Murder Takes the High Road(32)

*

“A ghost walk seems rather tasteless to me,” Yvonne said after Alison departed on the morning’s solemn business, leaving the rest of us to our eggs, back bacon, grilled tomatoes and haddock. “But I suppose if that’s how people want to spend their evening.” She shrugged.

Ben said to me, “Have you figured out what you’re doing today?”

“I’m open to suggestion.”

“I’m sticking with Carter,” Sally put in, leaning her chair back to join in our conversation. “He’s the one with the guidebook.”

“Popular guy.” That observation came from John, seated across the table from me.

“You’re more than welcome to share in my secret knowledge of clean restrooms and affordable meals.”

His grin was noncommittal.

I was surprised to realize how much I hoped he would decide to spend the day together. He was a pretty entertaining roommate, no question, but what was he like the rest of the time? He seemed easygoing but a little distant when we were with the rest of the tour group.

But then, regardless of what he’d said the previous evening, he was not here to enjoy himself. That much was—

A sudden very unpleasant thought occurred to me.

If Rose’s death during the night had not been an accident, I knew someone who had been up and about the hotel during the wee hours. I looked across at John. He was eating oatmeal and listening politely to Edie Poe (by now I had figured out that Edie usually wore glasses and Bertie liked to pin her hair back with barrettes) describing the unfortunate consequences of traveling and unfamiliar foods on her digestive system.

No.

No, I did not for one moment believe John had anything to do with Rose’s death—assuming there was anything unnatural about Rose’s passing. For one thing, his surprise that morning had been too genuine. For another... Well, I just didn’t buy it, that’s all.

I watched him grin mischievously and murmur something to Bertie that made her giggle.

He was up to something though. Of that, I had zero doubt.





Chapter Eleven

“Did you and John argue over who got the last clean towel?” Edie asked, as a bunch of us wandered back upstairs following the slightly grim breakfast.

At my look of puzzlement, she pointed at my face. “There’s a big bruise on your chin.”

“Oh?” I wiggled my jaw and pressed cautiously. Now that she mentioned it, my face was pretty tender. The light was so lousy in our bathroom, I hadn’t realized I had a visible bruise.

I said, “I resent the fact you think I’d have lost the fight for the last clean towel.”

She seemed to find that funny, calling back to her sister and reporting my witticism. Bertie chortled and said, “Here, I thought Vance must have punched you.”

That was less funny.

I glanced around, but there was no sign of Trevor or Vance. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen them at breakfast or during Alison’s announcement. I remembered that I’d cut Trevor off in the midst of our text exchange, but it was impossible to imagine him being so crushed that he couldn’t face breakfast.

“What are you doing today?” Edie asked. “Hamish is driving a bunch of us into town after lunch.”

“I think I’m grabbing the hotel shuttle and going in early.”

“Are you going on the ghost walk tonight?”

“I haven’t decided.” I love ghost walks, but I wanted to see what else might be on offer that evening.

I left the Poe sisters chatting with the Bittywiddys and continued up to my room. John was already there, busily putting the furniture back into place. He seemed nonplussed when I walked in.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hey,” I said. “I was just coming up to do the same thing.”

“No worries. It’s handled.”

I studied him. Was it my imagination or did he all at once seem uncharacteristically ill at ease? I glanced around automatically. Not that I suspected John of going through my things, but something had changed in his manner.

My gaze fell on a manila folder lying half-concealed beneath his jacket on the bed. I glanced at him. He was watching me alertly.

“What have you got planned for today?” I asked.

“I’m renting a car and driving into Inverness.”

That sounded promising, but he was no longer looking my way—in fact, I had the distinct feeling he was avoiding meeting my eyes. In case I invited myself along? Ouch. Had he really rushed up to our room to grab his things and be on his way before I came back? If so, he could relax. I was the one who had turned him down the night before.

Still, it hurt.

“That should be fun.” I found my wallet, grabbed my jacket. “See you later,” I said, and stepped onto the landing.

I couldn’t help noticing that Rose’s door was firmly shut, and no one seemed to be around. Which maybe was to be expected. How much official activity could surround one old lady dying a natural death in a hotel? Pretty much just a matter of scooping her up and changing the sheets, right?

I mean, as heartless as that might sound, it wasn’t as though there was going to be a big inquiry into Rose’s demise. As for the details of how she would be returned to the States and her kith and kin, well, none of my business. To be honest, I didn’t want to think a lot about it.