Bonnie of Evidence (13 page)

Wally’s expression grew pinched, his voice tight. “Since the local authorities are in charge now, there’s little more we can do, so they’ve encouraged us to continue our schedule as planned. But I expect each of you will want to remember Isobel in some small way today, either with a moment of silence, or in some other way that’ll be meaningful to you.”

“I remember her, all right,” griped Bill. “I remember how she tried to screw the rest of us and cheat her way to a win.”

“That’s water over the dam now,” Alex Hart pointed out, his emotional stability and calm making him sound even more reasonable than Doctor Phil. “She can’t ever do it again, so why don’t we just forget about it and move on? Besides, she wasn’t a very adept cheat. She stole the wrong thing. Remember?”

Bill smashed his fist on the table, giving us all a start. “Her team should be punished! How do we know they weren’t in cahoots with each other?”

“Because we weren’t!” Cameron Dasher protested. “She admitted to everyone last night that she acted on her own. Did you miss that part of the conversation?”

“And you expected us to believe her?” Bill snorted.

“I believed her,” said Alice Tjarks, raising her hand in support.

“So did I,” admitted Mom.

“Me, too,” said George.

Osmond popped out of his chair. “Show of hands. How many folks think Isobel was telling the truth about acting on her own?”

I watched heads turn left and right as people tried to gauge how everyone else was going to vote before they cast their own.

“It doesn’t matter if you think Isobel acted alone or not.” Wally boomed out his pronouncement as if he were channeling the Great Oz. He motioned Osmond to sit down. “We started the contest with five teams, and we’ll end with five teams. I’ve spoken to the Micelis about this, and we’re all in agreement. There was no harm done yesterday, no matter how outraged you are about what Isobel did, so as far as we’re concerned, the issue is resolved. However, I’m troubled by another issue.”

He paused meaningfully to scan the faces in the room. “Isobel left her medical form blank, so we didn’t know about her allergy. Maybe if we
had
known, we might have been able to help her. So if, when you were filling out your medical histories, it slipped your mind that you have a life-threatening condition, I’d encourage you to get your information up to speed. I always have the forms handy, so if you remember anything you’d like to add, or delete, speak to me in private, and we’ll get it taken care of. The important thing is for the information to be as accurate as possible in case of medical emergency.”

Spines stiffened. Eyes shifted. Guilt marched with heavy feet across the suddenly self-conscious faces of everyone at my table—Dick Teig, Margi, Osmond, Dad.

Dad
? I stared at him in disbelief. Oh, my God! Dad had lied on his medical history?

Stella and Bill Gordon, on the other hand, sat rigidly stone-faced, apparently convinced that nothing Wally was saying applied to them.

“I want to go on record as opposing your radical secular socialist decision not to disqualify Isobel’s team from the contest,” Bill protested.

“Opposition duly noted,” said Wally. “But instead of dwelling on Isobel’s misconduct, maybe you should all start gearing up for your next challenge.”

The onslaught of negative vibes crackling throughout the room slowly ebbed, replaced by a low-level buzz that swelled to a chirpy titter. “You’re still going to let us geocache?” asked Grace Stolee.

“You can count on it,” Wally assured her. “The current situation
is out of our hands, so there’s no reason we can’t proceed as planned. I’ve written the day’s itinerary on the whiteboard in the lobby, so please check it out after breakfast. In a nutshell—geocaching at Urquhart Castle first, a late morning stop at the Loch Ness Exhibition Center, an afternoon cruise on Loch Ness itself, and then dinner in Drumnadrochit, where you’ll be entertained by a trio of bagpipers and treated to a smorgasbord of original Scottish delicacies such as Cullen Skink, Clootie Dumplings, Rumbledethumps, and Dundee Cake.”

Margi looked stricken. “Those things don’t sound like they’re going to taste very good, except for maybe the cake. Will we be able to order off the menu?”

“There’s no menu,” said Wally. “It’s a fixed meal.”

“Why are we having a smorgasbord in Scotland?” asked Helen. “Are they going to serve Swedish food?”

“Is skunk Swedish?” asked Alice, who gave her hearing aid a little tap.

“I think skunk is one a them Southern delicacies,” Nana piped up. “Kinda like chitlins, or roadkill.”

“Why do Scottish dumplings have cooties?” asked Lucille. “Shouldn’t we notify the Board of Health?”

“Maybe they don’t got no Board of Health,” said Nana.

“Which would explain why all their food is contaminated,” concluded Grace.

Wally opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, looking suddenly unnerved and twitchy, as if he were suffering from shell shock. Poor thing. He was probably more accustomed to dealing with guests whose conversations actually made sense.

“Could I say something?” I asked, standing up so everyone could see me. “Just to clarify about dinner this evening in Drumnadrochit—”

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Dolly Pinker breezed into the room in leopard print jeans and a spandex top that dipped halfway to her navel and clung to her body like plastic wrap. “I’m so disoriented. My alarm didn’t go off, so when I finally woke up, I had to hurry, hurry, hurry.” She let out an exhausted breath as she scanned the room at large. “So, have I missed anything?”

Wally nodded. “There’s good news and bad news.”

“Isobel Kronk died last night,” Bill Gordon called out without preamble.

Dolly fluffed her hair, looking oddly disaffected by the news. “Oh, really? Imagine that.” She turned her attention on Wally. “So … what’s the bad news?”

NINE

U
RQUHART
C
ASTLE, INEXPLICABLY PRONOUNCED
Urkut, occupies a prime slice of real estate on a rock-ribbed promontory overlooking the waters of Loch Ness. Built in the early 1200s, it boasts all the features of a contemporary five-star resort—killer location, breathtaking views, impeccably groomed landscaping, proximity to local attractions. The only things it lacks are a roof, walls, floor, windows, and indoor plumbing.

“What do you mean, it’s a ruin?” groused Bernice as we pulled into the coach section of the parking lot. “Who the devil wants to look at a pile of crumbling rocks?”

“Apparently, thousands of curiosity seekers,” Wally replied over his mike, “because this is one of the most popular tourist sites in Scotland. It has a pretty bloody history, which is covered in the video presentation at the visitor center, so if you’re a history buff and have a strong stomach, I’d recommend you watch it.”

“The MacDonalds of the Isles were staunch defenders of Urquhart Castle seven hundred years ago,” Bill Gordon said in a booming voice. “And I’m proud to say, the MacDonalds and my kin were like this.” He raised his hand above his head and twisted his index and middle fingers around each other like creeping vines.

“Would you give it a rest?” his wife complained. “No one cares about your damn relatives.”

As our driver maneuvered into a vacant space and killed the engine, Wally slid out from his front seat and stepped into the aisle. “The visitor center is state-of-the-art, with great views of the loch from the veranda. There’s also a coin-operated observation telescope so you can catch a close-up of Nessie should she decide to rear her head. Team Four is first up today, which is our Do It or Lose It team. While they’re on the hunt, I suggest the rest of you browse in the gift shop or grab a cup of coffee in the café. I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to head out.”

“Team Yes We Can only has four members now,” Bernice shouted from the seat behind me, “so I think you should award us more search time in order to compensate for our devastating loss of manpower.”

I bent my head toward Etienne and rolled my eyes. Classic Bernice. Yesterday, she was screaming for a member to be cut loose from her team; today, she was demanding favored status because of it.

“I don’t really think Team Five requires extra time,” Cameron Dasher called out from across the aisle. “We might be down a teammate, but I think our four remaining team members are pretty formidable. We’re ready to go toe-to-toe with anyone, without special favors. Right, team?”

“Yes. We. Can!” chanted Dolly Pinker from the front of the bus.

“Yes. We. Can!” Lucille chimed in from behind me.

Cameron turned around in his seat. “Bernice? What do you say? Are you with us?”

She grumbled something under her breath. “Yes we can,” she muttered in a stubborn, tight-lipped monotone.

“Okay, then.” Wally nodded his thanks toward Cameron. “That’s settled. We’ll be here for two and a half hours, which should give you plenty of time to complete your challenge and explore the castle grounds. I know geocaching isn’t supposed to take place on sites that charge admission, but everyone is making a special exception for Urquhart. The National Trust is happy for increased attendance to help defray the cost of the new visitor center, and geocachers seem thrilled with the physical layout of the search area, so it’s a win-win situation. Mrs. Andrew will give each team its GPS coordinates on the veranda overlooking the grounds, so as soon as Team Four works their way through the building, we can begin. Good luck, everyone.”

Amid excited chatter and foot shuffling, people flooded the aisles en masse, kind of like a herd of camels trying to crowd into a pup tent at the same time. Helen and Grace, gung ho in their matching Scottie dog sweatshirts, were first down the rear stairs, followed by Lucille Rassmuson, who’d gotten into the whole team identity thing by crossing out the slogan, “Iowa: It’s Easy to Spell” on her sweatshirt, and writing below it in permanent black marker: “Teem Yes We Can.”

“Do you suppose Mrs. Rassmuson realizes she spelled ‘Team’ incorrectly on her shirt?” Etienne asked me as we waited for the aisle to clear.

“Yeah, she knows. And she’s learned a valuable lesson.”

He grinned. “What? There’s still a niche market for liquid white-out?”

I grinned back. “Water-based markers are much more forgiving.”

We exited the bus at the back of the pack and followed the group across the lot and down a flight of stairs, to a low circular building that could have doubled as a World War II artillery bunker. “This is the visitor center?”

I gaped at the structure, which covered an area only slightly larger than a child’s wading pool. Were they kidding? How could a building this small possibly have enough restroom stalls to accommodate a busload full of seniors with internal plumbing issues?

“It’s the entrance, bella
,
like the conning tower on a submarine. There’s a lift inside that’ll take us down to the main floor.”

I eyed him curiously. “You never mentioned you’d been here before.”

“I haven’t.” He flashed a sexy grin that showed off his dimples. “I Googled it.”

The main floor was a sleek blend of pale wood and glass, with circular columns supporting the ceiling, and recessed pot lights that slanted illumination downward like laser beams. I watched the group scatter in four different directions while Etienne detached his phone from its holster, looking as if he wished it would ring.

“Important call on the docket?”

“Medical examiner. He said he’d keep me apprised of his findings, but I’m probably being too optimistic to think he’d have enough results to call me back this quickly. I’ll just have to stay busy to keep my mind off it.”

Which, I’d come to discover, was the workaholic’s solution for everything. “I know something that’ll keep you busy.” Leaning in to him, I lowered my voice to a seductive whisper. “At least … it’ll keep your hands busy.”

He bobbled his phone as if his fingers had suddenly gone numb. Finding his grip again, he secured the device back in its holster and asked out of the side of his mouth, “What did you have in mind?”

I nodded toward the opposite end of the room. “Margi looks as if she needs someone to take her picture. Would you do the honors? You’ll probably make her day.”

“Very clever, Mrs. Miceli.” He smiled sardonically. “I’ll get you for that.”

I gave him a little finger wave as he headed across the floor. “I’m counting on it!”

With Wally managing the geocaching activities and Etienne playing photographer, I was freed up to do a little exploring on my own, but where to start? Video presentation? Outdoor veranda? Castle proper?

Rather than waste time doing the eenie, meenie, miney, moe thing, I reverted to my default setting: the gift shop.

“What do you mean, do I really need a new necktie?” Alex Hart balked as I crossed the threshold. He and Erik Ishmael were browsing through the woolens on a display table just inside the door, looking like natives in their new kilts, hiking boots, and nifty sporrans. “Do I ever complain about the number of wristwatches you buy?”

“That’s different,” scoffed Erik. “I’m building a collection.”

“Well, so am I, only I wear mine around my neck instead of my wrist.” He snatched a red tartan tie from the table and held it near his cheek. “Royal Stuart. What do you think? Does it fight with my complexion?”