A big mistake.
The bed was so icy, I felt like warm ham in a frozen bun. I waited a few minutes for my body heat to thaw the sheets, but my corpuscles began to solidify instead. Finally I faced the inevitable, climbed out of bed, and rummaged in my suitcase for a flannel gown. I topped it with a sweater, climbed back into bed, and lay there mentally reviewing the clothes I’d brought. I concluded that to stay warm, I would need to wear so many layers I would roll through Scotland like a ball.
Why had I let packing in Georgia’s heat lull me into ignoring the average daily temperatures listed in our trip materials? Why hadn’t I remembered that “early spring” is a relative term, depending on your latitude? Even little Cricket knew enough to brag to his friends, “Me-Mama is going to Scotland and it’s way up at the top of the world!”
I didn’t get warm until about the time Joyce called to say the bus was ready to leave. That’s why I elected, while others looked at Glasgow, to visit that great tourist attraction Marks and Spencer. I roved the department store filling bag after bag with sweaters, slacks, socks, a hat and gloves. While clerks rang up my purchases, I checked my watch to figure out where Joe Riddley and the boys might be. They must be loading the car. Now they are heading west. They must have gotten to I-75 already. Before I knew it, I had bought so many clothes, I had to buy a big new suitcase to put them in.
In the cab on my way back to the hotel, I tried to convert pounds into dollars to see how much I’d spent, but the figure soon reached an altitude that made it hard for me to breathe, so I gave up and concentrated on excuses I could give Joyce for exceeding our one-bag limit.
I found her standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel in too much of a dither to care.
Dorothy had disappeared.
“She went on the bus as far as the first stop, then left without saying a word. Nobody remembers even seeing her after we got off. We looked and looked, but never did find her.” Joyce peered up and down the street, clutching her coat to her throat.
The wind was sharp and fierce, carrying that raw blend of dampness, diesel and industry that is Glasgow’s peculiar odor. I shivered beside her, more than ready to go inside and find a cup of hot tea, but I hated to leave her standing there alone, worrying. “Sherry finally insisted that we go on without her. She said Dorothy is a grown woman and knows where we are staying, so she can find her way back to the hotel. But—”
But Dorothy didn’t look like a woman with much experience in taking care of herself in strange cities. “What did Marcia say?”
“Marcia decided to stay here and rest this afternoon.” Joyce peered up and down the street again. “I haven’t bothered her yet.” She took a few steps one way, then the other, balled her fists and shook them. “Drat! I don’t know what to do. Do you think I ought to call the police?” Were her teeth chattering from fear, cold, or both?
“Not yet,” I advised. “Come on inside and get something hot to drink. It’s still light out, and surely she’ll get a cab back to the hotel.” I tried not to think about women abducted in broad daylight from city malls.
Joyce looked prepared to stand there all night if necessary. “I really want people to stick to the program. I’m not going to be able to manage this tour if people keep charging off on their own.” Her voice was grim, and she glanced down at my new suitcase.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I simply had to have some warmer clothes. I’ll stay right with you the rest of the way.” I headed upstairs with my purchases. She remained on the sidewalk.
I tried out Walker’s cell phone before tea, to see if Cricket’s mother had heard from the men. “Haven’t heard a word yet,” Martha said cheerfully, “but they will have barely gotten to the Gulf by now. Don’t you waste your trip worrying about them, Mac. They’ll be fine.”
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”
She laughed. “Both. But let’s make a deal. I’ll worry and you have fun. You hear me?” I went down to tea thinking that the only thing better than raising two good sons is having both of them marry women you can love.
Laura had gone down before me and was waiting in the lobby.
“Sorry,” I told her. “I was calling home. The store is fine, but there’s no word from the sailors yet.”
“MacDonald Motors is limping along tolerably well without me, too. Downright humbling, isn’t it, how well they can do without us?”
“And Ben?”
“Him, too.” She tried to sound casual, but she was rosy and had a smile on her lips. “Let’s eat.”
Joyce, still watching for Dorothy, declined to join us. “Marcia is having dinner sent to her room,” she told us. “Go on in and find yourselves a table.”
The hotel was old but very comfortable, and the dining room was large, dark and elegant. If the food lived up to the decor, Joyce hadn’t lied about our future meals being better than our first. Brandi, looking chic and expensive in a black sweater and slacks with her hair piled on her head, sat with Kenny and Sherry at a table for six. Since Sherry also wore black, the table looked ready for a funeral—an unfortunate thought with Dorothy still missing. I was glad to see a red jacket over the chair next to Brandi, where she must be saving Jim a seat.
I was about to head their way when Laura pointed out, “If we sit there, Dorothy and Joyce will have to sit together, and that could be awkward. Why don’t we take that table for four near the window, where we can watch for Dorothy, too?” Laura has always been nicer than me. My strongest reason for agreeing with her was, I didn’t think I could stand another Sherry-and-Kenny duet about Scotland that night.
“What did I miss this afternoon?” I asked when we’d been served a pot of tea and warm, thick scones with butter and blackcurrant jam.
“Not much. Joyce doesn’t know a whole lot about Glasgow, but Watty and Kenny helped her out. Every time they stopped to breathe, Sherry told us about a place we’d rather have seen. Finally she and Brandi decided they’d prefer to shop than see more historic sites, so we went to a couple of stores. Joyce and I browsed while they bought everything in sight.”
“Jim and Kenny must have loved that.”
“They didn’t go. Jim had a meeting all afternoon, and Kenny left us at four to go for a fitting with a tailor for a wool suit—”
“Which he’ll get lots of wear out of in Savannah—”
She raised one eyebrow. “Who’s talking? Aren’t those new clothes I see?”
“Just a few things to make sure I survive long enough to get home. Besides, I figure if I have all these heavy woolens, it might inspire Joe Riddley to take me on a Baltic cruise.”
“Dream on.” She has, after all, known him all her life.
We sat nibbling scones and peering out into the gloom that was descending on the sidewalk. Nightfall, and Dorothy still not home.
With a worried sigh, I tried to concentrate on the menu. “Remind me what haggis is.”
“Ground-up unmentionable animal parts mixed with coarse meal and onions, boiled in a sheep’s stomach. It’s delicious.” She chuckled at my expression. “But not for the faint of heart. Try steak and kidney pie. That tastes like steak with gizzards, and I know you like gizzards.”
The food lived up to its promise, but we didn’t eat as much as we would have if we hadn’t been worried about Dorothy. Every time the door to the dining room opened, we both looked up, hoping to see her. We were always disappointed.
After several strangers came and found tables, Jim arrived at the same time as our dessert. We were discussing the wisdom of advising Joyce to call the police when Kenny lifted his head and said, loud enough for the whole dining room to hear, “The truant finally returns.”
Dorothy and Joyce stood at the door scanning the room. Joyce’s mouth was a tight line but Dorothy had the rosy, happy look of somebody who has just had a wonderful time. Her golden eyes glowed, and when Joyce steered her toward the larger table, she crossed the room like she had a cushion of air beneath her practical soles.
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br /> I leaned across the table to ask Laura softly, “Does she have a boyfriend over here?”
Laura shrugged, not knowing any more than I did about our Canadian companions.
Kenny said in a loud, bossy voice, “You really shouldn’t go wandering off like that.”
Dorothy turned bright red and stumbled as she took her seat.
Sherry gave an elegant shrug. “I told you she could find her way back.”
Brandi frowned at Dorothy. “But you really ought to have told Joyce where you were going. She’s been very worried.”
Jim went right on eating without looking up. As at dinner the night before, he ate like a man who feared this meal might be his last.
“Sorry.” Dorothy didn’t sound sorry at all. “There was somebody I needed to see. It didn’t occur to me that you’d all be worried, eh?” She slid into a vacant chair, pink with embarrassment.
Once Dorothy was settled, Joyce joined our table and dropped into a chair with a huff of relief. Laura motioned our waitress over, and I poured Joyce a cup of tea. She closed her eyes as she savored several swallows, black and hot. Then she spoke with a little moue of disgust. “Herding cats. I should have stuck with being a flight attendant. At least after a flight, everybody leaves.”
“Where was she?” I asked.
Joyce’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “You heard her. She told me the same—there was somebody she had to see, and she forgot the time. And meanwhile, I stood out there over an hour getting all the grit in Glasgow under my contacts.” She bent her head and one by one removed hard lenses, rinsed them in her water glass, and put them back in. Then she blinked a few times and gave us her prim smile. “At least that feels better.”
Laura passed her hot scones and jam. “Is this your first tour?”
Joyce’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Can you tell? It’s my first and last.” I was surprised and a bit chagrined. It had never occurred to me that we wouldn’t have a seasoned, well-informed guide. She heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of her feet. “It all sounded a lot easier than it is.”
Laura chuckled. “Most things do. But hey, everybody speaks English, we’re all grown-ups, and at least some of us have been to Scotland before. It’s going to work out.” After that she steered the conversation toward places they’d visited that afternoon. Having nothing to contribute, I listened, and watched.
Around Laura, Joyce relaxed like a woman who has found herself among her own people in a foreign land. Her face lost its uptight expression and her whole demeanor expanded. Even though at least ten years separated them, they were sisters in the casual way they held their bodies, handled silver at the table, and signaled waitresses. Both were obviously daughters of privilege, raised to take it for granted that the comforts of the world were theirs by right.
So what the heck was Joyce doing conducting a low-profit bus tour through the Scottish Highlands?
7
The rest of them went out on a pub crawl that night, but I’m not much for sitting around in bars. Besides, I was ready for my bed. However, between sending up prayer flares for my folks on the Gulf of Mexico and wondering about people on the tour, I didn’t sleep much. I kept asking myself why Joyce was leading tours, why Jim and Brandi were on a bus tour rather than riding in a private limousine and staying in five-star hotels, why Kenny and Sherry had come on this tour when there were places they’d rather see at a different time of the year, and why Marcia had come at all when she was so obviously ill. As a group, we seemed several cups short of a gallon.
About the time I drifted off to sleep, Laura’s alarm rang. “Just going for a run,” she whispered. I dozed again, but never did really sleep. No wonder I felt a tad testy when we gathered at the bus—especially since Joyce had told us the night before to be there half an hour earlier than the schedule said. It didn’t cheer me one whit that Laura and Joyce were pink-cheeked from their run. Brandi, Jim, Kenny, and Sherry were late, so the rest of us waited half an hour in the front hall when we could have been sleeping. Then Kenny showed up dressed out in kilt, matching tie, long green socks, white shirt, dark jacket, feathered bonnet, a sporran, and white spats. “Sorry to be late. I misplaced my spats.”
From the look Sherry shot him, they’d had one royal spat that morning.
When Brandi and Jim sauntered down, I figured she was late because it took so long to look that good. She was stunning in a green boiled-wool jacket and gray wool slacks—slacks almost exactly like the new ones I wore, except hers were five sizes smaller and six times more expensive. She took one look at Kenny and exclaimed, “You look simply darlin’! Stand over against that wall so I can take your picture. Now come over here, Sherry, and let me get one of the two of you.”
The rest of us surged out to the waiting bus with our bags.
When Kenny handed the driver their bags, he cocked one bushy eyebrow at the bag labeled “Bagpipes.” “Riddy for a bit o’ music, air ye, lad?”
“Och, aye,” Kenny replied. “Thought I’d do a bit of playing on the way, like.” In the few hours since we’d gotten to Scotland, he’d developed an accent. I couldn’t tell whether it was unconscious, affected, or an honest attempt to speak the language of our host country.
“That’s right.” The driver rasped one palm along a cheek that would have been improved by a shave. “We can all do with a bit o’ music on the way north. Dulls the senses so ye dinna ken ye’re leavin’ the English-speakin’ wor-r-rld.” He hawked and spat out his contempt, but whether it was for the Highlands or for an American bringing bagpipes to Scotland, I didn’t know.
While they had this pleasant little exchange, the rest of us stood with icy water dripping off our umbrellas and chill seeping through the soles of our shoes. Still, I found my blood tingling with excitement. It had finally sunk in. I was in Scotland!
I joined Brandi in snapping pictures of our sodden fellow travelers, the bus, even the driver. Brandi would have taken more pictures if she hadn’t noticed Sherry sharing Jim’s umbrella as they stowed their violins in the luggage compartment. She hurried to stand by her husband and take the arm that held his umbrella. I got their picture like that. She looks dry and friendly. He looks like an iceberg.
“She’ll dee well to hang on for dear life,” the driver muttered to me as he shuffled back and forth loading bags.
“I sure hope that man lives long enough to finish the tour,” I whispered to Marcia as we waited for him to get around to our luggage. “He looks about a hundred and ten.”
When he put my bags on I slipped him a little tip, mindful I now had two bags instead of one. “Buy yourself a cup of tea,” I whispered. It always makes me mad and sad when society doesn’t pay people enough for them to retire. I don’t mind old people working if they want to, but this work was so arduous, I suspected that was not Watty’s case.
He bobbed his head and pocketed the folded pound with a smile.
Kenny boarded last. Joyce took one look at the short sword at his side and the hilt of a knife poking up from his right sock and held out her hand. “No weapons. We’ll put them below.”
“A piper always wears a dirk and a ski-and-doo,” he protested. At least, that’s what I thought he said. Laura later informed me the short sword was a sgian dubh.
“If you don’t turn them in, we don’t stop at Loch Lomond.”
He pouted, but handed her the weapons. “Be careful with the sgian dubh,” he admonished. “It’s very valuable. The cairngorm in the hilt alone is worth—”
Anybody could see that it might be valuable. The stone was as big as a robin’s egg. “I’ll stow them safely for you below,” Watty offered. Kenny insisted on climbing off the bus and watching where he put them.
Marcia—who had taken the seat in front of me—turned around to say softly, “Now we know why we all had to get up half an hour early. Loch Lomond wasn’t on our itinerary.”
I nodded. “And from the expression on Joyce’s face, she’s planning to throw him in.”
I scrunched up my toes in soggy shoes and added, “He won’t get much wetter than I am already.”
Watty, who was climbing back on, heard me and called back, “I doot this bit o’ weather’ll clair up before we’re many miles away up the road.”
“The weatherman promised,” I called back, indignant. “He said clear skies to the north.”
Laura leaned across the aisle to explain softly, “When a Scot says ‘I doubt,’ it means he doesn’t doubt at all. He was agreeing with you. Now be nice.”
When Kenny got back on, even though Sherry was sitting just behind the front door, he tromped down the aisle and paused, obviously hoping to sit with Laura. She had her coat beside her on her seat and didn’t pick it up. “There’s room for everybody to have a seat,” she told him, but smiled to take away the sting. He slid into the seat behind her.
After the driver had shut the door, he stood in the aisle and made a little welcoming speech. “For those who cannae read, my name is Watty.” We all chuckled along with him, but after that, I didn’t understand enough words to make sense of what he said.
Did You Declare the Corpse? Page 6