Murder Takes the High Road(58)

“Séance?”

“Yes. It would have been so much fun. It’s all cancelled now.”

I glanced around the room. Everyone was in their best party duds. Trevor and Vance were wearing kilts. Not just kilts. Vance was done up in full Highland regalia, from his ghillie brogues to the brown-and-white—suspiciously eagle-like—feather in his balmoral. What the—?

I took a harder look at Trevor’s muted blue-and-green kilt. The tartan was Matheson Hunting.

“How come you don’t have a kilt?” John asked.

“Uh, I used to.”

“Can you believe it?” Laurel joined us. “I feel like I should turn in my magnifying glass. I missed every single clue. I honestly believed Rose had died in her sleep and Sally had returned home. Jim didn’t notice anything either.”

“Alison said she never had so much trouble getting a group buzzing before,” Sally said. “There was supposed to be one other plant, but I’m not sure who. Apparently, she bailed on fulfilling her part at the last moment.”

“Daya.” I remembered the argument between Alison and Daya I’d stumbled on the day before. I glanced around the room, but Daya was nowhere to be seen. Roddy was there though. Flushed with alcohol and excitement, he was babbling enthusiastically to the Poe girls, who both wore hunted expressions.

A little ways off stood Ben and Yvonne. They were not speaking. Not to each other and not to anyone else in the room. As though feeling my gaze, Ben’s eyes met mine. He stared coldly at me and then looked away.

I sighed inwardly. Would trying to speak to him make it better or worse? What would I say? Can’t we still be friends? Vance already provided about all the drama I could take.

Sally was saying, “Was it? I don’t know. I only know the third person was supposed to have the missing journal. She was scheduled to disappear from the tour during the boat crossing, at which point you were all supposed to totally freak out. Well, those of you paying attention.” She grinned at me.

“We’ve been phoning your family,” I told her severely.

“I know!” She giggled, seemingly delighted by the idea.

As Sally was drawn away by Nedda, John clicked his glass against mine.

“Congratulations. You were right. It felt like a Host Your Own Murder, or whatever you called it, because it was.”

“How to Host a Murder. Yes. I guess so.” I sipped my drink. Single malt. He knew what I liked.

He seemed both amused and sympathetic. “Disappointed?”

“Er, that would probably make me a sociopath. I’m relieved. Mostly. And feeling like a total and complete dumbass for being quite so suggestible.”

“No, but you were perfect.” Sally rejoined us. “We were dropping clues like mad, and nobody was picking up on them.”

“How did it work? Was it all arranged before the tour began?”

“Oh, no. Alison selected Rose the first night, and then Rose suggested me as the next victim because I totally bought into her story. I even warned her about making notes in her journal in front of Alison and Hamish.” Sally made a face at her own gullibility. “I wanted you to be the next victim, but Alison said we didn’t dare remove the only person paying attention to what was going on.”

“Whoa,” John said. “That was a close call.”

No lie. Being part of the mystery plot was liable to have spoiled getting to know John, and getting to know John was the best part of the trip by far.

Sally seemed about to explain further, but the hard, clear ring of silver against crystal cut across the noisy room. We all turned, falling silent.

Vanessa stood before the fireplace, but this was a very different woman from the afternoon’s Vanessa. She wore a black beaded sheath. Diamonds sparkled at her wrists and throat. She looked as cool and distant as a star in the midnight sky.

Her smile was hard and brittle. “I know you’re all dying to hear the details of our little mystery charade, but let’s save them for dinner. Grab your drinks and follow me.”

She glanced around and casually commandeered Trevor and Vance, strolling between them into the dining room.

The rest of us followed, quiet and docile, like lambs to the slaughter.

*

Something was wrong.

It was not the dinner, however. The mussel, onion and chanterelle soup was hot and delicately flavored. The roasted wild duck was perfectly seasoned and perfectly cooked. There was plenty of wine, good wine, and silver baskets of warm homemade bread were passed round the table many times. It was a wonderful meal, but after the first few bites, we could have been eating rocks in a box for all the attention I paid to the food.

As relieved as I was to find Rose still alive and Sally all in one piece, something still felt off. I remained uneasy, unsettled, though I couldn’t understand why.

Vance and Trevor were not speaking. That was immediately obvious to me, having been on the receiving end of Trevor’s icy and prolonged silences more than a few times. Vance, however, looked like he could hold his own in the sulking department, and they were not my concern anyway.

For the first time during the tour, Joel and Gerda Rice had broken off from Nelson and Wilma Scherf. The Scherfs spent the meal chatting with the Poe sisters. The Rices spent the meal chatting with the Kramers. And all the while, the Scherfs and the Rices watched John like cats keeping an eye on a particularly insouciant mouse.