Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,25
his cheeks.
“Eejits!” yelled another, hands clapped to his head.
“Bawheids,” wailed a third as he danced around the mess.
Nana whipped her cell phone out of her pocket, snapped a picture, and began texting.
“Please tell me you’re not planning to post that online,” I cautioned her.
“Nope.” She pressed Send. “I’m givin’ George a head’s up that supper’s gonna be late.”
“There are no dibs on tables!” Wally announced as he marched the group back into the dining room under what looked like obvious protest. “Sit wherever there’s an empty chair. If it’s not where you were sitting before, enjoy the change of venue.”
“It’s not completely dark yet,” sniped Bill Gordon. “We could have stayed out there a few more minutes.”
“You all saw what happened.” Wally stepped aside to allow the crowd to pass. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Only for people who are too dumb to watch where they’re going,” taunted Bernice.
“Something happened?” I repeated as people streamed by me.
“Where’s the guy who saw Nessie?” asked Erik Ishmael. “Hey, bud,” he called out when he spied Dad. “Did you get her? Did you really get her?”
“You bet he did,” Mom answered proudly. “We’re going to post it on YouTube after dinner.”
“Bob’s going to be famous,” predicted Alice Tjarks.
“Not if the rest of us take better pictures tomorrow,” Isobel Kronk shot back as she passed by our table. “How do we know if his images are any good? Maybe they’re too dark, or too grainy.”
“Or too invisible,” offered Nana.
“Cameron?” shouted Dolly Pinker. “Where’s Cameron? Can you remember where we were sitting?”
“Find a table that’ll accommodate all of our team,” he instructed. “We need to mend fences and regroup. Again.”
Dick Stolee stopped suddenly to regard the mayhem near the kitchen. “Tell me that’s not our dinner.”
A round of spontaneous applause broke out as Etienne entered the room, escorting a waterlogged Dick Teig, whose shoes were squishing like wet whoopee cushions. His left hand clung to the life buoy that circled his neck in dog collar fashion. His right still clutched his cell phone, which he raised above his head in triumph. “I’d like to thank arthritis-strength ibuprofen for helping me to keep my phone dry.” He beamed at his audience, water streaming down his face in rivulets. “I never even came close to losing my grip. Is that stuff effective, or what?”
My mouth came unhinged, falling to my chest. “That’s amazing,” I marveled as I gaped at him.
“Helen signed him up for that new Treadin’ Water for Dummies course at the Senior Center,” confided Nana. “Probably saved his life.”
“I’m talking about the life preserver.” I gawked at the ring buoy circling his neck. “How’d he ever fit it over his head?”
_____
“She absconded with the wrong container?” Etienne couldn’t disguise the amusement in his voice.
“It’s not funny!” I slid my toes down the long, bare sinews of his leg, tickling the downy hairs of his shin. “The other guests are very upset. They’re demanding Isobel’s ejection from the team, the team’s ejection from the contest, and Isobel’s head on a platter. When we wake up in the morning, we could be facing a full-fledged rebellion.” I snuggled against his flank, burrowing my head into his naked shoulder. “Whose idea was this contest anyway?”
The kitchen staff had taken so long preparing backup meals after the tray fiasco that by the time we finished dessert and coffee, people were already nodding off, including Wally. So we arranged to meet him before breakfast to discuss the Isobel controversy, then headed up to our own room, where it took us less than a minute to brush our teeth and collapse into bed.
“I believe we both share responsibility for the contest idea,” he whispered as he roved idle fingers through my hair. “No more brainstorming for us.”
“Seriously, Etienne, how are we going to handle this diplomatically? We’re not in this business to punish guests who use poor judgment, but if we just blow it off, we’ll be accused of not being fair to the other guests. Why do people do things like this?”
“Because they can, darling.”
A sliver of light lanced through an opening in our pulled drapes, brightening the ceiling with a ghostlike luminescence. I sighed. “The real fly in the ointment is that what she ended up taking doesn’t affect our contest one bit, so do we declare no harm, no foul? Or do we throw the book at her for malicious intent?”
“You’ve been watching Law and Order marathons with your grandmother again, haven’t you?”
“Do you suppose Wally has ever run into a