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

after all?
    The real trouble, I told myself, was that I’d had too many encounters with bodies in the past few months, and most of them had been murdered. There was no question of murder here. I’d been there; I’d seen exactly what had happened.
    All the same, I’d have been happier if so many people on the island—in this hotel—hadn’t hated Bob.
    I was frightening myself, after the manner of children who pretend too much and too vividly, and the knock at the door scared me nearly into fits.
    “Mrs. Martin? Are you awake?” Mrs. Campbell’s voice came gently through the door.
    “Oh! Yes, I—wait a second.” I struggled out of the clutches of the duvet and opened the door. “Come in.”
    “And how are you feeling?” She came in, closed the door, and perched on the edge of the bed. “We’ve all been
that
worried about you, having to see such a terrible thing.”
    “I’d never want to see it again,” I said with a shudder, “and the worst part was not being able to help at all. I’ll probably have nightmares about that for the rest of my life. But I’m fine, really.”
    She looked at me, brow furrowed. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Mrs. Martin, you don’t look so well. You’re white as that sheet, and you’re shaking. You’d best sit down.”
    I sat on the hard chair that was all the room afforded, more because my legs gave out than at her suggestion. “I wish you’d call me Dorothy. And I do feel a bit wobbly, I admit. I didn’t know it until I stood up.”
    “Well, then, Dorothy, it’s my opinion you need food and drink. I came up to see if you’d like a tray in your room. Andrew and I would be happy to—”
    “No!” I was still worked up enough to not want to be alone. “No, indeed. I don’t want to put you to the trouble. I’m sure you’re right, Mrs. Campbell. I just need something to eat. I’ll get dressed and come right down.”
    “It’s Hester, please. We did a buffet tonight, in the lounge. Everyone was a bit upset, and it seemed more fitting than a formal meal. There’s plenty of food, if you’re sure you’re able . . .”
    I protested once more that I was perfectly all right, and shooed her out. I needed a little more time to think.
    Of course my theories and fears were absurd. Bob’s death was undoubtedly pure accident. All the same, those prickles weren’t going to go away until I could figure out where that water had come from. I’m cursed with a larger bump of curiosity than most people.
    I dressed quickly and went down to the lounge. A man I assumed was Hester’s husband, Andrew, was tending the buffet, although all the other guests were sitting finishing their meals. All the lamps were lit, and they’d replaced the electric heater with a real fire in the vast fireplace, roaring and crackling and flickering madly as wind blew down the chimney. It added an element of cheer, which was undoubtedly the point. Stan, tail held high, was working the room, exercising his considerable charm in hopes of some tidbits of salmon. The scene, in short, looked cozy, and perfectly normal.
    I took a deep breath to relax, took the plate Andrew filled for me at the buffet table, and found a chair near the fire, next to Jake.
    Nobody was talking much. I ate a little, and began to feel slightly better. When I had finished, and put my still full plate on the floor for Stan, I turned to Jake.
    “I wish people were sorrier Bob is dead,” I said quietly. I felt a little shy with him, not certain what to say after Teresa’s sad story. But we were both caught up in the same trouble now, and he was an easy sort of person to talk to.
    “Hmm? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
    “I keep worrying because nobody’s mourning. I know Bob wasn’t exactly a pleasant person, but surely we ought to be having a—a kind of wake.” I looked around the room. “Only nobody seems to care much.”
    Jake shrugged fatalistically. “There’s no family here, no friends. What do you want,