Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,79
I thought it might be important.”
“Thanks. While I get this, would you run back and tell Dad I need him?”
It was a text. From Etienne.
“Background check disturbing. Subjects don’t exist.”
EIGHTEEN
I COULDN’T DECIDE WHAT freaked me out more—that our platter of finger sandwiches was the main course, or that Erik and Alex were honest-to-goodness imposters. The only comforting thing about the day so far was the unrelenting foul weather that was confining us to the bus.
It was raining so hard, tiny estuaries were forming rivers across the road.
Pretty bad when the only ray of sunshine in your day is rain.
The torrential downpour was the reason we were parked in the visitors’ lot at the Ring of Brodgar, our noses pressed to the windows, squinting at an impressive circle of standing stones rather than wandering through them. This was to have been the site of today’s geocaching search, but with no one willing to brave the elements, we canceled the event by unanimous consent, which was just as well, considering that Mom had forgotten to turn her computer off last night, causing the battery to run down. No computer meant no coordinates, and disrupted cell service meant no one’s GPS was working.
It also meant that Bernice wouldn’t be harping at me to let her back into the contest until at least tomorrow.
If I lived that long.
“If you rub away the condensation on your window, you can see that unlike Stonehenge, the monoliths of Brodgar still form a nearly perfect ring.” Dad swept his hand in Vanna White style toward the spectacle. “Scientists think it was erected about four thousand years ago, which goes to show that Stone Age people didn’t buy into the idea of built-in obsolescence.”
“Could be they just didn’t know how to spell it,” suggested Osmond.
Something had changed drastically at lunch. Whether spurred by Cameron’s insistence that Erik was Fast Freddie Torres, or Tilly’s polite inquiry about the difference between aero- and astronautical engineering, Erik and Alex had shed their friendly exteriors to become tight-lipped and wary, like two men intent on completing a deadly mission.
And I didn’t know how to stop them.
I stared at the blank screen on my cell phone, willing the signal to come back up. Etienne would know what to do. If only I could reach him.
Wally stepped into the center aisle, his expression apologetic. “We’re supposed to be here for a full hour, but since you’ve decided to scrap this site, I’m going to suggest we head directly to our next stop, Skara Brae. It’s a National Heritage Site with a museum, cafe, restroom facilities, and a top-notch reconstruction of a prehistoric dwelling. Once it stops raining, if it stops raining, you can venture out to visit the excavation site of an authentic Neolithic settlement. It was discovered in 1850 after a powerful storm swept over the bay and washed all the sand and topsoil off the beach. Ironically, until then, no one ever suspected it existed. Not even the family who occupied the mansion that sits practically on top of it. And the mansion had been occupied since the 1600s. It’s just down the road a piece, so we’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Nuts. We were safe on the bus. It was when we split up into smaller groups that we ran into trouble.
I stared out the window, worrying the gloss off my bottom lip. If Etienne were here, he’d tell me not to do anything that would jeopardize either my safety or the safety of our guests. He’d tell me to be smart, remain calm, and stay frosty. But most importantly, he’d tell me not to be a hero.
My updated Escort’s Manual was a bit more to the point: When situations arise that are beyond your control, don’t feel obliged to suffer silently. Share your misery. That’s what your tour director is for.
“We’ve got a problem with Erik and Alex,” I blurted out to Wally the minute we hit the visitor center. I’d chased him down and dragged him to a quiet corner before he could run off to the men’s room.
He regarded me sternly. “Unbelievable. I thought I might get complaints from folks like the Gordons, but never from you. Look, Emily, whether you like it or not, we’re living in the twenty-first century, and relationships like the one Erik and Alex have are part of the emerging fabric of the times. So unless you’re planning to limit your roster to couples who—”
“I’m not talking about their being gay! I don’t