Bonnie of Evidence

by Maddy Hunter

  “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

  The 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 wa
lkway. 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?”

  A troupe of wait staff paraded into the dining room at just that moment, laden with trays that smelled suspiciously like dinner. Greeted by an empty dining room, however, the lead waiter slowed his steps in apparent confusion, which caused the waiter behind him to pull up short, the waitress behind that guy to lose control of her tray, and the last guy in line to run full speed into her back, setting into motion the mother of all chain reactions.

  BOOM! Cruuunch. Clatter, clatter, tinkle.

  Plates somersaulted upward, then down. Trays fell. Food spilled. China shattered. The door to the kitchen banged open, spewing out a handful of startled cooks in chefs’ hats and aprons.

  “Ooh yah cun’!” shouted one, hands clapped to his cheeks.

  “Eejits!” yelled another, hands clapped to his head.

  “Bawheids,” wailed a third as he danced around the mess.

  Nana whipped her cell phone out of her pocket, snapped a picture, and began texting.

  “Please tell me you’re not planning to post that online,” I cautioned her.

  “Nope.” She pressed Send. “I’m givin’ George a head’s up that supper’s gonna be late.”

  “There are no dibs on tables!” Wally announced as he marched the group back into the dining room under what looked like obvious protest. “Sit wherever there’s an empty chair. If it’s not where you were sitting before, enjoy the change of venue.”

  “It’s not completely dark yet,” sniped Bill Gordon. “We could have stayed out there a few more minutes.”

  “You all saw what happened.” Wally stepped aside to allow the crowd to pass. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Only for people who are too dumb to watch where they’re going,” taunted Bernice.

  “Something happened?” I repeated as people streamed by me.

  “Where’s the guy who saw Nessie?” asked Erik Ishmael. “Hey, bud,” he called out when he spied Dad. “Did you get her? Did you really get her?”

  “You bet he did,” Mom answered proudly. “We’re going to post it on YouTube after dinner.”

  “Bob’s going to be famous,” predicted Alice Tjarks.

  “Not if the rest of us take better pictures tomorrow,” Isobel Kronk shot back as she passed by our table. “How do we know if his images are any good? Maybe they’re too dark, or too grainy.”

  “Or too invisible,” offered Nana.

  “Cameron?” shouted Dolly Pinker. “Where’s Cameron? Can you remember where we were sitting?”

  “Find a table that’ll accommodate all of our team,” he instructed. “We need to mend fences and regroup. Again.”

  Dick Stolee stopped suddenly to regard the mayhem near the kitchen. “Tell me that’s not our dinner.”

  A round of spontaneous applause broke out as Etienne entered the room, escorting a waterlogged Dick Teig, whose shoes were squishing like wet whoopee cushions. His left hand clung to the life buoy that circled his neck in dog collar fashion. His right still clutched his cell phone, which he raised above his head in triumph. “I’d like to thank arthritis-strength ibuprofen for helping me to keep my phone dry.” He beamed at his audience, water streaming down his face in rivulets. “I never even came close to losing my grip. Is that stuff effective, or what?”

  My mouth came unhinged, falling to my chest. “That’s amazing,” I marveled as I gaped at him.

  “Helen signed him up for that new Treadin’ Water for Dummies course at the Senior Center,” confided Nana. “Probably saved his life.”

  “I’m talking about the life preserver.” I gawked at the ring buoy circling his neck. “How’d he ever fit it over his head?”

  _____

  “She absconded with the wrong container?” Etienne couldn’t disguise the amusement in his voice.

  “It’s not funny!” I slid my toes down the long, bare sinews of his leg, tickling the downy hairs of his shin. “The other guests are very upset. They’re demanding Isobel’s ejection from the team, the team’s ejection from the contest, and Isobel’s head on a platter. When we wake up in the morning, we could be facing a full-fledged rebellion.” I snuggled against his flank, burrowing my head into his naked shoulder. “Whose idea was this contest anyway?”

  The kitchen staff had taken so long preparing backup meals after the tray fiasco that by the time we finished dessert and coffee, people were already nodding off, including Wally. So we arranged to meet him before breakfast to discuss the Isobel controversy, then headed up to our own room, where it took us less than a minute to brush our teeth and collapse into bed.

  “I believe we both share responsibility for the contest idea,” he whispered as he roved idle fingers through my hair. “No more brainstorming for us.”

  “Seriously, Etienne, how are we going to handle this diplomatically? We’re not in this business to punish guests who use poor judgment, but if we just blow it off, we’ll be accused of not being fair to the other guests. Why do people do things like this?”

  “Because they can, darling.”

  A sliver of light lanced through an opening in our pulled drapes, brightening the ceiling with a ghostlike luminescence. I sighed. “The real fly in the ointment is that what she ended up taking doesn’t affect our contest one bit, so do we declare no harm, no foul? Or do we throw the book at her for malicious intent?”

  “You’ve been watching Law and Order marathons with your grandmother again, haven’t you?”

  “Do you suppose Wally has ever run into a situation like this before?”

  “He’s probably—”

  “And if the three of us decide to give Isobel a slap on the wrist, what kind of slap can we give legally? Could she sue us?”

  “Emily—”

  “Oh, my God! What if she makes things so difficult for us that this turns out to be the last trip ever for Destinations Travel? Could she do that?” I stared at him in the dark, my mind spinning like a whirl-a-gig.

  “I suspect you might be blowing this a bit out of propor—”

  “And what about Dad? What in the world did he see? He obviously saw something because he was more upset than I’ve ever—Oof.”

  I expelled a breath as Etienne pressed me down into the bed, his mouth a hair’s breadth above mine, his heart pounding against my rib cage. “Emily, dar
ling,” he rasped, “you talk too much.” He drew my lip into his mouth, then with seductive slowness, worked his way down from there.

  _____

  The phone woke us from a dead sleep just before dawn. Etienne caught it on the first ring.

  “Miceli.”

  I jackknifed to a sitting position as my stomach launched itself into my windpipe. Etienne listened intently, saying nothing for at least half a minute, while I worried the corner of my mouth.

  “Thanks for the call. We’ll be right there.”

  I winced, bracing myself for the worst. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “That was Wally. We no longer have to fear being sued by Isobel Kronk. She’s dead.”

  seven

  It hadn’t been an easy death.

  Isobel lay face up on her bed, pajamas twisted around her body in a tortuous mess, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands clutched around her throat, head thrown back as if her last earthly act had been a desperate gasp for air, mouth contorted, hair wrapped like a scarf around her throat, bedcovers ripped from their moorings. I saw no weapon, no wounds, no blood. I couldn’t guess what had killed Isobel Kronk, but whatever the cause, it happened while she was alone in her bed.

  Etienne sprang into police inspector mode almost immediately, while I sank down on the luggage bench to stop my knees from wobbling. I’d seen my share of death, but Isobel’s struck me as oddly poignant. She’d acted so coarse and rough-edged. Who knew she’d be the type to wear satin pajamas emblazoned with kitties in tutus? Monster trucks, maybe. But kittens in toe shoes? She’d probably bought them especially for the trip, and now she’d never get to wear them again.

  Kitty pajamas. They were almost enough to make you forget that she’d stolen the cache, thrown the contest into disarray, and tried to ruin everyone’s chances at winning the prize.

  Inexplicably, kitty pajamas almost made her seem likeable.

  “I’ve never had a guest ta die in my hotel before,” said Morna Dalrymple in a strained voice. “It’s very upsetting.”