Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,82

case ever comes to trial.”

What?

He let out a grunt as he struggled to get up. “Dang. Could you give me a hand? I’m stuck.”

He hobbled off, falling in line behind the Dicks, who waved like pageant contestants as they passed by, and Helen, whose left eyebrow had fallen victim to the rain and was now entirely missing.

Bernice crab-walked in my direction, the humidity having made her hair so wiry it looked like a detonated Slinky. “Just so you know, I don’t want back on Team Five. I want a team all to myself.”

I kept an eye on the last of the gang as they paraded down the hallway. “Anything you say,” I said distractedly. “Gotta run.”

I chased behind the group, mingling with other tourists, stopping to read exhibit panels, admiring Neolithic artifacts displayed behind glass.

Helen waved her new digital camera above her head. “I want a picture of all the men who are wearing kilts,” she announced as she pulled Dick Stolee toward Erik and Alex. “Anyone else want to try out their new cameras?”

The gang swarmed around them, even as Erik and Alex tried to escape.

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Helen, blocking their path. “You stay right there. DICK! GET OVER HERE! I wanna take your picture.”

She arranged them in various poses. Made additions to the group. Moved them to different locations. Took advantage of several backdrops.

“That’s it,” snapped Alex after ten grueling minutes. “We’re done here.” After extracting Erik from the group, he made a detour into the area that housed the reconstructed prehistoric dwelling.

The gang swarmed after them.

So did I.

I passed beneath a low doorway and into a world that existed four thousand years ago.

The space was as big as a one-car garage and lined with rocks stacked one atop the other. A square fire pit sat in the center of the room. Slabs of rock, supported by upright stones, formed shelves along the wall, like a Stone Age pantry. Longer slabs angled out from the walls, forming the framework of what looked like primitive trundle beds. Animal pelts lay scattered about the room like throw pillows, adding a touch of warmth to the stark décor.

“What’s this place supposed to be?” asked Dick Stolee. “A house or a condo?”

“Looks like a studio apartment to me,” said Stella.

“Where do you think they put the fridge?” asked Margi. “There’s no room in the kitchen.”

“I bet they stuck one of those dorm models by the bed,” said Osmond, inspecting the wall for an outlet.

“Anyone see the bathroom?” asked Dick Teig.

Tilly thwacked him with her cane. “It was a Neolithic society. Indoor plumbing had yet to be invented.”

“No. Where’s the bathroom, for real. I’ve gotta use it.”

“Did you forget to take your pill again?” scolded Helen.

As Dick squeezed through the crowd, the rest of the gang pressed closer to Erik and Alex, keeping them mired in gridlock. I smiled. Gee, this was going well.

“Where do you suppose they would have hung the big-screen TV?” asked Dick Stolee.

“Nowhere,” said Osmond. “There’s no electrical outlets.”

“Will everyone pose for a picture around the fire pit?” asked Helen. “Group photo!”

“I can’t move until Grace moves,” complained Margi.

“Me?” cried Grace. “I’m nowhere near you.”

“Will whoever’s on my foot, GET OFF!” sniped Stella.

Realizing the situation was well in hand, I slithered around the perimeter and exited the room, my stomach making gurgling sounds as I found my way to the back door of the visitor center. A lush expanse of wet grass stretched before me, and beyond that, a horseshoe-shaped bay, flanked by a crescent of sand beach. Paved walkways funneled tourists down two divergent mud-puddled paths—one leading to an excavation site near the beach, and the other toward a grand manor house constructed of perfectly chiseled stone. And with the rain on hold for the moment, visitors were actually stepping out to enjoy the self-guided tour.

My stomach suddenly growled long and loudly, reminding me that I’d stupidly refused the peanut butter sandwiches at lunch. Opening my shoulder bag, I riffled through the contents in search of an energy bar, knowing there were at least a couple left. I dug through the disorganized mess, sticking Alex’s stain removal pen in a separate pocket to be returned to him, and Erik’s bloodstained handkerchief—

I stilled my hand on the balled-up cotton cloth as I noticed a detail that had escaped my earlier attention.

I pulled it out for a closer look.

On the corner of the cloth, in thread as white as the handkerchief itself, was an embroidered letter.

A tiny capital