Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,6

schedule her supplements to make sure she takes them.” She rotated in a slow circle, her eyes darting left and right. “I wish she wouldn’t disappear like this. You might think I’m way off base, but I sometimes get the impression she’s trying to avoid me.”

“Nana?” I lied. “Nooo.”

“Well, if you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

“You got it.”

Her face brightened. “There’s Grace, Helen, and Alice. And look, they’re carrying shopping sacks. Would you excuse me, Emily? Maybe they’ve seen your grandmother. Yoohoo!”

“We board the bus in two hours,” I called after her. “Leave yourself enough time to get back to the hotel.”

She waved her hand in acknowledgment as she made a beeline for the girls.

She wouldn’t be late. Tardiness was a physical impossibility

for native Iowans. No one can explain when the condition first appeared, or how it spread to the general population, but it affects so many people, the State Water Control Board is testing the drinking supply. If their suspicions pan out, the governor is hoping to plug his state budget deficit by bottling the stuff and selling it to a country where nothing ever runs on time, like Italy or France. If their suspicions are wrong, the governor has vowed to increase government coffers by auctioning off every antique clock in the state’s ninety-nine county courthouses. As he’s fond of saying, “Why is the State providing Iowans with universal time coverage when the private sector can provide the same service at lower cost? I mean, what are wristwatches for anyway?”

“Psssst.”

I glanced over my shoulder to find Nana poking her head out the door of the tartan shop.

“Is she gone?”

I shot her a withering look as I dug out my antacid tablets.

It was going to be a long trip.

_____

During its forty-three years sailing the high seas, the Royal Yacht Britannia made 968 official voyages, traveled over a million nautical miles, and called at six hundred ports. Once spotted in such exotic locales as Sydney, Samoa, and Hong Kong, it was decommissioned in 1997 and can now be spotted in Edinburgh harbor—attached to a multi-level shopping center.

Armed with individual audio handsets, the group was oohing and aahing its way through five decks that once boasted a complement of two hundred Royal Yachtsmen and forty-five household staff, whose sole purpose was to serve Queen and country. With the bridge and all its incomprehensible gizmos behind me, I was climbing up and down companionways to tour the more interesting parts of the ship’s interior—from the State Dining room, with its table properly set for an intimate party of ninety-six, to the drawing room, with its grand piano, electric fireplace, and plush floral sofas.

According to the recorded voice on my handset, the drawing room could accommodate nearly two hundred people, but there were only a dozen of us standing behind the roped-off area at the moment. Most of the male guests had hurried off to slather over the Rolls Royce housed in the garage on another deck, and the Dicks had professed an urge to inspect the engine room, so Etienne had headed below decks with them, because leaving Dick Stolee in a room filled with pressure gauges and gears was like leaving a chocoholic in a room filled with Cadbury Easter eggs.

“Would you take a picture of us, Emily?” Helen Teig, dressed in a plus-size sweatshirt with plaid Scottie dogs frolicking across her chest, handed me her Smartphone before scurrying back to pose with Grace Stolee, who was wearing the same sweatshirt, only in medium.

“New sweatshirts?” I asked as I focused and clicked.

“It’s our team uniform,” boasted Grace.

“But they were kinda cheap, so we’re worried about pilling.” Helen examined her sleeve for fresh examples.

“Do you want to hear our team slogan?” asked Grace as I returned her phone.

I blinked my surprise. “That was fast. Word’s already on the street about the slogans, eh?”

“Dick texted us,” said Helen, “and it’s a good thing, because all the good slogans are going fast, so we needed time to think.” She sidled a glance at Grace. “Ready?”

“Do it or lose it!” they chimed in unison.

I smiled stiffly. Slogans? Uniforms? What would be next? World licensing rights? “Catchy,” I said.

“Combining two popular slogans into a fresh new saying isn’t considered plagiarism, is it?” questioned Grace.

“Mmm … if it is plagiarism, you’ll be out of the country before the authorities can track you down, so I think you’re safe,” I assured her.

“Will you be awarding a prize for the best slogan?” tittered Helen.

“Hadn’t planned on