The Corpse Wore Tartan (12 page)

Liss was about close the lid again when something suddenly struck her as odd about the discarded instrument. She took another look. The bass drone, the longest of the three, was broken in two. The larger of the sections lay across the bag, pointing entirely the wrong way, and the ferrule—the knob through which sound emerged—appeared to be cracked.

Really good bagpipes had drones made of very hard wood, difficult to break. This was a cheap model, but it had been intact when Liss had last seen it, and she doubted that Mary had done anything to damage it. Then she noticed the dark specks on the ferrule. Liss swallowed convulsively. That looked like blood. She peered at it more closely. And hair. Gray hair. The same color as Phil MacMillan's. Very carefully, Liss closed the lid of the Dumpster.

“Pete?” She had to clear her throat and try again when his name came out as only the faintest whisper. “Pete! Could you come here, please?”

Something of her anxiety must have been in her voice. She heard Pete's chair crash back down onto all four legs. Two seconds later he was standing at her side. She lifted the lid again and played her light over the bag and drones.

Pete gave a low whistle when he spotted the same things she had. Then he used his walkie-talkie to call Sherri.

 

When she'd taken a half dozen pictures of the bagpipe, Sherri placed it carefully inside a large paper bag and gave it to Pete to put in one of the lockers reserved for hotel staff. She stripped off the disposable gloves she'd used to handle it and reached for her audio recorder. Then she handed it to Liss. “Talk to the machine. Give me the scoop on this bagpipe.”

Liss obliged, finishing up her account of the conflict between Erskine and Grant where it had ended for her, with Mary Ruskin Winchester's promise to toss the bagpipe in the trash on her way home.

“So, she'd have put it in this Dumpster?”

“I imagine so. The staff parking lot is just outside the door at the end of this hallway.”

“Okay.” Sherri took the recorder back and clicked it off. “Thanks. You can go back to the gift shop now.”

“But I don't understand,” Liss said. “I thought you said Phil MacMillan was killed with a skean dhu.”

“Liss, you need to go. This is police business.” It could hardly be “by the book” under these conditions, but Sherri was determined to keep as close to the rules as she could.

Liss looked like she wanted to argue, but what could she say? She knew Sherri was right.

When she'd gone, Sherri turned back to the Dumpster. She supposed she should declare it off-limits, too, and cover it with crime scene tape, but that seemed a little absurd. It had already been contaminated. Besides, it wasn't the Dumpster that was important.

She wasn't going to go back into the storage room to look for a small wound on the back of Phil MacMillan's head, either, but she could visualize all too well what must have happened. She'd wondered how a man of his size could be taken by surprise. His throat had been slit from behind and there had been no indication that he'd put up a fight. Now she knew why. He'd been hit over the head first, with enough force to break that drone. He'd been unconscious, or close enough to it to make no difference.

They'd been here in the basement, Sherri thought, victim and killer. Had it been mere chance that the killer had found the discarded bagpipe and seen its potential as a weapon? Maybe. In any case, Phil had been hit on the head. Then he'd been dragged into the storage room. Or helped to stagger in on his own and then shoved so that he landed on his face. Either way, all the killer had to do then was close the door, pull the skean dhu out of its sheath, drop down onto Phil's back, and slit his throat. He probably hadn't even gotten blood on his clothes or skin.

The killer could just as easily have been a woman, Sherri reminded herself. It wouldn't have taken as much strength or size to kill an unconscious or dazed man as it would one who was fully alert.

Then what? Put the bagpipe back in the Dumpster. Then rejoin the festivities in the lobby, behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Cold-blooded, Sherri thought. Or a sociopath.

An involuntary shudder ran through her.

 

Liss sat in the lobby feeling miffed. She had no idea what Sherri was thinking. Did she suspect Grant or Erskine, who'd done battle with that bagpipe? Maybe one of them had been the victim of the bad nose job Phineas referred to in his speech. A little embarrassment didn't seem like much of a motive for murder, but she'd heard of stranger things.

Maybe, Liss thought, she should ask around and find out just who it had been that Phineas meant. Richardson Bruce had left the lobby, but there were plenty of other people around. Two of the skiers were engaged in a lively debate over the best wax to use. Harvey MacHenry and his son were playing bridge with Elspeth and Maeve, two of the women who'd stopped in at the gift shop before the Burns Night Supper. Maeve had come back a second time to buy the floor-length tartan skirt she was currently wearing, one made of warm, thick wool.

In another of the pools of privacy created by pillars and high-backed chairs, Russ Tandy and his wife were talking quietly together as they sipped coffee. Or possibly hot cocoa. Angeline Cloutier had provided a continuous supply of both beverages since early morning. Russ could probably answer her question, Liss decided, but before she could join the Tandys and ask, a cry of alarm jerked her attention back to the bridge game.

Will MacHenry was on his feet, a look of anguish on his long, thin face. His father, Harvey, lay sprawled across the card table. Elspeth had her fingers pressed to his neck, feeling for a pulse. Unable to find one, she leaned closer, checking for signs of life.

“It's his heart,” Will said in a choked voice.

“He's not breathing,” Elspeth whispered.

Joe Ruskin came out from behind the check-in desk in a rush. He tossed a walkie-talkie to Liss as he ran toward the fallen man. “You. Call Dan. Tell him to bring the defibrillator.”

As Joe started CPR, Liss fiddled with the unfamiliar gadget, thinking that it was a good thing all she had to do was press
TALK
.

Dan had been outside. He still wore one of the light brown, one-piece snowsuits that were so ubiquitous in Maine at this time of year as he put the life-saving equipment to work. The hotel was prepared for medical emergencies, but no one had expected they'd need to deal with one for more than the fifteen or twenty minutes it normally took an ambulance to arrive. Everything was different now. They had no way to transport a patient to the hospital in Fallstown.

A few minutes after Joe and Dan managed to get Harvey breathing again, Sherri appeared. She took in the situation at a glance and reached for the portable police radio attached to her utility belt. When she turned it on it squawked, but after that there was nothing but static.

“Still dead,” she muttered, glaring at the offending handheld. “If I could raise somebody, I could call for a helicopter to take Harvey to the hospital.”

The tower had been damaged by the storm, Liss remembered. But surely fixing it was top priority. The repair crew must be having trouble getting through.

“He's holding his own,” Dan reported, “but he needs to be seen by a doctor.”

There were more than fifty people in the hotel, but not one of them was an M.D. or a nurse. They didn't even have a dentist or an chiropractor in the mix. Liss stared anxiously at the couch where Harvey now lay. He was breathing again, but he didn't look good. His son's face was a mask of agonized concern.

“Moosetookalook Family Practice is only a few miles from here,” she said. “Dr. Sharon lives right next door to the clinic.”

“It might as well be in the next county,” Dan said. “We can't use any of the cars. We've barely made a start on digging out, and the trees blocking the drive will take hours to clear away. I don't even want to make a guess at how bad things are on the other side.”

“The clinic is less than a mile away as the crow flies.” Liss visualized the route, working the details out in her mind. “We could cut through the woods.”

“Do you have a snowmobile?” Sherri asked.

Dan shook his head.

“There's another way,” Liss said.

“On foot?” Sherri gave her an incredulous look. “That's crazy. We—”

Liss talked right over her friend's objections. “We have snowshoes. Remember? And it's warmed up some in the last couple of hours. The surface isn't glare ice anymore. Traveling that way won't be fast, but someone from here should be able to reach the clinic before dark. And Dr. Sharon
does
have a snowmobile. Once he knows what the situation is, he can ride his machine straight back to the hotel.”

For a moment no one said anything. Then Dan nodded. “It could work, but I guarantee you it's not going to be any walk in the park.”

D
an checked their gear one last time. He wasn't happy about taking Liss with him to fetch the doctor, but she refused to let him go alone. She argued, rightly, that there were too many things that could go wrong on even a short trek cross-country. If they walked in a straight line between the hotel and the clinic, they wouldn't pass close to any houses. The terrain wasn't especially rough, but there were a lot of trees and branches down. It wouldn't take much to create a serious problem for a lone traveler.

Experimentally lifting first one foot and then the other, Liss seemed satisfied that the bindings attaching the lightweight aluminum snowshoes to her boots were secure. She'd already done a full ten minutes of warm-up exercises, and insisted that he stretch, too. That wasn't just the exprofessional dancer talking. They both knew the toll walking to town would take on them. They wouldn't end up lame, with painful feet and ankles, the way folks used to when snowshoes were huge, heavy, wooden affairs, but they could count on sore calf muscles for the next few days.

“We'd best get a move on,” Liss said. “It isn't that long till dark and it's going to take us a while to get there.”

Dan shouldered the backpack he'd filled with emergency supplies, especially bottled water, and gestured for her to go ahead of him.

To start, they followed the same route the three housekeepers had used on their aborted escape, moving out across the verandah and down a slight incline to the snow-covered back lawn. In the hours since they'd rescued Sadie, Rhonda, and Dilys, the sun had been out, softening the layer of ice that had once coated everything. Just at that moment, the surface of the snow was relatively easy to pass over on snowshoes. Unfortunately, that same sun was sinking fast in the western sky. Everything would start to refreeze as soon as it set.

They'd already decided to take turns breaking trail. It wasn't difficult, but it could be exhausting. Ahead of him, Dan watched Liss “stamp” the trail simply by pausing briefly after each step. This smoothed and compacted the snow, making it easier for the second person in line to walk on. She kept the lead until they entered the woods on the far side of the blocked driveway.

“Rest,” he called.

She executed a turn by walking in a small semicircle and shifted both trekking poles to one hand in time to catch the small bottle of water he tossed her way. When she'd taken a long swallow and transferred the half-empty bottle to the pocket of her jacket, she paused to look back at the hotel. “Wow.”

A glance over his shoulder showed Dan what she meant. Bathed in late-day sunlight, white walls and windows gleaming, The Spruces had a magical quality. Like a dream, he thought, not without irony. He stared for a moment longer, then turned his back on the vision and took the lead.

The Spruces sat on a ridge overlooking Moosetookalook. The road twisted and turned its way down the side of a steep hill. Walking overland between the hotel and the town's center cut the total distance, but it wasn't a speedy way to travel. Even crossing level ground was slow going, and most of the terrain they had to cover was anything but flat. The occasional crack as an ice-laden branch broke off under the weight was a stark reminder that danger lurked above them as well as beneath their feet.

Dan had done a fair amount of walking on snowshoes as a kid—it was a much cheaper sport than skiing or snowboarding. It didn't take him long to get back in the rhythm. He rolled his feet slightly, moving with an exaggerated stride that was almost, but not quite, a run. After the first couple of times he kicked himself in the ankle, he remembered to lift each shoe slightly up and out and to keep his feet a little farther apart than they were when he had on regular shoes.

“I'm going to be bowlegged by the time we get to the clinic,” Liss complained when they'd been walking that way for another twenty minutes. “And an icicle. A bowlegged icicle.”

“Rest.”

“There is some urgency about fetching the doctor,” she reminded him.

“Arriving in such bad shape that he has to deal with two more emergency cases won't help anyone.” Harvey MacHenry had regained consciousness just before they'd left. He'd looked like hell, but at least he'd been breathing and talking sense. Dan shared Liss's concern, but he wasn't about to risk her life to save MacHenry's.

Liss leaned on her poles, contemplating the rise of land ahead. It wasn't all that steep, but it was going to take extra effort to ascend. Dan considered the climb. He could go up first, making “kick steps” by kicking the toes of his snowshoes into the snow to make a rough staircase for Liss. Or they could both walk uphill sideways, the way skiers did. After a brief break, more water, and a little discussion, they elected to do the latter. They were both panting by the time they reached the top of the rise, but at least now their goal was in sight.

Lights showed here and there in the village. “Oil lamps and battery-powered lanterns,” Dan said. “Not electricity.”

Liss shot a quick, worried look at the horizon. The sun had very nearly set. A pink glow suffused both sky and land. “Good thing the doctor has a snowmobile. He'll need his headlights to find his way to the hotel.”

“Good thing we planned to stay in town overnight and trek back tomorrow,” Dan said.

To his mind, that was the best part of this expedition. Tonight, he could sleep in his own bed. Or, better yet, in Liss's. Their night in the tower suite hadn't been quite all he'd hoped for, but neither had she kicked him out. What was that old saw about adversity bringing people together?

“Time's a-wasting,” Liss said, and started the descent.

She used a standard snowshoeing technique for going downhill called “step-sliding,” running with exaggerated steps, but she was already tired and she wasn't used to this kind of exercise. Too impatient to be cautious, she slipped once or twice on the snow as she went.

“Slow down!” Dan shouted, and plunged after her.

Liss was halfway down the slope when one of her snowshoes caught on something hidden beneath the snow. Dan heard her give a yelp of surprise. Then she was falling.

He could do nothing but watch helplessly, his heart in his throat, as she landed on her backside with both feet up in the air. Her poles went flying. Then gravity took over. The incline was just steep enough that her efforts to get to her feet backfired. The struggle to rise sent her tumbling down again, and this time she kept going.

Liss rolled the rest of the way down the hill and landed in an ignominious heap at the bottom. Once again, Dan heard her cry out. Then she lay ominously still.

His gaze glued to the silent, crumpled form, Dan found he couldn't get his breath. His pulse pounded in his ears. Worse, for an endless moment, he was unable to make himself move.

The thoughts racing through his mind were so terrifying that they paralyzed him. Had Liss hit her head? Why hadn't he insisted that she wear a helmet? Suddenly he was remembering every case he'd ever heard about where someone died from a simple fall on a bunny slope.

No. Not Liss. Nothing could happen to Liss. But why wasn't she moving?

 

Dazed and slightly dizzy, Liss watched Dan follow the trail she'd made as she tumbled down the slope. He used the fastest technique he knew—glissading. He sat down and slid on his butt until he fetched up right next to her.

“Ow,” she said when he bent over her. Then she smiled to reassure him that she wasn't really hurt, just shaken up.

“Thank God you're alive,” he whispered, and then, “Did you break anything when you landed? Did you hit your head?”

“I don't think so.” Tentatively, she flexed assorted body parts.

Everything seemed intact. She was stiff and sore everywhere, but that had been the case
before
she fell. She stretched, then lay still, staring up at the sky. It was the deep blue of twilight. Pretty soon it would be full dark. She lifted both arms toward Dan.

“Help me up. We have to get moving.” Once on her feet, she looked around in mild confusion. “What happened to my poles?”

Dan pointed back up the hill.

“Oh.” Then she brightened. “Hey, look—we're on level ground again. And that's Dr. Sharon's clinic just over there.” The one-story brick building was no more than a quarter of a mile distant. “The worst is over.”

Suddenly, Liss felt revitalized. Nothing like a jolt of adrenaline to perk things up. In short order, she was knocking on the doctor's door and explaining their sudden appearance to the startled physician.

“I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd check Liss over before you leave,” Dan said when Dr. Sharon had agreed to take his snowmobile and go to the hotel. Liss made a face. Dan had been watching her like a hawk ever since her fall, alert for any sign of disorientation or wooziness.

“Head hurt?” the doctor asked. He was tall and lanky, with vivid blue eyes and a cheerful manner. A shock of prematurely white hair stood out around his head, as if he had a habit of raking his fingers through it.

“No headache,” Liss assured him. “No dizziness. No blurred vision.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Sharon checked her pupils and ran his fingers over her head to look for bumps and scrapes, then pronounced her undamaged.

“I told you I was okay,” she grumbled when the doctor had set off for The Spruces. “Stop fussing.”

Once the roar of Dr. Sharon's snowmobile faded away, they set out to walk from the clinic to the village square, where both of them had houses and Liss had her business. The town plow had been hard at work clearing streets. They were able to make their way straight down Elm without snowshoes. Dan carried both pairs, together with his poles.

“I know you think I made too much of your fall,” Dan said, “but here's the thing, Liss. For a minute there, I thought I'd lost you. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”

Liss turned and tried to see Dan's expression. It was already too dark to make out any details. The moonlight was sufficient to show them the way home, but not much more.

“I didn't roll down that slope on purpose, but I'm sorry I gave you a scare.”

They kept walking until they reached the square. Dan dropped the snowshoes and his trekking poles and caught one of Liss's gloved hands in both of his to bring her closer to him. “There's something I need to say to you. Something we need to get straight between us. It seems stupid to wait any longer to let you know what's on my mind.”

She squinted up at him. She still couldn't see his face, but all of a sudden he sounded awfully serious. Her heart rate sped up and when she spoke her voice was breathy. “Okay.”

“I want to marry you.”

At her jerk of surprise, he tightened his grip.

“I'm not asking you yet. I just want you to think about the idea.”

Suddenly Liss did feel dizzy and disoriented. “I…uh—”

“My timing is lousy. I know that. But I just—”

“Dan? Liss? Is that you?” Jeff Thibodeau, Moosetookalook's police chief, loomed up out of the shadows, lumbering toward them from the direction of the municipal building.

Dan released Liss's hand and went to meet Jeff halfway. Maybe it was just as well they'd been interrupted, Liss thought. She'd didn't have the slightest idea what to say in response to such a declaration. She wasn't sure what she'd have said if he'd actually proposed to her, either.

She followed Dan, but it took an effort to shift her focus away from him and onto Jeff. At least a full minute passed before she understood what Jeff had just said. He'd asked if Dr. Sharon had left yet for The Spruces.

“How on earth did you know we'd just come from the clinic?” Dan asked after he'd assured Jeff that the doctor was on his way.

“We got the police radio back about ten minutes ago. Still no phone service, though. Anyway, Sherri filled me in on what's been going on up to the hotel. You folks sure have had a busy time of it.” He sounded ever so slightly envious.

“Mr. MacHenry—is he—?”

“Still holding his own. I've asked for a LifeFlight helicopter to be dispatched. It should be on its way shortly, but Dr. Sharon will get there first. You two did good. Even if we'd known when the tower would be fixed, in a case like this, every minute counts.”

Relief made Liss's knees weak. She leaned against Dan for support as Jeff went on talking. She caught only the highlights. Roads were blocked all over the place. The whole state had been hit hard by the storm. The hospital in Fallstown had power again, but phones and power were still out in most of Carrabassett County. Nobody knew how long it would be before those services were restored, especially with the weather so iffy.

“You covered a lot of ground in ten minutes of radio time,” Dan said.

Jeff chuckled. “Wish I could take credit for being a miracle worker, but the CB radios never went out. I've been using the one in my truck to keep tabs on storm damage and weather reports.”

“Note to self,” Dan said. “Buy citizens band radio for the hotel. Are cell phones working?”

“Not so you'd notice.” Jeff shrugged. Cell phone service was erratic in the mountains of Western Maine in the best of times. “The biggest problem right now is that there's another storm on the way. The town plow's working overtime as it is. I guess you saw that. But with this much snow it's going to take a while to clear the secondary roads. There are holdups with the roads the state DOT plows, too. Trees and power lines down and such. Add more snow and who knows how long it will take to dig ourselves out.”

“What about Spruce Avenue?” Dan asked, naming the long, twisting two-lane road that led up to the hotel's equally long, twisting driveway.

“The wind really did a number on that. At least two big spruces are down. It'll be tomorrow before any vehicular traffic can get through. Probably not until late in the day.”