Murder Takes the High Road(7)

“And what an ending,” I said, watching him closely.

John didn’t bat an eye. “It blew me away.”

“The fact that she even went there.”

“It stayed with me for days.”

Hmm. Had he actually read the book? But why say it was his favorite, if he hadn’t? Why not pick one of the MacKinnons?

I ventured, “She wouldn’t have risked trying to pull off such an ambiguous ending in one of the MacKinnon novels.”

John looked regretful. “I’m not really up on the MacKinnons.”

“Oh?”

Okay. That was unusual. But possible. Not everyone loved series books. It was possible some readers only knew Vanessa through her standalones. I’d never met one yet, but they had to be out there.

And, after all, why would John admit to not reading the MacKinnons, but fudge about his favorite standalone? That wasn’t logical.

He gave a sudden huge yawn. “I’m beat,” he said, meeting my eyes with the guileless direct stare you get from patrons who are going to try to argue their way out of paying their overdue fines. “I’m going to turn in now. But if you want to read or watch TV, go ahead.”

“It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. I should probably sleep too.” I sat up and snapped off the lamp on the table between our beds.

John flicked off the wall switch. His pale outline crossed the floor and climbed into his own narrow bunk.

“Goodnight,” I said.

“’Night.” The bed frame squeaked as he rolled onto his side, offering a broad pajama-clad back.

I studied the outline of him in the gloom, thinking. Was it possible John hadn’t actually read any of Vanessa’s work?

No.

The whole tour was tailored to fans of Vanessa’s work. It was too expensive and too idiosyncratic for the ordinary celtophile. He had to be a fan. Well, not just a fan. A super fan. A fanatic. An ordinary fan did not pay gobs of money and travel the ocean to meet any old author. The shelling out of airfare was the gesture of the truly devoted.

After a few puzzled moments, I lost interest in John and his reading habits and returned to worrying over the problem of Trevor.

I realized that I’d been foolish not to anticipate how unpleasant this trip might be, given the current situation between us. The problem was, I’d never really thought much about the tour. My focus had been on thwarting Trevor by using my ticket. I had looked forward to how irritated he’d be by my presence. And he was. He was every bit as pissed off as I’d imagined. Mission accomplished.

And now I had ten days of Trevor being pissed off to look forward to. Which...

I sighed.

“Did you say something?” John asked politely.

“Me? No.”

Silence.

I considered the wide-awake and listening stillness of a guy I did not know from Adam, and decided it was the darkness and the fact that we were in bed that made it uncomfortable. Again, I was reminded of college dorm life.

Once you reached a certain age—no, it wasn’t an age thing. It was the fact that I had been for all intents and purposes married for three years. When I woke up in the night, I still expected to find Trevor there. Except that wasn’t correct either. Trevor was the default, but nowadays I didn’t expect to find anyone there.

And wouldn’t for the foreseeable future.

Even as I told myself this, I felt my heart deflate. The foreseeable future was a long time, and the fact of the matter was, I had liked being one half of a couple.

I liked sharing my life with someone. I liked the comfort and joy of a steady relationship. I liked having someone to celebrate the good times with—and someone to turn to when the times weren’t so good. I liked security. I liked having regular sex with someone I trusted. Ha. More fool me. But partnership was more than sex and security. It was companionship too. I liked having someone to share my favorite books and films with. I liked cooking meals together and spending Sunday mornings having breakfast in bed. As much as I liked my book clubs and my film club and my cooking classes, as much as I enjoyed Sunday brunch with friends...it just wasn’t the same.

Not that it had been perfect with Trevor. When I was feeling lonely—and there was nothing like trying to fall asleep next to a complete stranger to make you feel lonely—I tended to view those years in a warm nostalgic glow, as if lit by the candlelight of a romantic dinner. The truth was, Trevor had driven me crazy a lot of the time. I used to wish he had a little more sense of humor, that he’d occasionally bother to hide the fact that my friends and family bored him, that he’d take on some of the responsibility of cohabitation—or just pay a utility bill on time for once.

Anyway. It was dead and done—and I’d already conducted the postmortem and filed my report.

Which didn’t change the fact that the next few days were going to be awkward. Awkward at best. Painful, was more like it. Trevor was not what anyone would call a good sport. He was going to do his best to make sure I regretted thwarting his wishes. The fact that I already regretted it wouldn’t make any difference.

Either way, the trip was paid for. No refund was possible. The options were two: I could spend the next few days coping with life on the road waiting for whatever revenge Trevor might come up with, or I could cut my losses, fly home and spend my vacation enjoying my books and garden—which was how I usually spent my vacations.