Bonnie of Evidence

TWELVE



“THEY WAS HAVING A shoppers’ special on bottled water in the hotel gift shop,” Nana told me as we approached Wick the next day. “Buy one, get two free.”

I frowned. “But why did you pay for water when you can get it free on the bus?”

“’Cuz the water in the hotel was on sale, dear. Gettin’ somethin’ for free don’t got the same buzz as gettin’ it dirt cheap.”

We’d followed the coastline as we headed northeast on the A9. We visited the home of the Earls and Dukes of Sutherland at Dunrobin Castle, geocached at an obscure site near Hill o’ Many Stanes, and spent the rest of the day crossing a flurry of firths and being wowed by sweeping views of the North Sea, which appeared to be stuck at permanent low tide despite our many hours on the road. I’d switched seats with George at our last comfort station, so this was the first time I’d been able to talk to Nana today.

“The clerk give us fair warnin’ that the farther north we drove, the fewer shops we was gonna find, so we loaded up. I got three bottles, Tilly got six, and your mother got about a dozen.” She gave me a hard look. “She probably wants to make sure I don’t got no excuse for not takin’ them dang pills she give me.”

I hefted Nana’s stubby bottle of Thistle brand water in my palm. Just my luck that Mrs. Dalrymple had stocked the same brand of water in her gift shop that Calum had stocked in his cooler. Talk about muddying the evidentiary waters. “Did you happen to see anyone other than the Iowa gang buying up the inventory?”

“Nope. But that don’t mean they didn’t get in on the deal. I wasn’t in there too long ’cuz I wanted to run the bottles up to my room before the bus started loadin’.”

“So when did you make your big purchase?”

“Yesterday mornin’, after breakfast. Them two hunky fellas was in there tryin’ on sweaters, so they probably seen the sale sign too.” She glanced over her shoulder, then said in a low voice, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, dear, but them two young men aren’t like the other fellas on the trip.”

“No kidding?” I feigned surprise. “How so?”

She dropped her voice to a deathbed whisper. “They got real good fashion sense. I never seen nuthin’ like it. I’m hopin’ George’ll pick up a few pointers. I don’t got the heart to tell him what he looks like when he wears his plaid shirt with them checkered pants a his.”

Signs for a hospital and railway station welcomed us to Wick. We crossed the stone bridge into the town, passing over a coastal river whose exposed bottom was a swill of black tidal mud cluttered with rocks, seaweed, and a blanket of neon green algae that was crawling up the support walls like a flesh-eating virus. Beyond the bridge was the town’s business district, comprised of an orderly assemblage of tidy stone buildings that housed the offices of local government. A giant sundial sat in a grassy recess in front of the largest building—a floral creation fashioned from so many flowers, it might have been the prize-winning float in the Rose Bowl parade. Farther down the street sat a slew of banks, real estate agencies, medical offices, vacant storefronts, boarded-up storefronts, painted-over storefronts, and Indian takeaway restaurants whose specialties were listed as curries, kebabs, and pizza.

Wick looked like a sleepy little town, but as we navigated to our hotel, I realized it wasn’t actually sleepy.

It was deserted.

“You s’pose anyone lives here?” Nana asked, sounding a little creeped out.

“Maybe stores close early on Wednesdays.” I regarded the empty sidewalks, the darkened storefronts, the absence of pedestrian traffic.

“But it’s only three o’clock.”

I felt a tingle of unease. “Maybe that’s late in Wick.” Dragging my eyes away from a butcher shop that was offering unbeatable prices on fresh haggis, I began gathering up my belongings. “Did you ever get a chance to skim Mrs. Dalrymple’s Hamish Maccoull book?” I asked as we hung a left just past a fish and chips place.

“Finished it.”

“You finished it?” I stared at her, bug-eyed. “It was like … four hundred pages long.”

“Five hundred twelve.”

“Oh, my God. Were you up all night?”

“Nope. Only took me a couple of hours.”

My amazement increased. “How?” It had taken me three months to read the first Harry Potter book, and that had only been three hundred and twenty pages long.

“It’s on account of the course they was offering at the Senior Center. Speed Readin’ for Geezers. It targeted us old folks who wanna get to the bottom of our To-Be-Read piles before we die.”

Five hundred pages in two hours? Man, at that rate, I could speed-read my way through the whole Windsor City Public Library in less than a week. I could become the human equivalent of Google! “Uh, will they be offering a course for say, younger adults?”

“Don’t think so, but if they do, run the other way.”

“Run? Why?”

She gave a little suck on her uppers. “’Cuz bein’ able to read stuff at lightnin’ speed isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You just end up gettin’ the bad news twice as fast.”

“What bad news?”

“Don’t really wanna talk about it, dear. It’s too disturbin’.”

“Are we still talking about the Hamish Maccoull book?”

“You bet. And all’s I gotta say on the subject is, if them folks in that book are s’posed to be my relatives, I hope it turns out I’m adopted.”

“We’ve got an emergency here,” yelled Bernice as she waved her arm frantically to alert the entire bus. “There’s no cell service!”

I heard horrified gasps as they went for their phones.

“How come my phone isn’t working?” cried Margi.

“It’s down,” wailed Dick Teig in a near panic. “The whole system’s down!”

“Does that mean we can’t text?” asked Alice.

“How can we take pictures if our phones won’t work?” fretted Lucille. “I knew buying these off-brand models was a mistake.”

“How are we supposed to communicate with each other?” demanded Dick Stolee.

I guess engaging someone in conversation face-to-face wasn’t an option.

Wally fired up his microphone and stepped into the aisle as we eased to a stop in front of the hotel. “The cell service in Wick can be a little spotty.”

Hissing. Razzberries.

“They haven’t constructed enough cell towers yet, and the wind can be a problem.”

“How come no one warned us about that before we signed up for the trip?” railed Bernice.

“Because on some days, there’s no problem at all. Tomorrow, it could be just fine.”

“What if it isn’t?” asked Helen. “We’re looking at a lot of empty photo albums here.”

“A couple of suggestions,” he said without skipping a beat. “Pick up a disposable camera in town if you don’t have access to photographic equipment other than your camera-phone. The grocery store across the street might even carry them. And if you need to phone family in the states, buy an international phone card and use the pay phone in the hotel.”

Groans. Grumbles.

“Welcome back to the Stone Age,” groused Dick Teig.

“Pay phone?” puzzled Osmond. “Do they still have pay phones?”

“How can I call home?” fretted Margi as she pined over her blank screen. “All my numbers are on speed dial.”

“Are you telling us you can’t remember your own sister’s phone number?” taunted Dick Stolee.

“I don’t have to remember,” she snapped. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s on speed dial.”

Before the invention of the computer chip, people prided themselves on being able to commit dozens of phone numbers to memory, most of which remained lodged in their heads until they died. With the new technology, people program all their numbers into their phone’s memory so they can free up space in their brains to remember more critical things, like passwords and Pin numbers.

“How can we prove we’ve found our geocache containers if we can’t take a picture of them?” Tilly called out.

Wally hesitated. “We’ll have to—” He paused again. “Look, we don’t have to deal with that until tomorrow, so let’s put it on a back burner until then. If service gets restored, we won’t have to deal with it at all.”

As Calum lumbered down the stairs to begin offloading luggage, Wally addressed a few housekeeping issues. “Room keys will be available at the front desk when we go in, but the hotel doesn’t employ a lot of staff, so you might have to wait awhile before your luggage appears outside your door. I’m going to switch up the schedule a little to allow you plenty of time to buy your cameras and phone cards, so let’s plan to meet in the lobby in a half-hour to announce the winner of today’s geocaching leg. Dinner’s at six o’clock in the hotel dining room, and downtown stores will be open until nine this evening in case you diehard shoppers want to buy souvenirs. Lucky for us we’re in Wick on a Wednesday when things are bustling. I’m told it’s pretty dead around here the rest of the week.”

_____

The hotel lobby was an unremarkable space with a stone fireplace, threadbare rug, and furniture that might have been purchased from the local resale shop. My guys occupied the tatty armchairs near the windows, hands cradling their cell phones and eyes locked on their screens in the hopes that service would soon be restored. Bernice and Lucille bookended Cameron Dasher on the ledge fronting the fireplace, looking thrilled to have beaten out Dolly by a half-step for the plum seats beside him. Dad sat off in a corner by himself, shoulders slumped, staring at his shoes. Everyone else was scattered around the room in conversational groupings, squirming incessantly to maintain traction on the vinyl upholstery. I’d seated myself strategically across from Bill Gordon, because even though my bottled water theory had been blown to bits, I wasn’t dismissing the idea that he could still be guilty of swiping the dagger. I just needed to isolate him from the crowd for a few minutes so I could do a little investigative probing.

“Is everyone here?” Mom stepped into the center of the room.

“Etienne and Wally are missing,” I advised. “They’re helping the valet staff deliver luggage.” Since the “valet staff” consisted of a one-armed pensioner with a hunched back, bow legs, and one tooth in his head, it seemed the practical thing to do, especially since there was no elevator.

“Well, I can see you’re all as excited to hear today’s results as I am to announce them,” Mom clutched her tabulations in her fist. “So without further ado—”

“Us folks on Team One wanna request a change,” Nana spoke up as she raised a polite hand in the air.

“No changes!” Dolly Pinker decreed. “The rules are set and we’re sticking to them. End of story.”

“Hold it right there.” Stella Gordon narrowed her eyes at Dolly. “The lady wasn’t talking to you, so you can shut your trap.”

“I don’t care who she was talking to. We’re not changing the rules.”

“Bugger that.” The words burst from Bill Gordon’s mouth like sonic booms. He stabbed his finger at Dolly. “My Stella has as much right as anyone else in this room to have her say, so you shut your trap.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way, Bill Gordon. None of us is interested in what you have to say anymore.” Dolly hiked her sleeve to her elbow, baring the colorful bruise on the underside of her forearm. “You see this? It’s here because you were sooo cocksure of yourself on that boat yesterday, you nearly got us killed. It’s a hematoma. Do you know how dangerous hematomas are? I could develop a blood clot and die!”

“Gee, that’d be a shame,” Bernice said out the corner of her mouth.

Bill shot a defiant look around the room. “You mean to tell me, this is the thanks I get for trying to save all you people?”

“If you hadn’t been so grabby, you wouldn’t have broken the throttle,” Dolly accused. “And if you hadn’t broken the throttle, we might have been able to stop before we hit the damn dock!”

Head-bobbing. Nods of agreement.

“So that’s the way the wind’s blowing, is it?” His face grew ugly. “Ingrates. If it ever happens again, you can just sit there and suffer.”

“We already are.” Alex braced his palms on either side of his jaw and gently turned his head. “My neck is killing me, and if it gets any worse, guess whose butt is going to end up in a sling?”

Oh, God.

George raised his hand. “What does that mean exactly?”

“It means Alex is going to sue Bill’s ass,” Erik said helpfully.

With order starting to fray around the edges, I made a preemptive move and let fly a piercing whistle that silenced the group like an industrial-size mute button. I didn’t dare wait for Mom to restore order.

She couldn’t whistle worth beans.

“Thank you, Emily,” Mom said when she stopped wincing. She smiled at the crowd. “Maybe you can take up the exciting issue of litigation after I announce the results. But first, the chair recognizes Marion Sippel and her request for a change.”

Dolly tossed her head back and groaned. “Have you heard nothing we just—”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” Bernice crabbed at her. “You had your say, now it’s someone else’s turn. Go ahead, Marion.”

Whoa! Bernice was actually defending Nana’s right to speak? She must really dislike Dolly to compromise her values so much.

“Our team’s decided on a new name,” Nana informed us. “We’re Number One.”

Mom waited expectantly. “I know you’re Team Number One. What’s the new name?”

“We’re Number One,” Nana repeated.

Mom’s smile thinned. “You’ve said that twice already, Mother. Is there something about the question you don’t understand?” Her eyes rounded in sudden alarm. “Oh, no. Have you stopped taking your herbal supplements?”

Nana lowered her eyelids and fixed Mom with a long, unblinking stare. “Don’t make me come over there, Margaret. ‘We’re Number One’ is the new name.”

“You can’t be number one,” Bernice objected. “We’re in the lead, so we’re number one.”

“No you’re not,” said Margi. “You’re Team Number Five.”

“But we’re still first,” Bernice shot back.

“I don’t care what Team Number One calls itself,” fussed Dolly. “We’re still ahead. We’re a lean, mean, searching machine, and it’s our team who’s going to end up saying, ‘We’re number one.’”

“I thought that name was already taken,” said Helen.

“Show of hands,” instructed Osmond. “How many people think—”

“QUIET!”

All eyes riveted on Mom. She might suck at whistling, but she was finding brand-new ways to employ her library skills.

“Here are your results. The times are a little slow today, because some of you are coping with the after-effects of yesterday’s accident, but when your pain and soreness wear off, I’m sure you’ll make up for it.” She smiled broadly. “Imagine a little drumroll here. Okay then. In ascending order, Team Do It or Lose It is on the bottom, followed by Team Two, Team There Is No Dog, Team We’re Number One, and Team Yes We Can.”

Lucille Rassmuson launched herself off the fireplace ledge and executed a full-fledged jump-around, complete with bouncing, jumping, and jiggling. “We won again!” she hooted as she pulled Cameron, Bernice, and Dolly off the ledge to join her. “We won, we won, we won.”

“Don’t get too arrogant,” Bill Gordon grumbled. “We’re in second place and breathing down your necks like a heat-seeking missile. Tomorrow we’ll pull ahead. You just wait and see. I guarantee it.”

“Service is back on!” cried Alice. “I have a signal!”

Cheers. Whoops. Spontaneous keystroking.

So while the gang celebrated this uptick in their fortunes by text messaging the person who was probably sitting beside them, the other guests milled around, commiserating with each other about their inability to remain competitive with Team Five.

And it wasn’t pretty.

I hadn’t realized how banged up they really were until Mom mentioned it, but she’d been spot on. They were dragging themselves around like the walking wounded—limping, stiff-necked, rubbing their backs, massaging their shoulders. I could only imagine what condition I’d be in today if Cameron hadn’t thrown himself on top of me to prevent me from sliding across the deck into the bulwark.

“I need to talk to you,” Bill Gordon said in a raspy voice as he came up beside me. “Not here.” He bobbed his head toward the opposite end of the room. “Over there.”

“You bet.” I could hardly contain my excitement. I didn’t even need to come up with a dopey excuse for wanting to have a conversation with him. Yes!

“Can that pinhead really sue me?” he asked when we were out of earshot.

I gave him a withering look. “He has a name.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know who I mean.”

“The boat company bears full responsibility for damages, so even if Mr. Hart decided to sue, I doubt he’d be able to extract any money from you.”

“So he can’t take me for everything I’m worth?”

“I doubt it.”

He exhaled a long breath. “Okay, that … that makes me feel better. My investments haven’t been doing so well lately,” he said in a surprising show of humility, “so the old portfolio has taken a major hit. You could say it’s left me a little cash poor.”

Aha! Could I pivot to the perfect segue or what? “A lot of people are cash poor right now … which is why we decided to offer our guests free bottled water on the bus instead of making them pay outrageous prices for it elsewhere. Have you had a chance to sample—”

“If Stella knew, she’d have a cow,” he said, cutting me off. “There’s no pleasing that woman. No matter what we have, it’s never enough. I want, I want, I want. Buy, buy, buy. I swear she’s got one aim, and that’s to see me in ruins.”

I waited a beat. “So does that mean you’ve taken advantage of the free water on the bus or not?”

He looked beyond me, his expression turning sour. “Damn.”

“So what are you two discussing over here all by yourselves?” Stella inquired as she joined us.

“Nothing,” he bristled. “I’ve gotta pee.” And with that, he stalked off like a toddler on his way to a time out.

“He does that a lot,” she said dully.

“Storm off ?”

“Pee. It’s one of those prostate things, but it doesn’t stop him from testing out the equipment whenever he finds an opening, if you catch my drift.”

Holy crap. Was she accusing him of being a serial adulterer?

“So what were you two talking about?” she asked, regarding me as if I were a cat with telltale canary feathers sticking out of my mouth.

“Uhh … litigation. I think Alex really rattled him, so—”

“Are you a lawyer?”

“No, but—”

“Then why would my husband need to approach you with legal questions?”

Hmm. This was a little awkward. “He, uh, he wanted an unprofessional opinion about liability, so I gave him one.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” She took slow measure of me, looking me up and down. “You’re planning a tryst, aren’t you?”

“No! I don’t want to try out Bill’s equipment. I have my own equipment!” I paused. “Well, it’s my husband’s equipment, but I’m the primary user, and very happy with the operating system, so I’m not in the market for secondhand models.”

“Sure, you’re not. Women are attracted to Bill like turkey buzzards are attracted to roadkill.”

I gave her a squinty look, wondering if that was supposed to be a compliment.

“It’s the Gordon curse,” she said matter-of-factly. “Gordon men bear the burden of being absolutely irresistible to women. It’s because of their big, meaty hands”—her voice grew sultry, her eyes dreamy—“their broad, barrel chests. I’ve seen the way you look at Bill—you and that Pinker woman.”

I blinked in shock. “Dolly practically accused him of involuntary manslaughter a few minutes ago. If she was looking at him funny, it was probably because she was imagining what he’d look like in a witness box after Alex slapped a lawsuit on him.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to,” she fired back. “And don’t think I don’t know how to stop it. You better watch yourself, missy, because I’m onto the two of you.”

Cries of woe from the tatty armchairs by the window.

“Dang!” hollered Nana.

“What happened to our signal?” wailed Alice.

“Shoot! I was just about to send my message,” Margi whined at Grace. “Now you’ll never know what I was going to tell you.”

“And one more thing,” Stella griped as the noise and grumbling over lost cell service increased in volume. “You better check the quality of your beverage inventory, because that bottle of water Bill took out of your cooler yesterday? It leaked.”