Murder Takes the High Road(12)

“Ninety minutes!” Edie was muttering to Bertie. “Breakfast was hours ago!”

“The village is built over the battlefield where Clan MacDougall defeated Robert the Bruce in AD 1306—”

“Is there anywhere to shop?” someone called.

“Yes. There’s the Green Welly Stop, which has everything from car blankets to snacks. Just keep in mind,” she warned, “you buy it, you have to lug it all over Scotland for the next nine days. There’ll be lots of places to shop along the way, so don’t feel like you have to pick up all your souvenirs here.”

The floodgate burst open.

“Do we have to pay for the restrooms?”

“Do they take traveler’s checks?”

“Is there a vegetarian offering for tonight’s meal?”

“If we don’t use the toilets here, when’s the next stop?”

Alison didn’t quite sigh, but it was close. She patiently answered each question as the bus trundled off the main highway and into the wet and shining parking lot in front of a shop and café called the Green Welly Stop. We piled out into the rain. The chilly air smelled of wet pine, fried food and diesel fuel. Most of our crew headed straight for the restrooms—along with all the passengers from the other two tour buses that had just arrived.

I enjoyed wandering through the narrow aisles packed with samplers of whisky, tins of cookies, Tshirts, sweatshirts, sweaters and just about everything else you could think of, but I also couldn’t help feeling...alone. A feeling that wasn’t improved when I saw a giggling Vance grab Trevor’s hand and pull him outside and past the rain-dotted window looking out onto the parking lot.

There was going to be a lot of that over the next nine days, and I really needed to be okay with it or this trip was going to turn into hell on wheels. Literally.

I bought a few odds and ends, mostly because I didn’t need to use the toilets, didn’t want to spoil my lunch with a snack, and didn’t have anything else to do. I was trying to decide whether my dad would like a Harris Tweed golf cap or whether it made sense to wait to see what came up on some of our next stops when I became aware the person standing next to me was not just muttering to himself.

“I’m sorry. What?” I stared into Roddy Bittywiddy’s watery blue eyes.

“I said, I don’t know why it had to be this particular trip. Scottish weather is awful this time of year. I tried to tell her. But once Daya gets an idea in her head...” He shook his head.

“They only offer the tour once a year,” I said. “I think it’s always in the fall.”

“But why this tour at all?” he insisted plaintively. “Why couldn’t we go somewhere warm? Somewhere with a nice sandy beach and drinks with umbrellas? Somewhere we know people.”

“You’re not a fan of Vanessa Rayburn?”

He shuddered at the idea. “Daya buys all her books, of course. The moment they hit the shelves. Reading puts me right to sleep.” He brightened. “Ah. Here she is! Hello, my love.”

His love joined us, nodding politely to me and removing the packet of chocolate digestive biscuits from Roddy’s clutches. I left him protesting, paid for my items, and started back for the bus.

As I was circumnavigating my way through the crowded entry hall, I caught sight of John in the shop’s restaurant. He happened to glance my way, and our gazes locked. He probably thought—well, who knew what he thought? I still wasn’t sure what his orientation might be. Although that particular look did seem a little more intent and focused than the sliding glances straight guys exchange.

I smiled politely and kept walking—straight into Ben.

I was moving briskly, so I nearly bowled him over. Ben was sturdily built though, so he stayed upright and I was the one who nearly went down. He grabbed my arm to steady me.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I gasped.

He smiled, the first natural, relaxed smile I’d seen from him. It changed his face. Made him look younger, happier.

“What did you buy?” he asked.

“Er...whisky. Mostly.”

“Oh?” His thick brows shot up.

“As souvenirs. Mostly.”

“There you are, Ben!” Yvonne joined us. “I was going to have a cup of tea in the café.”

“All right, Mother.”

Yvonne looked at me. “Your roomie is ordering a full breakfast in there.”

“Is he?”

“That’s going to take some time to prepare.”

“He slept late. He’s probably hungry.” I was betting John already had a mother and didn’t need Yvonne, let alone me, keeping track of him.

Her brows, a miniature version of Ben’s shot up, but she turned to her son and said, “We’d better get in line before they call us to board the bus.”

Ben gave me an apologetic look and followed Yvonne as she bustled away.

I sighed inwardly and left the shop. Sally, the divorcée bookseller from New Mexico, stood a few feet from the bus hurriedly smoking a cigarette. Her thick brown hair was turning to ringlets in the rain. Cigarette smoke and exhaust drifted on the rainy breeze. I nodded to her in passing and she nodded glumly back.

“I didn’t think it would rain every day,” she said.

“That’s Scotland,” I replied, but in fairness it was only day one.