The Corpse Wore Tartan (15 page)

Liss was not surprised to discover an unmade bed and piles of dirty clothing on the floor of the room Rhonda and Cracker shared. She ignored the debris as she foraged for underwear, clean slacks, and a blouse and bundled them into one of the two plastic bags she'd brought with her.

The first door on the right obviously led to the room Rodney and Norman shared. It featured bunk beds, more piles of dirty clothes, and a stack of magazines of the sort that local stores sold only when their covers were concealed by plain brown paper wrappers. She wondered if there was anything more the Snipes family could do to become a veritable cliché among stereotypes.

Once inside Dilys's room, Liss needed only a few minutes to gather up a change of clothing and stuff the items into the second plastic bag. Then she went back to the door to make sure that no one had followed her upstairs. As soon as she was certain that the coast was clear, she began to search the small bedroom. She told herself she was looking for the missing brooch, but after finding the link between Dilys and Phineas in her notes on SHAS, she also kept an eye peeled for anything that would link the housekeeper to the MacMillans.

It didn't take long to go through Dilys's belongings. The woman traveled light. She had no jewelry at all. Then, just as Liss was about to give up, she noticed the bookmark Dilys had used in the romance novel by Debbie Macomber that she'd left on the bedside table. It appeared to be a newspaper clipping, and so it proved when Liss cautiously opened the dog-eared paperback—stamped on the flyleaf with the name of a used book store in Portland—and examined it.

There was no date, but Liss knew the item had probably been published no more than a month or two earlier. It announced that the Scottish Heritage Appreciation Society had selected a newly opened hotel called The Spruces as the site for its next Burns Night Supper.

Taking the clipping with her, Liss went back downstairs. She considered a quick exit, slipping out before anyone noticed her, but she'd been brought up better than that. Besides, she had a question for Mr. Snipes.

With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and headed for the kitchen. She stopped short in the doorway. Cracker and his sons had been joined by two other men. Liss knew them only in passing, but that was sufficient to realize that they weren't the most savory characters in town. All five were playing poker. They'd set up a card table next to the woodstove, where it was nice and hot, with the result that they were all in shirtsleeves or T-shirts except for Cracker, who had stripped down to a sleeveless undershirt. For someone Cracker's size, it was a bad fashion choice.

“Uh, I'll be going now,” Liss said. “Thanks for your help.”

“Yeah. Fine.” Cracker scowled at his cards. “I'm out.”

“Uh, Mr. Snipes?” She waited until he looked her way. “I'm just curious. How long has Dilys been living here?”

Cracker reached into the bucket full of snow he'd placed close to his chair and pulled out a can of beer. Apparently he
could
do more to make himself into a stereotype! It didn't seem to matter to him that it was not yet ten o'clock in the morning. He popped the top and took a long swallow before he answered. “Two weeks, give or take.”

“Oh. Somehow I thought she'd been in town longer than that.”

He shrugged. “She'd been nagging Rhonda to help her get a job at the hotel for a couple of months. Can't figure why she'd want to work there. She had a perfectly good job in Portland that musta paid a lot better.”

“Probably got laid off,” Norman suggested.

Rodney leered at Liss. “Probably just got—”

Before Rodney could complete that thought, a loud banging at the front door interrupted him. It was followed by Dan's voice, shouting. “Liss? You in there?”

“Who's that?” Cracker demanded.

Annoyance made her voice sharp. “It's Dan Ruskin. I have to be going now. Thanks again for your help, Mr. Snipes.”

She managed to head Dan off before he could do something disgustingly macho like break down the door. It was not the first time he'd arbitrarily decided that she needed to be rescued. She brushed past him without speaking and stomped down the front steps and out into the street. When he caught up to her, she turned on him and glared.

“Do you really think so little of me that you believe I can't look after myself? I went there to pick up a change of clothes for Rhonda and Dilys. It was not exactly a high-risk mission!”

“I'm not going to apologize,” Dan said. “Rodney Snipes has an unsavory reputation with women.” They headed for the work site, walking in silence for the first two blocks. Then Dan added, “I always wondered if it was because his mother named him after a character in
Peyton Place
. Norman, too.”

Liss caught herself smiling and hastily pursed her lips.

“Ever see the movie?” he asked. “It was shot here in Maine, you know. Camden, or maybe Rockland. Someplace on the coast. All those towns along U.S. Route 1 look the same to me.”

Liss glared at him. “Don't try to distract me. You know I hate it when you get overprotective. You
know
that. I've looked out for myself for a long time.”

“And now you don't have to. What's so wrong about me not wanting anything bad to happen to you? It's only natural to want to protect someone you love. It doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself, just that I want to…” As she stared at him in amazement, he searched for the right word. He grinned at her like a little kid who'd caught his first fish when he found it. “I want to be your backup.”

Frowning, Liss considered the idea. And the fact that he'd just said he loved her. Sort of. Then she noticed that he was holding his breath.

“Okay then.”

“Okay. Good.”

They continued on toward the work site, walking side by side.

Liss got the distinct impression that Dan would do exactly the same thing all over again in a similar situation, but somehow that no longer bothered her quite so much.

“Dan?” She waited until their eyes locked. “I'm glad you came after me. I
was
feeling just the teensiest bit uneasy about being in that kitchen with five beer-swilling, poker-playing lowlifes.”

Then she told him what she'd discovered about Dilys Marcotte.

 

Sherri clicked off her cell phone and smiled. During the last few hours, between the phone and the police radio, she'd been able to access a surprising amount of information. Things were finally beginning to come together.

Although she knew she should probably leave further investigation to the state police, the stolen brooch
was
her case. It wasn't out of line for her to pursue it. And if it happened to overlap with solving a homicide, then that was just—what had her father called it when she was a kid? Oh, yes—the fickle finger of fate.

What Sherri had learned, among other things, was that Eunice MacMillan did stand to benefit financially from her husband's death, but not in a way that was at all suspicious. The mortgage on her house would be paid off by the insurance policy banks always insisted upon taking out, and there might be other life insurance, but a great deal of money would not be forthcoming. As a likely motive for Eunice to dispose of her spouse, that one wouldn't fly. There might, however, be another reason for her to want to get rid of him.

Tagging Pete for backup, she explained what she wanted to do and then went in search of the not-very-grief-stricken widow. They found her in the library, ensconced in a chair close to the warmth of the fireplace. Sherri snagged a straight-back chair and hauled it over to place next to Eunice. Pete followed suit.

“Ms. MacMillan—a word?”

Eunice glared at them. “I'd like a word with you, too, Officer. What is the holdup here? When can we leave? And why haven't the state police arrived yet to conduct a proper investigation into my husband's death?”

Pete fixed Eunice with a stern stare. “You don't get to ask questions,” he said. “You answer them or you face charges of obstructing justice.”

“Please, Deputy Campbell, let's not get off on the wrong foot.” Sherri used her most soothing tone of voice, good cop to his bad. “I'm sure Ms. MacMillan wants to cooperate. After all, it was her husband who was brutally murdered.”

If Eunice was at all intimidated by Pete's bluster, it didn't show. Eyes full of resentment, she folded her arms across her bosom, crossed her legs at the ankles, and braced her back against the plush upholstery of the chair. Defenses up, Sherri thought, and decided to take this as a sign of progress.

“Now, then,” she said, whipping out a pen and notebook—the batteries in her audio recorder had finally died—” would you like to tell us why your husband claimed a valuable brooch was stolen when he knew all along that it had not been?”

Surprise showed briefly in Eunice's eyes, but she wasn't about to admit to anything. “I don't know what you are talking about,” she said in a huffy voice.

Sherri remembered how Eunice and Phil had seemed to be at odds when she and Pete first interviewed them about the theft of the brooch. That made sense to her now. Feigning astonishment, she drawled, “Do you mean to say that you weren't aware that your husband was attempting to commit insurance fraud?” Sherri leaned closer to the other woman. “You see, according to my sources, a man fitting your husband's description sold that particular piece of jewelry, that brooch he reported stolen, to a up-scale jewelry store in downtown Waterville just over three weeks ago.”

S
herri sprang to her feet when Liss entered the conference room. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I think I know who killed Phil MacMillan!”

She clapped both hands over her mouth. So much for keeping civilians out of the loop! Well, she had
tried
to go by the book. These were extraordinary circumstances. And Liss wouldn't rat her out to the state police. It might not be professional to be so pleased with her deductions, or to want to share them, but both reactions were perfectly natural.

Sherri couldn't prove anything yet, but she was certain Eunice was guilty. Why else would the woman have stormed out of the library after answering only a few of Sherri's questions? She'd even uttered that hackneyed phrase, “I'm not saying another word until I talk to my lawyer!”

Liss stared at her in amazement. “How on earth did you find out about Dilys?”

“Dilys?” Momentarily confused, Sherri blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust her thinking. “Dilys Marcotte? What does she have—?”

“She's the murderer.”

“Dilys? No way.”

“Wait till you see.” Liss tried to take off her coat and get something out of the pocket of her jeans at the same time. With an inarticulate sound of frustration, she finally managed both. She was grinning from ear to ear when she thrust a piece of paper into Sherri's hands.

It had been folded several times and there was something tucked inside—a newspaper clipping. Sherri scanned the page, a printout of something Liss had found online, then looked at her friend for an explanation.

“I had that in my folder on SHAS,” Liss said. “Don't you think it's highly suspicious that Dilys never mentioned that she knew either twin, let alone that she was once engaged to Phineas?”

The photograph showed a younger and much more slender Dilys Marcotte. She had been a blonde when the picture was taken, but when Sherri looked closely she could see that it was undeniably the same woman who now worked as a housekeeper at The Spruces.

“She deliberately hid the connection,” Liss went on. “In fact, she's been very careful to stay in the background, unlike Rhonda and Sadie. I think she was trying to avoid being recognized.”

Slowly, Sherri nodded, remembering how flustered Dilys had been when she'd encountered Phineas MacMillan in the vestibule. She ducked her head and scurried away. And just before that, she'd told Sherri that she'd never met Phil. Clearly, that had been a lie.

“Why didn't any of the other SHAS members spot her?” Sherri asked. “Looks like she must have known several of them. The old-timers, anyway.”

“That's not so surprising,” Liss said. “Not only did she keep a low profile, but Dilys has changed a good deal since this picture was taken. Besides, as a housekeeper, and even as a waitress at the cocktail party, she'd have been almost invisible. Guests in hotels pay as little attention to staff as they do to the furniture. Unless they have a reason to complain about them, of course. Dilys could easily have gone unrecognized, particularly if she was
trying
to be inconspicuous.”

“It could be just a coincidence that Dilys Marcotte and Phineas MacMillan crossed paths again at The Spruces.” Sherri was willing to give Dilys the benefit of the doubt, since she had a better suspect in mind for Phil's murder. “And wouldn't most women who run into a former fiancé years later, when they're older and heavier and working in a menial job, prefer
not
to be recognized?”

“Read the clipping.”

Sherri skimmed it. “So?”

“I found that in Dilys's room at the Snipes house.”

Sherri winced. “You searched Dilys's belongings?”

“I didn't mess up any evidence.”

Sherri waved the clipping. “Hello? What do you call this? You removed it from Dilys's room. Now we have only your word that it was ever there.”

“Oh.” Liss's face fell. “Sorry.”

“It's a little late to worry about it now.” Resigned to explaining yet another breach in protocol to the state police, Sherri slipped the clipping and the printout into a fresh file folder and labeled it with Dilys's name. “We'll just have to hope this doesn't turn out to be critical to building a case. Tell me what you think it means.”

“Isn't it obvious? Dilys's engagement ended badly and she wanted revenge. She was a woman scorned. She meant to kill Phineas but mistook one twin for the other. Cracker Snipes told me that Dilys has only been in Moosetookalook for a couple of weeks. She moved here
after
she read that news item about the Burns Night Supper. She took a job at the hotel specifically so that she would be here at the same time as Phineas.”

“Well,” Sherri allowed, “her actions certainly seem suspicious, but wouldn't she be able to tell the twins apart? It was
Phil
who died, don't forget, and I've got a pretty good reason to suspect—” She broke off before she named Eunice. She'd said way too much already.

Liss glared at her. “What's the big deal about sharing information?” she demanded. “I've helped the police out before.”

Sherri waffled. Her friend had a point. Liss's insights, flawed though they often were, had been useful in the past. Besides, she could tell Liss what she'd found out about the brooch if she wanted to. That was her case. Sherri absently rubbed her temples, where a headache continued to throb. If she was honest with herself, she'd admit that she'd been dying to share everything she'd found out with an appreciative audience.

Quickly and concisely, Sherri brought Liss up to date on what she'd discovered about Phil's sale of the piece of jewelry he'd claimed was stolen. “Eunice did answer a few questions before she lawyered up,” Sherri added. “Very reluctantly.”

“She admitted that Phil was trying to defraud the insurance company?” Liss asked.

Sherri nodded. “When Phil realized that someone had been in their suite while they were out, he decided to take advantage of the situation. Eunice didn't approve. That's why she continued picking up after the intruder.”

“But she still claims someone
was
in their room? They didn't make up that part, too?”

“She says not. I don't know if I believe her.”

Liss pondered this for a few minutes while she fixed herself a cup of coffee. “So, you think she killed her husband because…?”

“It's the simple, logical explanation. As a widow, she doesn't stand to profit all that much from his life insurance policies, but she does shed a husband who was screwing up her life. He'd lost all their money on bad investments. They were facing bankruptcy. His attempt at fraud could well have put them both in jail.”

“Only if he were found out. How could she know that you'd be so good at your job?” Liss sat opposite Sherri at the conference table. She let Sherri bask in her praise for about a minute and a half before she burst the bubble. “You're jumping to one heck of a conclusion.”

“My theory makes as much sense as your scenario,” Sherri objected. “Dilys as a crazed killer out for vengeance? Give me a break.”

“It wouldn't hurt you to question Dilys about Phineas. Maybe talk to Phineas about her. He'd be the one who'd know if she had reason to want him dead.” She took a sip of coffee, made a face at the bitter taste, and set it aside. “If you don't want to do it, I'll be happy to.”

“Okay. Okay.” Sherri held up both hands in surrender. “I'll follow up on your lead. But you have to promise me you'll let me handle it. No interfering in police business, Liss. I mean it.”

Liss mimed crossing her heart and zipping her lips.

Sherri glanced at her watch. “It's already lunchtime. Let's head for the restaurant. Both Dilys and Phineas will probably be there. One thing is sure—everyone in this crowd likes to eat.”

 

A hard left as they exited the passage that led to the offices and conference room took them into a plush vestibule. On its far side was the restaurant. Sherri and Liss paused at the entrance, scanning the lunch crowd for Phineas or Dilys. Richardson Bruce shoved rudely past them, but since there were a couple dozen guests ahead of him in the buffet line, he was forced to stop short only a few feet inside the door.

“I don't see either Phineas MacMillan or Dilys Marcotte,” Sherri said just as her cell phone rang. She glanced at the readout. “It's the state police. I've got to take this.”

“I'll stay here and keep an eye out for Dilys,” Liss volunteered.

“Do not question her on your own,” Sherri warned before she headed back to the privacy of the conference room. “Or Phineas, either. I hate to keep repeating myself, but this is police business.”

By the time Sherri finished her conversation with the state police officer who would be taking over Phil MacMillan's homicide, nearly three-quarters of an hour had passed. She returned to the restaurant to find that Liss had been joined by Dan and Pete, and that they, and almost everyone trapped in the hotel, had already finished lunch. Only a few people remained, chatting over coffee. Only one, Rhonda Snipes, came in after Sherri did.

“Did Dilys or Phineas show up?” Sherri asked as she joined her fiancé and her friends.

“No sign of either of them,” Dan answered. “Maybe they ate earlier. Or maybe Phineas had something sent up. Dad insisted we offer room service today, although he's hoping no one will want to eat in an unheated bedroom.”

Tricia Lynd, who had been bussing the next table, stopped at Sherri's elbow on her way back to the kitchen. “I couldn't help overhearing. Are you looking for Phineas MacMillan?”

“Do you know where he is?” Sherri asked.

“No, but I saw him just a little bit ago. He was in the vestibule. He was heading this way, but he ran into Mr. Bruce, who was on his way out of the restaurant. They talked for a minute or two and then they both walked away. I guess Mr. MacMillan changed his mind about having lunch.”

“Did they go somewhere together?” Sherri asked.

Tricia shook her head. “Mr. Bruce went toward the lobby, but Mr. MacMillan veered off near the service elevator.” She frowned. “Of course, the elevators aren't working with the power out, so I guess he must have been headed for the stairs. Or maybe the offices.”

“He might have been coming to see you, Sherri,” Liss suggested. “I bet Richardson Bruce overheard us say we were looking for Phineas. Remember? Bruce went into the restaurant just before you took that call.”

“If Phineas was trying to find me, he didn't look very hard.” Sherri abandoned her salad and stood. She wasn't very hungry anyway. “I think I'd better have a word with Richardson Bruce.”

Her quarry was still in the lobby, seated in one of the wingback chairs near the fire. Sherri thought about telling Liss to make herself scarce, but decided it hardly mattered at this late date.

“Mr. Bruce,” Sherri said in a no-nonsense voice that usually got results, “would you mind telling me what you said to Mr. MacMillan in the vestibule near the dining room a little while ago?”

Bruce had the grace to look embarrassed. “I, uh, told him you were looking for him. And for someone named Dilys Marcotte. I, uh, overheard you say so. Just before your phone rang.”

Liss had certainly pegged that correctly. How much more, Sherri wondered, had she got right? “And why, exactly, would you go out of your way to warn him?”

“If you must know, I was trying to annoy him. Don't you think he deserves some payback for his insinuations about my honesty? I saw a chance to needle him—give him a hard time because the police were after him. It's not often anyone can rattle Phineas MacMillan, least of all me.”

“So he was…alarmed by what you told him?”

“He was some startled,” Richardson said, relishing the memory. “And then he just took off. Are you going to arrest him for something? That would really make my day.”

“At the moment, I'm not going to arrest anyone, Mr. Bruce. Except, possibly, you yourself, for interfering in an investigation.”

Bruce sniffed. “I was just trying to get a rise out of Phineas. No harm in that.”

“I don't suppose he said where he was going?”

Bruce shook his head.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Liss asked when she and Sherri were back in the conference room.

Sherri dry-swallowed two aspirin but doubted they'd do anything to relieve the constant pounding in her head. “I haven't a clue what you're thinking,” she admitted. But the proof was piling up that she was not cut out to handle a murder investigation on her own.

“Isn't it obvious?” Liss asked. “What sent Phineas running off without his lunch wasn't hearing that you wanted to talk to him as much as it was the mention of Dilys's name. He didn't know she was here. What do you want to bet he went looking for her?”

Sherri reached for her walkie-talkie. “That's not good. If you're right and Dilys killed Phil, thinking he was Phineas, then the last thing Phineas should do is confront her. We need to find them both before he gives her the opportunity to correct her mistake.”

 

Sherri alerted Margaret, Sam, and Joe to be on the lookout for Dilys and Phineas and then dispatched Pete to look for them in the two areas where most of the hotel's guests had been congregating, the lobby and the restaurant. “Check the gift shop, too,” she said into the walkie-talkie. Joe Ruskin had arranged for Tricia to work there all afternoon, freeing Liss from the responsibility.

“I have an excuse to go up to the guest room Dan assigned to Dilys,” she reminded Sherri. “I brought a change of clothes back from town for her.” She retrieved the two plastic bags she'd left in the corner of the conference room when they'd gone to lunch.

“Okay. Yes—good idea. But take Dan with you. He can use his passkey to get into her room. She might be in there and not answer a knock.”