Murder Takes the High Road(52)
“Yeah, I didn’t think she had that much emotion in her.”
“Sometimes the most stoic-seeming people are the most emotional,” I said.
“Like your friend Ben.”
I glanced at John in surprise. His smile was crooked. “Sure, I noticed Ben’s interest in you. Every available guy on this tour is interested in you.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right.”
He changed the subject. “Vanessa looks so somber on all those book jacket photos. I didn’t imagine her being so...so genial.”
“She was nice. Gracious. Cordial. But then there’s a lot of humor in the MacKinnon books.” Black humor maybe. I didn’t want to say what I was thinking, which was I’d somehow—although I knew it was illogical—expected someone more...quiet, penitent. Someone who seemed to show awareness and regret for having committed the ultimate offense of murdering another human.
Of course, that was ridiculous. Vanessa had had decades to come to terms with her past. She’d have had to, to stay sane. Or was I being sentimental? It was unlikely she woke every morning thinking about Donald Kresley. She had paid her debt to society. There was no reason she shouldn’t enjoy the remainder of her life.
John said, “She’s probably older than most of the women in our group, but she looks a lot more...”
“Chic.”
“I guess so. Well-preserved, for sure. That’s the nice thing about money, I guess.”
“Yeah. But then again, when you consider what she went through, she’d have to have a certain amount of resilience to survive.”
He studied me for a moment. “Speaking of survival, how are you feeling now?”
I didn’t know what he meant for a moment, then I recognized the concern in his eyes from our boat crossing.
My face warmed. Once again, I felt both self-conscious and, well, silly. But also cherished. And that really was different. I couldn’t ever remember feeling cherished before. “Oh. Me? Back to normal.”
“Good. What do you say we let the unpacking wait and have a walk before dinner?”
I smiled. “I say yes. That sounds great.”
*
“Have you heard from Sally’s family yet?” I asked John as the heavy castle door closed behind us. I’d have expected a footman or two guarding the entrances, but it seemed that people came and went as they pleased at Castle Dìomhair.
I drew in a long breath. It was good to be outside. Good to feel the sunlight and crisp sea air. Good to not be on a bus. Or a boat.
“No.”
I thought this over. “If there was something wrong, they’d probably answer right away.”
“They’re eight hours behind us. They may not have heard my message yet.”
“True.” I didn’t like it though.
We weren’t the only ones with the idea of going for a walk. I spotted the Scherf-Rice quartet in the distance, making their way through a small forest of spindly, wind-twisted trees.
“Where are they headed?” I wondered aloud.
John said thoughtfully, “If I had to guess? They’re checking out the helicopter pad.”
I stared at his profile. “You know you can’t just throw comments like that out there and not expect questions.”
He gave me a sideways look. “I know, but do me a favor and don’t ask.”
I spluttered in protest.
John added, “I’ll tell you everything when I can. Okay?”
“I’m guessing I don’t have a choice.” Not like there was a sacred bond between bunkies that I could hold him to. This wasn’t Camp Chippewa, despite the Addams Family vibe. “But you’re being pretty mysterious.”
He didn’t answer. We cut across the broad expanse of lawn and when I glanced down and saw a round grate, I pointed. “Supposedly a tunnel runs from the basement of the castle down to a cave on the shoreline. They used it for smuggling. The tunnel collapsed in the 1920s, but you can view the passageway through the air vents in the front lawn.”
“How would you know that?”
“I read it in an old guidebook from the 1940s. When I originally booked the tour, I wanted to find out everything I could about the island, and since there isn’t much information available now, I went back to earlier sources.”
“Pretty smart.”
“Not really. Basic research.” I nodded to a distant fenced-in area that looked like an arboretum run wild. “That overgrown area surrounded by a metal fence? That’s the Henderson family cemetery. Up until the 1930s, family members and pets were still being buried there.”
“Is that more from your old guidebook?”
“Yep. Apparently when the guidebook was written you could still see a lot of the headstones and statues, but it looks like a jungle now.”
“Weird she just left it like that.” John was frowning.
We both knew who “she” was.
“Maybe it seemed more respectful to leave everything to time?”
“Maybe she couldn’t be bothered.”
I considered that as we headed downhill toward the cliffs overlooking the sea. The reality for someone like Vanessa was that you could pay your debt to society but some people—maybe most people—were always going to attribute the worst motives to everything you did.