Free Did You Declare the Corpse? by Patricia Sprinkle

aye,” Kenny replied. “Thought I’d do a bit of playing on the way, like.” In the few hours since we’d gotten to Scotland, he’d developed an accent. I couldn’t tell whether it was unconscious, affected, or an honest attempt to speak the language of our host country.

    “That’s right.” The driver rasped one palm along a cheek that would have been improved by a shave. “We can all do with a bit o’ music on the way north. Dulls the senses so ye dinna ken ye’re leavin’ the English-speakin’ wor-r-rld.” He hawked and spat out his contempt, but whether it was for the Highlands or for an American bringing bagpipes to Scotland, I didn’t know.

    While they had this pleasant little exchange, the rest of us stood with icy water dripping off our umbrellas and chill seeping through the soles of our shoes. Still, I found my blood tingling with excitement. It had finally sunk in. I was in Scotland!

    I joined Brandi in snapping pictures of our sodden fellow travelers, the bus, even the driver. Brandi would have taken more pictures if she hadn’t noticed Sherry sharing Jim’s umbrella as they stowed their violins in the luggage compartment. She hurried to stand by her husband and take the arm that held his umbrella. I got their picture like that. She looks dry and friendly. He looks like an iceberg.

    “She’ll dee well to hang on for dear life,” the driver muttered to me as he shuffled back and forth loading bags.

    “I sure hope that man lives long enough to finish the tour,” I whispered to Marcia as we waited for him to get around to our luggage. “He looks about a hundred and ten.”

    When he put my bags on I slipped him a little tip, mindful I now had two bags instead of one. “Buy yourself a cup of tea,” I whispered. It always makes me mad and sad when society doesn’t pay people enough for them to retire. I don’t mind old people working if they want to, but this work was so arduous, I suspected that was not Watty’s case.

    He bobbed his head and pocketed the folded pound with a smile.

    Kenny boarded last. Joyce took one look at the short sword at his side and the hilt of a knife poking up from his right sock and held out her hand. “No weapons. We’ll put them below.”

    “A piper always wears a dirk and a ski-and-doo,” he protested. At least, that’s what I thought he said. Laura later informed me the short sword was a sgian dubh.

    “If you don’t turn them in, we don’t stop at Loch Lomond.”

    He pouted, but handed her the weapons. “Be careful with the sgian dubh ,” he admonished. “It’s very valuable. The cairngorm in the hilt alone is worth—”

    Anybody could see that it might be valuable. The stone was as big as a robin’s egg. “I’ll stow them safely for you below,” Watty offered. Kenny insisted on climbing off the bus and watching where he put them.

    Marcia—who had taken the seat in front of me—turned around to say softly, “Now we know why we all had to get up half an hour early. Loch Lomond wasn’t on our itinerary.”

    I nodded. “And from the expression on Joyce’s face, she’s planning to throw him in.”

    I scrunched up my toes in soggy shoes and added, “He won’t get much wetter than I am already.”

    Watty, who was climbing back on, heard me and called back, “I doot this bit o’ weather’ll clair up before we’re many miles away up the road.”

    “The weatherman promised,” I called back, indignant. “He said clear skies to the north.”

    Laura leaned across the aisle to explain softly, “When a Scot says ‘I doubt,’ it means he doesn’t doubt at all. He was agreeing with you. Now be nice.”

    When Kenny got back on, even though Sherry was sitting just behind the front door, he tromped down the aisle and paused, obviously hoping to sit with Laura. She had her coat beside her on her seat and didn’t pick it up. “There’s room for everybody to have a seat,” she told him, but smiled to take away the sting. He