Bonnie of Evidence (9 page)

I waited indulgently while Dad stood over the box, zooming in, and out, and in, and out. “Done?”

“Yup,” he said, panning seamlessly to a floor shot as he skulked off in Mom’s direction.

I plucked the knife out of the box, surprised by its heft. The blade was as long as my hand, double-edged, and narrowed into a point like a Viking spear. The hilt was intricately carved into a pattern that mimicked the corkscrew twists of a licorice stick. An inch below the hilt, a band of uncarved wood circled the grip, its smoothness marred by a series of deep scratches.

“Hold it up so the rest of us can see it!” demanded Bill Gordon.

I elevated it above my head and rotated in a slow circle.

“Well, would you look at that?” marveled Nana.

“Is something about the dagger familiar to you?” Tilly asked her.

“Nope. I was just noticin’ that the fog’s lifted.”

“Have you found the ‘Made in China’ designation on that thing yet?” Stella Gordon wisecracked.

I examined the dagger more closely, noticing that the blade was tarnished in long streaks near the tip—like sterling silver in need of a good polishing. Oddly, though, the oxidized streaks were rust brown instead of gun-metal gray. “I’m not seeing where it was made anywhere,” I confessed, “but it’s a great looking knockoff, right down to these smudges that I suspect are supposed to be blood stains. I bet someone used it as a prop for a play or something.”

“But why was it stuffed in a tree trunk?” asked Lucille.

I shrugged. “Before there was geocaching, there were scavenger and treasure hunts. Maybe this was an item that the participants never found.”

“Didn’t I say as much?” squawked Isobel. “It’s like a piece of space junk.”

Margi sucked in her breath. “You think aliens left it?”

Isobel drilled me with a hard, unflinching look. “I hope this is the end of your interrogation, because whether it is or not, I’m heading for the dining room.”

“One more question,” I ventured as I returned the dagger to its box. “Out of curiosity, how did you manage to abscond with the cache without your teammates seeing you do it?”

“By lying to us,” Dolly accused. “She said her ankle bracelet fell off, so she wanted to run back to look for it.”

Isobel fished the bracelet out of her jeans pocket and dangled it from her finger. “It wasn’t a lie.”

“Hah!” spat Dolly. “You probably broke the clasp yourself, just to have an excuse. Putting it on display proves nothing.”

“It proves that Campbells are all cheats and liars,” yelled Bill.

“Seven o’clock!” announced Dick Stolee as he launched himself out of his chair. “Soup’s on.”

Oh, God
.

The exodus started with subtle movements—head bobbing, weight shifts, foot shuffling—and gradually erupted into a full-blown stampede as Lucille raced full-throttle for the door with Dick Stolee hot on her heels. I leaped out of the way to avoid being knocked down by the exiting mob, flattening myself against the library table until the room had emptied itself. Etienne and Wally ran into the room like firemen in search of a fire, eyes wild, and breath heavy.

“What was that?” asked Etienne, gasping.

“The Iowa response to the dinner bell.” I peeled myself away from the table and dusted off my hands. “They’ve gotten so much more orderly. I hardly recognize them anymore.”

“You call that orderly?” squeaked Wally.

I smiled. “You should have seen them before.”

He shook his head. “I’ll referee in the dining room. See you in there.”

Etienne walked across the room and placed a lingering kiss in the hollow below my earlobe. “In the interest of preserving the health of arthritic knees and fragile hips, do you suppose we might suggest that guests proceed to the dining room with a bit more decorum?”

“Good luck with that.”

“I was afraid that might be your response.” He lowered his gaze to the table, nodding at the dagger. “A rather fierce-looking bauble. Scotsmen do love their dirks, but the packaging needs updating.”

I groaned. “It has a very interesting backstory, which I’ll share with you
after
dinner.” I replaced the lid then leaned over and blew rust flecks off the surface. “I bet Isobel will be forever cleaning this stuff out of her backpack.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Shall we go in to dinner? I’m in desperate need of a drink.”

_____

The hotel dining room had the look of a primeval great hall with its exposed beams, heraldic shields, and wall plaques mounted with the heads of any dead thing sporting antlers. The tables were set for either four or six guests and were strategically arranged to allow great views of the loch from any location on the floor. Most of the guests had staked out their seats already, leaving only a few empty spaces, so Etienne, Wally, and I were going to have to split up, which wasn’t a bad idea logistically.

Maybe the three of us could preserve peace among the feuding factions.

“You have two choices,” Etienne said in a low voice. “You can either sit with your mother, or Bernice. Do you have a preference, or would you rather flip for it?”

“I’d rather sit with you.”

“Not an option.”

I ranged a look over the dining area. “I could sit with Dad. Do you see him?”

“He’s not at the table with your mother.”

“No kidding? Wow. He escaped. How’d he manage that?”

“Actually, bella, I don’t see your father anywhere.”

“He’s not here?” I looked left and right. “That’s odd. I wonder where he is?”

“I GOT IT ON TAPE!” Dad cried as he charged into the room, waving his camcorder. “I couldn’t believe it! Right there! Right in front of me!” He skidded to a stop, hair mussed, face red, chest heaving with exertion. “I saw Nessie!”

SIX

T
HE STAMPEDE OUT OF
the dining room made the recent stampede
into
the dining room look as if it had happened in slow motion. In the mere blink of an eye, chairs were upended, tables abandoned, goblets toppled, napkins discarded.

“Out of my way!”

“Ow! Get off my foot!”

“Move it! It’s almost dark and my camera doesn’t have night settings!”

Panting. Shoving. Grunting. Then silence.

Mom and Nana remained at their tables, looking as stupefied by the empty room as they were by Dad’s announcement. Dad stood beside me, his knees shaking as badly as his hands. “How about we sit you down?” I said as I grabbed his arm and ushered him to a nearby chair.

Etienne nodded toward the doorway. “Shall I—?”

“Yes! Don’t let them out of your sight. And if you see a life preserver along the path, grab it. Someone’s probably going to need it.”

This was one of the unexpected benefits of marriage—knowing what your spouse was going to say even before he said it. I didn’t know the physiological mechanics of how this phenomenon happened, but I figured it would be a great perk fifty years from now, when neither one of us could remember what we were about to say.

“Geez,” choked Dad as he sank into the chair, his eyes glassy with shock. “Geez.” He gave his head a shake. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in my entire life. It scared the bejeebers out of me.”

This was a pretty strong statement coming from Dad, who was completely fearless when dealing with truly frightening stuff like spiders, snakes, and dentists. I hovered over him, hoping I could restore calm by patting his shoulder. “You want to show me the goods?”

“Sure, hon, but—” He slid the wrist strap off his hand, shoved a dinner plate aside, set the camera on the table, then stared at it as if he were a botanist observing a new species of plant. “I only know how to record. I haven’t learned how to play anything back yet.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” I’d become something of an expert at solving the complex technical and electronic problems that arose with guests’ ever-changing audio and video equipment. The secret was knowing how to ask the right questions.

I shot a desperate look at Nana. “Do you know how to operate this thing?”

“Nope. But if it’s got a battery, I can probably figure it out.”

“I know I packed the owner’s manual,” said Mom as she riffled through her fannypack. “I thought reading it might help your father fall asleep on the plane ride over, but I don’t remember him giving it back to me.” A look of horror crept into her eyes. “Oh, my God, Bob, I hope you didn’t leave it in the seat pocket in front of you.”

Nana toddled over, grabbed the camcorder, flipped open the touch screen, then studied it for a long moment before fiddling with some widgets and buttons that produced a soft
whirring
sound. “Now we’re cookin’,” she said, waiting for a good portion of the tape to rewind before hitting the Stop button. She looked over at Mom. “You wanna see the creature what’s been hauntin’ Loch Ness for thousands of years?”

“The three of you go ahead,” Mom insisted as she dumped the contents of her fannypack onto the table. “Bob’s manual has to be here someplace. I’m just going to double check real quick.”

“
Mom.”
My voice became a high-pitched squeak. “It’s the Loch Ness monster.”

“Which makes it doubly important for me to find the manual.” She began sorting through her stash of papers with her usual systematic thoroughness. “If your father becomes famous, we’re going to have to know how to download the tape to the computer so we can post it on YouTube.”

Dad nodded his agreement, apparently delighted by the idea. “What’s YouTube?”

“It’s little videos of people’s pets, weddin’ receptions, and summer vacations,” said Nana as she set the camcorder back on the table. “Kinda like TV shows what forgot to add plots.” She pressed the Play button.

I squeezed Dad’s arm and held my breath, beside myself with excitement.

Pavement. Shoes. Dad’s shoes. Dad’s shoes standing on the pavement. Car engines revving in the background. Voices. A horn tooting. Dad’s shoes walking over the pavement. Over a curb. Over a crack in the pavement. Past a patch of grass.

I squinted at the screen, waiting for the money shot. “Obviously not the monster yet.”

Dad looked perplexed. “Did I shoot this? I’m going to have to work on content.”

Bluejeans. Dad’s bluejeans. Dad’s bluejeans standing on a bridge with the sounds of rushing water below.

“That’s gotta be the bridge what we seen in Braemar,” said Nana. “You can tell on account of it sounded like we was standin’ on Niagara Falls.”

Dad gaped at the screen, looking more confused by the minute. “Where’s my footage of Nessie?”

“It’s probably there someplace,” I encouraged as we were treated to a stationary image of the floral upholstery covering the back of our bus seats. “I bet you just got a little mixed up in these shots and switched the camera off when it was supposed to be on, and on when it was supposed to be off. This happens to
everyone
when they’re using a new camcorder for the first time. Doesn’t it, Nana?”

She stared at me as if I had two heads.

“You just wait and see,” I continued. “You probably got yourself back on track without even knowing it.”

Green screen. Bouncing green screen. The sleeve of Dad’s green John Deere jacket. Dad swinging his hand back and forth. Dad making me dizzy with the back and forth thing.

Okay then. Big negatory on the getting back on track theory.

“Dang. This is brutal,” said Nana as she pressed the Fast Forward icon on the touchscreen.

Bricks. A brick walkway. Dad’s shoes running on the brick walkway. Panting. A hideous bubbly, gurgling noise that sounded more ferocious than the dreaded screech of a prehistoric raptor.

“Ohmigod!” I cried. “Was that Nessie? Is that what she sounds like?”

Dad shook his head. “It’s my stomach. I’m pretty hungry.”

Blue screen.

I looked at Nana, startled. “That’s it?”

She picked up the camcorder and punched Fast Forward, to no avail. “That’s it. End of tape.”

“The end?” Dad sat bolt upright in his chair, as if electrified. “But it can’t be the end. Where’s Nessie? I got a clear shot of her. I know I did. I even zoomed in for a close-up.” He took the camera from Nana and snugged his eye against the lens. “She’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

“It’s like Emily said,” Nana agreed. “You was in Standby mode when you was s’posed to be recordin’, and you was recordin’ when you was s’posed to be in Standby. User error.” She slapped him on the back. “It’ll getcha every time.”

“But if you saw her once, there’s an excellent chance you might see her again,” I chirped in an attempt to cheer him up.

He nodded in slow motion, face glum, voice dispirited. “I suppose.” He set the camera down in front of himself and patted it wistfully. “She had lovely eyes for a monster.”

“Found it!” whooped Mom. She popped out of her chair and rushed over to us, gripping a small booklet in her fist. “I said a prayer to Saint Anthony. Works every time. So—” She was all smiles and beatific joy as she clutched the manual to her bosom. “Do you have something to show me?”