The Corpse Wore Tartan (3 page)

Phil MacMillan sat at a reproduction of a mid-nineteenth-century ladies' desk, hunched over a laptop. He didn't look up, even though he must have heard Liss and Dan come into the room.

Eunice's voice had a sharp edge to it. “Phil! Mr. Ruskin and Ms. MacCrimmon are here. You're the one who insisted on sending for them.
You
talk to them.”

Phil tapped a few more keys, then shut down whatever he was working on. The look he sent his wife was frosty enough to ruin an entire citrus crop. She ignored him, and Liss and Dan, to get herself a bottle of water from a mini-refrigerator disguised as an end table. Without asking if anyone else wanted something, she plunked herself down in an armchair, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow.

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. MacMillan?” Dan asked.

Phil MacMillan stood and faced Liss and Dan. Beneath beetled brows, his dark brown eyes sparked with temper. “We came back to the suite after our meeting with Ms. MacCrimmon to find that the place had been ransacked.”

Incredulous, Liss gave the suite another once-over. She saw nothing beyond the disorder normal for a hotel room that was currently occupied.

Dan had made a visual survey of his own. “I beg your pardon?” His clipped tone was at odds with his polite wording.

“We cleaned up. Put things away.”

“I did, you mean.”

“Yes, dear. My wife tidied up. She's compulsive about things like that. In any case, after she had done so, I discovered I'd been robbed. Someone who works in your hotel, Mr. Ruskin, is a thief.”

Liss was standing close enough to Dan to feel how rigid he went at the accusation. She admired his self-control as he somehow still managed to keep his voice neutral.

“Most people would have called the front desk at once if they thought someone had been in their room,” he said.

“Well, we didn't.” MacMillan made a dismissive gesture. “That doesn't change the fact that a valuable brooch is missing. It's solid silver and decorated with my clan crest. There are a couple of rubies in the design. It was in the bedroom on the dresser when we went downstairs to inspect the private dining room and gone when we came back.”

“You're sure you didn't just misplace it?” Liss asked. “Perhaps you thought you unpacked it and—”

“I have a very clear recollection of placing it on top of the dresser. I planned to wear it tonight. Besides, as I just told you, the place had been searched. Obviously someone was looking for valuables.”

“Was anything else taken?” Dan looked from MacMillan to his wife.

Eunice shook her head. “Just the brooch.” She picked up a magazine and flipped noisily through the pages, affecting disinterest.

“I want the police called in.” MacMillan, arms folded across his chest, was the picture of stubborn determination. “In the meantime, I expect you to keep all your staff on the premises so they can be searched.” The stance, the jutting jaw, the steady gaze, all proclaimed that there was no point in trying to reason with him.

“Very well, Mr. MacMillan,” Dan said. “I will phone the police station, but I want to make sure I fully understand the situation first.” He turned again to Eunice. “Ms. MacMillan, do you recall seeing this brooch on the dresser when you left the room?”

She looked up, her thin lips curving into a slow, malicious smile. “No. I didn't notice it. And I told Phil not to make a fuss just because he can't find it.”

“It's a valuable piece of jewelry.” Phil glowered at his wife.

Unperturbed, she turned another page in her magazine. Liss couldn't see the cover, but it was one of the glossy ones devoted to fashion, self-improvement, and profiles of celebrities.

She glanced back at Phil MacMillan, then decided to take a look at the crime scene for herself. In the bedroom, she was careful not to touch anything, but she checked the top of the dresser and the floor around it, and even bent over to look beneath the furniture. She peeked into the bath, too, and noticed the small gift-shop bag on the counter by the sink. The toothpaste Phil and Eunice had picked up, she assumed.

By the time Liss returned to the living room of the suite, MacMillan was fuming at the delay. Liss could all but see steam rising as his temper came to a boil.

“I want the cops!” he bellowed. “What kind of place is this? Are you going to sit back and let your guests be robbed?”

“Certainly not, Mr. MacMillan. If you'll just wait here in your suite, I will send for the local police. It should only take ten or fifteen minutes for an officer to drive to the hotel.”

When Dan closed the door very gently behind him, Liss knew he was repressing the urge to slam it.

“Great. Just great,” he muttered as they headed for the elevator. “And what is a guy doing wearing a brooch anyway?”

“It's a big round pin,” Liss said, “used to hold a plaid in place at the shoulder.” She pronounced the word as “played,” since she meant the garment, not the pattern. It was a long strip of tartan cloth that men wore with a kilt. It wrapped around the upper body and looked quite dashing.

But Dan was no longer listening. He'd detached his cell phone from his belt and was already punching in the number for the Moosetookalook Police Department.

T
he drive from downtown Moosetookalook to The Spruces took under ten minutes. Officer Sherri Willett, a petite blonde who prided herself on being tougher than she looked, gave the sky a considering glance as she stepped out of the police cruiser.

The sun set early at that time of year and, because of the weather, neither moon nor stars were visible. Away from floodlit areas, it was pitch dark.

Snow drifted down at a steady rate, rapidly adding a new coat of white to the recently plowed parking lot. The forecast had been for five or six inches, but she could feel the heaviness in the air. The whirling flakes, although light enough in themselves, continued to pile up thick and fast.

“And to think,” she said to Pete Campbell as he got out of the passenger side of her vehicle, “a little more than a month ago we were praying for snow.”

Pete shrugged. “Maine in winter. What can I say?”

He was built like a linebacker, solid and square. He stood eight inches taller than Sherri and outweighed her by a good eighty pounds. He was off duty and wearing civvies—jeans and a sweater under a ski parka—instead of the uniform that proclaimed him a Carrabassett County Deputy Sheriff.

Sherri smiled to herself. Even if he were working, Pete would have no problem deferring to her in this investigation. After considerable debate during the last few weeks, some of it heated, they'd finally resolved the issue of her career in law enforcement. She wasn't going to quit, not even after she and Pete were married. And, as this was clearly a Moosetookalook matter, she was the one in charge. He'd give her no argument on that score. He'd accepted that she was fully qualified to do her job, in this case to investigate the disappearance of a piece of jewelry.

Pete squinted at the hotel while Sherri extracted a fingerprint kit and an audio recorder from the spacious trunk of the car. The far-from-new Crown Victoria had been acquired from the county when the sheriff's department upgraded.

The Spruces stood on the crest of a hill, looking down on the rest of Moosetookalook. It rose three stories high, painted brilliant white and roofed in red tile, but what had given it the nickname “the castle” with the locals were the four-story octagonal towers at each corner and the five-story central tower with the cupola on top.

By the time Sherri was ready to go inside, Pete's dark hair had acquired a cap of snowflakes. He brushed them off with one gloved hand as they headed for the service entrance. Dan Ruskin had requested that Sherri keep things low-key. That wasn't a problem. Coming in with sirens blaring and blue lights flashing was hardly her style.

Dan was waiting for them, Liss MacCrimmon at his side, in the utilitarian conference room next to Joe Ruskin's equally plain office. Unlike the public areas of the hotel, all of which were very posh, this room was extremely plain. The walls were painted a soft green. The carpet was of the indoor-outdoor variety. The only furnishings were a long wooden table, a dozen folding chairs, and a side table that held the coffeepot, creamer, and packets of sweetener.

“You already know a little about the Scottish Heritage Appreciation Society,” Dan began.

“I should. I've been listening to Liss bitch about them for weeks.” Sherri had recognized the name MacMillan right off and knew that her friend thought Eunice MacMillan was obnoxious.

“Well, let me bring you up to speed.” And Dan launched into an explanation of why he'd called the police.

“Clan crest brooch,” Sherri murmured when he'd finished. She was familiar with that sort of jewelry, having once worked part-time in Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium, and knew she'd need a much more detailed description. Half the men at the Burns Night Supper probably owned similar pieces.

“There's something a little peculiar about all this,” Dan said.

“A couple of things,” Liss chimed in.

“Any normal person who discovered someone had been in their room would grab the phone and complain first thing,” Dan said. “Instead, Eunice tidied up. She put everything back where it belonged and they weren't going to say a word about it…until MacMillan discovered the theft.”

“And both MacMillans are champion complainers,” Liss said. “There's another thing, too. It's probably nothing. Just odd.”

Sherri looked at her expectantly. Often the smallest detail, if it sounded a wrong note, could be important, and Sherri knew that Liss had good instincts for such things.

“Phil MacMillan claimed he left the brooch out on top of the dresser because he was going to wear it this evening,” Liss explained, “but a Burns Night Supper calls for more formal attire. The men will all be wearing jackets of some sort—everything from tweed to tails. Some folks do wear plaids on top of jackets, but I wouldn't expect someone like Phil MacMillan to. To tell you the truth, I'd be surprised to see a single plaid tonight on anyone but the bagpiper.”

“So, no need for a brooch on the shoulder,” Sherri summarized. “Good catch. Okay. Time to go talk to the victim. No.” She held up a hand to stop Dan and Liss from coming with her. “This is police business, okay? I don't want you two involved any further.”

Dan's scowl told her he wasn't happy to be taken out of the loop. Liss just looked disappointed. Sherri sympathized, but their presence wasn't necessary and it might interfere with getting answers.

“I want you to do something else for me,” she told them. “I'll need lists of the staff and of the hotel guests. If Mr. MacMillan is determined to make a fuss about this, then I'll have to follow through, talk to everyone, find out where they were when the brooch went missing. You could also help me set up the interviews with the staff.”

“None of Dad's employees are thieves,” Dan objected.

“If the brooch was just lying out in the open—”

“Once the MacMillans checked in, no one on the hotel staff had any reason to enter their suite.”

“Just get me those lists, okay?” Anxious to begin her investigation, Sherri headed for the door. “I'll be back after I talk to the victims.”

“Sherri,” Liss began, “I could—”

“Make lists,” Sherri repeated, and closed the conference room door firmly behind her.

Pete was chuckling as they crossed the lobby, heading for the elevators.

“What?”

“When did Liss MacCrimmon ever
not
make lists?”

“Good point.” Sherri jabbed the button to call the elevator and sighed. “She wants to help.”

She knew Liss well. They'd gone all through school together and reconnected upon Liss's return to Maine. Liss MacCrimmon did not like unanswered questions. And when explanations failed to present themselves quickly enough, she didn't wait for other people to provide them. More than once, her impatience had led her into serious trouble.

“Just keep telling her no,” Pete advised. “Tell her it's a conflict of interest for her to be involved.”

“Easy for you to say.”

They exited the elevator on the third floor and walked down the quiet hallway to the MacMillan suite. Sherri took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before she knocked.

The first thing she noticed was that the MacMillans had obviously changed their clothes. Liss had told her what Phil MacMillan had been wearing earlier. Now he and his wife were clearly dressed for the Burns Night Supper.

Phil's outfit consisted of all the normal Scottish apparel on the bottom—ghillie brogues with leather soles that laced up over the ankle, hose with flashes, kilt, fur sporran with a chrome cantle and three fur tassels. But on top he wore a Prince Charlie jacket and vest in Tartan green with a tuxedo shirt and bow tie. The jacket was a nice one, Sherri thought. The cutaway-style front had rampant lion buttons and braided epaulettes…and no place at all for him to pin on a brooch.

He demanded to see identification, especially from Pete. After Sherri complied, she took Phil's statement while Pete dusted the top of the dresser and the doorknobs for fingerprints. After she'd heard what Phil MacMillan had to say, she informed both MacMillans that she'd need to take their fingerprints for purposes of elimination.

“Is that really necessary?” Eunice looked annoyed.

“I'm afraid so.”

While Pete did the honors, Sherri took the couple through their story one more time. It didn't hold together any better on repetition.

“I just want to make sure I have all the details straight,” she said, flipping to the first page of her spiral-bound notepad. She had the recorder going, but backing up with written notes was always a good idea. Even the most advanced technological devices had glitches, and the equipment provided to Moosetookalook police officers was hardly top of the line. “You arrived at The Spruces around three. Is that correct?”

“That's right.” The curt answer came from Eunice. She didn't look at Sherri. She was too busy wiping smudges off her beautifully manicured fingers, taking great care not to get any of the ink on her floor-length, off-white gown. Since, by tradition, women did not wear kilts, she showed her clan colors by draping a tartan sash over her right shoulder.

“We checked in, came up here and unpacked, and then went to make sure all the arrangements were in order.” Phil sounded every bit as irritable as his wife.

“You had a meeting scheduled with Ms. MacCrimmon?”

“Yes. At four.” Eunice rose from the sofa and picked up the small evening bag on the coffee table. Sherri ignored the hint that it was almost time for the SHAS cocktail party.

“We went down to the private dining room on the mezzanine at a little before four.” Phil also stood and fussily made adjustments to his kilt.

“You met your brother there?”

“No. He was already with us. We met here and went down together.”

Sherri slanted a sharp look his way. “You didn't mention that before.”

“Didn't I?” Phil shrugged. “I don't see that it matters.
Phineas
didn't steal my brooch. Anyway, we went down to the dining room and waited there until Ms. MacCrimmon arrived. She was late.”

“And after you three left the dining room? What then?”

“We came back here,” Eunice answered. “We told you all this before.”

And what else had they left out? Sherri barely managed to keep the skepticism out of her voice. “Yes, you have, Ms. MacMillan. But it bears repeating. Now, when you entered the suite, did you notice immediately that someone had been here?”

“Of course we did!” Phil's nostrils flared in irritation. “The furniture cushions were askew. And the drawers were all pulled out of the desk.”

“And in the bedroom, the closet door stood open when I know I closed it, and the pillows from the bed had been scattered all over the floor.” Eunice gestured toward the other room and froze, her hand in midair, when she caught sight of Pete. He was down on his hands and knees, his head stuck under the bed. As they watched, he withdrew, having found nothing there.

“What did you think had happened?” Sherri asked.

Phil shrugged again and let his wife answer.

“We had no idea,” Eunice said, just as she had the last time she'd told her story. “Then Phil said it must be some damned fool's idea of a practical joke. Some members of SHAS have a rather low sense of humor. It wasn't until I was done straightening up that Phil noticed the brooch was missing.”

Sherri already had the names of the group's resident comedians. There was always a chance that one of them had invaded the suite and taken the brooch as a joke, but Sherri didn't see where the humor would be in such a prank. She also doubted that another guest would have been able to get hold of a key to the suite.

She studied her written description of the missing piece of jewelry. It wouldn't mean much to someone who hadn't seen the real thing. Without much hope, she posed a new question. “I don't suppose you have a picture of the brooch?”

“Certainly,” Phil said. To Sherri's surprise, he went directly to the laptop sitting on the desk and called up a file. “We had all our good jewelry photographed for insurance purposes.”

That would make her job easier, Sherri thought, but at the same time she felt uneasy. Something wasn't right here. Why would a thief steal a brooch and leave a computer? Since the jewelry was bound to be missed, why not take everything else that was easily portable, too? She glanced at Eunice. By rights that pearl choker should also have gone in the swag bag.

“There,” Phil said.

A photograph filled the screen. The MacMillan clan crest was impressive—two strong hands brandishing a double-handed sword inside a circle emblazoned with the motto
Miseris Succurrere Disco
.

“Translation?” Sherri's Latin was nonexistant.

“I learn to help the unfortunate,” Eunice answered, her tone snide. “So approp—”

“The sword has a jewel-encrusted handle,” MacMillan interrupted. “Rubies. And as I've already told you, the brooch itself is solid silver.”

Sherri reached into the breast pocket of her uniform and pulled out a flash drive. It only took a moment to plug into the laptop and copy the .jpg file.

“If you're finished with us, Officer Willett,” Phil said, snotty as ever, “we have a cocktail party to go to.”

Sherri took her time answering. “I believe I have all I need,” she said when she'd let the silence stretch as taut as she dared. “But I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention the missing brooch to anyone.”

Phil frowned, but agreed. Eunice looked as if she'd also like to object, but remained silent. Then Phil opened the door and gave Sherri and Pete a pointed look.

Sherri waited until she and Pete were once more in the elevator and on their way down to the lobby before she looked at her fiancé and rolled her eyes. “What a piece of work.”

“Which one?”

“Either. Both. Oh, well. That's neither here nor there, I suppose. There's been a report of a burglary, which does make a nice change from the usual traffic tickets, O.U.I.s, and domestic disputes. I'll have to talk to everyone on the staff, even Liss and Dan. Hey, maybe I'll get lucky and someone will confess.”