Murder Takes the High Road(66)

I hadn’t dreamed the past couple of days—or nights—and if John said he’d call, well, he’d probably call. He seemed like a guy who kept his word.

And who couldn’t use a little of that in their life?

I made my shower quick and hurried downstairs to the dining room where Yvonne greeted me with a crisp, “Fifteen.”

“Morning.” I nodded politely at Ben.

To my relief we seemed to be on nodding terms again, because he silently tipped his head in return. I couldn’t help noticing he didn’t look well. He was pale and haggard. His eyes were red-rimmed.

Daya appeared to have made a full recovery however. She and Roddy sat across from Yvonne and Ben, surrounded as usual by the paraphernalia of knitting, travel guides for places she was not currently in, and neck pillows.

“Someone is running late this morning,” she observed.

“Is John coming on the tour of the island, Carter?” Alison asked.

“Uh, no,” I said casually, heading for the laden sideboard. “John left last night.”

Nice try. Like anyone was going to leave that bombshell lying there?

“Left?” Alison repeated. “He’s left the island?”

“Wait. John is gone?” That was Trevor at the far, far end of the banquet table. Vance sat beside him wearing an expression of open alarm.

I nodded. “He had to charter a helicopter out last night. I think there was some kind of insurance emergency.”

As explanations went, that was pretty weak, and I was not surprised to see my fellow passengers staring at me in open disbelief. It wasn’t like FEMA—or the UK equivalent—had been called in. No tidal wave had taken out Orkney. The earth had not swallowed John o’Groats. The Crown Jewels were still sitting in the tower. The Sword was still in the Stone. There was nary a national disaster in sight, and we all knew it.

Wait till they found out the Rices and Scherfs were also MIA.

“Insurance emergency? Why on earth wouldn’t he let me know?” Alison protested.

I shook my head. “I don’t have all the details. He must have let someone know because of flight plans being filed and so forth. Right? It was really last minute.” I thrust a coffee cup beneath the silver urn’s spigot and let the magical elixir flow.

Behind me, I could hear murmurs of surprise and mutters of disapproval. I pretended to be deaf.

Happily, they had not heard of the low carb diet in Bonnie Scotland. Along with the usual porridge, puddings and meats, there was a selection of baked goods that would have done the Great British Bake Off crew proud. I took a little of everything, although I wasn’t particularly hungry.

I sat down at the table across from the Poe sisters, who eyed me skeptically.

“We’re leaving in five minutes,” Yvonne informed me.

I nodded and shoved half a scone in my mouth. Almond with a hint of cinnamon. The Poes giggled and reached in tandem for their teacups.

“At least we have Sally and Rose back,” Laurel said cheerfully.

I could feel someone watching me. I glanced over and Trevor was staring. He mouthed, He’s gone? Like we hadn’t already established that?

John was gone, so why the hell I found it so annoying—or maybe it was Trevor’s excitement at the news—I wasn’t sure.

So’s my kilt, I mouthed back.

Trevor blinked.

“Does Vanessa come on the island tour?” Nedda asked.

Alison gave a little laugh. “No, no. Vanessa will join us this evening again. She works during the day.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Yvonne said. Daya gave one of her disapproving sniffs but left it at that.

“Will we be able to get our books signed tonight?” Bertie asked.

“Yes, I think so.” Alison glanced at her watch. “Well, I guess if that’s all of us, we should be starting out.”

“What about the Scherfs?” Sally helped herself to a golden glob of marmalade.

“The Scherfs and the Rices told me last night they planned on hiking the interior of the island and taking photos today. Carter, you can take your scone on the bus, if you’d like.”

I shoved in the rest of the scone, washed it down. “Nope. I’m good.” I took a final mouthful of coffee and rose with the others.

*

Later, I wished I could remember more about our trip around the island.

As it was, it felt like trying to remember the details of the last day of sunshine before the hurricane struck. It was a beautiful day, the weather was mild, the blue skies streaked with long, thready clouds that looked like lamb’s wool.

The bus wound its way up and down narrow roads, past fields of golden bracken and around bronze-green hills splotched with purple heather. We trundled our way across the interior of the island, spotting deer and the crumbled ruins of stone crofts along the way.

The highlight of the tour was supposed to be the salmon farm on the other side of the island.

In all honesty, that was way more about salmon than I had ever wanted to know. We learned that “aquaculture,” or farmed fish, now produced fifty percent of the world’s fish. We learned the sea louse had decimated over half the farmed salmon population in Scotland, threatening a multibillion-dollar global economy. We learned that most salmon farms relied heavily, dangerously on chemicals, that waste was out of control, and that the big industrial farms were quickly depleting the world’s natural fish population.