Bonnie of Evidence - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,89

Bean wants to see you at the police station. Pronto. Your grandmother, too.”

“Why Nana?”

“She’s the one who blew the whistle.”

TWENTY-ONE

“IT WAS WHEN I was power walkin’ a around the hotel, hopin’ to avoid Emily’s mother before the breakfast line opened. One of them windows on the ground floor was hangin’ from its hinges, like someone had kicked it outta its frame.”

“Erik escaped through his window?” I glanced at Bean. “Did that show up on the surveillance video?”

Bean’s response was strained. “The surveillance equipment is on the inside of the hotel, Mrs. Miceli, not the outside.”

“So we have no idea when he left.” Etienne scraped his knuckles against his unshaved jaw. “What about Mrs. Rassmuson and Dasher?”

“They’re on camera as having left the building just before seven o’clock last evening.”

“And they just disappeared into thin air?” I asked.

“We’re playing back surveillance tapes of the train station. We don’t hae a car rental office in Wick, so it’s the only logical place they could hae gone.”

The department phone rang as if on cue. Bean answered, acknowledged the message, and hung up. “Mrs. Rassmuson and Dasher boarded an evening train heading south. Unfortunately, there was a problem with the track farther down the line, so it was forced ta delay its departure, which allowed Mr. Ishmael time ta board as well.”

I gasped. “Erik is pursuing Lucille and Cameron? Why—why would he do that?”

“If we knew, Mrs. Miceli, we wouldn’t be standing around here discussing it. The train has already reached Inverness, so if that wasn’t their final destination, they’ve transferred ta another train and are heading somewhere else.”

Would they be returning to the inn on Loch Ness, wanting to nurture their romance in solitude, away from the tour? Or had Erik somehow revealed his hand, prompting them to flee before he could strike? “Where else could they go from Inverness?”

“Anywhere in Scotland,” said Bean.

That was a big help.

“Why does Erik want to kill them?” I fretted. “Why Lucille? What could she possibly have done to earn herself a death warrant?”

“You want I should text her and ask?” offered Nana. “I got a signal.”

We regarded her, gobsmacked. Bean shrugged. “Go fer it.”

Nana sent off a message.

The reply came almost instantaneously. “B happy 4 me. xo.”

Nana smiled. “Don’t sound like she’s bucklin’ under the stress.”

“Ask her where she is,” I prodded.

Nana typed the message. “Where r u?”

“A wonderful place 2 B,” came the reply. “In love.”

I forced myself to remain calm. “Ask her where they’re headed.”

Nana sent the text.

“It’s a secret,” came the response.

“She has no idea she’s being pursued by a crazed hitman who might be carrying a gun,” I cried. “You have to do something.”

“I’m trying ta put together a strategy, Mrs. Miceli, in case ye hadn’t noticed.”

“Her phone’s got one of them fancy chips in it,” Nana chimed in. “All the phones what Pills Etcetera sold us got ’em. I don’t know what you call ’em over here, but back home, we call ’em … trackin’ devices.” She lifted her eyebrows and shoulders in unison. “Just sayin’.”

Bean held out his palm for Nana’s phone. “Who’s yer wireless provider?”

While Bean disappeared into a connecting office to make official inquiries in private, I wandered over to a huge map of Scotland that was tacked to a bulletin board. I poked my finger at Inverness and let my gaze drift to points south. “Too bad the train lines aren’t marked on the map. Where could they possibly be running to? Perth? Back to Edinburgh? Somewhere in between?”

Nana came up behind me. “If they notice that Erik fella chasin’ after ’em, maybe they’ll have to get off someplace they don’t want to.”

“I’m afraid they might be too wrapped up in each other to notice Erik.” I let out a wistful sigh. “After all these years of widowhood, Lucille is in love again.”

Etienne hovered behind us, looking over our shoulders. “Perhaps we should include ‘matchmaking services’ on our travel brochures.”

“So that’s where that place is!” Nana tapped a spot on the map. “This here’s the town what I read about in my Regency romances. It’s where all them frisky English folks what need to get hitched real quick run away to so’s the blacksmith can pronounce ’em man and wife. It’s kinda like that Weddin’ Chapel in Vegas, only without them Elvis impersonators. See it here?” She pinpointed the spot for me. “Gretna Green.”

“Gretna Green?” I knew about Gretna Green. “Isn’t Gretna Green like … the marriage capital of the world?”

I stared at Nana. She stared at