Murder Takes the High Road(30)

She and Ms. Eccles exchanged looks so guilty, they could have been acting in a pantomime.

Alison began, “How did you—?” But stopped herself. “Yes,” she said reluctantly. “We did. It happens occasionally. So many of Vanessa’s fans are, well, more mature in age. I guess it’s inevitable. Certainly, this is a completely natural death.”

I had turned to stare uneasily at Rose’s door, but as her words sunk in, did a double take. “You mean last time wasn’t a natural death?”

Ms. Eccles gulped. Alison looked horrified. “I—I didn’t say—I don’t know what you mean, Carter!” She looked around as though seeking rescue. But despite the quiet commotion of the past few minutes, no one else was making an appearance. Not so much as another guest room door had opened.

It dawned on me that was because only me, John and Rose were staying in this section of the hotel.

I’d thought it was awfully quiet in this section. Certainly, last night it had seemed strangely deserted.

If my guess was right, why would only John, Rose, and I be shuffled off into the annex? And how coincidental was it that last night someone had broken into the room I shared with John—and this morning Rose was dead? Either this hallway was the crime capitol of Strathpeffer or...well, what?

Alison interrupted my uneasy thoughts with a sudden display of firmness. “Anyway, I’m sorry that I can’t answer any more questions just now. There are so many things to deal with. I’m sure you can understand that.”

She was drawing Ms. Eccles up the stairs with her, heading for Rose’s room.

“Er, sure.” I retreated into my own boudoir, closing the door behind me.

“What’s going on?” John asked from the bed. His hair was boyishly ruffled, his jaw dark and bristly.

I crossed the chilly floorboards and sat on the foot of our makeshift double. “Rose is dead,” I told him.

He sat up. “Dead?”

I nodded.

He stared at me. “How? What happened?”

“Alison seems to think she had health issues.”

He thought it over and then shrugged. “She probably did. She’s pretty old. Was.” He peered more closely at me. “I didn’t realize you were so fond of the old lady.”

“It’s not... I’m not...” I rubbed my jaw. I too needed a shower, a shave...coffee. I definitely needed coffee. I couldn’t seem to make sense of this. I gazed back at John, troubled. “What’s weird about this is she—Rose—was going around yesterday talking about how there had been a mysterious death on the tour previous to this one. And now she’s dead too.”

John didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“Obviously it could be—probably is—a coincidence, but you have to admit that’s kind of weird.”

“Yes. That’s weird.”

We were silent, listening to the sounds of voices through the wall. Ms. Eccles and Alison seemed to be having a small argument. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone carried through the worm-eaten paneling.

John said, “Coincidences do happen.”

“Yes.”

At my lack of enthusiasm, he prompted, “Truth is stranger than fiction?”

“I guess.”

He continued to study me. “You think someone decided to shut her up permanently?”

Our eyes met.

“That’s crazy.” I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

John said cheerfully, “Crazy people commit murders too.”

That was certainly true. Trevor was a fan of true crime shows and I had seen a slew of them during our time together. What I didn’t know about murderous neighbors, obsessed coworkers, treacherous best friends, psycho siblings and even more psycho spouses—past and present—would not fill the secret compartment in a poisoner’s ring.

“There would still have to be a motive,” I pointed out.

“Always.”

“Consider the people on this tour. Does anyone seem crazy to you?”

“You all seem crazy to me.”

“Says the night stalker. I mean homicidal-crazy?”

“Maybe.”

“Who?”

John ignored that. “But it might not be anyone on the tour. It might be someone at the hotel. You should find out where the death on the last tour took place. If it was this hotel, that’s a pretty big coincidence.”

“I should?” I laughed. He didn’t laugh back. “Wait. Me?” I began to splutter. “You think I should investigate?”

“You’re the one asking questions.”

“They’re mostly rhetorical.”

“Ah, but are they?” He raised one eyebrow.

I thought it was kind of remarkable how easily he seemed to accept the idea of foul play. Maybe he was more of a mystery fan than he realized.

The voices next door had fallen silent. Alison and Ms. Eccles moved out onto the landing. I heard the sound of the door being locked. Two pairs of footsteps vanished down the walkway.

“We should probably ask for another room,” I muttered. “It feels macabre sitting here listening for sounds from Rose’s room.”

John raised his shoulders indifferently. He continued to watch me as though waiting for something. What?