Skeeter stayed where he was until Kit and the Wardmann-Wolfe agent had left the room. As the meeting broke up and the tourists milled around outside, trying to help and mostly dithering and getting in everyone’s way, Skeeter took Ellen Danvers quietly aside and asked to see her photos again.
“All of them?” she asked.
He nodded, studying each of the shots in turn, looking carefully at every digitally recorded face. “You’re sure you took pictures of every single person in the group?” he asked at length.
“Yes, quite sure.”
“And there wasn’t any way they could’ve been hiding someone else? In their luggage, say?”
“No, I don’t think that would’ve been possible. Not an adult, anyway. The porter smuggled the children in his trunk, but they’re such little things. I can’t imagine how anyone could have stuffed an adult into one of those trunks.”
“But they took their luggage with them? Steamer trunks, pack horses, all of it?”
Puzzled, she nodded. “Yes. Why?”
Skeeter merely shook his head. “Just a theory. Nothing I want to discuss, yet.” He wondered if Kit had noticed, or Kaederman, for that matter, that the one face missing from Ellen Danvers’ impressive collection of photos was Jenna Caddrick’s? Nor did Ianira Cassondra appear in any of her shots, which struck Skeeter as both ominous and profoundly odd. If neither Jenna nor Ianira had come with Armstrong and Marcus, just where had the two women gone? Were they, in fact, hidden away in the steamer trunks? Or buried somewhere in a shallow grave? Skeeter’s gut churned queasily. He didn’t want to share those particular thoughts with anyone just yet, not until he could get Kit alone once more. He said only, “Thanks for letting me look through these again.”