Joanna couldn’t help but grin. The group of old ladies had turned out to be bawdier and more likely to get into mischief than any demographic of tourists she’d researched when she’d left her job at the pharmaceutical company and offered to buy in—or debt in, as it were—and help Lucia get the tour business she’d always dreamed of successfully launched.

Joanna glanced over at the lively, laughing Georgetta and felt a twinge of envy. I so wanna be Georgetta when I grow up. The thought powered her grin into a full-blown smile and the tension melted out of her shoulders.
Joanna gave Irene’s thin, blue-veined hand a reassuring pat and winked. “No harm. No foul.” She took the paper napkin out of her lap and tucked it under the rim of her dessert plate, which was streaked with what was left of the dark chocolate lava cake that was going to add at least two miles to her daily run this evening. Time to get these feisty golden-agers delivered to Brady’s Bed and Breakfast and tucked in for the night. “You ladies good on the itinerary? Everyone have their copy?”

The rosy-cheeked vice president of the knitting club sitting directly across the large, round table from Joanna leaned to her right, with one costume-jewelry-encrusted hand shielding her brightly lipsticked mouth. Eyes dancing, she whispered something to the nothing-but-business, big-boned woman beside her. High-pitched hissing spiked with breathless chuckles that mimicked the bubbly enthusiasm of a newly uncorked bottle of champagne effectively camouflaged whatever she was telling the president of the group of rowdy women.
“Secrets at the dinner table are rude, Frances,” Irene said, rapping her butter knife sharply like a warning bell against the edge of her plate. “Miss Joanna asked us a question. I think we should all be good enough to grace her with an answer. Does everyone understand our schedule for the next few days?”

Hazel Abraham, the recipient of Frances’s covert conversation, leaned far to the right until her chair creaked in protest at the shifting of her generous weight. Long, square face locked down in an intense scowl, she peered at something just past Joanna’s left shoulder. Slowly, she adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses, then finally straightened in her seat and nodded. “I believe you’re onto something there, Frances.” She turned and fixed Irene with a look that had to be a pre-agreed-upon signal among those in the club, then barely flicked an arthritic finger in Joanna’s direction. “I need to visit the ladies’ room. Don’t you need a visit too, Irene?”

A chorus of “I do’s” echoed around the table, all seven of the elderly ladies sounding off as though answering roll call at the bingo hall.

Irene barely shook her head, thin lips moving in what had to be silent prayer as she rolled her eyes and slowly rose from her seat.

An ominous shiver tingled up Joanna’s back, starting at her tailbone and ending in the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. Now what were they up to, and how could she get this tour of Highland Life and Legends back on track?

“We won’t be long,” Georgetta announced, as chairs scraped backward and the liquid in the half-empty glasses littering the table shimmied back and forth with every bump as the ladies rose from their seats.

Georgetta’s smile was a little too bright for Joanna’s comfort. The older woman pointed at the table and winked.

“Now, you just wait here, sweetie. When we get back we’ll make sure we’re all up to snuff on the itinerary—okay?”

“Okay,” Joanna agreed weakly. What choice did she have? She had the distinct feeling that the Alverest Knitting Chicks had just called an emergency meeting in the Brady Townhouse Caf&