Bonnie of Evidence

by Maddy Hunter

  The captain’s new multifunction fish finder had been the only casualty in the accident, having crashed to the deck upon impact and disintegrated into a thousand slivers and shards. The Highland Queen herself had escaped damage, save for a few more chips gouged out of her already peeling paint. She might be an eyesore, but she was apparently an indestructible eyesore.

  “Could I have your attention, please?”

  At the sound of Wally’s voice, we glanced toward the bus, where guests had congregated to compare their war scars and one-up each other with exaggerated tales of heroism and survival.

  “Considering what many of you have just experienced, I’m not sure you want to proceed with the rest of the day’s schedule.” He stepped up into the well of the bus so we could see him better. “I’d like to see a show of hands to gauge how many of you would prefer to return to the hotel rather than have dinner at Drumnadrochit.”

  “What’s for dinner if we go back to the hotel?” asked Bill Gordon.

  “Will we have to wait all night for the food to be served again?” Dick Stolee called out.

  “Skunk isn’t on the menu at the hotel, is it?” Alice inquired.

  “Mrs. Miceli?” a voice urged nearby.

  I turned around to find our coach driver standing behind me with a sheepish look on his face. He was pleasantly rotund with a shaved head, amiable personality, and narrow necktie that was splattered with what looked like tomato soup stains. His name was Calum, but I had yet to figure out if that was his first or last name. “Could I speak ta ye privately fer a minute?”

  “You bet.” Leaving Dad to puzzle over the voting procedures on his own, I followed Calum to a more secluded area of the parking lot, where he took a deep breath before blurting out, “It’s gone.”

  I guess I was supposed to know what that meant. “It?”

  “The thing that was inside the tin box ye wanted me ta stow on the bus fer ye. It’s not there anymore.”

  “The dirk?” I gasped. “The dirk is gone?”

  “Is that what was inside?”

  “Yes! A dirk. A really old dirk.”

  “Sorry. I put the tin in the cooler I keep up front, and when I went ta get a bottle of water a few minutes ago, the lid was off and the tin was empty.”

  I waited a beat, staring at him dumbstruck. “You stored the box in a cooler that can be accessed by everyone?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed as good a place as any. Ye told me ta ‘stow’ the thing, so I did. Hey, it’s a coach, not a passenger train. Space is at a premium. If ye’d wanted it kept totally out of sight, I assume ye would have asked me ta hide it instead of stow it. There’s a world of difference in the meaning of those two words.”

  All the coach drivers on the tour circuit, and we had to hire the one with superior knowledge of four-letter transitive verbs.

  “Nuts.” I trained a look across the parking lot. One of the guests had obviously made off with the knife, but the question was, which one? “Did you happen to see any of the guests open the cooler?”

  He shook his head. “We’re down a few bottles of water, but I haven’t noticed who’s been taking it. Since it’s free fer the taking, there’s no reason ta keep track. But I have ta tell ye, Mrs. Miceli, I rarely have theft on my coach, so this surprises me.”

  I’d like to say it surprised me, but after what Isobel had pulled, I felt as if the floodgates had been thrown wide open. “Our thief certainly worked quickly.”

  “Probably happened this morning when guests were boarding. The thief opens the cooler thinking ta stock up on water ta wash down some pills and ends up taking yer dirk as well. Do ye know why any of yer guests might want the thing?”

  I thought back to the scene in the library last night, when Bernice and Dolly nearly came to blows over which one of them should take ownership of it. “There are a couple of people who might like to prove it’s worth something, but I’m not about to accuse either one of them of stealing without some evidence to back it up.”

  “How do ye feel about circumstantial evidence?” He pulled a plastic bottle out of his jacket pocket. “Keep yer eyes out fer a guest who’s carrying a 23-milliliter bottle of our Thistle brand water, and ye might find yerself a thief.”

  The bottle was an ergonomically shaped mini in a bilious shade of lime green.

  Exactly like the one Bill Gordon had yanked out of his fanny pack less than an hour ago.

  _____

  “What do you suggest we do, bella? Strip search the man?”

  “No! I don’t want to see him naked. I just want to apply enough pressure to make him cough up the knife.”

  Etienne and I were headed down the staircase to the library, where, at any moment, Mom would be announcing the day’s highly anticipated geocaching results. We’d arrived back from Drumnadrochit only a half-hour ago, so we were in something of a mad dash. We were thrilled that the majority had voted to stick with the schedule, however, because between the cuisine, the bagpipers, and the steady flow of Scotch whiskey, most of us had found a way to cope with the fright of our disastrous boat cruise.

  Etienne slowed his steps as we approached the ground floor. “Have you any idea if Mr. Gordon is familiar with the history attached to the dirk?”

  “Don’t know, but he apparently collects ancient Scottish weaponry, so he might be more knowledgeable than any of us realize. I’m betting that if the knife stays missing, it’ll eventually show up as the centerpiece of Bill Gordon’s collection.”

  “Even with the dreaded curse looming over it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Trust me. Bill Gordon is the kind of guy who’s a lot more interested in the monetary value of an artifact than in a dubious curse invoked by a man who’s been dead for three hundred years.” I flashed a toothy smile. “You can quote me on that.”

  He opened the stairwell door. “I might warn you against being too cavalier about the world of metaphysics, bella. Mysterious things can happen, many of which we’re never able to explain.”

  I stepped into the lobby area and threw a long look toward the library. “Well, if you ask me, the only mysterious thing about Hamish Maccoull’s dirk going missing is where Bill Gordon has hidden it.”

  “I should think you’d be happy to be rid of the thing.”

  That brought me up short. “Why would I be happy to be rid of an historic relic that belonged to Nana’s most notorious relative?”

  “Because, my darling”—he gave my chin a little pinch—“it’s cursed.”

  “Comin’ through!” shouted Bernice from the far end of the corridor. She was charging toward us with arms pumping, a body length ahead of her fellow team members. “Look lively, you slackers. It’s wind sprints that’ll keep us competitive.”

  Etienne and I jumped out of the way as they barreled past us—Cameron, red-faced from exertion, Lucille, huffing and puffing, and Dolly, swiveling her shapely hips in a speeded-up version of a beauty pageant walk.

  “Mr. Dasher!” Etienne called when they’d passed.

  Without breaking stride, Cameron U-turned back in our direction, followed by Lucille and Dolly, who U-turned with him. “You don’t need to follow me, ladies,” he gasped out as he paused beside us, head bent and hands braced on his thighs. “Catch up with Bernice. Save me a seat.”

  The women hesitated for only a heartbeat before sprinting toward the library as if they were a couple of crazed Bridezillas participating in the “Running of the Brides” wedding dress sale in Filene’s Basement.

  “I haven’t had time to thank you for what you did for Emily today,” Etienne said as he cupped his hand around the back of my neck and drew me close. “I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to her. So, thank you. I’m in your debt.” He extended his hand to Cameron who appeared to have to muster all the energy he had to shake it.

  “No problem. Glad I could whi
p off my Average Joe shirt to reveal my true identity.”

  “Which is?” I asked, grinning.

  He pulled the neck of his shirt away from his body and peered down his front, as if studying his undershirt. “It’s supposed to say ‘Aging Superhero,’ but I can’t be too sure since I’m not very good at reading things upside down.”

  I leaned over and pressed my lips to his cheek. “Etienne’s right. Thanks for watching out for me.”

  “Don’t stop there,” he insisted. “Plant one on the other cheek, too. We’re in Europe. It’s acceptable.”

  “Cameron!” Lucille motioned to him from the entrance to the library. “C’mon! The seats are filling up fast. We’re really late.”

  He raised his hand in a “Be right there” gesture. “What can I say?” He shrugged. “It’s tough being the tour’s designated hottie, but duty calls. See you in there.”

  “Have you recalled where you might have seen Erik Ishmael before?” I asked to his retreating back.

  “Hey, I’ve been wracking my brain about that, but nothing’s sticking.” He tapped his fist against the crown of his head as if to jog something loose. “Have you ever seen your postman in the grocery store without his uniform and mail bag? You know you’ve seen him before; you just can’t figure out where. That’s what I’m dealing with.”

  Etienne’s phone chimed softly. Fishing it out of his trouser pocket, he checked the caller ID before raising a finger for me to wait for him. “I need to take this, bella. Miceli,” he said as he strolled away from me. He paced for a good five minutes while he conversed, his mood subdued when he returned.

  “Not the news you wanted to hear?”

  He forced a stream of air between his teeth. “That was the medical examiner. No results on Isobel’s postmortem yet because he’s having to send slides to another facility where the equipment is more high tech. He tells me he’s never run into anything quite like this before, so he’s rather mystified.”

  “He’s never run into anything like … what?” I asked uneasily.

  “Isobel’s internal organs. Her stomach was so damaged, it looked as if it had simply exploded, and he’s at a loss to explain why.”

  “Her organs exploded? Are you serious?”

  He pressed a finger to his lips. “You’re to tell no one, Emily. Not even your grandmother. Not until we receive the final report.”

  “But … Oh, my God. How can anyone’s organs just explode?” I gasped with incredulity. “And if she was flirting with major organ malfunction, how could she not fill out her medical history form?”

  “A stomach doesn’t normally explode on its own, bella, which is why the medical examiner is having to seek outside assistance with the diagnostic panels. Isobel’s death is apparently far outside the realm of what modern medicine considers normal.”

  I looked up at him, not liking the sound of that. “So if organs don’t explode on their own, does that mean some external influence helped them explode?”

  “Shall we make an effort not to get ahead of ourselves?” he cautioned.

  “But—”

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the hollow of my palm, causing my arm to tingle from fingertips to shoulder. “Your mother has just arrived with her laptop. Shall we continue this discussion later?”

  The mood in the library was giddy.

  “Is there anyone who hasn’t seen my video of the Highland Queen crashing into the dock?” asked Dick Teig as he held his Smartphone in the air. “It’s in high def, with stereo Sensurround.”

  “I have a picture of the rescue boat,” offered Osmond.

  “I have some nice footage of the paramedics starting the IV drip in the captain’s arm,” tittered Margi. “And a good still shot of the blood pressure cuff they were using.”

  The room was so crowded, Etienne and I couldn’t find seats together, so he ended up standing by the windows, while I dragged a chair over to the table where Mom was setting up shop. The only person who wasn’t riding high on emotion was Dad, who sat glumly in an armchair, looking as if the loss of his camcorder had caused him to lose his will to live.

  Poor Dad. Maybe I’d have to buy him a new camera in Wick.

  “Thank you all for being so prompt,” Mom announced as she powered up her computer. “You did a wonderful job at the castle today, and I know you’re anxious to hear the results.”

  All eyes riveted on Mom in anticipation of her next words. Breathing ceased. Fingers crossed.

  “But first I’d like to tell you about the new system I devised that uses time as a mathematical function of—”

  Groans. Boos. Hissing.

  “Just tell us the results,” yelled Bill Gordon.

  “Yah,” shouted Dolly. “We trust your math.”

  “Cut to the chase,” encouraged Dick Stolee.

  Mom looked dumbfounded. “You don’t want to hear how I arrived at my calculations?”

  “NO!” came the unanimous reply.

  Muttering something under her breath, Mom hit a couple of keys that caused an incomprehensible grid to appear on her screen. She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “But the results won’t make any sense to you unless I explain how I arrived at—”

  “WHO WON?” bellowed Stella Gordon.

  Lips twitching with irritation, Mom caved. “The winner of today’s leg is”—she ran her finger across the screen as if to double-check—“the same team that is now at the top of the leader board and nosing ever closer to the grand prize of a free trip on Destinations Travel’s next holiday adventure.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Team Yes We Can!”

  Team Five leaped off the sofa, shrieking like Justin Bieber groupies. “We won!” they cried, jumping up and down, bear-hugging, high-fiving, and peppering each other with kisses.

  “Now we’re cooking!” whooped Cameron as he banded his arms around Bernice, Lucille, and Dolly. “We’re on a roll, ladies! There’s no stopping us now! From last to first. BOO-yah!”

  But as I regarded the expressions on the faces before me, it became obvious that not everyone was thrilled to see the emergence of the lowly underdogs as contest leaders.

  Erik and Alex observed the celebration stone-faced.

  Stella Gordon curled her lip into a menacing smile.

  And Bill Gordon eased back stiffly in his chair, his eyes throwing daggers every bit as deadly as the one he’d stolen from the bus.

  “I think Team Five deserves a round of applause,” said Mom, clapping loudly, “or better yet, a toast!” She unzipped her fanny pack, retrieving a lime green mini bottle of Thistle brand water. She raised it in the air. “Anyone else?”

  They pulled them out of shoulder bags, pockets, sporrans, purses, and tote bags and lifted them grudgingly into the air. Lime green mini bottles of Thistle brand water.

  At least two dozen of them.

  Nuts.

  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.