Murder Takes the High Road(45)

“Terrifying snores, as though from another dimension,” Nedda called, which got laughs.

“My room too,” Edie said, which got more laughs—and an elbow in the ribs from her red-faced sister.

“Ha-ha. That’s wonderful,” Alison said. “Before we get rolling, I have a bit of sad news. Well, not sad,” she corrected hastily. “Sort of sad, but not Rose Lane sad. We’ve lost another of our merry band.”

I automatically turned to John. He was sitting upright, wide-awake now. His startled gaze met mine.

There were questions and expressions of sympathy and dismay. Alison fielded them with her usual heartless good cheer.

“I know. I know. So unexpected. When we wound up the ghost walk last night, there was a message at the front desk for Sally from her family. I didn’t get the full story, but she told me they urgently needed her back home. She left for the airport early this morning.”

“She’s gone?” I said into a sudden ill-timed silence.

Alison smiled into my eyes. “Yes, Carter. Sally is gone.”

I’m sure there were other comments and questions, but I didn’t hear them. Or rather, they seemed to be taking place in another universe.

It was possible Alison’s story was true. People did have vacations cut short by family emergencies. Coincidences did happen—that had been my mantra for how many miles?—but this felt like one coincidence too many. And the look in Alison’s eyes when she had replied to me was...strange. As though she had been delivering a challenge.

But what was another possibility? That Alison had done away with Sally? Preposterous.

Round and round my thoughts went as the bus rumbled into life. The Hackle pipe band burst into excited wauls. My fellow passengers clapped in approval—except the Scherfs and Rices, who were still poring over the morning newspaper. Having glanced through the paper myself that morning, I wondered what in the usual stories of political sex scandals, sports defeats and foiled museum robberies so riveted them.

We lumbered down the stately tree-lined drive back to the main road.

As Strathpeffer fell behind us like the sleeping village in a fairytale, John scooted over to my seat.

“There’s got to be a simple explanation.” He kept his voice low while Alison continued to work the mic.

“I’d love to hear it.”

“The most obvious scenario is she really did get called home. We can verify it easily enough. We’ve got her home phone number.”

“We do?”

“It’s in the tour bios. Everyone’s is.”

“You’re right!” I added, God knows why, “Except yours.”

He gave me a sideways look. “Do you want my number? I’ll give you my number.”

I glanced away from John to find Alison watching us. It gave me a little jolt. I was not imagining it. But what was it?

Alison said, “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to make our planned stop at Castle Leod this morning, but let me tell you a little bit about it. Castle Leod is the oldest intact castle in all of Britain. It’s the seat of Clan Mackenzie and home to the Earl of Cromartie and his family, who’ve lived in the castle for over five hundred years. The castle was built on the ruins of a twelfth century Pictish fort.”

“Was that or was it not a sinister look?” I whispered to John.

“I can’t tell. She always looks that way to me. If she had fangs, she’d have bared them at you. That I can confirm.”

“The castle is a category A listed building,” Alison reported, continuing to eye us menacingly. “Fun fact: Castle Leod served as inspiration behind Castle Leoch, the seat and home of the laird of Clan Mackenzie, in the TV series Outlander.”

“TV series?” Bertie exclaimed. “Doesn’t she know the movies are based on the books?”

Edie murmured in indignant agreement.

“Alison, are we stopping at Castle Leod?” Yvonne interrupted.

“I’m afraid we’re not stopping this trip,” Alison reiterated regretfully.

“Then why are we talking about a place we’re not going to?” Daya spoke in the same irritable tone as Yvonne.

Alison hung onto her patience. “Because it’s listed in the day’s itinerary, so I thought you’d all like to know a little bit about it.”

Daya said to Yvonne, “I don’t really see the point. Do you?”

“No,” Yvonne said.

“Well, I find it interesting,” Nedda broke in. “Let the poor girl talk.”

“Why did she give me the sinister smile?” I protested to John under cover of the mini uprising started by Yvonne and Daya. “Why am I getting the evil eye?”

“You were Sally’s partner in amateur sleuthing.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was mostly just her sounding board.”

John started to object—I assume—but Trevor slunk down the aisle and dropped into the seat in front of us. “And then there were eighteen.” He said it with ghoulish satisfaction.

Ghoulish or not, I was relieved at further confirmation. I forgot about our heated exchange the evening before.

“Right?” I spared a glance for Alison and was relieved to see her beady-eyed attention was now completely focused on Yvonne and Daya.

Trevor nodded—sparing a brief glare for John, who sighed with pointed weariness, shook his head, and returned to his own seat.