Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,85

worsened as we made our way back to Burwick. When we pulled into the harbor, a collective groan went up from the group, because marine conditions had deteriorated even more, ensuring us a passage marked by savage winds and exceptionally high seas.

“I still have an untouched stash of motion sickness pills I can distribute if anyone’s interested,” I announced before we left the bus. “Any takers?”

They practically mobbed me.

As Dick Teig philosophized when he popped one in his mouth: “I don’t care if they are tainted. If the ride back is as bad as the one coming over, I’m gonna wish I was dead anyway, so what’s it matter?”

It was worse.

So bad in fact, that even I had to battle a slight twinge of queasiness, and I don’t get queasy. As much as I’d been flabbergasted by the miraculous recovery of people on the outbound passage, I came to realize that two stomach-emptying trips in one day was one trip too many. Once back at John O’ Groats, guests practically had to crawl to the bus, where they remained in their seats, pale and lifeless, until we reached our hotel. And since Wally was as incapacitated as everyone else, I dug out my annotated itinerary and offered the final announcements myself.

“Dinner is scheduled to be served at seven-thirty this evening, so I hope you’ll take the next forty-five minutes to recuperate, and then join me in the dining room feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

They groaned, rolled off their seats in slow motion, and limped down the stairs like weary veterans of an after-Christmas sale at the Mall of America. I followed behind them as they climbed the stairs to their rooms, making sure everyone had the energy to complete the climb, then let myself into my room, squealing with delight when I discovered I wasn’t alone.

“Nana!” I pulled her out of the armchair and wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her like an orange that needed juicing. “When did they let you out?”

“’Bout a half hour ago. They didn’t have no charges to file against me, so they had to let me go.”

“May I be included in the group hug?” asked Etienne as he boosted himself off the bed to join us. “Mrs. Miceli,” he said, his eyes lingering on my lips, his voice a seductive whisper. Tipping my chin up, he kissed me full on the mouth, sending shooting stars across my vision. “I’ve missed you.”

Unh. With my knees about to give way beneath me, I backed against the bed and sat down. Etienne sat down beside me, intertwining his fingers with mine. I exhaled a steadying breath. “Does this mean the autopsy report came back?”

“Nope.” Nana settled back in her chair. “Them young fellas at the jail said some of them lab tests can take a long time to analyze, so we don’t know nuthin’ yet.”

“We still don’t have a cause of death?”

“For neither Dolly nor Isobel,” said Etienne, doing a poor job of hiding his frustration.

I squeezed his hand. “I’m not sure every lab and toxicology test in the world will ever reveal what killed Isobel and Dolly.”

“No kiddin’?” asked Nana.

“You say that as if you know something the rest of us don’t,” said Etienne.

I nodded toward the cardboard patch duct-taped to the wood paneling above the nightstand. “Did you notice the interesting art work on the wall?”

Etienne followed my gaze. “I noticed it this evening, but I don’t recall seeing it when we checked in yesterday.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I blamed it on my usual excuse—man eyes.”

“My Sam had them eyes, too.” Nana gave her head a slow nod. “The only things you could count on them spottin’ was three-quarter-ton pickups with V8 hemis and highway patrolmen with radar guns.”

“Management hung up the cardboard last night to cover a fresh hole in the wall.”

Nana snatched her feet off the floor and shot a terrified look at the rug. “Termites?”

“Spiders.”

“THEY GOT SPIDERS WHAT CAN EAT THROUGH WALLS?”

“No, no! No bugs. It was Erik Ishmael’s foot that made the hole. Can I explain?”

So I got them up to speed about what had happened in their absence: the hole in the wall that had prompted the upgrading of rooms, the Fast Freddie Torres allegation, the conversation I’d overheard aboard the ferry, my discovery of the monogram on Erik’s handkerchief, our concerted efforts to prevent another death from occurring, and Alex’s tumble into the excavation pit. “So does that give you any idea why I’m

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