Murder Takes the High Road(36)

Granted, that had been only two nights earlier. It felt like we’d been on tour for weeks, but it was actually only the second day. Eight days still to go. If things were already getting odd, what would happen once we started touring all the distilleries scheduled for the second half of the trip?

By that point in my speculations I had reached the woods. Amidst the somber blue-black pines, beech and birch trees were turning fanciful shades of red and gold. Tall spires of purple flowers rose from the deep yellowing grasses. Bees hummed lazily. Though it was only October, the surrounding mountains were already white-capped. You could taste the distant snow on the breeze.

Vanessa had used this setting for a particularly disturbing series of child murders in The Cure for Wellness. I wondered how the town fathers felt about that. Granted, she had changed the name of the village in that particular book, but anyone familiar with the area would recognize the locale.

I wandered around the well-marked trails before making my way toward the stone maze. I passed the occasional parent and child or someone walking a dog, but mostly I was on my own. I didn’t mind.

There were too many stumps where trees had been cut down, and there were fallen trees as well, but the woods grew thicker as I neared the maze, which was ringed by copper beech trees. Thanks to the recent downpour, the path was muddy and the trees glistened and dripped watery diamonds.

The maze itself was really just a collection of eighty-one large and quite beautiful rocks arranged in concentric circles based on designs from Pictish times. And as with ancient Celtic labyrinths, the position of the rocks incorporated seasonal positions of the sun and moon.

I followed the trail as it wound around, noting how unique each stone was. There was marble, sandstone, quartzite, flagstone, granite and many others from all different quarries in Scotland.

I drew in a long breath and let it quietly out. It was very silent. I felt like I had the entire forest to myself. Yet it was not exactly tranquil. There was an energy in the air, a certain buzzy-ness as though invisible electrical wires hummed overhead. The maze felt ancient and mystical, despite the fact that it was actually a modern construction, but then, according to the signage, some of the rocks were three thousand million years old.

Walking through the trees and flickering sunlight was soothing. I stopped to rest my hand against a tall, sun-warmed stone. It felt almost alive. I would not have been surprised to feel the quiet beat of a heart beneath my fingertips.

Three thousand million years ago sort of put everything in perspective. Even after a morning of suspicion and speculation, it was hard not to feel like my own concerns were pretty trivial in the greater scheme of things, and I felt at peace standing there. Whatever problems I had would sort themselves out in time. They were not such serious problems anyway. I was alive. I had a job I loved and eventually I would find someone to share my life with. Probably when I least expected it. That was how it had worked with Trevor.

Then again, given the way that had turned out, maybe I needed to be more proactive, less lackadaisical about my social life.

I was considering this exhausting possibility when Ben suddenly strode out of the trees and into view. He seemed to be walking with purpose. His solemn face brightened at the sight of me, and he raised a hand in greeting.

I raised mine in return, relieved to see he was on his own.

“Here you are,” he said, reaching me. “I was wondering if you’d walked back to the hotel.”

It was almost a mile from the pavilion, which was the last time I’d seen him. He couldn’t have just stumbled on me here. He had to have come looking. That was flattering—and a little balm to my ego, given that John hadn’t been able to get away from me fast enough that morning.

“What time is it?” I glanced at my phone. Noon. “No. I was thinking about grabbing some lunch at one of the cafés.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. Is your—is Yvonne planning to join us?”

“No. Mother’s with the Bittywiddys.” Something chilly flickered in his eyes. I surmised he didn’t like the Bittywiddys and didn’t like the friendship that had sprung up between his mother and Daya, but I couldn’t see any reason for it. To be honest, Yvonne and Daya seemed very much cut from the same discontented cloth. Not only were they the most openly critical of Vanessa’s work, they seemed to find fault—though rarely the same faults—with all the tour’s plans and preparations.

Some people are not cut out for travel. Until this tour, I would have considered myself one of them, but I was finding that I actually liked the challenges—the adventure—of travel. I liked it so much that I was thinking on my next trip to Scotland, I’d rent a car and travel on my own. The most surprising part of that was my certainty that I’d return to Scotland. Twenty-four hours earlier, I’d been thinking the opposite.

“Oh, right,” I said. And then, for some reason, I added, “I think it’s great you and your mom are so close.” Which I did, but I also thought what on earth possessed you to take a trip to Scotland with your mother?

Ben made a noncommittal sound. “My father died last year. She’s had a rough time.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded absently.

“So, is she the fan or are you?”

“The fan?”

“Of Vanessa’s books.”

“Oh.” His smile was dry. “That would be mother. I don’t much care for fiction.”