Murder Takes the High Road(29)

I shuddered and pulled the blankets around my shoulders. As much as I loved the idea of elegant old manor houses, there was something to be said for modern plumbing and modern heating and memory foam mattresses.

My phone dinged.

John muttered in his sleep. I raised my head, squinted at the screen. Trevor.

We need to talk.

I considered this, frowning, and braved the elements to tap back, About what?

Deliberately unhelpful, I admit.

It seemed a long time before his reply materialized with another ding. Us, came the succinct answer.

My heart gave a sudden, perplexing start. It was aggravating that he had even this much power. Especially given the last couple of days.

There is no us, I shot back.

While I waited for his reply, footsteps crossed the landing a second time. The door next to us was noisily unlocked. Not having breakfast after all. Hinges squeaked open and close. I listened absently to our neighbor moving around next door. Who had the room next to ours? I couldn’t remember.

Trevor’s text arrived with a loud whoosh.

There is on this trip.

I made a face, started to respond, but was distracted by the sound of a heavy thump in the next room.

The thump was followed by silence. Total silence.

There seemed something odd about that, though at first I couldn’t think why. The thump itself was normal enough. Someone had dropped their suitcase. Or knocked over an armoire. It happened. What should have followed were the normal sounds of exasperation or luggage being wheeled to the door. Or luggage not being rolled to the door, but some kind of movement. Footsteps. The sound of sink taps. The squeak of a mattress. Something.

Was there a furtive quality to that sudden hush?

I considered that thought for an uneasy moment or two, then started to sit up. I froze at the distinct creak of the adjoining door easing open.

What the hell? I was getting to be as bad as the rest of them. What did I imagine was happening?

I relaxed back into the pillows. I didn’t even know for sure that our neighbors were part of the Tour to Die For group.

Then again, what if our neighbors were being searched as we had been the night before? Maybe last night’s intruder had nothing to do with John. Maybe we’d been dealing with a potential thief. Maybe that thief was in the next room right this minute.

My phone dinged. It seemed to me there was an impatient quality to that ping. I snatched it up impatiently.

Are you still there?

I typed back, No.

You’re not funny.

I typed, I’m also not leaving the tour.

I had been half-listening for the sound of the door closing next door, but belatedly realized my mistake.

I tossed my phone into the bedclothes as I jumped out of bed. I was across the room in two strides. I opened our door and peered out. No one stood on the landing or stairs. I stepped onto the walkway. The door next to ours stood open.

From inside my room, I heard the irritable sound of another text message arriving. I ignored it.

“What?” John mumbled sleepily. “Did you say something?”

Watching the hall below, I saw the interior French doors swing open. Ms. Eccles and Alison entered. They were speaking quietly, but I could tell it wasn’t a casual conversation.

Alison glanced up, caught sight of me, and checked mid-step. She put a hand on Ms. Eccles’s arm. Ms. Eccles gazed up in dismay.

“Carter,” Alison said. Her voice was not much above a whisper, but it carried.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I called softly.

Alison hesitated. She looked at Ms. Eccles, who looked back at her. They seemed to silently commune.

At last Alison said, “I’m afraid I have some distressing news. Rose Lane died in her sleep last night.”





Chapter Ten

“What?” I forgot all about keeping my own voice down.

Alison winced and made shushing motions. Like we were going to disturb Rose?

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m afraid there’s no doubt.”

“How is that possible?” I demanded.

“Well... Well, these things happen.” Alison seemed to have trouble meeting my eyes. She said something quietly, and I said, “What?”

Alison repeated more clearly, “She was very old and she had a number of health issues.”

“What health issues? She was prancing around like a reindeer at the ceilidh last night.”

“That’s probably what did it. Overexertion on top of a rich meal.”

“It wasn’t so very rich a meal,” Ms. Eccles protested.

Alison threw her an apologetic look. “A heavy meal then. The point is, I have her medical information and Rose suffered from ill health. In addition to being quite elderly. Obviously, the final determination as to cause of death will be made by the doctor.”

“Coroner?” I suggested.

“Yes. Or medical examiner. I’m afraid I’m a little rattled.”

I should hope so. I should hope deaths on the road weren’t so frequent she could take them in stride. The whole thing seemed like a bad joke, except it was clear from their expressions that they weren’t kidding around.

Ms. Eccles chimed in with an inaudible comment of her own. Alison looked still more uncomfortable.

I said—I guess it was shock because it was a silly question—“It’s just...unbelievable. Didn’t you have a death on the last tour?”