Bonnie of Evidence (22 page)

He laughed as we reached the door. “I couldn’t very well do that, could I?”

I gave him a questioning look. “Why not?”

“Wouldn’t dare take the risk. I’ll not hae that thing anywhere near my department, Mrs. Miceli. Didn’t Aunt Morna translate the inscription fer ye? It’s cursed.”

The sound of angry voices beyond the door caused Bean to spring into high alert. With an apologetic grunt, he rushed past me, leaving me to follow hot on his heels as he maneuvered around the clerks at the front desk and charged into the lobby.

“Knocking off
one
of our team members wasn’t enough?” Cameron Dasher bellowed at the guests crowded into the room. “You decided you had to knock off
two
?”

Bill Gordon shot to his feet, face red and finger stabbing the air. “Just who the hell are you accusing of whacking your teammates, Dasher?”

“Someone in this room!” Cameron pulled a fierce face, his eyes shooting fire as he ranged a look at his tour companions. “You think I’m dumb enough to believe that two deaths on my team are pure coincidence? One of you is so afraid we’re going to win the whole shooting match that you’re bent on killing every member of our team to make damn sure it doesn’t happen!”

Officer Bean cleared his throat with enough force to cause heads to swivel around. “Please continue,” he encouraged Cameron as the room suddenly fell silent.

“Ask them!” Cameron tossed his hand out to indicate the room at large. “Ask them where they were when Dolly collapsed.”

“Forget
us
!” Bill spat. “Where were you?”

Lucille Rassmuson bounced to her feet so fast, she nearly knocked Cameron over. “I resent that implication, Mister,” she snapped at Bill. “We were hiking across that bridge at the far end of town when Dolly decided to head back to the hotel.”

“Yeah,” said Bernice, jumping up beside her. “We figured the edge of town was the only place we could plan our next strategic move without the rest of you losers trying to eavesdrop on us.”

“What prompted Ms. Pinker ta leave?” asked Bean.

“She was complaining of a headache,” said Cameron.

“Whining about a headache is more like it,” groused Bernice. “Are you familiar with the term ‘drama queen’?”

“I suggested she come back to the hotel and take a hot bath,” said Lucille, crimping her brow as she added, “I haven’t had a headache since The Change, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I used to do to get rid of one.”

“I think I used to hold my breath and count to ten,” Alice reminisced.

“No kidding?” marveled Osmond. “You’re not gonna believe this, but I do the same thing to get rid of hiccups!”

“I assume Ms. Pinker took yer advice?” Bean pressed Lucille.

“Yup. Her head hurt, and she was starting to get a little queasy, so she took off. We offered to walk back with her—” She fisted a hand on her hip and shot Bernice a tart look. “At least, Cameron and I offered, but—”

“She had a freaking
headache
,” Bernice defended. “It wasn’t as if she was on her deathbed … even though she apparently was.”

“We shouldn’t have listened to her,” said Cameron, his voice brimming with regret. “We should have insisted on walking back with her.”

“I think she was suffering from a killer migraine,” Lucille theorized. “Can killer migraines actually kill?”

“Well, something killed her,” said Cameron. He slanted a suspicious look around the room, his gaze lingering on Bill Gordon. “Bernice, Lucille, and I were hiking along the river near the bay when Dolly died. So where were the rest of you?”

“It’s none of your business where we were,” barked Bill.

“I was in the camera shop,” Margi volunteered. She bobbed her head at the people surrounding her. “Me … and all of my closest friends.”

Nine finger-waving Iowans flapped their hands into the air—
a number that decreased by one when Osmond suddenly peeked inside the shopping bag in his lap. He scratched his head. “If I was in a camera shop, what am I doing with a SaladShooter?”

“I spent a long time shopping in the market across the street,” Stella offered without prodding. “I wanted to stock up on junk food in case the only choice on tonight’s dinner menu is haggis.”

Gee, that was curious. I’d picked up a couple of things in the market, too, but I hadn’t spotted Stella.

“What’s haggis?” asked Margi.

Tilly raised her voice to lecture room volume. “It’s a mixture of sheep’s heart, lungs, and liver, minced together with onions and oatmeal and boiled in a sheep’s stomach to create a very tasty pudding. It’s Scotland’s national dish.”

“I’ve eaten in yer hotel dining room,” Officer Bean said proudly. “Ye hae my word that the haggis is excellent.”

The color drained from Margi’s face. She shot Stella an imploring look. “Did you happen to notice how late the market stays open tonight?”

“Could we talk about haggis later?” urged Cameron. “Don’t you think it’s more important right now to find out where everyone was this afternoon?”

I stepped closer to Officer Bean, because if Cameron kept forcing the issue, Bill’s short fuse could easily erupt into a full blown—

“I took a walk,” Bill replied calmly, his expression as smug as a champion chess player who was about to squash his opponent. “A nice long jaunt along the riverbank west of here. So if you’re expecting an alibi from me, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have one.” He flashed an oily smile. “It was just me, and swarms of midges.”

“They’re particularly bad this time of year,” Bean agreed, “especially if yer hiking along the river away from the bay.”

Cameron stared at Bean, thunderstruck. “You actually believe him?”

Bean massaged his jaw for a long moment, his gaze drifting over the two-dozen guests crammed into the room. “I’ve no bone ta pick with any of ye. I’m not investigating any of ye. If the medical examiner says Ms. Pinker died from something suspicious, then we’ll hae reason ta talk. But until then, I’ve no authority to slap irons on any of ye fer taking a stroll along the river.”

“Do tourists often drop dead in the streets of Wick for no apparent reason?” Tilly asked him.

“Healthy people don’t usually collapse on the pavement and die,” Bean replied in a tight voice. “I expect the medical examiner will back that up with his report, unless he discovers that the lady died from something that … defies explanation.”

“Like what?” Dick Teig called out.

Bean shuffled his feet. His voice grew strained. “I prefer ta leave that ta the experts.”

Holy crap!
I stared at him, bug-eyed. Was he hinting that Dolly might have died because of the curse? No twenty-first-century law officer could believe that, could he?

Cameron let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m happy you consider this an open and shut case, Officer. Two people on my team have died in two days. Can you actually stand there and tell me you think it’s mere coincidence?”

“Yah,” Lucille spoke up. “There’s only three of us left.” She pointed her finger at Bernice, Cameron, and herself. “One. Two. Three.”

“Two of you left,” Bernice said as she broke away from her teammates. “I quit.”

“WHAT?” The word shot out of Lucille’s and Cameron’s mouths at the same time.

“You heard me.” She folded her arms across her chest and plunked down onto the fireplace ledge. “Winning a free trip won’t do me any good if I’m too dead to enjoy it.”

“You
can’t
quit the team,” fretted Lucille.

“Oh, yah? Watch me.”

“But what about Cameron and me? You’re ruining our chances! How are we supposed to play the game with only two of us?”

Bernice fluttered her hands in the air as if washing them of the whole affair. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Cameron groaned. “C’mon, Bernice. You can’t give up. The team needs you.”

“Tough. I’m abandoning ship.”

“Just like a rat,” sneered Lucille.

“Sticks and stones,” hissed Bernice.

“Spoilsport,” Lucille hissed back.

Bernice rocketed to her feet, spittle flying from her mouth. “You people are such morons! Wake up and smell the coffee. Don’t you ever watch horror movies? Why do you think the members of Team Five are dropping like flies?”

Blank looks flew around the room. Margi raised her hand. “This is just hypothetical, but will our answers be counted if we don’t watch horror movies?”

“It’s because Team Five is cursed,” yelled Bernice.

My mouth fell open. She
couldn’t
know about the curse. No way. It had to be a lucky guess.

Gasps. Wheezing. Shock.

“That’s just plain stupid,” snorted George. “There’s no such thing as a curse.”

“What if it’s voodoo?” said Grace.

“Is voodoo the one where you stick needles into things?” asked Margi. “Or is that pin the tail on the donkey?”

“Curses are more common in the British Isles than voodoo,” Tilly informed us.

“I think all forms of cursing should be outlawed,” declared Alice.

“Forgive the interruption,” Officer Bean cut in, “but I hae a mountain of reports ta fill out back at my office, so I’d like ta ask Mrs. Miceli’s grandmother a few questions before I’m on my way. Mrs. Maccoull, is it?”

“Mrs. who?” asked Dick Teig.

Bean paused. “Is Maccoull the wrong name?”

I felt my knees come slightly unhinged as I watched Bill Gordon’s expression shift from bored, to roused, to feral.
Unh-oh
. This wasn’t good.

“Maccoull?” echoed Bill Gordon in a booming voice. “There’s a Maccoull among us?”

“She’s not a Maccoull,” I leaped in. “She’s a Sippel. Mrs. Samuel Sippel. And she was probably adopted, so the family history doesn’t really apply to her.”

“SHE’S A MACCOULL?” Bill roared.

I heard footsteps suddenly pounding down the ground floor corridor. Mom raced helter-skelter into the lobby, gasping for breath, looking like an early explorer in search of a civilization. “I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting. I completely lost track of time. Have they rung the dinner gong yet?”

“Any minute now,” said Dick Stolee.

Since we had forty-five minutes before dinner, I figured he was using the new math.

“Do you want to know what happened to Dolly Pinker?” Bill called out to Officer Bean. “I’ll tell you what happened.” He stabbed an accusatory finger at Nana. “
That
woman killed her.”

Nana pivoted her head left and right before realizing Bill was aiming his finger at her. “
I
killed her?” She blinked her surprise. “No kiddin’?”

“She most certainly did not!” I cried.

“Maccoulls have been locked in a blood feud with MacDonalds for centuries,” Bill ranted. “Dolly Pinker was a MacDonald.” He fixed Bean with a hard look. “You know what a bunch of savages the Maccoulls are.
Every
Scotsman knows. Do I have to draw you a picture?”

“My grandmother is treasurer of the Legion of Mary,” I defended. “She does not engage in blood feuds. She knows nothing about blood feuds!”

“Feuding is all the Maccoulls know,” raged Bill. “It’s in their blood. It’s in
her
blood.” He stabbed his finger at Nana again. “She killed Dolly as sure as I’m standing here. Ask her what was in those pills she was handing out at breakfast this morning. She gave them to everyone, but I bet she saved a very special one for Dolly. She gave her the one that killed her!”

Officer Bean’s expression grew sober. “Ye distributed medications at breakfast this morning, Mrs. Sippel?”

“They wasn’t medications, Officer. They was supplements. Herbal supplements.”

Mom gasped so loudly, she probably collapsed a lung. “Mother! You gave away the supplements I bought you?”

“You bet,” Nana fired back. “They was makin’ me lopsided.”

“They were not.”

“Were so.”

Mom let out a cry of irritation. “If swallowed with a full glass of water
as intended
, those supplements are supposed to strengthen your bones and
improve
your lopsidedness.”

“My lopsidedness improved the minute I give ’em away. So there.”

Alice raised her hand. “I swallowed several of Marion’s supplements this morning. Am I going to die, too?”

Whispers. Chatter. Alarm.

“I wouldn’t put it past a Maccoull to try to kill all of us,” Bill accused. “How do we know she didn’t slip Isobel a poison pill and kill her, too?”

“The
nerve
of you!” I snapped at Bill. “My grandmother is
not
a killer. Have you lost your mind? Look at her!” She executed a little finger wave as all eyes focused on her. “Is that the face of a cold-blooded killer?”