Murder Takes the High Road(9)
“Ah.”
The line shuffled forward and we picked up plates and cutlery. Behind glass, the breakfast selections looked pretty much like the breakfast selection at home barring bacon that looked like smoked ham, fat, juicy gray sausages that seemed vaguely indecent sprawled on a breakfast plate, and black hockey pucks that were labeled “puddings,” no doubt as a practical joke on tourists.
I filled my plate and wandered toward the dining area. Edie and Bertie, the twins from Michigan, and the elderly, elegant Rose waved me over to their table.
We got the pressing business of my new roommate out of the way—I had to confess I hadn’t noticed if he was wearing a wedding ring and had failed to ascertain his availability status—and then Rose whispered, “Did you hear there was a death on the last tour?”
I gave up trying to cut my crispy pudding in half and looked at her. “Huh?”
Edie and Bertie seemed equally startled at this turn of conversation.
Rose nodded gravely. She threw an uneasy look over her shoulder in the direction of Alison and Hamish in line for the buffet. Alison was blithely chatting away to Hamish, who was peering suspiciously through the counter glass. “I overheard them talking about it last night.”
“You mean like a heart attack or something?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Edie and Bertie asked in unison, “What then?”
“I don’t know. At least... I’m not sure.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Well, it was probably natural causes, whatever it was.” There were a lot of older people on this tour. I was pushing forty and I was likely the youngest person on board. Or maybe John was younger than me. Not by much though. Anyway, it stood to reason that now and again a vacationing oldster might end up with a one-way ticket to that big resort in the sky.
The other three gave me a look of impatient disgust.
“No!” Rose said. “I think it was something more.”
She straightened up abruptly as Alison and Hamish walked past with their laden plates and sat down a couple of tables away. Rose’s exaggerated air of innocence wouldn’t have fooled a baby, but beyond wishing us good morning, Alison and Hamish paid us no attention.
The sisters gave each other meaningful looks. Rose met my gaze and shook her head. Which I guess was supposed to be a warning not to pursue the topic.
We were a bunch of mystery fans on a tour celebrating fictional murder in all its gory detail, so I guess it was natural enough that we—they—might be more prone to jump to criminal conclusions than your average tourist.
Rose was certainly enjoying herself. There was a sparkle in her eye and a flush in her cheeks that I hadn’t noticed last night. In fact, she kind of looked like someone in love.
In love with the idea of murder?
Well, that was all of us, right?
Edie, Bertie and Rose finished eating and left to get a good seat on the bus. I enjoyed another cup of coffee and finished my meal at a more leisurely pace, glancing through the newspaper an earlier diner had left at the neighboring table.
There were the usual sports and political updates—the teams and names largely unfamiliar—national lottery results, the foiled attempted snatching of a schoolgirl, a false alarm at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, and the hit-and-run death of a travel agent the previous afternoon.
Given the number of times Alison’s breakfast had been interrupted by members of our party, I found myself wondering if that travel agent had voluntarily jumped into the road. I bet it was even odds.
I folded the paper, left it to alarm the next tourist, and headed out to the bus.
The rain of the night before had stopped. The sky was blue, the sun shone brightly, glittering in the giant oily puddles dotting the parking area. The scent of jet fuel and cooked food drifted on the breeze. The roar of planes taking off from the airport competed with traffic from the M8 motorway.
I meandered over to the long silver-and-black bus, which was open and more than half full, as I discovered when I climbed aboard.
“Sixteen,” Yvonne informed me from the first seat on the left.
“What was that?”
“You’re the sixteenth member to board. I hope we’re not going to be late departing. It’s a very long drive today.”
Ben, seated next to her, offered an apologetic smile.
I smiled back and kept moving down the aisle.
Trevor was prone to car sickness, so I knew he’d be sitting up front. I chose a seat midway down the row and made myself comfortable by the window.
Around me, everyone was settling in. Stowing water bottles, arranging neck pillows, checking cameras and cell phones. The Scherfs and Rices spoke quietly while they studied a map.
“Good morning,” I said.
Gerda glanced up, smiled distractedly, went back to perusing the map.
I opened my guidebook, but the warmth of the sun through the window was so soothing that I settled for watching the planes land and take off from the airport next door.
“Seventeen, eighteen,” Yvonne announced as Trevor and Vance boarded.
They were smirking and smiling at each other, making a big production of choosing their seat. Finally, they settled right behind Yvonne and Ben, and spent the next few minutes fussing with each other’s collars and scarves, and taking turns giggling at under-breath comments. I knew they weren’t behaving like adolescents just to annoy me, but annoy me it did. Which was all on me. If I couldn’t stand to watch them together, I shouldn’t have come.