Murder Takes the High Road(4)
“I think maybe she was awarded the DBE before the news of her real identity came out,” a woman said.
“No, that’s not correct.” The voice was female and definitely English. “I remember the fuss when it was announced. People picketed.”
“That was such a long time ago. Almost thirty years.”
“It doesn’t seem so very long ago to me.”
I missed the rest of the conversation as our server arrived and the important business of ordering cocktails began.
Once drinks and meals had been ordered, Alison rose and gave a brief welcome speech and then sped through the evening’s business.
“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, therefore timeliness is essential. All luggage must be out of the rooms and in the hallways by seven every morning so that Hamish can get them stowed on the bus. Otherwise you’ll have to carry your bag down yourself. Change seats on the bus every day to ensure everyone is getting a turn at the windows and do try to sit with different people each night at dinner. You never know. You might meet your new best friend on this trip.”
I glanced at Ben, who happened to be looking my way. We shared another of those self-conscious smiles and hastily averted gazes.
By the time Alison sped through the subject of paid toilets, tipping and daily menus, fragrant platters of Bangkok street-style pork skewers marinated with honey and coriander root, chicken satay, spring rolls, and savory mini-tartlets stuffed with cod and flavored with lemongrass and lime leaf, were circulating from table to table.
Rather than allowing us to relax and eat, Alison—proving that all tour guides have a sadistic streak—suggested we take turns rising to introduce ourselves to the group.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay attention, but I hadn’t eaten since somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, and the names and faces were beginning to fade into a hypoglycemic haze.
With the exception of Yvonne, who took notes, my tablemates nibbled on appetizers and listened politely as the Poe sisters, Rose, Trevor and Vance introduced themselves.
Trevor kept his opening remarks uncharacteristically terse. Vance burbled. There really wasn’t any other word for it. Or if there was, I didn’t want to work that hard to find it.
“I’m Vance Stafford. I’m a former model and actor, in case I look familiar to you. Nowadays I work as a dental hygienist.” He flashed a big white smile, giving the American Dental Association some free advertising. “I’m traveling with Trev. This trip is a not-quite-but-almost honeymoon for us.” He beamed at Trevor. Trevor smiled uncomfortably, met my eyes, glared, and looked away.
Vance sat down amid a chorus of “awws” and a smattering of applause. There we had it: the token cute gay couple. And my role? Wicked Queen?
I had made some bad decisions in my time, but coming on this trip? It topped the list.
Our table raced through the introductions, earning Alison’s approval.
At the table behind us were Jim and Laurel Matsukado from San Francisco, Wally and Nedda Kramer from New York, Daya and Roddy Bittywiddy, an English couple who resided in Devon—in fact, the only non-Americans in the tour group—and Sally Daly, a self-described “divorcée” and bookseller from New Mexico.
Alison introduced our bus driver as Hamish MacLaren. Hamish looked to be in his late eighties and wore glasses that might have been borrowed from Mr. Magoo. He offered animated and absolutely unintelligible words of greeting, which received a hearty round of applause.
That concluded the formalities and we were finally left in peace to enjoy our really delicious dinner. Everyone seemed excited and enthusiastic on this eve of adventure, and the air crackled with happy anticipation.
The meal finished with fresh fruit fondue. Ordinarily, sharing fondue with strangers would not be one of my favorite things, but I was so tired by then, I was past caring. We could have been scooping microbes from test tubes, and I wouldn’t have flinched.
At last, replete and exhausted, we headed outside into the wet night.
The Scherfs and Rices, having arrived in Scotland a day earlier, opted to explore Glasgow’s nightlife, but the jet-lagged rest of us made straight for the waiting taxis. I ended up with the Poe sisters again, and we were joined by Ben and his mother. It was a much, much quieter drive back to the Caledonian Inn. In fact, Yvonne was snoring softly, her head on Ben’s shoulder, by the time we arrived at the hotel.
I went straight up to my room, undressed, unpacked what I needed for the night, and used the hotel Wi-Fi to verify that no one urgently needed to hear from me. I wasn’t sure if I was reassured or disappointed when it turned out that I had so far not been missed.
I was brushing my teeth when the door jumped beneath a brisk and decisive knock.
John Knight, I presumed. I rinsed, spat, plastered what I hoped was a pleasant smile on my face and opened the door.
Not John Knight. My midnight caller was a wee five feet six in his stockinged feet, fair and not all that handsome when he was scowling—which was most of the time he was around me. In short—ha!—it was Trevor.
“I can’t believe you’d do this, Carter,” he said.
Chapter Two
I said, “I don’t know why not, since I told you I planned on coming on this trip.”
“That you’d be this petty, this vindictive—”
Not like we hadn’t had this out already, but I felt an instant surge of self-righteous anger just as though this was a fresh outrage. “I paid for the trip. The trip was my idea in the first place. Vance doesn’t know Vanessa Rayburn from Vanessa Redgrave. If anyone is being petty and vindictive, it’s you, bringing him on this trip that we planned together.”