Bonnie of Evidence

EIGHTEEN



I COULDN’T DECIDE WHAT freaked me out more—that our platter of finger sandwiches was the main course, or that Erik and Alex were honest-to-goodness imposters. The only comforting thing about the day so far was the unrelenting foul weather that was confining us to the bus.

It was raining so hard, tiny estuaries were forming rivers across the road.

Pretty bad when the only ray of sunshine in your day is rain.

The torrential downpour was the reason we were parked in the visitors’ lot at the Ring of Brodgar, our noses pressed to the windows, squinting at an impressive circle of standing stones rather than wandering through them. This was to have been the site of today’s geocaching search, but with no one willing to brave the elements, we canceled the event by unanimous consent, which was just as well, considering that Mom had forgotten to turn her computer off last night, causing the battery to run down. No computer meant no coordinates, and disrupted cell service meant no one’s GPS was working.

It also meant that Bernice wouldn’t be harping at me to let her back into the contest until at least tomorrow.

If I lived that long.

“If you rub away the condensation on your window, you can see that unlike Stonehenge, the monoliths of Brodgar still form a nearly perfect ring.” Dad swept his hand in Vanna White style toward the spectacle. “Scientists think it was erected about four thousand years ago, which goes to show that Stone Age people didn’t buy into the idea of built-in obsolescence.”

“Could be they just didn’t know how to spell it,” suggested Osmond.

Something had changed drastically at lunch. Whether spurred by Cameron’s insistence that Erik was Fast Freddie Torres, or Tilly’s polite inquiry about the difference between aero- and astronautical engineering, Erik and Alex had shed their friendly exteriors to become tight-lipped and wary, like two men intent on completing a deadly mission.

And I didn’t know how to stop them.

I stared at the blank screen on my cell phone, willing the signal to come back up. Etienne would know what to do. If only I could reach him.

Wally stepped into the center aisle, his expression apologetic. “We’re supposed to be here for a full hour, but since you’ve decided to scrap this site, I’m going to suggest we head directly to our next stop, Skara Brae. It’s a National Heritage Site with a museum, cafe, restroom facilities, and a top-notch reconstruction of a prehistoric dwelling. Once it stops raining, if it stops raining, you can venture out to visit the excavation site of an authentic Neolithic settlement. It was discovered in 1850 after a powerful storm swept over the bay and washed all the sand and topsoil off the beach. Ironically, until then, no one ever suspected it existed. Not even the family who occupied the mansion that sits practically on top of it. And the mansion had been occupied since the 1600s. It’s just down the road a piece, so we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Nuts. We were safe on the bus. It was when we split up into smaller groups that we ran into trouble.

I stared out the window, worrying the gloss off my bottom lip. If Etienne were here, he’d tell me not to do anything that would jeopardize either my safety or the safety of our guests. He’d tell me to be smart, remain calm, and stay frosty. But most importantly, he’d tell me not to be a hero.

My updated Escort’s Manual was a bit more to the point: When situations arise that are beyond your control, don’t feel obliged to suffer silently. Share your misery. That’s what your tour director is for.

“We’ve got a problem with Erik and Alex,” I blurted out to Wally the minute we hit the visitor center. I’d chased him down and dragged him to a quiet corner before he could run off to the men’s room.

He regarded me sternly. “Unbelievable. I thought I might get complaints from folks like the Gordons, but never from you. Look, Emily, whether you like it or not, we’re living in the twenty-first century, and relationships like the one Erik and Alex have are part of the emerging fabric of the times. So unless you’re planning to limit your roster to couples who—”

“I’m not talking about their being gay! I don’t care if they’re gay. They’re planning to kill someone!”

He stared at me, deadpan. “Of course they are.”

“They are! I overhead them talking in the men’s room on the ferry. They’ve already killed Isobel and Dolly—apparently accidentally, because the girls weren’t their intended target. But they’re going to make up for their mistakes today by hitting their real target, and then they’re getting out of Dodge.”

He lifted his brows. “You were in the men’s room on the ferry?”

“I was in the ladies’ room. There’s an air vent between the two. But that’s not the issue! They’re planning to whack one of the guests on our tour. And I think they have guns.”

That got his attention. “Did you see an actual weapon?”

“No, but Erik said something about pulling a trigger. And here’s the other thing. I got a text from Etienne back at the community center. He ran a quick background check on Erik and Alex and he discovered they don’t exist.”

He pushed a long breath out through his teeth, his expression morphing from disbelieving to grim. “Geez. You actually heard them admit they killed Isobel and Dolly?”

“Alex called it collateral damage and suggested that someone named Stu was going to be really ticked off about it.”

“Geez.” He gave his head a quick shake as if to clear his brain. “Okay, so how does Etienne say we should handle this?”

“He doesn’t.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “No signal. Do you think we should contact the police in the nearest town?”

He chewed that over, eventually shaking his head. “And tell them what? That you overheard two guys in the men’s room say they were going to kill someone? It’d be their word against yours, and there’s two of them to deny it.”

I paused thoughtfully. “They didn’t actually use the word ‘kill.’”

“What word did they use?”

“They said they were going to ‘strike.’ But in the context they were using it, I’m sure they meant kill.”

He planted his legs apart and crossed his arms. “They didn’t say ‘kill’?”

“They used a very acceptable synonym.”

He shook his head. “You got nuthin’, Em.”

“But what about the fact that Erik Ishmael and Alex Hart don’t exist?”

“It’s not a crime to be an imposter.”

“Are you sure? What about their passports? Isn’t it a federal crime to put a fake name on a government document?”

“I don’t know! But I do know that the local police aren’t going to be able to do anything about your allegations. And I say that with some authority because I’ve been in the tour business a heck of a lot longer than you have, and I know how police in foreign countries deal with American tourists.”

I looked him straight in the eye. “But … what if I’m right?”

“You’re never right.”

“That’s not true! I was right in Holland.” I let out a breath. “Well, kinda right.” I bobbed my head. “About a few things.” I sighed. “Okay. I’m never right. But there could always be a first time.”

“You had to mention Holland.” He forced a grudging smile, admitting, “You did okay in Holland. Look, Emily, I think our main goal should be to get back to Wick and let Etienne and the police sort everything out. Sound like a plan? Because if we miss the ferry going back, I’m not sure anything will have prepared you for the headache of trying to find accommodations for two dozen people on Orkney.”

“Okay, but if it turns out later that I’m right now, I’d like to think I did something to keep people alive. Everyone’s in the café at the moment, but once they scatter, it’s going to be impossible to keep track of them.”

“Not if they stay inside the visitor center. You can tail Alex. I’ll tail Erik.”

“I can’t tail him in the men’s room,” I objected.

“You can loiter outside the door, can’t you? At least we don’t have to worry about them exploring the grounds. Looks like the bad weather might turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”

“Hey, everyone!” Dick Teig’s voice echoed out from the café. “It stopped raining!”

Wally and I turned our heads in slow motion to glance out a bank of windows that revealed a sudden, inexplicable break in the weather. I compressed my lips. “Do we have a Plan B?”

Wally stared at the scene, seemingly mesmerized. “My mother told me I should have been a podiatrist,” he said in a dazed voice. “I wish I’d listened.”

“That clinches it then.” I felt a rush of adrenalin shoot through my body like an electrical charge. “We need reinforcements.”

He laughed. “And just where do you plan on finding them?”

I looked beyond the ticket counter to the café nestled at the front of the building. “Around the corner. There’s a whole room full of them.” I poked my finger in his sternum. “Here’s Plan B: You put a bead on Erik and Alex. I’ll take care of everything else.”

They were scattered at tables throughout the room, enjoying hot beverages with slices of cheesecake and pie. I pulled a chair up to the table where Tilly, George, and Margi were sitting, and in a low, conspiratorial voice, explained what I needed them to do.

“What if they notice us?” asked Margi.

“I want them to notice you. That’s the whole point.”

“Would you mind telling us why you feel this is necessary?” asked Tilly.

“For now, let’s just say I have a hunch, and if my hunch is right, your help will be like a strategic defense system.”

“Marion’s gonna be so disappointed she missed out,” lamented George. “She even brought a wig along this time, just in case you asked her to tail some innocent shmuck you thought should be accused of murder.”

“We can wear wigs?” Margi tittered.

I fired her a hard look. “No wigs.”

“You want us to spread the word to everyone?” Tilly confirmed.

“All the usual suspects, except Mom and Dad. If Mom participates, she’ll waste too much time trying to arrange all of you by height.”

George retrieved his phone from its holster. “Too bad our phones aren’t working. It’d be real easy to shoot one text off to everyone. I guess now we’re gonna have to talk to them.”

Tilly drained her cup and with an assist from her cane, boosted herself to her feet. “I must tell you, Emily. I was very unimpressed with Alex’s response to my question at lunch. If NASA’s rocket scientists are all as uninformed as he is, no wonder they cancelled the space program.”

Margi made sad cow eyes at George. “So what color is Marion’s wig?”

A shattering crash reverberated through the room, followed by a stinging epithet from Stella Gordon, directed at her husband. “Stupid ass! I told you to keep your elbows off the table!” She flagged down a clerk behind the customer counter. “Cleanup crew needed over here! My husband’s fault. I had nothing to do with it.” She got up from the table, leaving Bill to deal with the thousand shards of dinnerware scattered over the floor.

“Leave, already!” Bill retaliated. “See if I care.”

Alex and Erik gathered their belongings and stood up, abandoning their plum spot by the window.

“Showtime,” I said as I watched them head out the door behind Stella. “Okay, gang, time to roll.”

I caught Wally’s eye as I strolled back out to the ticket counter area. He nodded toward the restroom sign and gave me a thumbs up. Looking casually back toward the café, I saw Tilly, George, and Margi making the rounds at each table, sharing the plan in quiet whispers.

Yes! This was going to work.

I paused outside the restroom area, noting the half-dozen people queued up to use the pay phone. Now that was a rare sight—

a public phone. I dug my camera out of my shoulder bag and snapped

a picture, just in case my future grandchildren ever wanted to see an example of something that had become extinct … besides penny candy and TV rabbit ears.

Stella Gordon wandered past me and headed down a wide hallway toward the museum section. Erik and Alex emerged from the men’s room and strutted down the hall behind her, garnering a few admiring looks from female tourists, and a few giggles from the younger set. Wally sent me a purposeful look and struck out after them.

“Pretend I’m not talking to you,” Alice said out the corner of her mouth as she paused surreptitiously beside me. “I just want you to know that I’ve been hitting the gym at the Senior Center five times a week, so I’m up for the challenge.” Without another word, she caught up to George, who was leading the charge down the hallway after Erik and Alex.

Osmond shuffled toward me, giving me the eye as he went down on one knee to tie his shoe. “Don’t let on I’m talking to you,” he said in an undertone, “but I’ve been taking special classes at the Senior Center to be ready for a day like this. I won’t let you down, Emily. And don’t worry about criminal charges. I’ll be long dead before the case ever comes to trial.”

What?

He let out a grunt as he struggled to get up. “Dang. Could you give me a hand? I’m stuck.”

He hobbled off, falling in line behind the Dicks, who waved like pageant contestants as they passed by, and Helen, whose left eyebrow had fallen victim to the rain and was now entirely missing.

Bernice crab-walked in my direction, the humidity having made her hair so wiry it looked like a detonated Slinky. “Just so you know, I don’t want back on Team Five. I want a team all to myself.”

I kept an eye on the last of the gang as they paraded down the hallway. “Anything you say,” I said distractedly. “Gotta run.”

I chased behind the group, mingling with other tourists, stopping to read exhibit panels, admiring Neolithic artifacts displayed behind glass.

Helen waved her new digital camera above her head. “I want a picture of all the men who are wearing kilts,” she announced as she pulled Dick Stolee toward Erik and Alex. “Anyone else want to try out their new cameras?”

The gang swarmed around them, even as Erik and Alex tried to escape.

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Helen, blocking their path. “You stay right there. DICK! GET OVER HERE! I wanna take your picture.”

She arranged them in various poses. Made additions to the group. Moved them to different locations. Took advantage of several backdrops.

“That’s it,” snapped Alex after ten grueling minutes. “We’re done here.” After extracting Erik from the group, he made a detour into the area that housed the reconstructed prehistoric dwelling.

The gang swarmed after them.

So did I.

I passed beneath a low doorway and into a world that existed four thousand years ago.

The space was as big as a one-car garage and lined with rocks stacked one atop the other. A square fire pit sat in the center of the room. Slabs of rock, supported by upright stones, formed shelves along the wall, like a Stone Age pantry. Longer slabs angled out from the walls, forming the framework of what looked like primitive trundle beds. Animal pelts lay scattered about the room like throw pillows, adding a touch of warmth to the stark décor.

“What’s this place supposed to be?” asked Dick Stolee. “A house or a condo?”

“Looks like a studio apartment to me,” said Stella.

“Where do you think they put the fridge?” asked Margi. “There’s no room in the kitchen.”

“I bet they stuck one of those dorm models by the bed,” said Osmond, inspecting the wall for an outlet.

“Anyone see the bathroom?” asked Dick Teig.

Tilly thwacked him with her cane. “It was a Neolithic society. Indoor plumbing had yet to be invented.”

“No. Where’s the bathroom, for real. I’ve gotta use it.”

“Did you forget to take your pill again?” scolded Helen.

As Dick squeezed through the crowd, the rest of the gang pressed closer to Erik and Alex, keeping them mired in gridlock. I smiled. Gee, this was going well.

“Where do you suppose they would have hung the big-screen TV?” asked Dick Stolee.

“Nowhere,” said Osmond. “There’s no electrical outlets.”

“Will everyone pose for a picture around the fire pit?” asked Helen. “Group photo!”

“I can’t move until Grace moves,” complained Margi.

“Me?” cried Grace. “I’m nowhere near you.”

“Will whoever’s on my foot, GET OFF!” sniped Stella.

Realizing the situation was well in hand, I slithered around the perimeter and exited the room, my stomach making gurgling sounds as I found my way to the back door of the visitor center. A lush expanse of wet grass stretched before me, and beyond that, a horseshoe-shaped bay, flanked by a crescent of sand beach. Paved walkways funneled tourists down two divergent mud-puddled paths—one leading to an excavation site near the beach, and the other toward a grand manor house constructed of perfectly chiseled stone. And with the rain on hold for the moment, visitors were actually stepping out to enjoy the self-guided tour.

My stomach suddenly growled long and loudly, reminding me that I’d stupidly refused the peanut butter sandwiches at lunch. Opening my shoulder bag, I riffled through the contents in search of an energy bar, knowing there were at least a couple left. I dug through the disorganized mess, sticking Alex’s stain removal pen in a separate pocket to be returned to him, and Erik’s bloodstained handkerchief—

I stilled my hand on the balled-up cotton cloth as I noticed a detail that had escaped my earlier attention.

I pulled it out for a closer look.

On the corner of the cloth, in thread as white as the handkerchief itself, was an embroidered letter.

A tiny capital T.

T? I couldn’t drag my eyes away. T, as in Torres? Torres, as in Fast Freddie?

Oh, my God. Erik Ishmael might not exist, but it appeared that Fast Freddie Torres was very much alive. And I had his monogrammed handkerchief to prove it.

I checked my phone. Still no signal.

Damn. I had to tell Etienne. His background check on Erik Ishmael might have been a bust, but I bet there’d be a whole boatload of information on Fast Freddie Torres.

I retraced my footsteps back through the museum, running into the gang as they piled out of the prehistoric hut. “I think the fellas are gonna head outside to try and get rid of us,” whispered George as he brushed by me. He winked playfully. “Ain’t gonna work.”

I hurried toward the restroom area, hoping the line to use the phone had disappeared.

No! It was twice as long and snaking around the corner.

I approached the ticket counter and smiled at a dour-looking woman behind the register. “Would you have a phone I could use?”

“Der pooblic fone es roon der kaner.” She pointed to the sign.

“But it’s really important.”

She raised her eyebrows as if they were lead weights and pointed to the sign again.

I took my place at the back of the line and nodded to Dick Teig as he hustled out of the men’s room.

“Where are they now?” he asked in a rush.

“At last sighting, they were heading outdoors.”

He gave me a thumbs up and scurried down the hallway. I checked the time, located my energy bar, slouched against the wall, and began to munch.

Fifteen minutes and two energy bars later, the line had decreased by three people, and I was no closer to tightening the noose around Erik Ishmael’s neck than I’d been before.

“Somebody!” Margi Swanson cried as she raced toward the ticket counter. “Call an ambulance! We’ve got casualties!”