Murder Takes the High Road(49)

“And of those people, do you think any of them suspect that something suspicious happened to Rose?”

“Sally, obviously. And me, I guess. And Trevor. Which probably means Vance. And maybe you. Or maybe not you.”

His expression was neutral. I asked, “Do you think something suspicious happened to Rose?”

He shook his head, but it was not as a negative so much as an I don’t know. He said, “And how many people do you think suspect Sally was deliberately got out of the way?”

“Sally wasn’t discreet about her suspicions, that I can say for sure. She was like Rose in that respect. She shared her belief that someone knocked Rose off, in the shuttle to Strathpeffer that morning—she said it right in front of the van driver, along with everyone else.”

“My God,” John said.

“I know. I don’t think anyone took it seriously though. In fact, mostly people seemed to think the discussion was in bad taste.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Especially since you’re all primed to see mystery in every delay and detour. Of which, I might add, there have been a hella lot.”

“I guess Daya might have taken it seriously. She wasn’t in the van, but according to Ben, she seemed to believe there was something to her friend’s story about the accidental drowning.”

John said disapprovingly, “The bathtub drowning.”

“Yes. And, yes, your objections have been duly noted. Statistics tell us that most drowning deaths occur within four miles of a bathtub.”

He snorted.

“Why do you ask?” I asked.

“Just trying to get the chronology straight in my mind. How was Alison at lunch?”

“Okay, as far as I could tell. She seemed like her normal self. She and Daya had some kind of argument at the rest stop, but she seemed fine at lunch.”

“She didn’t try to speak to you or anything?”

I shook my head. “Looking back, I don’t think she gave me a thought.” I considered that for a moment. Yes, for all the malign stares on the bus that morning, Alison seemed to have forgotten about me by lunchtime. How was that possible? I either posed a threat or I didn’t.

I said, “This is going to sound odd, but... I’m not sure if what we think is wrong is the real problem.”

“I’m not following.”

“Something is wrong. I do believe that. I feel like there’s something happening that we don’t see. An...undercurrent running beneath the surface interactions.”

“That makes sense if someone really did do away with Rose.”

“Right. Yes. Except, I’m not sure that’s it. It’s hard to explain.”

John’s gaze was curious.

“I know,” I said. “I’m not making sense.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Actually, I think your instinct is right. I sense it too. That, for lack of a better word, undercurrent.”

“Do you?”

He nodded. “Maybe there’s always a lot of tension on trips like this. I’ve never been on one, so I wouldn’t know. You’ve got a lot of different personalities here and there’s bound to be friction.”

“It doesn’t feel like that though,” I said slowly. “It feels...different.”

Darker. Dangerous. I didn’t want to say it aloud because it sounded melodramatic. Besides. What could be darker than doing away with Rose and possibly Sally in order to cover up an earlier crime?

By that point the bus had bumped and ground its way off the ferry and across the sand and rock to a graded dirt road that wound its whimsical way into the heather-blanketed hills. The drop on the other side of the road was steep. Below, we could see sleek, fat gray seals basking on the rocks. Seabirds took turns diving straight into the choppy blue water.

Alison had been staring glumly out the front window, but she rose and took the mic. It magnified the tail end of her sigh.

“Welcome to Samhradh Beag, the Short Summer. This is a 766-acre island with a full-time population of fifteen, including Vanessa, her household staff and all other employees.

“When Vanessa first purchased the island, there was still a salmon farm, several holiday cottages—you’ll see them when we get closer to the castle—a small sailing school, a café and a post office. Vanessa continues to maintain the salmon farm, but everything else is long gone. There are no shops and no paved roads. There’s a helicopter pad for occasional use or in the event of an emergency. Mail and essentials are delivered weekly from mainland shops, and left secured near the jetty.”

“What happened to the people who used to live on the island?” Bertie asked.

Ben asked, “How often does the ferry come?”

“The ferry only makes the trip twice a year. To bring our tour group across and then carry them back again four days later. There is no regular ferry service to the island. Only invited guests are welcome. Vanessa owns her own boat, of course, but it’s easier to charter a helicopter when she wants to travel to and from the mainland. She rarely leaves home these days.”

Daya gave one of those disapproving sniffs.

Each lazy curve in the road offered another breathtaking view of hills carpeted in wildflowers, distant tawny mountains, crystal blue bays. Cell phones and cameras clicked away.

“Vanessa’s ethos is that she’s simply the caretaker of the island, and that it’s her job to interfere as little as possible with the natural ecology. Over the past fifteen years, she’s planted nearly two hundred thousand native trees as part of a woodland regeneration scheme.”