situation like this before?”
“He’s probably—”
“And if the three of us decide to give Isobel a slap on the wrist, what kind of slap can we give legally? Could she sue us?”
“Emily—”
“Oh, my God! What if she makes things so difficult for us that this turns out to be the last trip ever for Destinations Travel? Could she do that?” I stared at him in the dark, my mind spinning like a whirl-a-gig.
“I suspect you might be blowing this a bit out of propor—”
“And what about Dad? What in the world did he see? He obviously saw something because he was more upset than I’ve ever—Oof.”
I expelled a breath as Etienne pressed me down into the bed, his mouth a hair’s breadth above mine, his heart pounding against my rib cage. “Emily, darling,” he rasped, “you talk too much.” He drew my lip into his mouth, then with seductive slowness, worked his way down from there.
_____
The phone woke us from a dead sleep just before dawn. Etienne caught it on the first ring.
“Miceli.”
I jackknifed to a sitting position as my stomach launched itself into my windpipe. Etienne listened intently, saying nothing for at least half a minute, while I worried the corner of my mouth.
“Thanks for the call. We’ll be right there.”
I winced, bracing myself for the worst. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “That was Wally. We no longer have to fear being sued by Isobel Kronk. She’s dead.”
SEVEN
IT HADN’T BEEN AN easy death.
Isobel lay face up on her bed, pajamas twisted around her body in a tortuous mess, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands clutched around her throat, head thrown back as if her last earthly act had been a desperate gasp for air, mouth contorted, hair wrapped like a scarf around her throat, bedcovers ripped from their moorings. I saw no weapon, no wounds, no blood. I couldn’t guess what had killed Isobel Kronk, but whatever the cause, it happened while she was alone in her bed.
Etienne sprang into police inspector mode almost immediately, while I sank down on the luggage bench to stop my knees from wobbling. I’d seen my share of death, but Isobel’s struck me as oddly poignant. She’d acted so coarse and rough-edged. Who knew she’d be the type to wear satin pajamas emblazoned with kitties in tutus? Monster trucks, maybe. But kittens in toe shoes? She’d probably bought them especially for the trip, and now she’d never get to wear them again.
Kitty pajamas. They were almost enough to make you forget that she’d stolen the cache, thrown the contest into disarray, and tried to ruin everyone’s chances at winning the prize.
Inexplicably, kitty pajamas almost made her seem likeable.
“I’ve never had a guest ta die in my hotel before,” said Morna Dalrymple in a strained voice. “It’s very upsetting.”
The owner of the Crannach Arms Hotel sat arrow straight in
the room’s only armchair, her gaze averted from the bed, her hands clasped in an obvious attempt to prevent them from trembling. Wally sat perched on an ottoman beside her, offering moral support, while Etienne lingered by the dresser, doing his best to establish a timeline. “I apologize for the questions,” he said in an even tone. “I know it’s not the way you’d hoped to begin your day, but I suspect the emergency services people will appreciate any information we can give them when they arrive.”
“Seventy-six years on this earth, and I’ve never begun a day in such a manner.”
For a woman of her age, Morna Dalrymple looked as ethereal as a woodland fairy, with silver hair hanging in a braid to her waist, a sharp, upturned nose, oddly pointed ears, and a complexion so milk-bottle white, she would have made Count Dracula look tan in comparison. Her face was remarkable in that she sported neither crow’s-feet nor laugh lines, which I suspected meant one of two things: either botox was the number one beauty treatment in Scotland, or she’d somehow managed to live for seventy-six years without ever having to squint or smile.
“Would a glass of water help?” Etienne inquired.
“A shot of whiskey would help, Mr. Miceli, but I’ll not trouble ye ta fetch it fer me.” She inhaled a deep, calming breath. “Go on now with whit ye were asking.”
“You indicated Ms. Kronk called down to the front desk.”
“She did. About twenty minutes ago. But the lad on duty couldn’t make out whit she was saying fer all her coughing and wheezing, so he left the desk ta run up the two flights