The Corpse Wore Tartan (20 page)

“Then Dilys Marcotte turned up,” she said aloud.

Eunice's eyes went even colder. “Damn that Phil. He should have told me about that development. We could have figured something out.”

“Instead, he grabbed her, locked her in a closet, and planned to go back later and kill her. He told her he was going to make it look like a suicide. As if she'd killed herself out of remorse for murdering Phil.”

Eunice snorted again. “I take it she got away.”

“She was found. And now Phil has taken another hostage. What will persuade him to let Dan Ruskin go unharmed?”

“Money,” Eunice said promptly. “Lots and lots of money.”

 

Talking to Eunice had been a waste, Liss thought. Oh, yes, they now knew what had happened to Phineas and why. Eunice had neatly wrapped up several loose ends. But she had been useless as far as being able to suggest a way to rescue Dan. Even if they had pots of money to offer him, Phil must know he had nowhere to run. The state police were on their way. They'd be at the hotel in less than an hour.

The storm had finally petered out. Joe and Sam were even now clearing the driveway and laying down sand. Any minute now, Phil MacMillan would try to slip out of the hotel with his hostage. Liss was half out of her mind with worry.

For the first time, she really understood what Dan had gone through every time she'd been in danger. Now that his life was at stake, she found that she could not imagine her life without Dan in it, nor did she want to. He
had
to come through this crisis safely.

“There has to be a way to rescue Dan,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. She was with Pete and Sherri in the conference room. Waiting. They'd been waiting for hours, hoping Phil MacMillan would contact them. The walkie-talkies remained ominously silent.

“There's no way we can sneak up on MacMillan in the tower suite,” Pete said. “He'd hear us coming. And he's got a clear shot down the stairwell to an outside door when he's ready to leave.”

“We don't believe he's armed,” Sherri said, trying to sound reassuring.

“Except for Phineas's skean dhu.”

“We don't know—”

“We don't know anything!” Liss exclaimed. She felt like screaming in frustration. Pulling at her hair. All those things cartoon characters did to show they were upset. “How long now till the state cops get here?”

“Forty minutes, give or take.” Sherri had been keeping a line open to the negotiator, hoping they'd have a chance to use his skills. She got regular updates.

Liss's heart sank. Even with lights and sirens, a cruiser could only travel so fast on roads that were still dangerously icy. “MacMillan will be long gone well before they arrive. He's only been waiting for the storm to wind down to make a try for his car.”

“Then they'll go after him. And they'll set up roadblocks.”

Liss did not find either of those prospects comforting. A high-speed chase wouldn't be good for anyone. And roadblocks would be useless when there were so many different back roads Phil could take. Those would be more dangerous, too, still covered with black ice. Dan would be badly hurt if Phil crashed his car.

Everything Eunice had told them made Liss more certain that Phil MacMillan was teetering on the edge of reason. And even if he was sane, a man who'd slit his own brother's throat would hardly hesitate to kill a virtual stranger.

Liss had never felt so helpless. There had to be something she could do, something to stop Phil before he took Dan from the hotel.

She tried to visualize the stairs they'd have to use. Joe Ruskin had mentioned earlier that they ended in a small, closed-in foyer that backed up against the kitchen, one with no access to the first floor. A fire exit led directly out onto the back verandah. From there Phil could easily reach the parking lot where he'd left his car.

A stray thought tugged at Liss's memory. She tried to catch it, but it proved elusive until she pictured herself and Dan sitting at the small table in the kitchen just before the Burns Night Supper.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“What?” Sherri and Pete both turned to stare at her.

Liss didn't answer. She was already running as fast as she could for the kitchen.

 

Dan was dizzy. He was having trouble breathing around the wad of fabric MacMillan had stuffed into his mouth—the same handkerchief he'd used to gag Dilys. It didn't help that Dan's arms were still fastened at an awkward angle behind him, with what he supposed was another length of retractable clothesline. They hurt like blazes. His shoulders remained in their sockets, but it wouldn't take much of a twist to dislocate one or both of them.

MacMillan took a firm grip on one arm and hauled him to his feet. Dan whimpered like a little baby.

“Walk ahead of me. No funny business.” He showed Dan a skean dhu just like the one he'd used to kill his brother, bringing that damned little pig sticker up to Dan's throat and pricking him with it.

Dan wondered if falling down the stairs would be funny. He could barely keep his balance. The railing was no use to him without his hands free. He descended slowly, shuffling his feet to feel his way. It didn't help that it was so cold and dark. He was half frozen and supposed MacMillan must be, too. Their only light came from MacMillan's flashlight, the one he'd used to coldcock Dan.

After what seemed like eons, they reached the bottom. MacMillan glanced over his shoulder, but it was too dark to see much. Reassured that no one was lurking in the small, enclosed entryway, he shoved Dan toward the door.

Dan thought again about tripping. If he fell, he'd drag MacMillan down with him. But if there was no one around to follow up on the move, all he'd succeed in doing was getting himself killed. Same with trying to knock the knife aside and run. He couldn't open the door without the use of his hands. The only escape route was back up the stairs. He wouldn't get far. He'd probably lose his footing and tumble back down and break his damn neck.

Forget that! More than anything, Dan wanted to live. He had plans, most of which centered around Liss MacCrimmon.

Thank God she wasn't the one in danger this time. He took some small consolation from that fact.

Think positive
, he told himself as he moved in tandem with his captor toward the door. A dead hostage was no good to anyone. It was in MacMillan's best interests to keep him healthy.

Until it wasn't.

They reached the threshold. MacMillan only had two hands. He needed four if he was going to open the door while keeping the knife at Dan's throat, a grip on Dan's arm, and a hold on the flashlight. He peered through the glass. There didn't seem to be anyone around. Dan wasn't sure what he hoped for. A swat team with sharpshooters sounded good. But barring that, he hoped the police on the scene—Sherri and Pete—would have sense enough not to try to stop MacMillan from leaving.

MacMillan tucked the flashlight into his armpit and used that hand to fumble awkwardly with the knob. He had to lean out around Dan's body to see what he was doing. Dan ended up standing sideways in the tiny foyer, in a perfect position to see something move just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

His eyes widened but he managed not to cry out as a large dark object swung past his face and struck the back of MacMillan's bent head with a dull thunk. At almost the same moment, Dan felt himself being shoved out of the way. He landed hard on his butt, wrenching both shoulders painfully. The instant agony in his upper arms overrode everything else. For the second time that day, the world went black.

 

Liss tossed aside the cast-iron frying pan she'd used to knock out Phil MacMillan and threw herself down beside Dan's motionless body. Before tears blinded her, she saw the dried blood on his face and the ghastly paleness of his skin. Frantic, she ran her hands over his chest, up to his throat, desperately seeking a pulse.

It was there. Strong. He wasn't dead.

Then she saw the small cut, one obviously made by a skean dhu, and she wished she'd hit Phil MacMillan harder.

Tears filled her eyes. She blinked away the moisture as she fumbled with the makeshift gag MacMillan had used. The tartan handkerchief he'd bought in the gift shop fell to the floor in a soggy lump.

Behind her, Liss heard Pete and Sherri emerge from the hidden doorway.

“Is he dead?” Sherri asked.

“No,” Liss said.

A moment later, Pete gave the same answer with regard to Phil MacMillan.

“Good.” Handcuffs clicked shut around MacMillan's wrists.

Liss tried to turn Dan over so that she could release his arms. He was too heavy for her, but her efforts brought him back to consciousness with a yelp of pain.

“Sorry!”

“Liss?” He sounded dazed.

“It's okay. Everything is okay now.”

“She remembered the hidden doorway from the kitchen,” Sherri said as she helped Liss prop Dan up and untie him. “And apparently she grabbed a weapon on her way through.”

Angeline Cloutier's shout reached them through the still open door. “I want that fry pan back!”

Liss started to shake. She scooted sideways to let Sherri finish dealing with Dan's bonds, bracing herself against the wall as the reality of what she'd just done sank in. “I could have killed him,” she whispered.

“He could have killed me,” Dan corrected her. “You saved my life.”

“Up we go,” Pete said, and eased Dan to his feet.

Dan rolled his shoulders—very carefully—and winced, but then he reached out a hand to Liss. “Come on. Let's go find someplace warm and celebrate being alive.”

She wouldn't let him help her up. She could see he was hurting. And as soon as she was on her feet, she went up on tiptoe, took his face in both her hands, and kissed him full on the mouth. Their lips were still locked when the slamming of car doors from the parking lot announced the arrival of the state police.

 

“I can't believe that only sixty-four hours have passed since this all began!”

It didn't seem possible, Liss thought. It had been just about four o'clock on the twenty-fifth when she'd eavesdropped on the three housekeepers. Now it was eight in the morning on the twenty-eighth. The state police had just taken Phil and Eunice MacMillan away.

“Not even three full days,” Dan marveled, “and less than sixty hours without power. Things could have been far worse.”

“What part? Doing without creature comforts or nearly losing you?”

She was trying to sound flippant, but the effort fell flat. Remembering how close Dan had come to getting himself killed made her voice tremble and her hands shake. She wanted to take him home, surround him with love, and never let him out of her sight again.

And that, she thought, would be a bad idea. She knew firsthand how annoying it was to have someone hovering all the time. There was a fine line between caring and overprotective.

Joe called to his son.

Dan hesitated. “I'll just be a minute. Will you be okay?”

“I'm fine. Go.”

She watched him cross the lobby to the check-in desk and started to smile.

Dan Ruskin loved her. He had for a long time. She loved him back. She had for a long time, but she hadn't realized it. Not really. She'd taken him for granted, expecting him to be there for her without ever questioning why he was. It was profoundly unsettling to have to come to grips with that truth, but now that she had, she also knew something else with absolute certainty. When he finally got around to asking her to marry him, she was going to accept. Then they were going to look out for each other for the rest of their lives.

Dan was deep in a serious conversation with his father and Liss's aunt. They were talking about the hotel, she supposed. There would be some tough times ahead. The weekend's events would have consequences. But somehow, working together, she was confident that they'd find a way to make the best of what had happened.

Too impatient to wait for Dan to come back, Liss joined the small group, sliding her arm around Dan's waist as she came up beside him.

Aunt Margaret's gaze sharpened. “You two should go home,” she said. “Get some rest. We can manage here.”

“There's too much to do,” Dan objected.

“You're hurt,” his father reminded him. “You should have the doctor take a look at that cut on your neck and the bump on your head, too.”

“I don't need my head examined,” Dan joked.

“But
we
need to talk,” Liss said.

His expression turned wary. “We do?”

Why wait
? She smiled up at him. “I'm ready to listen to that proposal you mentioned when we were in town.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I…uh…I want to do this right.”

“You do not need to go down on one knee.”

“Yeah, I think I do.” And he did. “Amaryllis Rosalie MacCrimmon, will you marry me?”

“Yes, I will.”

She had no idea where all the people came from, but suddenly the lobby seemed to be full of well-wishers. Sherri and Pete appeared out of nowhere to join Joe and Margaret. Sam Ruskin started to slap his brother on the back but caught himself in the nick of time. Russ Tandy and his wife offered congratulations. They also offered to break the news of Liss's engagement to Russ's brother, Gordon. Then Dilys, Rhonda, and Sadie were crowding around, too, wishing Liss and Dan a long and happy life together. When Tricia and Simon showed up, Joe sent Simon back to the lounge for champagne.

“I need to get you a ring,” Dan whispered after the toasts had been made and the furor had died down. “An engagement isn't official without a ring.”

“There's no rush,” Liss said. “And I don't want a diamond. Too flashy.”

Aunt Margaret, overhearing, caught each of them by an elbow and propelled them out of the lobby and into the west wing. “I happen to know,” she said, “that the hotel gift shop carries a very nice selection of jewelry…including a certain tourmaline ring that my niece has had her eye on.”