Bonnie of Evidence (32 page)

I angled my head and asked slowly, “
What
… are you doing?”

“Puttin’ the evil eye on that piece of cardboard. I’m throwin’ in the towel. It don’t do me no good denyin’ I’m related to Hamish Maccoull. If you got it, flaunt it.”

“How about you hit the buffet line and practice putting the evil eye on the haggis?”

“Okay.”

I fluffed my hood-flattened hair, touched up my lipstick, and followed Nana out the door, hearing a sudden scraping sound, followed by a noisy clatter and
CRASH!
from the room’s interior.

I walked back into the room.

The nightstand lamp was lying on the floor, knocked off its perch by the cardboard patch that was now lying on the floor beside it, minus every strip of duct tape that had held it to the wall. I stared in disbelief and tried unsuccessfully to draw a normal breath.

Okay, but could she do something
really
impressive, like move a parked car, or make Bernice disappear?

“What was that?” Nana asked when I joined her in the hall.

I shook my head and smiled. “Nothing.”

TWENTY

N
O ONE SHOWED UP
for dinner.

Not even Wally.

“It was a pretty brutal crossing,” I lamented again as we perused the desserts on the buffet table, “so I’m not surprised. I think the last thing on anyone’s mind right now is food.”

“Are we the only ones here?” Bernice’s voice echoed across the room as she shuffled toward us, looking drained but determined to rain misery on someone else’s dining pleasure. “Your motion sickness pills sure got the job done, Emily. Next time, maybe you should try another kind. The kind that actually work.”

“People would have been a lot sicker without the pills,” I fired back.

“Yah, yah. From your lips to God’s ears. So what are they trying to kill us with tonight?” She drew back the retractable cover on a chafing dish. “Oh, good. More dog food.”

Nana and I grabbed one of every dessert and returned to our table. To my dismay, though not to my surprise, Bernice joined us.

“So, about the geocaching event tomorrow.” She unfolded her napkin and grimaced at her food. “I’ll agree to be a part of any team … except Team Five.”

Nana frowned. “Didn’t you say yesterday you was quittin’ the contest?”

“That’s before Emily changed the rules. If she can change her mind, so can I.”

“What’d you change your mind about, dear?”

“I expanded the giveaways. A prize for every team. Just to sweeten the pot a little.”

“I like that idea,” said Nana. “Kinda like what Oprah done a few times.” She leveled a look at Bernice. “How come you don’t wanna be on Team Five no more?”

“Are you people blind? Have you missed all the mooning and fawning going on between Lucille and Cameron? Really. It’s nauseating. I have to be on a team where the members are committed to being focused on
me
instead of each other.”

That sounded about right.

“Lucille’s found herself a sweetheart?” gushed Nana. “Aw, isn’t that nice? She’s been alone a lot a years now.”

“Yah, well, we’ll see how that works out. Tax complications. Pain in the butt relatives. Housing headaches. Once their bubble bursts, they’ll be in for a rude awakening.”

Nana tucked in her lips and stared at Bernice. She began blinking … and squinting.

Oh, God
.

“But you know who
should
be alone?” Bernice continued. “Bill and Stella Gordon. Have you heard the way she criticizes him? Up one side, down the other. She’s fed up with his relatives. She’s fed up with his bluster. She’s tired of his temper. She’s tired of all the women who chase after him. She wishes she’d married an Italian.”

It was obvious Bernice spent a greater chunk of her time sniffing around tour members than photographing tour spots.

“If I was Bill Gordon, you know what I’d do?” She stabbed a stray pea with her fork and held it proudly in the air. “I’d get rid of her. I’d pray I wasn’t living in a community property state so I could avoid having to share my life savings, and then I’d file for divorce. No one should have to live with anyone as cranky as Stella Gordon.”

Nana screwed up her face and blinked faster.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Bernice asked her.

I kicked Nana under the table even as a thought began to form in my mind.

Suppose Bill wanted to get rid of Stella. And suppose he’d be forced to split his assets with her, including his meager savings and extensive weapons collection. And just suppose he’d prefer to keep everything himself, especially his coveted Scottish arms. Would he opt for a long, drawn-out, disadvantageous divorce? Or would he decide to bypass the court system and deal with Stella in a much quicker, cleaner way, like … hire someone to take her out. A fellow Scotsman named Stuart, who subcontracted the work to two inept flunkies.

Uff-da!
Was that it? Had Stella been the intended target all along? Was it
her
head that was riding on the express train to Erik’s chopping block?

I popped out of my seat, leaned across the table to yank Bernice out of her chair, and planted a noisy kiss on her mouth. “Thank you! I won’t forget this.”

“
Yuuuck!
You … you … I don’t swing that way!” She wiped her sleeve across her mouth, adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

I pushed my chair aside and raced across the room.

“Bill and Stella Gordon?” I inquired at the front desk. I knew they were on the third floor, but I couldn’t remember the room number. “Room number, please?”

They’d apparently been relocated to the ground floor after Stella complained about having to climb the stairs. At least, I
think
that’s what the desk clerk said.

I found the room right off the lobby. I knocked on the door.

No response.

I knocked again, louder this time.

Still no response.

I pressed my ear to the door, hearing no sounds from within. No voices. No footsteps. No nothing.

My heart started racing.

I stumbled headlong into the room when the door flew open.

“
Geez
!” cried Stella. She wrapped her robe tighter around her body. Her hair was matted against her head and dark smudges circled her eyes. She was actually quite scary looking, but at least she was alive.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I righted myself.

She gave me a tired look. “How does it look like I feel?”

“Not so good, hunh? Would you like me to ask the kitchen to prepare a sick tray for you and Bill?”

She turned away from me and banged on the bathroom door. “Do you want a sick tray?”

“
Bleeeeeeeeeeeech
,” came the involuntary reply.

She nodded. “That’s pretty much a no.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yah. Leave so I can go back to bed.”

“Okay, but if you should need me for anything, I’m in room—”

The door slammed in my face.

“—216.” I rolled my shoulders. “I guess it’s not really that important.” What
was
important was that Stella was still very much alive, and if we could keep Erik away from her tonight, chances were she’d remain that way.

I ran into Etienne on my way back to the dining room.

“The balls have been set in motion, bella. The handkerchief is on its way to the lab. Officer Bean is contacting the FBI to help with the Fast Freddie Torres and Stuart information. He’s making a petition for a DNA sample from Alex. He also enlisted a police officer from Kirkwall to question Mr. Hart in the hospital, but they’ve run into a spot of bother. Alex suffered an adverse reaction to an injected pain medication, so he’s not anticipated to be in his right mind again until sometime tomorrow.”

“Did you get your plainclothes officer?”

“That’s the best news. The corridors are monitored by a surveillance system that has a direct feed to the police station, so they can monitor the halls without having to leave the department. I was a bit startled by the revelation. The cameras are so well camouflaged, I never noticed them. But if Erik leaves his room, they’ll know. And they can send someone over literally within two minutes.”

I frowned. “Is it a little odd that a hotel that’s not modern enough to have remote controls for their TV sets would have a sophisticated surveillance system for their corridors?”

Etienne shrugged. “The UK may be a small country, but it has the largest number of surveillance cameras in operation in all of Europe.”

“Well then, you’d better tell the police to pay special attention to the ground floor corridor,” I advised.

“We don’t have anyone staying on the ground floor, do we?”

“We do now. Stella Gordon, otherwise known as … Erik Ishmael’s next target.”

He paused. “All right, bella, tell me everything.”

So I did, and when I was done, he simply nodded. “It makes an enormous amount of sense. Let me put in another call to Bean.” He smiled his admiration. “I do believe, Mrs. Miceli, you may have just cracked the case.”

I basked in the glow of my success as he put in his call.

I preened as they sent an officer over anyway, in anticipation of Erik’s making his move.

I slept like a baby that night knowing there was a police officer in the house, and that Erik Ishmael was as good as captured.

I awoke early the next morning to a rapid knock on our door.

It was Wally. “Erik Ishmael is missing.”

“HE ESCAPED?”

“He’s missing. Unfortunately, so are Cameron Dasher and Lucille Rassmuson. Officer Bean wants to see you at the police station. Pronto. Your grandmother, too.”

“Why Nana?”

“She’s the one who blew the whistle.”

TWENTY-ONE

“
I
T WAS WHEN
I
was power walkin’ a around the hotel, hopin’ to avoid Emily’s mother before the breakfast line opened. One of them windows on the ground floor was hangin’ from its hinges, like someone had kicked it outta its frame.”

“Erik escaped through his window?” I glanced at Bean. “Did that show up on the surveillance video?”

Bean’s response was strained. “The surveillance equipment is on the inside of the hotel, Mrs. Miceli, not the outside.”

“So we have no idea when he left.” Etienne scraped his knuckles against his unshaved jaw. “What about Mrs. Rassmuson and Dasher?”

“They’re on camera as having left the building just before seven o’clock last evening.”

“And they just disappeared into thin air?” I asked.

“We’re playing back surveillance tapes of the train station. We don’t hae a car rental office in Wick, so it’s the only logical place they could hae gone.”

The department phone rang as if on cue. Bean answered, acknowledged the message, and hung up. “Mrs. Rassmuson and Dasher boarded an evening train heading south. Unfortunately, there was a problem with the track farther down the line, so it was forced ta delay its departure, which allowed Mr. Ishmael time ta board as well.”

I gasped. “Erik is pursuing Lucille and Cameron? Why—why would he do that?”

“If we knew, Mrs. Miceli, we wouldn’t be standing around here discussing it. The train has already reached Inverness, so if that wasn’t their final destination, they’ve transferred ta another train and are heading somewhere else.”

Would they be returning to the inn on Loch Ness, wanting to nurture their romance in solitude, away from the tour? Or had Erik somehow revealed his hand, prompting them to flee before he could strike? “Where else could they go from Inverness?”

“Anywhere in Scotland,” said Bean.

That was a big help.

“Why does Erik want to kill them?” I fretted. “Why Lucille? What could she possibly have done to earn herself a death warrant?”

“You want I should text her and ask?” offered Nana. “I got a signal.”

We regarded her, gobsmacked. Bean shrugged. “Go fer it.”

Nana sent off a message.

The reply came almost instantaneously. “B happy 4 me. xo.”

Nana smiled. “Don’t sound like she’s bucklin’ under the stress.”

“Ask her where she is,” I prodded.

Nana typed the message. “Where r u?”

“A wonderful place 2 B,” came the reply. “In love.”

I forced myself to remain calm. “Ask her where they’re headed.”

Nana sent the text.

“It’s a secret,” came the response.

“She has
no
idea she’s being pursued by a crazed hitman who might be carrying a gun,” I cried. “You have to do something.”