behind her and busy herself with extraneous pieces of paper. But she wasn't so busy that she failed to toss me a grateful look over her shoulder. I smiled inwardly. I'd consider that my good deed for the day.
"We had a lovely evening," I fired back at Ashley. "It was especially exciting after the power went out."
"I'm sure it was." Ashley faked a honeyed smile. "Lots of heavy breathing was there?"
"Lots of...bubbly."
"Champagne? Y'all were able to order champagne? I tried to order champagne, and they told me they didn't have any."
"Maybe it's your accent. I bet they couldn't understand you. You should try again."
She squinted at me like a clueless Neanderthal before trying to gain the advantage. "Not to rain on your parade, Emily, but if you can't control your people any better than you did this morning, I might have to write you up. And you really don't want that to happen. It could ruin your career as a tour escort."
She...I...Uff da! "My people wouldn't be out of control if someone could explain why two people died in the last two days. When they think they might be next in line, they panic!"
"Nonetheless, I don't expect them to start food fights. If there are cleanup costs, you're footin' the bill."
I drilled her with one of Nana's patented steely-eyed looks. "Lest it escape your notice, you're not the only one around here who can complain about the people in charge, or ruin careers."
She propped herself up higher on her crutches, oozing confidence. "Try it, sugar," she challenged, "but I mean to tell you, that dog don't hunt."
"Oh, yeah?" Hunh. She wasn't the only one who could throw around trite catchphrases. "Well, the pen is mightier than the sword."
She smiled a saccharine smile. "My daddy owns the company."
Yup. That explained a lot of things.
Fuming about the unfairness of nepotism, I returned to my room and was about to unlock my door when I noticed Ira Kuppelman and Michael Malooley engaged in quiet discussion in the shadows at the end of the hall. Now that was odd. What would a man whose wife was related to Oliver Cromwell have in common with a man who professed unmitigated hatred of Oliver Cromwell?
Ira handed Michael a sheet of white paper that Michael initially rejected, then stuck in his shirt pocket begrudgingly, shaking his head all the while. What had Ira asked him to do? And why was Michael saying "No," then changing his tune and nodding yes? Strange bedfellows, Ira and Michael. Had I paired up the wrong people? Was Michael doing Ira's bidding instead of Ethel's? But why would Ira want to frighten anyone to death? What was in it for him? What was his motivation? And then it hit me. The oldest motivation in the world. Uh-oh. I didn't like the looks of this. I opened my door with the sudden fear that if we discovered body number three today, it might belong to Gladys Kuppelman.
Chapter 12
As we pulled into the parking lot of the Giant's Causeway on the North Antrim coast, Ashley threw a few details at us in a voice that could melt butter. "Some folks call this site the eighth wonder of the world, and after y'all see it, you'll know why. What y'all are about to see is a geologic puzzle."
The word geologic caught my attention as I sat catnap-ping beside Bernice. Wow. A four-syllable word. She was pulling out all the stops this morning.
"The site consists of about thirty-seven thousand columns made of a volcanic rock called basalt. They start at the base of the cliff and descend like stepping-stones into the sea. Some of the columns stand forty feet high, and what y'all will notice is that they're mostly shaped like perfect hexagons. Not all, mind you. You'll see some columns with four, five, eight, or ten sides, but the regularity of the six-sided ones have geologists baffled. I guess it's unusual for nature to be that consistent, especially when you consider there are no two snowflakes that are alike."
"What does she know about snowflakes?" Bernice muttered. "Listen to that accent. She's probably never even seen snow."
Bernice was in a particularly sour mood this morning. I figured it had something to do with the Grape-Nuts she'd inhaled up her nose in the food fight. "That's a really attractive turban you're wearing, Bernice. Magenta is a good color on you."
"It's not mine. It belongs to Alice Tjarks."
"Well, that was nice of her to lend it to you.