The Corpse Wore Tartan (14 page)

When she'd bundled herself into the wool bathrobe she'd left near at hand, Liss realized that even though her fire had burned down to coals, her living room was still comfortably warm. It had helped that she'd closed all the doors.

After a quick, cold trip to the bathroom, she started coffee in an old drip pot, using the two-burner propane stove she'd unearthed from the cellar the night before. She was grateful now that she'd kept the few pieces of camping gear she'd found in the house when she'd inherited it.

“Come on, Lumpkin. Come on, Glenora. Din-din.” They were both right there, underfoot, as she opened a can of cat food, served up two portions, and emptied a small bottle of water into a separate dish.

While they ate and Liss waited for her coffee to brew, she surveyed the neighborhood from the vantage point of her bay window. In the morning light, the world looked peaceful and pretty. She had a wonderful view of the square, with its monument to the Civil War dead and its gazebo. The latter was the twin of the one at The Spruces. Only the tops of the swing set and the jungle gym showed in the playground area, and the merry-go-round and the slide were completely covered by snow, but someone had already shoveled the paths. On the far side of the square, people were heading home from the temporary shelter in the redbrick municipal building.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drew her away from the window and reminded her that she had work to do before Dan collected her. When she'd poured the steaming liquid into an insulated go-cup, she took one last look outside, zeroing in on Dan's house. She saw no sign of activity there, meaning he was probably already out and about.

Turning her back on Moosetookalook, Liss settled herself in the middle of the living room rug with her research on SHAS. There was no point in lugging everything back to The Spruces. She'd go through the computer printouts, clippings, and notes before they headed back.

The more she'd thought about it, the more Liss wondered if there
was
something she'd missed. With the contents of a thick file folder spread out around her, she sipped and read, drank more coffee, and read some more. She'd polished off half the liquid in her oversized cup before she realized it.

A black streak flashed past, just at the edge of Liss's vision. A second later, she heard a loud, sharp sound, a cross between a hiss and the snap of an electric shock.

“Will you two cut it out!”

Both of them ignored her. Lumpkin's lip curled into an expression of feline contempt. He had not been happy about sharing his house with another cat in the first place. He was even less crazy about being confined with Glenora in one room, even if it was warm and contained cat food, water, and a king-size litter box.

Glenora, bent on mischief, prepared to make another pass at Lumpkin by shifting her slight weight to her forepaws and wiggling her bottom in the air.

Liss's spot on the floor was dead center between them.

The kitten dashed directly across the papers, sending pages skittering in every direction. Torn between laughter and frustration, Liss watched Glenora stop short an inch in front of Lumpkin's face, leap straight up, turn in the air, and sprint to the left before the older cat could lift a paw to swat at her. Lumpkin made that strange noise again—Liss decided he was spitting—heaved his bulk upright, and lumbered after his tormentor.

“Play nice,” Liss ordered.

She
thought
they were just playing. She hoped they were. Unless Lumpkin accidentally sat on Glenora and smothered her, it seemed unlikely either of them would come to any harm.

Resigned to being at the center of their game, and glad she'd taken Dan's advice about the candles, Liss started to gather up the scattered sheets. She froze, eyes riveted to the photograph that accompanied one of the many newspaper items she'd copied. She'd been right to look at the material again. She
had
missed something!

The photo had been taken some years back. Liss hadn't written the date on the page, but the people in it looked a decade younger than they were now. The MacMillan twins stood side by side, big grins on their faces. Eunice MacMillan hovered next to her husband. And there, on Phineas's right, identified as his fiancée, was a thinner, dark-haired, smiling Dilys Marcotte.

 

With a cheery fire providing warmth and the bright morning sun streaming through east-facing windows, Sherri studied Phineas MacMillan. He sat alone at one of the smaller tables in the hotel restaurant at The Spruces, cautiously sipping from a steaming cup of coffee and about to chow down on bacon and scrambled eggs from the breakfast buffet. If he was concerned about his safety, he gave no sign of it. Neither did he seem to be particularly grief stricken or depressed by his brother's death. He'd brought a book with him—a James Patterson novel—and appeared to be so absorbed in reading while he ate that he didn't hear their footfalls. Either that or he knew Sherri and Pete were approaching and chose to ignore them.

“Mr. MacMillan? A word with you?”

With exaggerated care, he marked his place with a strip of tartan cloth, placed the novel on the table, and lifted his head to fix her with a bland stare. “Good morning, Officer Willett. Deputy Campbell.”

He didn't ask them to sit down, but Sherri pulled out one of the empty chairs at his table and took a seat across from him. Pete remained standing. Deliberately, she let the silence build. MacMillan resumed eating breakfast, apparently savoring every bite of his food.

He was a cool customer. She'd give him that. “I have a question for you, Mr. MacMillan. After you left the private dining room on the mezzanine following your meeting with Ms. MacCrimmon, where did you go?”

Instead of replying, MacMillan picked up his cup and took a long swallow of the black coffee it contained.

“Even small details can be important,” Sherri continued, “and your brother's brooch is still missing.” She had to remind herself to be polite. Bad dreams and general anxiety had wrecked any chance of a good night's sleep. She was just as tired and on edge as she had been the night before.

“I went straight back to my room,” MacMillan finally replied.

“Not up to Phil's suite?”

“No.” He frowned. “He and Eunice went to buy shampoo, didn't they?”

“Toothpaste.”

“Yes. Well, they hardly needed my help for that. You, on the other hand, seem to need a great deal of assistance. It was rather inept of you, don't you think, to allow Phil's killer to walk right out the door like that?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sherri couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“Listen up, kiddies,” he said, including Pete in a disdainful look. “The man who murdered my brother is no longer here.”

Pete cut in before Sherri could find her voice. “The murderer hasn't escaped, Mr. MacMillan. No one has—”

“No one?” His eyebrows shot up. “I beg to differ. Dan Ruskin went into town. Liss MacCrimmon went with him. And both Harvey and Will MacHenry were airlifted out.”

Sherri sank back in her chair, flabbergasted. “Which one are you accusing?”

“Why, Will MacHenry, of course. If he was fool enough to mistake Phil for me once, he could easily have done so a second time, especially down in that dark basement. Furthermore, if MacHenry were still on the premises, I'd be renewing my demand for police protection. As it is, there's no need.”

“What makes you so sure it was Will MacHenry who killed your brother?” Pete asked. “Do you have proof?”

“I have common sense. I considered the matter and came up with the solution you people should have thought of long before now. Do you know where Will went after the incident in the gift shop?” He paused to give Sherri time to answer, and when neither she nor Pete said anything, he went on. “I thought not. The Tandys, so I'm told, stayed in plain sight in the lobby, but you only have Will's father's word for it that he and his son were together in their room. If the old man dies, Will won't even have that lie to save him.”

Sherri opened her mouth and closed it again. His reasoning literally left her speechless.

“Interesting theory,” Pete said. “Even more interesting is that no one can vouch for you, either, Mr. MacMillan. We have only your word for it that you went straight to bed after you left the lobby.”

Phineas MacMillan seemed to find this observation amusing. “Ah, I see. You think I killed my brother. But why would I? There's no advantage to me in Phil's death.” Shaking his head, he stood. “If you have no more questions, I believe I'll adjourn to the library. Perhaps there I'll be allowed to read my book in peace.”

T
he buzz of chain saws filled the morning air, nearly drowning out the sounds made by the town plow. Dan, his brother, Sam, and several other Moosetookalook men had been working since dawn to limb and section the fallen trees blocking the street. It was sweaty, back-breaking work, and as Dan lugged yet another three-foot log to the side of the road to be picked up later, he couldn't help but remember the bit of rural wisdom that said wood warmed you three times: once when you cut it, once when you split it, and once when you burned it.

He deposited his burden against the snowbank the plow had made and sank wearily down on top of it. Logs made good places to sit, too. He took off his hat—a billed cap with ear flaps that looked a little silly but was just right for the kind of weather they had in those parts—and swiped at his brow with his sleeve. A cold wind riffled his hair, making him shiver. Nothing like being overheated and chilled to the bone at the same time!

“Hey! No goofing off on the job!” Sam yelled, but he had a good-natured grin on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm coming.” Dan pushed off from the log, feeling the movement in every muscle, but especially in those he'd overworked the day before on that cross-country snowshoe hike.

He hoped Liss wasn't hurting too badly.

He'd deliberately stayed away from her the previous night. He hadn't wanted to pressure her, not after telling her he intended to propose. Besides, he'd had to talk to Sam and then he'd gotten roped into an impromptu meeting of the Moosetookalook Small Business Association at the municipal building. Dan smiled to himself. He didn't envy Margaret Boyd the task of telling Liss she had yet another item to add to her to-do list.

He glanced at his watch. Another hour and he'd go get Liss and head back to the hotel. The driveway at The Spruces would still be partially blocked, but they could use their snowshoes to walk around the remaining fallen tree. The rest of the way should be clear. He'd talked to his father earlier and been told that volunteers from among the guests were hard at work on their end.

Jeff Thibodeau turned up just as Dan was about to rev up the chain saw once more. From the expression on Jeff's face, he wasn't bringing good news.

“That other storm? It's definitely going to hit us,” Jeff said.

“How bad?”

Jeff shrugged. “The meteorologists are saying that their computer models don't agree, but their best guess is another ice storm. Sometimes I wish they'd go back to having bouncy weather girls guess at what's coming. They were just as accurate as all this newfangled equipment and a lot more fun to watch.”

“Well, if I get a vote, I say no ice or high winds, just light snow.”

“From your mouth to God's ear,” Jeff agreed.

 

Liss reached for the phone sitting on the end table. There was still no dial tone. She was about to hunt up her cell and try that when she heard a knock at the front door.

“Liss? You in there?” Aunt Margaret's shout had Liss scurrying out of the living room and into the foyer to let her in.

Margaret MacCrimmon Boyd was a slender woman of nearly sixty with light gray hair and a cheerful disposition. She talked a mile a minute, and by the time they were back in the warmth of the living room she'd already given Liss an update on the weather and told her how much she regretted having left the hotel the night before last.

“You know I'd have stayed if I'd known I wouldn't be able to get back to work the next morning.”

“And what good would that have done?” Liss asked her. “I'm glad you weren't stuck there with the rest of us. Besides, who would have checked on my furry babies if you hadn't been home?”

“There is that,” Margaret conceded, reaching down to stroke Lumpkin.

“Jeff said you stayed the night at the municipal building.”

“It seemed the sensible thing to do. There's no heat in my apartment. When Jeff told me where you were, we thought you might join us.” She looked around, taking in the newly stoked fire, the camp stove, and the cat dishes. “Obviously, you had no need for the shelter. You're all snug and cozy in your own little cocoon.”

“
We
thought?” Liss asked as she poured two cups of coffee from the fresh pot she'd just made. “As in you and Ernie?” Margaret had been spending most of her free time since her return to Moosetookalook with Ernie Willett, Sherry's divorced father. Liss didn't see the attraction herself—Ernie was something of a curmudgeon—but if he made her aunt happy, she was in favor of the relationship.

“We, as in the Moosetookalook Small Business Association.” Margaret shrugged. “Well, we were all there, weren't we? Or most of us were. So we ended up discussing what to do about some of our current problems. Once Dan Ruskin showed up, that made the meeting official, him being the president of the MSBA and all.”

“Did Dan talk to his brother?” Liss asked.

“Oh, yes. Chain saws all around this morning. Dan said to tell you he'd be by as soon as he has a better take on road conditions. But to return to the MSBA. We've decided to advertise online to recruit new businesses that will fit in with Moosetookalook's image. Sell the town as an ideal place for a craft store or an art gallery or a photographer's studio to relocate. We might even offer some kind of incentive to anyone willing to open up shop in one of the vacant buildings on the square.”

Liss set her mug aside. There was something in her aunt's tone of voice that warned her she was talking about more than just putting an ad on a real estate site. The sudden impulse to run and hide was nearly overwhelming.

“We voted to have you look into the matter,” Margaret continued. “You're already on the committee, and as the most computer literate among us, you're the obvious choice to handle this new project.”

“I'm also, apparently, the only one who wasn't there to object to being volunteered for the job.”

“That, too,” Margaret admitted.

Liss sighed, but she knew when she was licked. “I'll do what I can, but not today. Aside from the fact that I can't go online until the power comes back on, right now I need to get back to the hotel. I have some information that may help solve this murder.”

Her aunt stared at her, thunderstruck. “Murder? What murder?”

 

Dan had walked only a block in the direction of Liss's house when he met Margaret Boyd coming the other way. She was carrying a pair of snowshoes—the traditional kind, not the lightweight aluminum models Dan and Liss had used. They were made of wood and had to be at least five feet long. Margaret was panting a little by the time he reached her.

“Let me take those.”

“Thanks. They were my husband's, and I think they belonged to his father before him.”

For their age, the snowshoes were still in great condition. Even the leather bindings appeared to be in good shape. “You planning to go somewhere on these?” Dan asked.

“Back to the hotel.” When he lifted his eyebrows, a stubborn gleam came into her eyes. He recognized that mulish look. He'd seen it often enough on her niece's face. “Why didn't you tell me there'd been a murder?” she demanded.

“There wasn't enough privacy while we were all together in the municipal building.” He turned around and headed back to the work site. There was no sense carrying the snowshoes all the way to Liss's and back again.

“Well, I suppose I forgive you, then,” Margaret said, trotting along beside him. “How's your father coping?” Margaret and Joe had been friends for a long time, and she'd always been one of his biggest supporters on the hotel project, even investing her own money in the venture.

“Taking it one day at a time, as always.”

Dan had been trying to emulate his parent, but with only partial success. As long as the hotel was cut off, no new guests could check in. Meanwhile, they were losing money hand over fist on the guests who were stuck there. Since their extended “vacation” at The Spruces was not their choice, they could hardly be charged for their food and lodging.

“Liss didn't tell me much.” Margaret gave him an eager look that invited him to share what he knew.

“Liss and I don't know much.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well, anyway, after Liss told me about Sadie finding a body, she described this strange dream she had. She's named the kitten Glenora.”

Dan wasn't sure he followed Margaret's train of thought. “Is that important?”

“I suppose not, except that it shows how much this murder is preying on Liss's mind. Glenora Huggons is one of the SHAS people.”

They'd reached the log Dan had earlier used as a bench. Sam spotted them and headed their way, walkie-talkie in hand. This wasn't the time to be talking about Phil MacMillan's murder, Dan decided. Once again, there were too many people around. Dan had given Sam the basics the previous night, but he didn't want to go into more detail, not even with his brother.

“Look, Margaret, let's wait till we're back at The Spruces to discuss this, okay? And you'd better wear the snowshoes I had on yesterday to get there. I'll use the ones you brought.”

“Thanks.” She sent him a sheepish smile. “They are kind of heavy.”

They were also going to make walking around the remaining fallen tree much more of a challenge, but he'd manage. “Okay, then. If you'll wait here at the work site, I'll go get Liss and we'll be back in a few.”

He was already retracing his steps toward the town square when she called to him. “Wait, Dan! Liss isn't at the house. She said she'll meet us here as soon as she can.”

Slowly, Dan walked back to where Margaret stood. “And where, exactly, is she?”

“She was going to Rhonda's to pick up a change of clothes for her.”

Dan frowned. “I didn't know Liss and Rhonda were friends.”

“They aren't, as far as I know.”

“Then why—?”

“She didn't say. I swear, the two of you are turning into the most closed-mouthed individuals I've ever met! You really should have told me about the trouble at The Spruces last night. I'm sure we could have found a quiet corner where no one could overhear.”

“I didn't want to worry you.” He still didn't.

While Sam and Margaret greeted each other, Dan peered down the street, hoping to see Liss hurrying toward them. There was no one in sight. He tried to tell himself he had no reason to be concerned about her, but he still felt uneasy.

The hell with it, he thought. If she didn't like him interfering, that was just too bad. He headed for the Snipes house. He wasn't quite running, but it was a fast walk.

 

“Well, well. If it isn't little Liss MacCrimmon. Haven't seen you in a dog's age.”

“Hello, Mr. Snipes. Hello, Rodney. Hello, Norman,” she added as his two sons appeared in the doorway behind him.

They were not an appealing sight. Rhonda's husband, known by one and all as “Cracker,” could best be described as slovenly. He wore an old pair of sweatpants, paint spattered and full of holes, and an even older and more ratty-looking sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off above the elbow. It did nothing to hide rolls of belly fat.

Cracker's oldest son, Rodney, was only a few years younger than Liss, but he was already starting to resemble his father. Liss remembered him as a brat, the kind of boy who delighted in pulling girls' hair and shooting people with water pistols. The youngest son, Norman, didn't look much like his father or brother. Instead, he bore a strong resemblance to a ferret.

At least they were already up. She would have hated to see what any of them looked like when they first rolled out of bed.

“You're lettin' the heat out,” Cracker Snipes said, gesturing for Liss to enter.

She accepted the invitation, though not without a few second thoughts, and followed the three men into the kitchen. They had a woodstove. The entire downstairs of the house was wonderfully warm. They were using it for cooking as well as heating. A kettle full of hot water steamed on the back section, and on the front a cast-iron fry pan contained the remnants of Canadian bacon and scrambled eggs.

Rhonda would have a huge cleaning job to do when she got back. Not only had her menfolk left their dirty dishes lying around, but heating with wood was always messy. A trail of small bits of bark marked the path from the wood pile in the shed to the stove. No one had bothered to dig out a broom and dustpan and sweep them up.

“So, Liss,” Rodney said. “What brings you here?”

“I came to pick up a change of clothes for Rhonda and one for Dilys.”

Cracker's brow furrowed. “Why the hell isn't Rhonda home where she belongs? If she can send you—”

“There's no way to get cars out of the hotel parking lot right now,” Liss said hastily, “not with all the trees that came down across the driveway and the road. I hiked out yesterday on snowshoes and I'll be going back in the same way later this morning.”

“Rhonda coulda walked out.” He sounded more sulky than angry, for which Liss was grateful.

She considered telling him that his wife had indeed tried to get home the day before, but thought better of it. That would require far too much explaining. “Rhonda is needed at the hotel,” she said instead, “what with all the guests being stuck there, too. Think of all the overtime Joe Ruskin will have to pay her to stay on.”

“There is that.” Cracker Snipes immediately looked more cheerful.

“If you're anxious to see Rhonda, I'm sure the three of you would be a welcome addition to the crew trying to clear the road. And the sooner the way is open, the sooner she can come home.”

None of them rushed right out to help. Cracker didn't even escort Liss to the master bedroom to collect clothes for Rhonda. He just pointed the way. “Upstairs. First door on the left. And Dilys's room is the second on the right.”