checked his watch. “We’re not expected at our luncheon venue for another hour, so we’re going to have to—”
“So let’s arrive early and surprise ’em,” encouraged Dick Stolee. “All those in favor say, ‘Aye.’”
“AYE!”
“Stoppit!” Osmond leaped out of his seat, arms flailing and fists clenched. “Dick Stolee is not qualified to conduct a vote.”
Alice grabbed his jacket and yanked him back down beside her. “Save your breath. It’s because of this whole Internet blogging thing. Everyone thinks he’s an expert now.”
Deciding that traveling to our next venue might be less risky than having our tires sink into the mud in the parking lot, Wally gave John the nod to head out. Unfortunately, with road conditions reducing our speed to a crawl, we arrived not an hour early, but ten minutes late, which caused major panic and a mad scramble for the exit doors.
“You don’t have to rush!” Wally assured them as they muscled past him into the rain.
I let out an amused snort. Good luck with that.
The building everyone was escaping into was a one-story struc-
ture perched on a hillock overlooking the storm-battered waters of the Scapa Flow. It was neither commercial restaurant nor fast food joint, but rather a community gathering space for locals whose villages weren’t large enough to warrant restaurants or fast food. Luncheon fare for tour busses was prepared by members of a ladies guild, in their own kitchens, so we’d be treated to some tasty examples of local, homemade cuisine, at a cost of only five pounds per person. But even more exciting than that for our female guests, the ladies washroom was a ten-seater!
I followed behind Erik and Alex as they tramped through the entrance, sticking with them as they entered the dining room. The tables had filled up quickly, but there were three empty seats at a long table against the back wall, so we grabbed them, sharing dining space with Tilly, Lucille, Margi, George, and Cameron.
“It’s a fixed meal, so there’s no menu,” I said as I shrugged out of my wet raincoat and hung it on the back of my chair. I nodded at a platter of finger sandwiches in the center of the table. “Appetizers, I presume. Shall we start passing them around?” I scrubbed my hands in anticipation, wondering what exotic fillings we’d be sinking our teeth into. Wild Atlantic salmon with cucumbers and boursin? Oyster pâté with pecans and cream cheese?
Margi peeled back the plastic wrap, stacked a couple of sandwiches on her plate, and passed the dish to her left. Lifting up the corner of her bread to peek inside, she smiled. “Oh, goody! My favorite. Peanut butter.”
What?
“Egg salad,” said George as he inspected his selection.
Cameron chuckled. “American cheese … with butter.”
No, no. This couldn’t be right. Where was the salmon? The oysters? “Just a few mundane trifles to whet your appetite,” I assured them. “The main course should be along presently.” But it was definitely a little odd that the wait staff hadn’t arrived yet to take our drink orders.
“Would someone hand me the water pitcher?” asked Erik.
Cameron passed it across the table. “So when did you retire from the kickboxing circuit? I was telling Emily I saw you fight years ago in Vegas—the year you took home all the marbles. I knew you looked familiar, but it took me awhile to place you. What year was it that you won the championship?”
Erik froze mid-motion, his hand hovering above his water glass as if it were being held in prolonged suspension by a master puppeteer.
“Kickboxing champion?” Alex guffawed. He arched a questioning eyebrow at his partner. “Have you been holding out on me? Shame on you. Frolicking in Vegas and not bothering to invite me along?”
“Oh, right.” Erik threw Cameron a dismissive look as he remem-bered to pour his water. “Wasn’t me, bro. Musta been someone wearing my face. What’s that really long German word for it?”
“I thought all German words were really long,” puzzled Margi.
“You’re referring to the term doppelganger,” said Tilly. “A word in our modern lexicon that has come to mean ‘a look-alike.’”
“It was no look-alike,” Cameron insisted. “It was you. Fast Freddie Torres? Sound familiar?”
Erik took a long swig of water. “Nope.”
Cameron laughed. “Why are you running away from it, dude? If I’d rung up as many wins as you, I’d put it out there for everyone to ooh and ahh over. Say, what’d you do with that last championship belt you won? You can’t wear something like that to hold up