Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,57

Bean, and the hotel was kind enough to offer him the use of the manager’s office so he could question me in private, away from the rain that had started to fall.

“So when I couldn’t find a pulse, I sent my grandmother to Morag’s to call an ambulance. I guess you know the rest.”

Officer Bean made a final notation in his notebook before looking across the manager’s desk at me. He was middle-aged and stocky, with abnormally large ears, a space between his front teeth, and a voice that started at his toes and rumbled all the way up his body. I figured he was an import from another locale, not because he looked any different than the hotel staff, but because when he spoke, I could actually understand what he was saying.

“I’d like ta thank ye fer yer actions, Mrs. Miceli. I just wish it could hae made a difference.” He drummed his finger on the medical form Wally had supplied him. “I’m a bit baffled. According ta her own account, Ms. Pinker was fit as they come, other than a bruise I noticed on her arm.”

“She received that yesterday in a boat mishap.” Her prediction echoed in my head. “Is it possible she died from a blood clot that formed because of the bruise?”

“It was justa wee bruise.” He shrugged. “So whit would cause an otherwise healthy female ta suddenly collapse and die?”

“Our tour director told me the only drug she was taking was a daily baby aspirin.”

Bean grinned. “I’ve heard that people can be less than truthful on these forms, which is why I’ve sent an officer ta search her room fer prescription bottles.” He rechecked his notes. “I don’t know if we’ve checked her handbag yet.”

“I, uh, I already went through her pocketbook. My grandmother thought she might be carrying something that might help us revive her, but all I found was the baby aspirin.” I slid my hand into my shoulder bag. “And this.” I placed the dirk on the desk.

He raised a bushy eyebrow, his gaze lingering on the dagger for a long moment before he leaned back in his chair and said in an almost too calm voice, “If there’s a good reason why Ms. Pinker’s personal effects are in yer handbag and not her own, I’d like ta hear it.”

I winced. “It’s kind of a long story.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

I opted for the abridged version, explaining about the geocaching element of our tour, Isobel Kronk’s part in the dagger’s appearance, my inheritance of the thing after her sudden death, its mysterious disappearance yesterday, and its unexpected reappearance in the washcloth at the bottom of Dolly’s pocketbook. “I should have known better than to remove it from her bag. I mean, my husband is a former police inspector. He’d be appalled if he knew what I did. But I was afraid if I left it where it was, it might get lost in bureaucratic red tape, and I’d lose track of it completely. Obviously, not one of my better decisions.”

“This is the second death you’ve suffered on yer tour?”

I nodded.

“And ye’ve been in the country fer how many days?”

I lowered my voice to a self-conscious whisper. “Three.”

He scribbled a notation. “Do ye know the cause of Ms. Kronk’s death?”

“The medical examiner hasn’t been able to draw any conclusions yet. He needed to farm out some tests to a lab with higher tech equipment, but his initial analysis apparently indicated that Isobel’s stomach kind of … exploded.”

He fixed me with a look that caused his eyes to shrink to the size of pebbles. “Exploded?”

I nodded again. “He told my husband that it was a pretty unusual case. I guess exploding stomachs are a rarity in Inverness.”

“I believe they’re a rarity anywhere. Whereabouts in Inverness were ye? I grew up just outside the city, on the banks of the River Ness.”

“That’s why I can understand you.”

“Beg pardon?”

I leaned closer in and lowered my voice to a hushed tone. “We didn’t have any trouble understanding the people in Inverness, but we’re all having trouble understanding the hotel staff here. Their burr is a little … challenging.”

He smiled in agreement. “It indeed takes some getting used ta. My wife is from Wick, and I still don’t know whit she’s saying half the time.” He pondered that for a half-second. “Which isn’t always a bad thing. Please, go on with whit ye were saying.”

“Uh—we were staying at the Crannach Arms Inn on Loch