The Puffin of Death by Betty Webb Page A

case of mass eavesdropping but recognized that in their place, I’d do the same. A member of their tour group had been murdered in the very spot they planned to visit.
    But as Inspector Haraldsson had pointed out, it was none of my business. I hadn’t known the victim and I certainly didn’t want to know the killer.
    Best laid plans, and all that. Later, as I was washing my hands in the ladies’ room, a woman approached me at the sink. I’d noticed her earlier in the dining room. A tall, slender, brunette with startlingly green eyes, she was attractive enough to be a fashion model. In her youth, anyway. A closer inspection revealed fine lines parenthesizing her mouth. The man she shared her table with was as handsome as she was beautiful, too, but his chin and nose looked almost too perfect to be real.
    â€œUm, I couldn’t help but hear you talk to that, um, cop,” she said, her voice high and hesitant as a child’s, yet she had to be at least in her late thirties.
    â€œThe whole dining room heard us. Inspector Haraldsson wasn’t exactly quiet.”
    â€œI looked you up on my iPhone…”
    Technology has its drawbacks. With a few taps on a screen, total strangers could find out everything about you. I forced a smile. “Don’t believe everything you see on the Internet.”
    As if I hadn’t spoken, she continued. “…and thought maybe you can help us.”
    Us. I looked at her left hand. Yep, a wedding ring. Mr. Handsome was her husband.
    â€œI’m only here to chaperone a few zoo animals back to the States,” I said, trying to sound apologetic about it.
    â€œThat inspector, Haraldsson, he was asking Ben too many questions.”
    â€œInspectors do that sort of thing.”
    â€œBut considering everything, I’m afraid they’ll pin the murder on Ben.” She looked down at her hands. They were trembling. “Given his past and all.”
    I studied her reflection in the mirror. Either she was sweating, or there were tears on her cheek. “What do you mean, ‘given his past and all’?” A little voice told me to follow Haraldsson’s orders and keep my nose out of police business. I ignored it. I grabbed some paper towels and began drying my hands. “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
    â€œBen’s had problems in the past, you see, and there was a big argument between him and Simon before we boarded the plane. He’s never liked Simon, so…” She bit her lip.
    â€œIf you’re that worried, maybe you should find an attorney.” I made for the door, but she moved quickly, blocking my path.
    â€œAn Icelandic attorney? You must be kidding. They’d love nothing better than to blame this on some tourist.”
    Leave, Teddy. Shove this woman out of the way and leave right now. Go back to your table, tell Bryndis we have to go, and hustle your butt out of this hotel before you agree to do something you’ll regret later.
    â€œLook, I have to…”
    â€œBen’s protective of me because of all the weird stuff that’s been going on with Simon lately. He bought a Glock and…”
    Deflect. That’s what you learn to do when you work in a zoo. When a four-year-old asks you where baby chimpanzees come from, you ask them which they think is the smartest—chimps or orangutans. “Your husband didn’t bring a handgun on the plane with him, did he?”
    An affronted look. “Ben’s not stupid.”
    â€œDid your husband pack his suitcase or did you?”
    â€œWhat difference does it make?”
    She was beautiful, yes, but no Mensa candidate. “Think about it.”
    After a moment, she said, “I’d have noticed if he packed his Glock.”
    Which meant her husband did his own packing. “You need an attorney, Mrs…. Er, what did you say your name was?”
    â€œI’m known as just Dawn.”
    What