Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,41

not one of them has ever reported seeing a sea creature.”

“Maybe them’s the folks what needed the eye doctor.”

“So what do you say? Will you change your mind and come with us?”

“Can’t. We already voted nine to two to stay on shore instead a goin’ down with the ship.”

I gave her an exasperated look. “The ship is not going down.”

“Tell that to the folks what was on the Titanic.”

“There’s a difference. Loch Ness doesn’t have icebergs.”

“It’s got a monster. That’s worse. You just make sure they got enough life jackets to go around on that boat, Emily. I don’t want nuthin’ happenin’ to you.”

As she shuffled down the path in front of me, I noticed something odd. “Why are you listing thirty degrees to starboard? What’s in your pocketbook? Bricks?”

She stopped short and snorted with impatience. “This is all your mother’s doin’.” Swinging her pocketbook in front of her, she unsnapped the top and opened it wide to show me a jumble of brown plastic bottles with labels that read “Milk Thistle” and “White Willow Bark.”

“Uff-da. Are these the elusive supplements she bought to prevent you from shrinking?” I frowned at the cache. “How many bottles do you have in there anyway?”

“Sixteen.”

“Well, duh? No wonder you’re listing.” I regarded her quizzically. “How come you didn’t leave them in your room?”

“’Cuz Margaret says I gotta take ’em with every meal, and I can’t figure out no way to ditch her at meals, so I gotta haul the dang things around with me. If I’da known I was gonna be tossin’ back a steady diet of weeds ’n trees on this trip, I mighta stayed home!”

I’d rarely seen Nana out of sorts, so her mood worried me a little. Oh, God. I hoped the situation didn’t escalate to the point where she and Mom would be forced to have “words.” What would I do? Whose side would I take?

I scratched a sudden itch at the back of my neck and tried not to think about it.

By the time we reached the waterfront, my guys had already spaced themselves out along the shore like ducks in a shooting gallery, their Smartphones focused on the impossibly calm waters of the loch as if in anticipation of a YouTube-worthy event.

Plink, plink, plink.

Heads and cameras swiveled toward the sound.

“D’you hear that?” shouted Osmond, who’d recently been outfitted with hearing aids so high-tech, he could have heard belching if the Mars rover had developed acid indigestion. “Look! The water’s rippling!”

“It’s Nessie!” cried Margi.

“It is not,” crabbed Bernice. “It’s those moronic Dicks skipping stones.”

The remainder of our traveling twenty-nine were filing onto our waiting boat, the Highland Queen—an ancient-looking tub with paint peeling off its wheelhouse and benches flanking the aft bulwarks to accommodate outside seating. Etienne spurred me on with a “hurry up” gesture as I ran onto the dock.

“I thought I was going to have to send out the bloodhounds,” he chided with good humor. He nodded toward the photographic frenzy taking place on shore. “Do they realize they’re literally in danger of missing the boat?”

“They’re not coming.”

“Why not?”

“Because of the monster. They’re apparently not interested in becoming her mid-afternoon snack.”

“You can’t be serious.”

I cocked my head and gave him the look.

“Merde. You’re serious.”

Cursing held so much more allure when uttered in a foreign language.

I craned my neck to see who was gathered on deck, noting the absence of two critical guests. “Have you seen Mom and Dad?”

“Your mother decided to stay on the bus to tally the geocache results.”

Not a bad idea. At least Nana would get a breather. “Is Dad with her?”

“Your father has staked out a seat in the wheelhouse to be near the new multifunction fish finder with bottom tracking performance, GPS, sonar, and an 83/200 khz transducer.”

I stared at him, deadpan. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Neither do I, but your father does. He plans to videotape the monitor while you’re cruising in case the device picks up the image of a sea serpent.”

I sighed. “But he doesn’t know how to use his camcorder.”

“He does now. He apparently stayed up all night reading the manual.”

“If yer coming with us, lass, yer’d best climb aboard.” From the deck, a lanky man in bib overalls and a skipper’s cap bent over to extend his hand to me. “Up ye go.”

Bridging the significant gap between dock and boat, I hopped aboard then turned to Etienne, who was wearing a resigned expression as he backed away from the vessel. “Hey, where are you going? Aren’t