jones.”
Harry Gibbs’s hazel eyes darted from cousin to cousin. “Oh.” He drank his whiskey neat.
Judith was taken aback by Harry’s ungracious manner. “Are you related to the Gibbses?” she asked to cover the awkward moment.