Murder Takes the High Road(68)
He had it right the first time. He loved his old life more. Trevor was all about comfort and convenience, and while I’d had my drawbacks—clearly—it seemed I was the winner in the providing comfort and convenience sweepstakes.
And what was his plan anyway? That he would stay with Vance until the end of the tour? Or we would break the news to Vance before dinner and Vance could take over my dinner-for-one slot? Did he even have a plan? Or was I supposed to take care of the details—like I’d taken care of so many of the details in our relationship?
“Sorry,” I said. “Like I keep saying, I’ve moved on.”
“No, you haven’t. You wouldn’t have come on this trip if you’d moved on.”
Whatever he read in my face caused his eyes to narrow. His whole expression changed. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me—”
One thing about Trevor, he was very good at sussing out threats to his own interests. “It’s not Ben. No way. Are you telling me it’s that Knight guy? You said there was nothing between you.”
“I’m not telling you anything. Because it’s not your business.”
“He’s not even your type!”
What was my type supposed to be? The unemployed and unfaithful?
I opened my mouth to answer, but the others began to wave and call to us. “Yoo-hoo!” Laurel called. “Carter! Yoo-hoo!”
“Hey, you guys,” yelled Nedda. “We’re leaving!”
“Get your asses back here, you two!” shouted Sally.
My heart lightened. I recognized a rescue operation being launched, and was touched. I waved back.
Vance sat up and began looking around wildly.
Trevor swore. “We’ll finish this later.”
“It’s already finished,” I said, starting back the way we had come.
*
I remember even less about the trip back to Castle Dìomhair than the trip out. With the fickleness so characteristic of Scottish weather, clouds began to roll in from the Atlantic and the bright afternoon turned strange and silvery.
Wind shook the bus as we toddled back along the coast road. A few scattered raindrops fell and then, with the next curve of the road, the sun peeked out, only to fade away around the next bend. Lightning flickered in the distance. Sparkling flashes like a short in the solar system.
I was preoccupied by thoughts of John. Wondering if he had successfully caught up with his quarry. Wondering if he would call that night. Wondering if we would really get together once we were back in the States. Wondering what the chances were of a holiday romance turning into something more.
Alison broke out yet another bottle of whisky, and walked up and down the aisles dispensing tiny plastic cups and thimble-sized portions of booze. Even Yvonne broke down and had a couple of mouthfuls. Ben watched her gloomily. I surmised a tipsy Yvonne might be even harder to handle than a stone-cold sober Yvonne.
It was raining in earnest when we arrived back at the castle. The road turned dark in the rain. The broom growing along the side looked gold against the slate skies. The bus’s windshield wipers worked overtime, and the windows were a blur of rain and reflections. The reflections being mostly peering faces and plastic cups.
Elizabeth Ogilvie was waiting for us at the castle entrance, and it was immediately obvious something had happened. She looked white but stoic enough; her eyes were red as though she’d been crying.
She drew Alison and Hamish aside and they spoke quietly for a moment or two and then Alison cried, “No, that can’t be! It can’t be true. Elizabeth, are you sure?”
At that point, we all stopped walking and stared.
Elizabeth and Alison continued to speak, seeming no longer aware of us, as we crowded closer. Even Hamish looked stricken.
“It doesn’t seem possible,” Alison said. She wiped her face, and finally seemed to notice the rest of us waiting and watching. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
Elizabeth said something too softly to catch.
Alison assented, called, “Everyone. Please. Gather round. If I could have your attention for a moment.”
She already had our attention. You could feel the tension and dread in the room.
“I...” Alison faltered. Tried again. “I have something...bad news... I have to tell you that Vanessa is...gone.”
“Gone?” someone echoed. “Where did she go?”
“Dead,” Alison gulped.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Alison made an effort at composure. “It seems...apparently, Vanessa died during the night.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Now you’ve gone too far,” I said.
I hadn’t realized how angry I was until I heard my voice bouncing off the ancient stone floors and walls.
Alison blinked at me in confusion. The others simply stared.
“It was funny the first time. This isn’t funny. This is sick.”
Elizabeth Ogilvie said quietly, “It’s not part of the murder game, Mr. Matheson. Vanessa is dead.”
She was pretty convincing. That I couldn’t deny. But Alison had been convincing when she’d pretended Rose had died. Even Ms. Eccles had been reasonably convincing. So I didn’t buy it. It was too much.
“Really? Then I want to see the body.”
A few of my fellow travelers supported me with uneasy murmurs. A few of my fellow travelers eyed me in alarm.