Read Online Holy Terror in the Hebrides by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online

ground.”
    Grace, with crisp efficiency, went out on deck, found my purse, and brought it in to me. “Perhaps you need another ginger capsule or two.”
    I took them gratefully. “Hand ’round the rest to anyone who wants them. I imagine we’ll be leaving soon, with the rescue people in charge now.”
    And indeed, in a few minutes Mr. MacPherson mustered wee Davie to action, and with no wasted words or motions they went into their accustomed departure routine, as if this were the ordinary return leg of a pleasure outing to Staffa. The skipper spoke one last comment into the radio.
    “
Iolaire
casting off from Staffa, making for Fionnphort and Iona. Over and oot.”
    The trip back was no pleasure. Clouds were beginning to mass, so the sunshine was fitful, and the wind and waves were higher, but not alarmingly so. And the ginger capsules worked every bit as well as they had on the way out. But my mind wouldn’t let me relax. What could I have done to save Bob? If I had called out earlier, if I had gone farther into the cave . . . I went over it again and again, and there was nothing, and I knew there was nothing, but still I worried.
    And when we got back to Iona, what then? What was going to happen? Would the police be involved? This was Scotland, with laws different from England’s. And with the missing person an American, everything was going to be very complicated.
    At last the boat slackened speed and I saw a pier looming ahead. Wee Davie appeared in the cabin. “Fionnphort,” he murmured. “The constable will likely be there to talk to you, ma’am.” He went up on deck to help the Mull passengers off the boat, and I waited, apprehensive.
    There was, after all, little enough to the interview. The constable from Bunessan asked only a few questions. I assured him that no one had been near Bob when he fell, and that he hadn’t jumped, but slipped. He expressed the proper regrets, talked to the other Chicagoans briefly, and then in a minute or two we were headed out again for the trip across Iona Sound. The sea was getting really rough now, and the ten minute trip seemed to last an hour, but eventually we were there, and with wee Davie’s help I climbed over the side and jumped down to the pier with rubbery legs. I could have kissed the salty planks, and as a matter of fact I almost did; I certainly couldn’t walk. Leaning against a piling, deeply thankful to have my feet on a stationary surface, I tried to recover my equilibrium.
    The MacPhersons, as soon as they were free of their charges, began to move the boat out. I watched in horror. “But—but they mustn’t go out again in this!” I wailed to no one in particular.
    Chris, the last passenger ashore, put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “There’s a good harbor across the Sound, between Mull and a fair-sized island. I heard them talking about it just now. They call it the Bull Hole. The
Iolaire
should be safe there. Whether the skipper and his son can get back across the Sound in a dinghy, or even a launch . . .” He shook his head.
    “I hope they don’t even try.” I shuddered.
    “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” In fact I was just about at the end of my rope. It was time I headed for the hotel, which seemed impossibly far away. I put my head down and trudged, Chris courteously supporting one elbow. I was too fargone even to thank him. Atleast the wind was at our backs. Drearily I put one foot in front of the other, heading up the hill.
    By the time I dragged myself through the heavy front door I had begun to shiver again, and I couldn’t seem to stop. Even when I’d settled myself in front of the electric heater that was beaming brightly on the hearth, I shook. The other guests hovered around me, making ineffectual suggestions that I barely heard.
    “She’s in shock,” said Hester, the proprietor, who came into the room, concerned about the commotion we were creating. “Something’s happened?”
    Four women began to talk at