seat behind me, “so I think you should award us more search time in order to compensate for our devastating loss of manpower.”
I bent my head toward Etienne and rolled my eyes. Classic Bernice. Yesterday, she was screaming for a member to be cut loose from her team; today, she was demanding favored status because of it.
“I don’t really think Team Five requires extra time,” Cameron Dasher called out from across the aisle. “We might be down a teammate, but I think our four remaining team members are pretty formidable. We’re ready to go toe-to-toe with anyone, without special favors. Right, team?”
“Yes. We. Can!” chanted Dolly Pinker from the front of the bus.
“Yes. We. Can!” Lucille chimed in from behind me.
Cameron turned around in his seat. “Bernice? What do you say? Are you with us?”
She grumbled something under her breath. “Yes we can,” she muttered in a stubborn, tight-lipped monotone.
“Okay, then.” Wally nodded his thanks toward Cameron. “That’s settled. We’ll be here for two and a half hours, which should give you plenty of time to complete your challenge and explore the castle grounds. I know geocaching isn’t supposed to take place on sites that charge admission, but everyone is making a special exception for Urquhart. The National Trust is happy for increased attendance to help defray the cost of the new visitor center, and geocachers seem thrilled with the physical layout of the search area, so it’s a win-win situation. Mrs. Andrew will give each team its GPS coordinates on the veranda overlooking the grounds, so as soon as Team Four works their way through the building, we can begin. Good luck, everyone.”
Amid excited chatter and foot shuffling, people flooded the aisles en masse, kind of like a herd of camels trying to crowd into a pup tent at the same time. Helen and Grace, gung ho in their matching Scottie dog sweatshirts, were first down the rear stairs, followed by Lucille Rassmuson, who’d gotten into the whole team identity thing by crossing out the slogan, “Iowa: It’s Easy to Spell” on her sweatshirt, and writing below it in permanent black marker: “Teem Yes We Can.”
“Do you suppose Mrs. Rassmuson realizes she spelled ‘Team’ incorrectly on her shirt?” Etienne asked me as we waited for the aisle to clear.
“Yeah, she knows. And she’s learned a valuable lesson.”
He grinned. “What? There’s still a niche market for liquid white-out?”
I grinned back. “Water-based markers are much more forgiving.”
We exited the bus at the back of the pack and followed the group across the lot and down a flight of stairs, to a low circular building that could have doubled as a World War II artillery bunker. “This is the visitor center?”
I gaped at the structure, which covered an area only slightly larger than a child’s wading pool. Were they kidding? How could a building this small possibly have enough restroom stalls to accommodate a busload full of seniors with internal plumbing issues?
“It’s the entrance, bella, like the conning tower on a submarine. There’s a lift inside that’ll take us down to the main floor.”
I eyed him curiously. “You never mentioned you’d been here before.”
“I haven’t.” He flashed a sexy grin that showed off his dimples. “I Googled it.”
The main floor was a sleek blend of pale wood and glass, with circular columns supporting the ceiling, and recessed pot lights that slanted illumination downward like laser beams. I watched the group scatter in four different directions while Etienne detached his phone from its holster, looking as if he wished it would ring.
“Important call on the docket?”
“Medical examiner. He said he’d keep me apprised of his findings, but I’m probably being too optimistic to think he’d have enough results to call me back this quickly. I’ll just have to stay busy to keep my mind off it.”
Which, I’d come to discover, was the workaholic’s solution for everything. “I know something that’ll keep you busy.” Leaning in to him, I lowered my voice to a seductive whisper. “At least … it’ll keep your hands busy.”
He bobbled his phone as if his fingers had suddenly gone numb. Finding his grip again, he secured the device back in its holster and asked out of the side of his mouth, “What did you have in mind?”
I nodded toward the opposite end of the room. “Margi looks as if she needs someone to take her picture. Would you do the honors? You’ll probably make her day.”
“Very clever, Mrs. Miceli.” He smiled sardonically. “I’ll get you for that.”
I gave him