Free Bonnie of Evidence by Maddy Hunter Page B

looked left and right. “That’s odd. I wonder where he is?”
    “I GOT IT ON TAPE!” Dad cried as he charged into the room, waving his camcorder. “I couldn’t believe it! Right there! Right in front of me!” He skidded to a stop, hair mussed, face red, chest heaving with exertion. “I saw Nessie!”

SIX
    T HE STAMPEDE OUT OF the dining room made the recent stampede into the dining room look as if it had happened in slow motion. In the mere blink of an eye, chairs were upended, tables abandoned, goblets toppled, napkins discarded.
    “Out of my way!”
    “Ow! Get off my foot!”
    “Move it! It’s almost dark and my camera doesn’t have night settings!”
    Panting. Shoving. Grunting. Then silence.
    Mom and Nana remained at their tables, looking as stupefied by the empty room as they were by Dad’s announcement. Dad stood beside me, his knees shaking as badly as his hands. “How about we sit you down?” I said as I grabbed his arm and ushered him to a nearby chair.
    Etienne nodded toward the doorway. “Shall I—?”
    “Yes! Don’t let them out of your sight. And if you see a life preserver along the path, grab it. Someone’s probably going to need it.”
    This was one of the unexpected benefits of marriage—knowing what your spouse was going to say even before he said it. I didn’t know the physiological mechanics of how this phenomenon happened, but I figured it would be a great perk fifty years from now, when neither one of us could remember what we were about to say.
    “Geez,” choked Dad as he sank into the chair, his eyes glassy with shock. “Geez.” He gave his head a shake. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in my entire life. It scared the bejeebers out of me.”
    This was a pretty strong statement coming from Dad, who was completely fearless when dealing with truly frightening stuff like spiders, snakes, and dentists. I hovered over him, hoping I could restore calm by patting his shoulder. “You want to show me the goods?”
    “Sure, hon, but—” He slid the wrist strap off his hand, shoved a dinner plate aside, set the camera on the table, then stared at it as if he were a botanist observing a new species of plant. “I only know how to record. I haven’t learned how to play anything back yet.”
    “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” I’d become something of an expert at solving the complex technical and electronic problems that arose with guests’ ever-changing audio and video equipment. The secret was knowing how to ask the right questions.
    I shot a desperate look at Nana. “Do you know how to operate this thing?”
    “Nope. But if it’s got a battery, I can probably figure it out.”
    “I know I packed the owner’s manual,” said Mom as she riffled through her fannypack. “I thought reading it might help your father fall asleep on the plane ride over, but I don’t remember him giving it back to me.” A look of horror crept into her eyes. “Oh, my God, Bob, I hope you didn’t leave it in the seat pocket in front of you.”
    Nana toddled over, grabbed the camcorder, flipped open the touch screen, then studied it for a long moment before fiddling with some widgets and buttons that produced a soft whirring sound. “Now we’re cookin’,” she said, waiting for a good portion of the tape to rewind before hitting the Stop button. She looked over at Mom. “You wanna see the creature what’s been hauntin’ Loch Ness for thousands of years?”
    “The three of you go ahead,” Mom insisted as she dumped the contents of her fannypack onto the table. “Bob’s manual has to be here someplace. I’m just going to double check real quick.”
    “ Mom.” My voice became a high-pitched squeak. “It’s the Loch Ness monster.”
    “Which makes it doubly important for me to find the manual.” She began sorting through her stash of papers with her usual systematic thoroughness. “If your father becomes famous, we’re going to have to know how to download the