written invitation?”
I ascended the stairs and looked far down the aisle to where Erik and Alex were sitting. I nodded the usual pleasantries as I passed by, then staked out the seat directly behind them. The seat backs were pretty low on this vehicle, more like a city bus than a touring coach, so I was in a great position for spying. The guys wouldn’t be able to blink at each other without my seeing them. They didn’t know it yet, but I was going to be on them today like bark on a tree.
I just wished Nana and Etienne weren’t stuck in Wick.
I was suddenly feeling very alone.
“The quicker you take your seats and get settled, the quicker we can leave,” Wally called out from the front.
Once settled, I pulled out my cell phone and held my breath as I checked the signal. It was on! Not trusting it to remain on, I typed a message to Etienne as fast as my thumbs would fly. “Need verification. Imperative u check background of Erik and Alex. Pleez hurry.” I hit the send button.
The Iowa contingent must have noticed the signal was up, too, because the bus was suddenly filled with the familiar dinging sounds of text messages landing in phone inboxes.
Ding! From the front of the bus. Ding! From the rear of the bus. Ding! Ding! Ding!
Erik shifted in his seat to address me over his shoulder. “I hate to complain, Emily, but I really think you should outlaw cell phone use on the bus. It’s not so bad outside, but on the bus, it’s so annoying. It diminishes the impact of the whole tour experience. It doesn’t even seem as if we’re in Orkney anymore.” A scowl settled on his handsome face. “It feels more like the men’s room at Port Authority.”
Alex tsked disapproval as the dings continued. “I agree.” He pivoted around to look me straight in the eye. “Even if the messages are critically important, what can anyone do about anything from here?” His gaze dropped to the cell phone in the palm of my hand.
I forced a half-smile as I held it up like a booby prize in a spelling contest. “That’s the beauty of owning a cheap model,” I lied. “Their range is so limited, you can’t actually use them.” I slid it back into my pocket.
“Forget your cell phone, muffin,” chided Alex. “What about your raincoat? You’re never going to get that blood out if you don’t treat it immediately.” He fumbled about in the vicinity of his lap, where his sporran was resting. “I remembered to bring my stain removal pen today.” He lobbed it at me over the seat back. “But, if we’re dealing with dry clean only, don’t even bother to open the cap because you’ll have a major disaster on your hands.”
“Actually, it’s wash and wear.”
“Hallelujah. Do you have water?”
I pulled a bottle out of my shoulder bag.
“And a cotton handkerchief ?”
“I have a packet of tissues.”
“That won’t do at all.” He thwacked Erik’s forearm. “Give Emily your handkerchief.”
“What if I need it?”
“Don’t be a putz. When’s the last time you had to blow your nose?”
“I—”
“Never,” Alex scolded. “I don’t even know why you bother to carry one. Hand it over.”
“Why don’t you give her yours?”
“Because, dear heart, I’ve already used it.”
“This is very generous of you,” I said as Erik sailed the perfectly folded square in my direction. These guys were so genuinely nice sometimes that it was hard for me to believe they were hardened killers, but I realized that “nice” wasn’t who they really were; it was only who they were pretending to be.
“Quick like a bunny now,” instructed Alex. “Dab, dab, dab. Scribble, scribble, scribble. Then blot. Trust me. I’ve had a lot of experience removing bloodstains.”
My hand froze on the cap of the pen.
“His father was a butcher,” Erik piped up, giving him the eye.
Sure he was.
Wally’s breath hissed through the mike as he drew our attention to the front of the bus. “Before we take off, I want to introduce you to our coach driver. He’s a local lad who’s been conducting tours through Orkney for a few decades now. Would you care to tell us just how many years, John?”
I boosted myself higher in my seat, my eyes widening as I caught sight of the shriveled skeleton of a man who was standing beside Wally. Uff-da. We’d hired the Crypt-Keeper as our local guide.
The old guy crushed his slouch cap to his chest