Bonnie of Evidence by Maddy Hunter Read Free Book Online Page B

means we’re fatter,” said Bernice.
    “It’s not important how many bodies fit into the lake,” Wally interrupted in his tour director’s voice, “as long as none of the bodies belong to any of you. I’ll caution you to heed the warning though. If you wander down to the loch to take pictures, be sure to watch your footing near the water’s edge. The grass can be slippery, and that first step is a doozey.”
    As the desk clerk began dispensing room keys, I sauntered over to the lobby’s enormous picture windows for a better view of the infamous lake. A brick walkway zigzagged down the hill from the hotel’s patio to the shoreline, where umbrellaed tables and Adirondack chairs awaited guests hoping to catch that once-in-a-lifetime glimpse of Nessie. But I saw no cleverly disguised guardrails, no quaint fences, no neatly clipped hedges to prevent people from tripping over their shoelaces and stumbling headlong into the lake, with its two-hundred-and-fifty-foot plunge to the bottom.
    Unh-oh . This wasn’t good.
    I guess the hotel felt obliged to keep the view from the Adirondack chairs unobstructed for visiting tourists, just in case Nessie decided to rear her much celebrated head.
    My stomach executed a slow roll as I considered the potential for disaster. My only saving grace was that the wind had picked up and the blue sky was being devoured by billowing, soot-gray clouds that threatened an evening of mist and unrelenting rain.
    Hallelujah.
    _____
    I arrived at the library fifteen minutes early to find most of the group already there. Several optimists idled at the windows with binoculars pressed to their eyes, apparently trying to convince themselves that the loch was visible through the fog, while others staked out spots in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, perusing titles whose leather spines looked to have been bound about the time Gutenberg invented the printing press. I didn’t see Mom, but Dad was here with his camcorder, capturing the heart-pounding action of people staring at fog and old books. Nana, George, and the rest of their geocaching team were gathered in a far corner, locked in heated discussion over something that was causing Bill Gordon’s already florid cheeks to grow even redder. Etienne and Wally were still in the lobby, kibitzing with the front desk clerk about where we should go tomorrow should our Loch Ness cruise be canceled due to foul weather.
    “Hey, check this out,” Isobel Kronk instructed us, apropos to nothing. She hovered over an over-sized tome that she’d set on one of the room’s many reading tables, her forefinger stabbing a line of text halfway down the page. “According to this History of the Scottish Clans , the chieftain of my family’s clan became the Duke of Argyll. Pretty impressive, huh? Wait ’til my kid hears there’s royalty in the family. He might have to switch from drinking beer to something more snooty, like wine coolers.”
    “Is the Duke of Argyll the fella who started that nice line of clothing and accessories for both men and women?” asked Margi. “I love his socks.”
    “The Duke of Argyll?” Bill Gordon’s voice boomed out from the corner, prompting all eyes to swivel in his direction.
    He was ruggedly built in an “over-the-hill” kind of way, with a bristly red beard, chest as broad as a beer barrel, and a head full of coarse, ginger-colored hair that was shot through with silver. His brows stretched in wild disarray above his eyes, like thorns in an overgrown thicket. His fists were big as mallets. His body language hinted that he was long on pomposity and short on patience, which probably explained why he looked as if he were about to set his hair on fire.
    Breaking away from his team, he strode to the center of the room, where he drilled Isobel with a menacing look. “That would mean your clan name is Campbell.”
    Stella Gordon plopped onto a settee and tossed her head back, offering the heavens a mournful look. “Here we