his jaw for a long moment, his gaze drifting over the two-dozen guests crammed into the room. “I’ve no bone ta pick with any of ye. I’m not investigating any of ye. If the medical examiner says Ms. Pinker died from something suspicious, then we’ll hae reason ta talk. But until then, I’ve no authority to slap irons on any of ye fer taking a stroll along the river.”
“Do tourists often drop dead in the streets of Wick for no apparent reason?” Tilly asked him.
“Healthy people don’t usually collapse on the pavement and die,” Bean replied in a tight voice. “I expect the medical examiner will back that up with his report, unless he discovers that the lady died from something that … defies explanation.”
“Like what?” Dick Teig called out.
Bean shuffled his feet. His voice grew strained. “I prefer ta leave that ta the experts.”
Holy crap! I stared at him, bug-eyed. Was he hinting that Dolly might have died because of the curse? No twenty-first-century law officer could believe that, could he?
Cameron let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m happy you consider this an open and shut case, Officer. Two people on my team have died in two days. Can you actually stand there and tell me you think it’s mere coincidence?”
“Yah,” Lucille spoke up. “There’s only three of us left.” She pointed her finger at Bernice, Cameron, and herself. “One. Two. Three.”
“Two of you left,” Bernice said as she broke away from her teammates. “I quit.”
“WHAT?” The word shot out of Lucille’s and Cameron’s mouths at the same time.
“You heard me.” She folded her arms across her chest and plunked down onto the fireplace ledge. “Winning a free trip won’t do me any good if I’m too dead to enjoy it.”
“You can’t quit the team,” fretted Lucille.
“Oh, yah? Watch me.”
“But what about Cameron and me? You’re ruining our chances! How are we supposed to play the game with only two of us?”
Bernice fluttered her hands in the air as if washing them of the whole affair. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Cameron groaned. “C’mon, Bernice. You can’t give up. The team needs you.”
“Tough. I’m abandoning ship.”
“Just like a rat,” sneered Lucille.
“Sticks and stones,” hissed Bernice.
“Spoilsport,” Lucille hissed back.
Bernice rocketed to her feet, spittle flying from her mouth. “You people are such morons! Wake up and smell the coffee. Don’t you ever watch horror movies? Why do you think the members of Team Five are dropping like flies?”
Blank looks flew around the room. Margi raised her hand. “This is just hypothetical, but will our answers be counted if we don’t watch horror movies?”
“It’s because Team Five is cursed,” yelled Bernice.
My mouth fell open. She couldn’t know about the curse. No way. It had to be a lucky guess.
Gasps. Wheezing. Shock.
“That’s just plain stupid,” snorted George. “There’s no such thing as a curse.”
“What if it’s voodoo?” said Grace.
“Is voodoo the one where you stick needles into things?” asked Margi. “Or is that pin the tail on the donkey?”
“Curses are more common in the British Isles than voodoo,” Tilly informed us.
“I think all forms of cursing should be outlawed,” declared Alice.
“Forgive the interruption,” Officer Bean cut in, “but I hae a mountain of reports ta fill out back at my office, so I’d like ta ask Mrs. Miceli’s grandmother a few questions before I’m on my way. Mrs. Maccoull, is it?”
“Mrs. who?” asked Dick Teig.
Bean paused. “Is Maccoull the wrong name?”
I felt my knees come slightly unhinged as I watched Bill Gordon’s expression shift from bored, to roused, to feral. Unh-oh. This wasn’t good.
“Maccoull?” echoed Bill Gordon in a booming voice. “There’s a Maccoull among us?”
“She’s not a Maccoull,” I leaped in. “She’s a Sippel. Mrs. Samuel Sippel. And she was probably adopted, so the family history doesn’t really apply to her.”
“SHE’S A MACCOULL?” Bill roared.
I heard footsteps suddenly pounding down the ground floor corridor. Mom raced helter-skelter into the lobby, gasping for breath, looking like an early explorer in search of a civilization. “I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting. I completely lost track of time. Have they rung the dinner gong yet?”
“Any minute now,” said Dick Stolee.
Since we had forty-five minutes before dinner, I figured he was using the new math.
“Do you want to know what happened to Dolly Pinker?” Bill called out to Officer Bean. “I’ll tell you what happened.” He stabbed an accusatory finger at Nana. “That woman killed her.”
Nana pivoted her head left and right before realizing Bill was aiming his finger at her. “I killed her?” She blinked