The Corpse Wore Tartan (11 page)

 

Although customers continued to keep Liss busy, she had been dimly aware of the wind dropping. She could no longer hear it howling. The sun came out, pale and anemic but still bright enough to make the crust of ice atop the snow glisten.

During a lull in business, when no one else was in the gift shop, Liss went to the window. She could actually see the landscape. The scenery was pleasant to look at, if she ignored the broken branches scattered about. Snow covered the back lawn almost to the top of the pretty gazebo at its center and extended into the woods beyond. Liss shivered, glad she was safe and warm inside the hotel.

No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than she realized that someone did not share her sentiment. In fact, there appeared to be
three
someones who did not. As she watched, they started across the slick white surface on snowshoes.

Behind her, Liss heard the shop door open. Two sets of footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. They came to a halt a foot or two short of where she stood. “Lunch is about to be served,” Dan announced. “Tricia is here to spell you so you can come with me to the restaurant and get something to eat.”

“Sorry,” Liss said. “I can't leave right now. I'm busy watching a low-budget version of
Prison Break
.” She pointed to the three escapees. “I guess they got tired of waiting around.”

Dan closed the distance to the window and gave a snort of disbelief when he saw what she was looking at. “I'd like to go home, too, but that's not a very smart way to do it.”

“I can't imagine they'll get very far. They don't even have poles.”

“From the look of it, none of them have ever been on snowshoes before, either,” Dan said.

Tricia joined them. “What are you watching?” She blinked several times. “Is that Rhonda?”

“And Sadie and Dilys,” Liss confirmed.

“Better known as the three stooges,” Dan muttered.

On softer snow, assisted by trekking poles and with a little practice, they might not have fared too badly. Unfortunately, the hard shell left by a combination of sleet and wind had made the surface slicker than an ice rink. The snow was also littered with numerous hazards to navigation.

Rhonda's path took her on a collision course with a fallen tree limb. She looked up, saw the obstacle, and tried to back up. When the cleats on the bottom of her snowshoes caught on an icy patch, she wound up flat on her back.

Liss pressed closer to the windowpane. “I hope she's not hurt!”

“Not if the way she's flapping around is any indication.”

Arms and legs flailing, Rhonda looked like a fish out of water—a big fish in a bright yellow winter coat, orange muffler, and knit cap.

Dilys moved toward her friend, but she slipped before she'd gone two steps. Windmilling her arms failed to restore her footing. She went down on one knee, hard, and at the same time her other leg abruptly broke through the crust and disappeared up to midcalf. She wriggled around, trying to free herself, but she was stuck tight.

Sadie LeBlanc, dressed in a heavy winter coat and wearing earmuffs, shuffled forward a few steps, weaving as she struggled to keep her balance. When she saw what had happened to her two friends, she froze as if playing Statues, apparently too afraid to try moving in any direction.

“I suppose we'll have to go out and rescue them,” Dan said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

“Looks that way.” Liss reached for her coat, which she'd worn until the fire in the hearth had warmed the shop sufficiently for her to be comfortable without it. She shrugged into it and added a woolly hat and a pair of mittens.

Dan's coat was in his father's office. When he veered off to get it, Liss continued on into the hotel restaurant. If Sherri was still there, she'd get a kick out of the latest development.

Richardson Bruce nearly knocked Liss off her feet as he stormed out. His hands were curled into tight fists at his sides. He sent a venomous look over his shoulder, nostrils flaring, as he left. If he'd been able to breathe fire, Sherri would have been incinerated on the spot.

“Wow,” Liss said, grabbing her friend's uniform jacket off the back of a chair and handing it to her. “What did you do to him?”

“He didn't like some of my questions. Seems fair. I didn't like some of his answers. Where am I going?” She obediently zipped up her jacket.

“You need to see for yourself.”

Dan was waiting for them in the lobby. Guests looked up, curiosity in their gazes, as the three of them headed for a door that led out onto a verandah. Joe Ruskin, equally curious, came out from behind the check-in desk.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“You'll be able to see the floor show from the window,” Dan told his father. Then, in a voice filled with concern, he added, “You doing okay, Dad?”

Liss glanced sharply at Joe. His face was pale, except for the deep shadows under his eyes.

“I'm holding up,” Joe said. “Nothing wrong with me that a good night's sleep and a win at Megabucks won't cure. Is that my housekeeping staff?” They'd reached the window that overlooked the drama unfolding on the back lawn.

“I'm afraid so.”

“Where on earth did they get snowshoes?” Sherri asked.

“From the sports shop,” Joe said. “That's the room next to the health club. The plan was to open it as soon as I came up with enough money to pay someone to run it. I figured we could rent out equipment to guests who don't bring their own. I've been buying up skis, snowboards, snowshoes, and ice skates for the last year or so, mostly through
Uncle Henry's Swap and Sell
, and storing them.”

Muttering under her breath, Sherri pushed open the door. A blast of cold air rushed in. When Sherri went out, Liss gritted her teeth and followed close on her friend's heels. Dan was right behind them.

Sadie had put another dozen yards between herself and the hotel. The modern aluminum snowshoes she wore had little metal cleats that acted like crampons to grab the surface of the snow and improve traction. She glanced back over her shoulder when Sherri shouted her name, but didn't stop her slow forward progress.

“Crazy woman,” Sherri muttered. “It's not like she's going to get anywhere.”

At her present pace, it would be days before she reached the village…if she didn't freeze to death first. Liss had a sudden vivid image of the three women turned into ice sculptures.

“Help!” Rhonda hollered. “Someone help me.” She flopped and squirmed, unable to right herself. She couldn't turn over. She couldn't sit up. The snowshoes strapped to her boots weren't all that much larger than her regular shoes, but they were awkward enough to keep throwing her off balance.

Dilys didn't say a word, but her situation had not improved. That had to be an uncomfortable position, Liss thought, with one leg bent and the other stuck tight.

“Any ideas?” Dan asked.

“Leave them there?” Sherri suggested. “No. Forget I said that. It's not an option.”

Behind them, the door opened again and Joe appeared, warmly dressed and armed with three snow shovels. He handed them out and kept going. “I'll fire up the small snowblower we use on the sidewalks, but I won't be able to get too close to them with that. You three will have to do the last part by hand.”

Sherri sighed and pulled an old fashioned walkie-talkie out of her jacket pocket, using it to contact Pete and tell him she'd be a while.

“Where did that come from?” Liss asked when Sherri signed off.

“Joe Ruskin. He remembered that they used walkie-talkies during the hotel renovation and dug them out of storage.” She managed a grim smile. “I get the impression that the basement is a rabbit warren of storage rooms. I guess we should be grateful Sadie smokes. Otherwise it might have been days before anyone stumbled across the body.”

Liss blinked at her friend as she connected the dots. By the time she had all the lines drawn and had figured out that Sadie must have hidden a pack of cigarettes in that particular storage room, the noise from Joe's snowblower made further discussion impossible.

It took the better part of an hour to extricate the two trapped women and persuade Sadie that there was no way she was going to make it all the way home on showshoes. All three were in sad shape by the time they shuffled back across the icy surface to the verandah and from there into the hotel lobby.

“I'd kill for a cigarette,” Sadie muttered. “It's nothing short of unconstitutional, this prejudice against smokers.”

“Ran out, did you?” Liss asked without sympathy.

“That girl confiscated my property,” Sadie whined, pointing a bony finger at Sherri.

Sadie's stash in the storage room, Liss supposed, was now evidence, as well as being part of the off-limits crime scene. The door was being guarded in shifts by Pete, Simon, and one of the cooks who worked for Angeline Cloutier.

Rhonda was no more grateful to be in out of the cold than her friend. She slapped Sherri's hands away when the younger woman tried to help her unbuckle her snowshoes. When she'd removed them herself, she clasped them tightly to her flat chest and looked ready to bite anyone who tried to take them away from her.

Dilys Marcotte followed suit. She struck a defiant stance—chin stuck out, hands on hips, and legs squarely planted—and glared at Sherri. “It's against the law to keep us here against our will.”

“That's right,” Rhonda agreed. “We've got rights.”

“So does Mr. Ruskin,” Sherri reminded them, glancing toward the check-in desk where Joe was once again on duty. “Not only were you running out on him in the middle of your shift, but you stole three sets of snowshoes belonging to the hotel. If he decides to press charges, I'll gladly arrest all three of you.”

Sadie's jaw dropped. Rhonda moaned aloud.

“What on earth were you thinking?” Sherri demanded. “I thought I made myself very clear to Sadie about the necessity of staying put until the state police can talk to her. Aside from that…are you crazy? There's a sheet of ice on top of that snow. What if you'd gotten halfway home and then fallen? Who'd have rescued you then?”

Rhonda and Dilys exchanged a sheepish look, but Sadie was revving up for another attack. “It's none of your business what we do, Sherri Willett. I had nothing to do with what happened to that man in the kilt and you know it. There's no earthly reason to keep me here, let alone hold Dilys and Rhonda prisoner.”

“Except common sense!”

“And your jobs.” Dan spoke quietly, in contrast to Sherri's rising voice. He was saying the exact same thing, but coming from him it seemed to carry more weight. “Furthermore,” he continued, “you were caught red-handed in possession of valuable hotel property.” He took hold of the snowshoes Rhonda still clutched and tugged, jerking them free of her grasp. “I'll take these back now, thank you.”

Dilys hastily relinquished the pair she held. Tears pooled in her eyes. “We just borrowed them,” she whimpered. “We aren't thieves.”

To Liss, Dilys's agitation looked genuine. So did Sadie's, but for a completely different reason.

“I need a cigarette,” Sadie said irritably. “You've got no right to keep my property from me.”

Again, Dan stepped in. “You light up, you'll be applying for unemployment bright and early tomorrow morning. I mean it, Sadie. You agreed to abide by the rules when you were hired. The hotel doesn't have that many of them, but that one's set in stone. It's a state law.” He softened his voice again. “I know it's hard to quit smoking, but taking off on foot just because you're out of cigarettes wasn't a very smart move. If we hadn't brought you back inside, all three of you might have ended up frozen to death in a snowbank. It might have been spring before anyone found your bodies.”

Sadie's face crumpled. Her gaunt features suddenly looked even more haggard.

“Suck it up, Sadie,” Sherri advised with a total lack of sympathy. “Think of this as your chance to kick the habit.”

Liss stared at her friend in shock. The murder must be preying on Sherri's mind more than Liss realized. It wasn't like her to be cruel.

Sadie aimed a dirty look at Sherri. “Come on, girls,” she said to her companions. “It's time for our lunch break. With all the extra rooms we've got to clean, we need to keep up our strength.” She stomped off toward the restaurant with the other two in tow.

No one moved or spoke until all that remained of Sadie LeBlanc was a whiff of her overpowering perfume—the scent she used to hide the stale cigarette smell that clung to her clothes and hair. Then Sherri sank into the nearest chair, her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook and she made an odd, choking sound.

Alarmed, Liss knelt beside the chair. “Sherri? Are you
crying
?”

A snort answered her. Sherri lifted her head so that Liss could see her face.

“You're laughing!”

“Oh, God,” Sherri gasped. “I must be more exhausted than I thought. I don't know why I think this whole escape attempt is so funny.”

“Because it kinda is?” Liss suggested.

Then she started to laugh, too, just as helpless to stop herself as Sherri had been.

“F
eel better now?” Dan slanted a wary look Liss's way as they joined the line at the buffet table.

“Shut up.” Pink tinged her cheeks, partly from laughing so hard and partly from embarrassment that he'd witnessed the jag she and Sherri had been on.

“Better laughter than tears any day.”

“I think so, too. And yes, I do feel better. Laughter is cathartic. Relieves tension.”

“Comic relief?” he suggested.

“Whatever. The upshot is that I'm hungry enough to eat a horse.” She picked up a plate and utensils.

“I think we can do a little better than that.” His father had gone all out to keep his imprisoned guests happy.

As Angeline Cloutier, their talented chef, had pointed out, better to use up what they had on hand than let it go bad for lack of refrigeration. There was no immediate danger of that, but eventually the generator would run out of fuel. Dan thought again of the great ice storm more than a decade earlier, when most of the state had been without power for the best part of a week. A repeat of that wasn't beyond the realm of possibility, although he fully expected everyone would be able to leave the hotel within the next day or two. After lunch, he intended to ask for volunteers to help clear the driveway. He was sure the town had a crew out already, working on the road at the entrance to The Spruces. They'd—

“Earth to Dan!” From Liss's tone, it wasn't the first time she'd spoken to him.

“Sorry. I was just thinking. Man, I wish we had some way to communicate with the outside world. I sure would like to know what's going on in the rest of the state. Or even just in downtown Moosetookalook.”

“I know what you mean,” she agreed. “But in the meantime, you should eat. Everything looks delicious.”

She'd already piled her plate high. Dan followed suit, but by the time they'd found a table, he realized that those few moments of laughter hadn't had a lasting effect. Liss was brooding. “What's wrong?” he asked.

She sighed. “Is it so awful to want to find out who killed Phil MacMillan? I mean, it's not my job. I know that. But people talk to me, and—” She broke off and sent a sheepish smile his way. “Am I whining? Please tell me I wasn't whining.”

Dan couldn't help but smile back at her. “Maybe a little bit, but I understand. I do,” he repeated when she gave him a skeptical look.

“I've helped the police before. You know I have.”

“I know. And I know it's cost you.” He reached out to caress her cheek. A month ago, there had been a hell of a bruise there, acquired when she'd insisted upon involving herself in the search for a murderer. She'd almost become a victim herself.

“Dan—”

“It would kill me if anything happened to you. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“Then eat your lunch and let the professionals do the investigating.”

Liss sighed and dug in, but her acquiescence lasted barely five minutes. “Can we at least talk about what might have happened?” she asked when she'd consumed less than half of the food on her plate. “You and me, I mean.”

It took a valiant effort on Dan's part not to groan aloud, but somehow he managed. He shrugged instead. “Who dunnit, you mean?”

“I already have a list of suspects.”

Of course she did. Seeing Liss's eager expression, Dan knew she wouldn't be able to let the mystery go. The intellectual exercise of it was like a drug. Then he realized something else. It was to his advantage to know what she was thinking. If she shared her ideas with him, then he'd be right there beside her if she got into any trouble.

“Good idea,” he said.

“Okay. First a question. Do you think the killer made a mistake? That it was Phineas he was after when he killed Phil?”

“Maybe you need two lists, one for each possibility.” Dan avoided answering the question directly. He had no idea if the murderer had killed the wrong man or not and, although he hated it that someone was dead, he didn't really care who the intended victim had been, so long as it hadn't been someone close to him. He flagged down one of the waitstaff and asked for paper and a pen.

“Almost everyone believes it
was
a mistake,” Liss said thoughtfully. “I suppose that's why no one's particularly frightened, even though we're all trapped here, including the killer. Everyone assumes that Phineas is the only one who might still be in danger.”

“Word got around pretty quickly that it was Phil who was dead,” Dan observed. He remembered that Sherri had been careful not to mention his name when she'd made her public announcement that morning. “And there must be some people here who don't have any idea who was murdered or why. The skiers. The staff.”

“I expect just about everyone is in the loop by now,” Liss said. “You know how gossip works.”

“I guess we should be glad the rumors haven't sparked wholesale panic.”

“No, but you notice people are sticking together. Groups of two or three. Safety in numbers, you know?”

A sheaf of hotel stationery and two pens embossed with T
HE
S
PRUCES
arrived along with refills on their coffee. Liss surrendered her empty plate, shoved aside the condiments, and started to write. She quickly made two lists. The one labeled “Phil” listed Eunice first, then Phineas.

“Why would Phineas kill his own brother?” Dan asked, reading upside down.

“Same reason as Eunice might—nearest and dearest are always suspects.”

“So you don't have any specific reason to think either one of them did Phil in?”

“Other than their obvious lack of grief? No.”

“Was Phil better liked than his twin?”

“He was less sarcastic, but I wouldn't willingly have spent time with either of them. Or with Eunice, for that matter. I think…I think maybe they fed off each other's unpleasant natures.”

“Charming.” Dan watched while she completed the second list, the one for Phineas MacMillan. This one was longer: Will MacHenry, Richardson Bruce, Russ Tandy, Tory Tandy, Harvey MacHenry, Lara Brown, and then a question mark.

“The people he insulted at the Burns Night Supper,” Liss explained when she saw his puzzled expression.

“Shouldn't Phineas's nearest and dearest be on that list?” Dan asked. “Phil, I mean.”

Liss frowned. “I guess he should, although I'm not sure what his motive would be. And I don't think Phineas has ever been married,” she added, brow furrowing as she tried to remember that detail. “I guess that rules out a wife with a yen to be a widow.”

“Maybe Phineas has been secretly lusting after Eunice all these years and finally snapped,” Dan suggested with a straight face.

Liss gave him an incredulous look before she realized he was joking. Then she added both Phil and Eunice to Phineas's list. “Anything's possible,” she conceded, “and Harvey MacHenry did hint that Phineas had his heart broken by a former sweetheart. Still, I think he said it happened seven or eight years ago, and I'm pretty sure Phil and Eunice were married longer than that.”

 

After lunch, when Dan left to see about clearing the driveway, Liss headed back to the gift shop. She had to pass through the lobby to get there. Her steps slowed as she recognized Richardson Bruce.

He sat slumped in one of a pair of wingback chairs drawn up to the hearth. From the expression on his face, he'd just lost his best friend. This impression was so strong, and so at odds with the Richardson Bruce Liss had last seen storming out of the restaurant, that she stopped and stared.

What did she know about him? Liss searched her memory. She had done a fair amount of research on SHAS and its leading lights when she'd first agreed to act as liaison. The Internet was a gold mine of information, although how much was accurate was always open to question. Richardson Bruce was around forty and by profession a college professor who lived in South Portland. She thought back to her earliest conversations with the man. She'd gathered that he was unmarried, but hadn't he mentioned a dog?

She slid into the empty chair by his side, nodding politely to him before she stretched her fingers out toward the fire. If he'd talk to her, she might learn something that would be useful to the police. After a few minutes of silence she drew back hands that were now toasty warm and settled herself deeper into the chair.

“How are you doing, Mr. Bruce?”

“Well enough, Ms. MacCrimmon.” There was a suspicious look in his heavy-lidded hazel eyes.

“Is there anything you need? We're all in an unfortunate situation—being stuck here by the storm, I mean—but the management of The Spruces wants everyone to be as comfortable as possible.”

His mouth quirked. “Yes. I've noticed. There's a group playing charades in the library. What next? Simon Says?”

“I wouldn't know about that, Mr. Bruce. I just wish we hadn't lost phone service. I'm concerned about my two cats, and a quick call to my next door neighbor right now would be a blessing.” When he didn't rise to the bait, she gave up on subtlety. “Are you worried about your dog?”

“I left Great Harry with a friend. He's fine.”

Great Harry? What kind of name was that for a dog? “What breed is he?”

“Bulldog.”

Liss tried to picture one of the barrel-chested, perpetually slobbering canines trotting alongside the slightly built Richardson Bruce with his ruddy complexion, receding hairline, and impeccable wardrobe. Even dressed down, as he was now, everything he wore was starched and pressed, not just the Oxford cloth shirt, but the blue jeans, as well.

They sat in silence, basking in the warmth from the fire, as Liss racked her brain for a new topic of conversation. She was a washout at this Mata Hari stuff. Probably just as well. The last thing she wanted was for Bruce to think she was flirting with him.

“We have a Bruce family in Moosetookalook,” she said at length. “Eddie Bruce, the snowplow driver. Any relation?”

“Not that I know of. Are you on duty, Ms. MacCrimmon?”

“Liss, please.”

“My friends call me Rich. Frankly, though, I'm not sure you qualify as a friend.” He took off his glasses, produced a pristine white handkerchief, and made a production of cleaning the lenses. When he was satisfied they were spotless, he replaced the glasses on his nose and the handkerchief in his pocket, then leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers on his chest. He peered at her with an inquisitive look in his eyes. “So, are you representing the hotel right now, or are you assisting the police?”

Liss forced a laugh. “Officially, neither. But I was the liaison for your group. I feel responsible for making sure you folks have everything you need, however long the duration of your stay.”

She didn't think “Rich” knew she and Sherri were close friends, but he'd probably seen them talking together. Whatever Sherri had asked him, her questions had not gone over well.

Bruce shifted his attention away from Liss to stare at the fire. The low murmur of voices and the crackle of the flames, along with the welcome warmth, created a soothing atmosphere. He didn't seem so agitated now. Nor did he any longer look morose. But neither did he appear to be jubilant because he thought he'd gotten away with something…like murder. In fact, at the moment, he seemed suspiciously calm for an individual Liss knew to be habitually short-tempered.

“May I ask you something?” she ventured.

“Depends on what it is.”

“Nothing major. I just wondered why you were so set on having the haggis made from a traditional recipe.”

He regarded her solemnly, as if weighing whether or not he wished to be bothered to answer, but after a few more moments of silence, he relented. “I teach history. My specialty is medieval Scotland. My seminar students are required to prepare a fourteenth-century feast. They rarely get everything right, but that doesn't stop me from pushing for accuracy. As for this supper…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged. “It doesn't seem so important now, but I came here with high hopes for the menu. It would have taken very little effort to achieve perfection.”

Liss considered that. She couldn't see that the exact ingredients in the haggis mattered that much, but everyone had their little quirks. “Was this year's Burns Night different from those in past years?” she asked.

He laughed. “It certainly was!”

“I don't mean because Phil was murdered. I was talking about the insinuations in Phineas's speech. Have the speeches and toasts always been so mean-spirited?”

Bruce's good humor vanished. “Not at all. That damn Phineas—” He broke off, scowling. “I don't wish to discuss this further.”

Drat
, Liss thought. She'd provoked him and now he clammed up completely. He stared fixedly at the fire, ignoring her. She might have been a piece of furniture for all the attention he paid her. She gave up and went back to the gift shop.

Tricia was waiting on Glenora Huggons, but there were no other customers. There was, however, an overflowing wastepaper basket. Liss hefted the large plastic container and headed for the basement. Pete was on duty again in front of the storage room door. He had his chair tipped back against the wall and was reading a magazine by flashlight.

Liss juggled the lantern she was carrying so that she could give him a finger wave and proceeded on down the hallway to the alcove that held a Dumpster and several industrial-size recycling bins. She set the lantern on the floor, lifted the lid of the one marked “mixed paper,” and emptied her contribution into it. She'd just picked up the lantern and was about to head back upstairs when a bit of tartan fabric sticking out from beneath the lid of the Dumpster caught her eye. Curious, she held her lantern higher and used her free hand to hoist the heavy metal cover.

The fabric was part of the cover on the bag of the bagpipe Grant and Erskine had been fighting over. Liss had forgotten that Dan's sister planned to toss it in the trash on her way to her car. That afternoon—had it only been
yesterday
afternoon?—seemed eons ago.