Murder Takes the High Road(44)

There was much settling of the Bittywiddys’ personal belongings: Fair Isle sweaters and hats and knitting—complete with deadly-looking needles—and purses and sundry bags. How much stuff did they need just to go to breakfast?

“I missed you last night. Are you feeling better?” Ben asked quietly.

“I am, yeah.” I smiled apologetically, remembering that at lunch he had mentioned not caring for ghost walks. Had he joined the tour on my account? I hoped not. “Thanks for asking.”

“You look healthy enough. You look great.” His smile was lopsided.

I smiled too, uneasily noting John standing in the entrance to the dining room. He scanned the room, spotted me, nodded, and then went to sit at a table a couple of rows over. I relaxed. But I was a little disappointed.

“What did you think of the ghost walk?” I asked Ben.

He shrugged. “It was all right. Not really my thing.”

What was his thing? I wondered. His bio had said his hobbies were reading, watching sporting events and traveling. He had been to Australia, Bermuda, Bahamas, Belize, Mexico, Alaska, France, England, Ireland and the Caribbean Islands. Quite the world traveler.

Otherwise, the bio hadn’t really offered a lot of information. I knew he was gay, a good son and hoping to make some changes in his life in the near future.

Which, come to think of it, was more than I knew about John. Was it illogical that I felt like I knew John better? And not just because we’d had sex—though that certainly added a layer of intimacy.

“What do you like to do when you’re not traveling?” I asked.

Ben shrugged. “Work in the yard. Follow sports. And I collect miniature single malt bottles.”

“Miniature single malt bottles. That’s a new one. Do you collect the plastic ones too or only glass bottles?”

He smiled faintly. “Glass bottles only. What do you like to do?”

“Read. Garden. Bike. I like to take classes on different things. I’ve taken cooking classes, archeology classes, pottery classes, piano lessons, guitar lessons, dance classes. When I get home, I’m taking a scuba diving course.”

“You like to dabble.” He said it tolerantly.

“I guess I do. Yes. I’m interested in a lot of different things, and the best way to learn about something is to try it out yourself. I think it’s one reason I love my job. Every day you learn something new. I’m not exaggerating.”

“No, I can see that. You do love your job.”

“Yes. Do you like what you do?”

“It pays well,” he replied neutrally. “What about writing classes? Take many of those?”

“No. I love to read too much to ever become a writer.”

“That’s a funny way to look at it.”

“Is it? Maybe it is. I think once you start writing, you can never go back to reading strictly for pleasure. The way we all start out.”

“What about amateur theater?”

I shook my head. “No. God no. I get stage fright. Acting was Trevor’s deal. As a matter of fact, he met Vance at our local theater guild. They were doing a production of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Trevor played Jekyll and Vance played Hyde.”

“Yes, we’ve heard.” Ben’s lip curled in scorn. “In Surround Sound. It’s like they’re acting out their relationship for the rest of us. Every time I look at them I feel like I’m watching a performance.”

That gave me less pleasure than I’d have expected.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Ben said, “but I think those two deserve each other.”

Once that would have hurt. Now... I didn’t feel much of anything. I was even starting to think maybe Vance and Trevor did deserve each other.

“Ben,” Yvonne said loudly. “Are you listening?”

Ben gave a little start and turned away. “Sorry, Mother. What did you say?”

It’s not fair, but any time I hear a guy address his mom as “Mother,” I always think of serial killers.

I glanced across at John, who was morosely sipping coffee, holding the cup in both hands like someone with a hangover. Or someone who hadn’t slept much. His lashes rose, he caught my eye and winked.

Ridiculously, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’ve never been a winker. I offered a weak grin, but he was already back to communing over his morning brew.

*

I boarded the bus with Yvonne and Ben, but tactfully detached myself from their company and took a seat on my own midway up the aisle. Most of the rows were already filled. A couple of minutes later Wilma Scherf sprang on board, rolled-up newspaper in hand, and made her way to the back. Her three traveling companions all reached for the paper. I’d never seen people so desperate for their morning dose of death and drama.

Hamish followed shortly after, feeling his way across the dashboard and settling behind the wheel with a sigh you could hear in the last row.

John and Alison were the last. They climbed aboard together. John made his way to the seat across the aisle from mine. He nodded hello. I nodded back. He dropped his head back with every appearance of going straight to sleep.

There was still no sign of Sally. I began to feel uneasy.

Alison did a head count and took the mic, seeming slightly out of breath.

“Good morning everyone! How did you all sleep after the ghost walk? Anything to report?”