Murder Takes the High Road(13)

I was nearly the first to board the bus. The engine was idling and the pipes and drums of Red Hackle were turned down low. From my vantage point I could see Trevor and Vance in front of the shop. They were artistically positioned beneath the smiling green Wellington boot logo painted on the side of the building, and appeared to be arguing. I’m sorry to say it cheered me to no end.

I considered opening one of my whisky samplers, but it was probably too soon to celebrate.

Edie and Bertie boarded the bus. “If she doesn’t like Vanessa, I don’t know why she came on this tour,” one of the sisters was saying.

“Some people just like to ruin other people’s enjoyment.”

“Who’s that?” I asked, mainly to distract myself from watching Trevor and Vance.

Maybe they hadn’t noticed me lurking in my seat before, because this brought the girls up short. I couldn’t help noticing a certain accusatory light in their eyes as they gazed at me. “Is it true you used to date Trevor?” the one in the red coat said.

“Date him? That’s an interesting way to put it. We lived together for about three years.”

“Lived together?” That was the one in the blue coat. They exchanged surprised glances. “Vance said you went out a few times.”

“A f-f-few times!” I stuttered. Not that I had any intention of discussing my relationship with Trevor—and I was dismayed that he and Vance seemed bent on turning the three of us into a shipboard—well, busboard—scandal, but that caught me off guard. It hurt too, having three years dismissed as though we’d casually dated.

“Trevor said you’re following them everywhere like what’s-her-name in Death on the Nile.”

“What?” My voice shot up a note or two above the bagpipes. What’s-her-name in Death on the Nile happens to be a murderess. I was not amused. Not amused Trevor and Vance were discussing our little problem with strangers, and even less amused that they—Trevor—had the gall to imply that I was a stalker. Or worse. “That is absolutely incorrect,” I snapped in my best This is a Library not a Gymnasium voice. Not that anyone calls the gym a “gymnasium” anymore—besides irate librarians.

Edie and Bertie weren’t impressed. In fact, they weren’t paying attention to me anymore. The sister in red was peering out the window in front of me.

“Are they arguing?” she said.

“Yes,” I said shortly.

“Wow. What did Alison do to Rose?” the one in blue murmured.

“Wait. Who?” I turned to the window too, and sure enough, Rose and Alison seemed to be having a heated exchange in front of the small adjoining café. A stream of passengers returning to their various buses parted around them, throwing curious looks their way.

“That’s interesting,” the Poe in red commented.

The other nodded and they took their seats without further commentary. We watched in silence as Alison turned away sharply and disappeared inside the shop. Rose stared after her.

By then the rest of our group was starting to clamber onto the bus. No one seemed to notice, or at least no one commented on whatever had happened between Alison and Rose. That could have been due to the fact that Rose had boarded too. Her face was flushed and she was scowling, but she said nothing to anyone as she retook her seat.

After another minute or so Alison and John appeared. John did not board. Alison climbed inside and announced that our lunch stop would be Tyndrum after all, as a number of our group were too hungry to wait for the planned break at Pitlochry.

The news was mostly greeted with clapping. Alison did not exactly glare at Rose, but she did cast her a couple of side looks. Was that what their disagreement had been about? The lunch break?

One of the Poe sisters reminded us the first body in Death of a Green Man had been discovered by the roadside in Tyndrum, so that seemed to settle it. Once more we piled out of the bus.

Several people opted to eat at the Green Welly restaurant. The rest of us decided to hike up the road to the small café that had featured in Vanessa’s book. One of the things I liked about Vanessa’s work was that her protagonists came from all walks of life. In Death of a Green Man, Anna is a waitress. She teams up with photographer James Carmichael to solve a series of gruesome slayings.

I walked along the road with the Matsukados, the Kramers, Ben and Yvonne. The rain had stopped again, but the tall grass remained wet and the ground was squishy. The highway beside us was surprisingly busy. Tires hissed as cars zoomed past, suddenly appearing and then disappearing into the mist.

John strode ahead, trailing Sally, the Scherfs and the Rices.

Trevor, Vance and the Poes were somewhere behind the rest of us. Or at least I thought so, but all at once, Trevor stalked past me.

I looked at him in surprise. He threw me a hostile look and sped up. I glanced around, and there, sure enough, was Vance. He met my eyes, also lengthening his stride, and brushed against me. Hard.

The next thing I knew, I was falling into the road in front of an oncoming car.





Chapter Five

It happened so fast—and was so unbelievable—that I really didn’t feel more than a momentary flash of What the—? OH SHIT!

The car—a navy-and-white Mini Cooper swerved sharply, honking—even as a dozen clutching hands fastened on my jacket, my hair, my arms—and my fellow travelers whisked me out of harm’s way.