Bonnie of Evidence (33 page)

“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 me. We stared at each other. I grabbed her shoulders. “
Oh, my God
! They’re running away to get married!”

I burst into Bean’s office. “We think we know where they’re heading.”

“Would ye hold, please?” Bean clapped his hand over the phone. “Where?”

“Gretna Green.”

“Why?”

“To get married.”

“Why would they travel all the way ta the Scottish border ta do that when they could be married by a justice of the peace in Wick?”

I stared at him as if he had two heads. “Because Gretna Green would be more romantic, of course.”

“Romantic.” He rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Miceli, we’re not going ta know anything fer sure until we initiate the tracking process.”

“But—”

“
Please
, Mrs. Miceli.” He returned to his call. “I’m sorry. Whit were ye saying?”

I stepped out of the office and closed the door behind me, shrugging at Etienne and Nana. “He doesn’t quite understand the romance angle.”

“I got a bad feelin’ about this, dear. What happens if Erik breaks up their plans? What happens if Lucille’s left all by herself someplace? She don’t got the street smarts like what Bernice’s got. What’ll she do?”

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and threw Etienne a pleading look.

“I know what you’re thinking, bella. We’re responsible for her welfare, and yes, we should be there for her if she needs us, but we’re facing an impossibly challenging transportation problem. We have to make up the twelve-hour lead they have on us. So how do you propose we arrive at Gretna Green before them?”

“Well, would you lookit that?” marveled Nana as she pressed her face closer to the map. “An airport.”

_____

During England’s Regency period, the blacksmith shop at Gretna Green had probably been an isolated stone building surrounded by pastureland and sheep. Two centuries later, it was a whitewashed stone building surrounded by a mini shopping center that touted souvenirs, food court, historical museum, and token piper.

We were blending into the crowd at the outdoor food court by huddling around a table, eating ice cream cones. The blacksmith shop with its marriage room was about twenty-five feet away, located amid a tasteful backdrop of greenery and circular stone fountains. A bagpiper in full regimental dress commanded the attention of an audience nearby, a plate sitting near his feet to collect donations from appreciative onlookers.

“If and when they arrive,
do not
allow your emotions to get the better of you,” Etienne instructed us. “You will calmly escort Lucille and Cameron into the blacksmith shop, and if Erik shows up,
I’ll
be the one in charge of handling him. Agreed?”

I gave him a thumbs up. Nana nodded as she shoved the last of her sugar cone into her mouth. The piper’s audience burst into applause as he finished the last strains of “Amazing Grace.”

“Mi hance ur schicty,” Nana mumbled, touching her fingertips together to show us how sticky they were. She pointed to the sign for the toilet and stood up. “Be wight back.”

My stomach twisted into knots as I scanned the tourists milling around the property. I hung my head and groaned. “How much longer, do you think? The waiting is killing me.”

“If this is where they were heading, and they didn’t miss any connections, they should be here momentarily. If not …”

I slumped against the table and hung my head lower.

“Emily.”

“Just give me a minute. I’m feeling the need for a brief pity-party.”

He gently squeezed my forearm. “They’re here.”

“What?” I jerked my head up.

There they were. On the far edge of the bagpiper’s audience, listening to him begin his next tune. They were snuggled cozily against each other, hand-in-hand, smiles lighting their faces, Lucille looking happier than she’d looked in years.

Aw, that was so sweet.

“Are you ready, bella?”

We cut across the food court at a brisk pace. “I just thought of something,” I said to Etienne as we approached them from behind. “Since we’re already here, maybe they’ll ask us to be witnesses at their wedding.”

I sidled a glance at the street to find Erik Ishmael stepping out of a taxi. “Oh, my God.” I grabbed Etienne’s arm. “He’s here.”

“Don’t panic. Just follow the plan.”

As the air rang out with the slightly off-key drone of a lively march, Etienne detoured down the walkway to the taxi while I marched up beside Lucille. “Hi, there.”

Lucille startled as she gaped at me in disbelief. “Emily?” Her mouth worked soundlessly. Her eyes looked about to fly out of their sockets. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you.”

“What?” said Cameron.

“No time to explain. But if you’d follow me into the blacksmith’s shop, we can sort it all out there.”

Cameron seized Lucille’s arm, his expression turning testy. “Don’t listen to her Lucille. Your friends have put her up to this. They don’t want you to be happy.”

“Of course we want her to be happy. Why do you think we’ve gone through all this hassle to find the two of you?”

“I don’t understand,” Lucille puzzled. “How did you get here?”

“Helicopter.”

Her mouth fell open. “You chartered a helicopter to fly you from Wick?”

“I wish. We couldn’t find one to charter, so Nana had to buy it outright. I don’t know how she’s going to get the thing home.”

I trained a look at the street, where Erik and Etienne were standing toe-to-toe, locked in a discussion that looked to be growing heated.

“Please, you two, it’s my job to get you inside the building before—”

“
I’m
not a killer!” Erik’s voice was so loud, it drowned out the piper. “
He’s
the killer!”

I blinked stupidly. Why was he pointing at us?

With a sudden deft move, Cameron spun Lucille against him, bracing his forearm across her throat and forcing her arm behind her back. “Keep your distance!” he shouted at Erik. “Back off, or I swear I’ll break her arm.”

I cried out in protest. “What are you doing?”

The piper’s tune faded into silence as the audience focused their attention on this alternative adult drama.

“Let her go!” I demanded as I made a move toward Cameron.

He wrenched upward on Lucille’s arm, causing her to cry out in pain. “Not another step,” he warned as he dragged her backward
toward the intersection of two walkways, “or I promise, I
will
break her arm, and it’ll be excruciating.”

Erik and Etienne raced down the walkway, joining me as the crowd formed a wider semi-circle around us. “Your luck’s run out, Dasher.” Erik made a gimme motion with his hand. “Let her go.”

“Cameron,” whimpered Lucille, her face contorted in pain. “Why are you doing this?”

“Are you going to tell her?” asked Erik. “Or should I?”

Beads of sweat popped up on Cameron’s brow. “I love you, Lucille. You have to believe that. I’m just trying to protect you from all the lies people have spread about me.”

“That’s the spirit!” shouted a woman in the crowd.

The audience cheered.

“Listen to me, Mrs. Rassmuson,” Erik implored, “Cameron Dasher is a con man who makes his living by preying on unsuspecting widows like you. He marries them, kills them, then lives high on the hog off their estates. You want to tell her how many wives you’ve buried, Dasher?”

“Don’t listen to him, Lucille,” urged Cameron. “He’s trying to drive a wedge between us to convince you not to marry me.”

Boos and hisses from the audience.

“At last count it was five wives,” persisted Erik. “They’re healthy when he marries them, but they all die quite suddenly, under circumstances that leave a lot of unanswered questions. But Cameron has already made sure that his widows don’t have inquisitive relatives who’d raise any questions, so he’s home free, and free to roam around the country, repeating the process over and over again.”

“Lies!” Cameron spat, his eyes darting left and right as if searching for an escape route.

“It’s too bad the last Mrs. Dasher had pre-arranged her own funeral,” Erik continued. “I wouldn’t be standing here now if she’d opted to be cremated. And it was too bad about that long-lost relative of hers. It’s not like you to be so sloppy.”

Tears gathered in the corners of Lucille’s eyes and floated down her face. “Is what he’s saying true?” she choked out.

“I think the dude’s lying,” shouted a guy from the audience.

“Which dude?” asked someone else. “The good guy or the bad guy?”

“Which one’s the bad guy?” asked the piper.

“Poison is his stock in trade,” Erik thundered. “So what toxic brew did you use this time? The same one you used on wife number five, or something more lethal? You should consider yourself fortunate that Mr. Dasher took such a shine to you, Mrs. Rassmuson. You were spared the same fate as your fellow teammates.”

An exaggerated gasp went up from the crowd.

“Cameron,” Lucille sobbed. “
Please
.”

“Do you want to fess up about what turned you off on Isobel and Dolly?” Erik pressed. “Not enough money to satisfy you? More than the accepted quota of relatives?”

Cameron shook his head, rattled. “Isobel was a leech. A trouble-maker. If I didn’t get rid of her—”

“It’s true then?” Lucille choked out.

“Shut up.” He wrenched upward on her arm again. “Dolly screwed up by Googling me. Finding my name in the obituaries of so many dead women really set her off. I told her it wasn’t me, but I could tell she wasn’t going to drop it, so she forced my hand. She has no one to blame but herself. If she’d owned a regular cell phone without Internet access, she’d still be alive. Damn iPhones.”

“She can’t breathe!” I cried as Lucille’s face went white, her eyes exploding with something dark and terrifying.

“I was your second choice?” she rasped in a wounded voice.

“Third choice,” mocked Cameron. “But who’s counting?”

She drove her foot into his instep with such might that he dropped his arm from across her throat and howled like an injured beast.

“WOO! WOO! WOO!” chanted the crowd, egging her on.

As he hopped away from her on one foot, he bumped straight into Nana, on her way back from the restroom.

“Get him, Marion!” Lucille yelled. “He’s our killer!”

“
EEEEEYAAAA,
” cried Nana as she made a wavy gesture with her hands. Leaping straight up, she whirled like a dervish, snapped her leg out, and—WHAM!—drove the top of her foot into Cameron’s face. His limbs jerked wildly before he tottered, stiffened, then fell backward onto the pavement with a resounding
BOOM
.

The audience burst out in uproarious applause.

Whistles. Hoots. Cheers.

“Is this one of those interactive theater shows like ‘Tony n’
Tina’s Wedding’?” a woman asked Lucille.

“You guys rock,” a man complimented her. He took out his wallet and made a quick check of the ground. “Where’s your donation plate?”