The Corpse Wore Tartan (6 page)

“Will the johns work with the power out?” someone called from the back of the room.

Dan waited for the laughter to die down. “You'll be glad to know that the hotel's generator will indeed keep the plumbing going.”

Applause greeted this announcement.

“We do ask that you don't take any long, hot showers or baths until power is restored. As for heat, we will have to keep the thermostats turned low—around sixty degrees—and the fireplaces some of you have in your rooms are not approved for use by the fire marshall, so please don't try to use them. However, we already have a fire lit in the hearth in the lobby and there are fireplaces in most of the public rooms. We have a plentiful supply of wood to keep all of those going, and the stoves in the kitchen run on gas, so providing you with hot meals will not be a problem.”

Someone tugged on Dan's sleeve. He looked down to see Sherri Willett standing beside him. For a moment, he'd forgotten about that stolen brooch. He cleared his throat.

“There is one other thing. This is Officer Willett of the Moosetookalook Police Department. She needs to speak briefly with each of you before you turn in for the night. I'll let her explain, and then we can all head down to the lobby together.”

He stepped back and hoped for the best. So far, everyone was being pretty understanding about the loss of utilities, but Dan had a feeling that their tolerance was about to be put to the test. It was one thing to be asked to do without a few creature comforts, especially when an act of nature was responsible for the situation and everyone else was in the same boat. It was quite another to have a uniformed police officer imply that you might be a thief, even when everyone else was a suspect, too.

 

Sherri set up an interview space in the lobby near the sweeping staircase that led to the mezzanine. She'd decided to limit her questions to asking when each guest had checked in, where they'd been between 3:45 and 4:45, and—for those with rooms nearby—if they'd seen anyone suspicious near the MacMillans' suite. She was pretty sure this line of questioning would not turn up the missing brooch, but she had no better idea how to proceed. At least Phil MacMillan wouldn't be able to complain that she wasn't doing anything.

It was slow going, even with only those few questions. The replies were so similar that before long the members of SHAS, and their tartans, became little more than a blur.

At least everyone seemed to be in a cooperative mood. It helped that the Ruskins had set up a free buffet table and opened a couple of portable cash bars. The first round of drinks had been on the house. There had been cheering when Joe announced that breakfast the next morning would also be free.

“Next up is one of the practical jokers Phil MacMillan fingered,” Pete whispered as yet another man in a kilt approached. “Eric Buchanan. I've met him before, at one of the Highland Games.”

Sherri took Buchanan through the same questions as everyone else. He claimed he'd been in the lounge during the relevant hour. Sherri had no reason to doubt him, but she took the precaution of talking to Tricia Lynd next.

“Oh, yeah,” the hotel's only intern agreed. “He was there the whole time. Him and his friend.” She pointed out a man with buck teeth and cauliflower ears. “His buddy there pinched my butt, so I definitely remember him!”

Sherri had a sneaking suspicion that the pincher would turn out to be the second practical joker MacMillan had named, but several loud blats, the sound of a bagpipe tuning up, made asking her next question a challenge. “Who else was in the lounge?” she shouted.

Russ Tandy was one of the SHAS members Sherri had already interviewed. The noise he was making prevented her from hearing Tricia's answer. He chose that moment to launch into an impromptu bagpipe concert. It was suddenly impossible to think, let alone continue the interview.

Holding up one finger as a signal for Tricia to wait, Sherri semaphored her arms until Liss MacCrimmon looked her way. Then Sherri pointed to Russ and mimed zipping her lips. If there was a signal for “make the piper shut up,” she didn't know it, but Liss got the message. By then, Russ was well into a spirited rendition of “Scotland the Brave.” Liss waited patiently until he finished the piece, then caught his arm and whispered in his ear. A moment later, she led him away, bagpipe in hand.

As silence descended, Sherri breathed a sigh of relief.

“About those two men, Tricia—how long had they been in the lounge?”

“Awhile. They came in right after we opened at three.”

“Did either one go out and come back in again?”

Tricia shook her head. “I'd have noticed. Until two more guys in kilts came in, they were our only customers.”

“Huh,” Sherri said. That seemed to rule them out as suspects. When she'd confirmed the name of the bottom-pinching practical joker was Norbert Johnson—the second name MacMillan had mentioned—Sherri decided to talk to him next. He had an alibi, all right, but she indulged herself by leaving him with the impression that if he didn't behave himself in the future he was going to find himself charged with sexual harassment.

“Dumbass,” she muttered as she watched Johnson scurry back to the bar. But he was an innocent dumbass. She turned to Pete. “Who's next?”

“Hank and Glenora Huggons.” Pete gestured for a middle-aged couple to come forward, but before they could reach the table where Sherri and Pete sat, a tall man in an orange and yellow kilt shoved rudely in front of them.

“Run along, kiddies,” he told the couple. “I'm talking to the officer next.”

Sherri frowned. Even in the dim lighting, she recognized Phil MacMillan's beak of a nose and square jaw. “Have you remembered something else, Mr. MacMillan?”

“You haven't talked to me yet. I'm
Phineas
MacMillan and I'm tired of waiting around.”

Sherri felt herself grow warm with embarrassment. She'd known Phil had a brother, but she hadn't realized the two were identical twins. Still, that being the case, it was entirely natural that she might mistake Phineas for Phil. He didn't have to be so rude and contemptuous about it.

She gestured to one of the chairs they'd set up on the opposite side of the table. “Please sit down, Mr. MacMillan.”

MacMillan took his time getting settled. He adjusted his kilt and sporran, tugged on the bottom of his jacket, and made sure his bow tie was straight. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he cleared his throat. “I hope this won't take too long. It's a bit nippy sitting this far from the fireplace.”

“Perhaps you should change out of the kilt,” Sherri suggested in saccharine tones.

“I may do that. Or perhaps I'll just turn in for the night. I was under the impression that I was not permitted to leave the lobby to do either until after I'd answered your questions. Shall we get on with it?”

“Certainly. I understand you were with your brother when his brooch went missing.”

“Ah, so that's what this is about? That absurdly overpriced clan crest brooch?”

Sherri nodded. She had asked Phil and Eunice not to mention the theft, but she was a little surprised Phil hadn't confided in his own brother.

Phineas looked thoughtful. “Am I to assume it disappeared while Phil and Eunice and I were inspecting the private dining room with Ms. MacCrimmon?”

“That's right.” Who was asking the questions here, anyway? Sherri supposed it didn't matter. Phineas MacMillan had a solid alibi for the time of the theft. He'd been with Phil, Eunice, and Liss. Still, she needed to confirm his movements. “I understand you met your brother and his wife in their suite?”

Phineas nodded. “Yes. We went down to meet Ms. MacCrimmon together. I was back in my room in under an hour.”

“Did you see anyone else on the third floor?”

“Not that I recall. If that's all…?” He stood, fussily smoothing the pleats in his kilt as he did so.

“Thank you for your help,” Sherri said, as she had to everyone she'd questioned.

Phineas started to walk away, then turned back, a malicious glint in his eyes. “You have considered, I suppose, that the brooch may not be missing at all?”

With that remark, Phineas sauntered off toward the blazing hearth. Sherri darted an astonished look at Pete. “Did he just suggest that his own brother might—?”

“He sure did. What a prince of a guy!”

“Well, it isn't as if we didn't think of that possibility ourselves,” Sherri said, “but that's just nasty.”

Phineas MacMillan was a sour note in what had otherwise been a surprisingly harmonious group. Sherri took a moment to study the crowd in the lobby. The fireplace and lanterns cast eerie shadows, but the overall atmosphere was convivial. Almost all the guests were still up, even those Sherri had already questioned and dismissed. They seemed to be enjoying the hospitality The Spruces offered—warmth, free food, and access to alcohol. One portable bar was manned by Simon, the bartender from the hotel lounge, and the second by Dan Ruskin.

Best of all, Russ Tandy and his bagpipe had not returned to serenade them.

“Y
ou've done a good job with this.” Russ Tandy's gesture encompassed the whole of the hotel gift shop. He held a powerful battery-operated lantern high so that it shed its light over counters and tables, racks and displays, all of which he'd already examined more closely.

“Thanks, Russ,” Liss said. “I appreciate having your opinion.”

As a distraction, requesting Russ's input had worked well. He'd abandoned his efforts to serenade the crowd and trailed after Liss into the wing that housed, among other things, the gift shop, a game room, and a library. With any luck, Sherri would be able to finish taking statements before anyone else decided that the party would not be complete without bagpipe music.

“Hello?” called a female voice unfamiliar to Liss.

“We're in here, hon,” Russ answered.

A moment later, Russ's wife entered the shop. She went immediately to her husband's side. She was tall, but her head only came up to his shoulder. At a guess, he stood around six foot four, a little taller than his brother, Gordon, who only topped six feet by an inch or two. Russ had already filled Liss in on what Gordon was up to. He knew little more than she did. Gordon Tandy was not much of a letter writer, nor did he bother with phone calls home.

“Hello,” Liss said. “Victoria, isn't it?”

“It is, but I go by Tory.” She held out a smooth, beautifully manicured hand and shook Liss's with a firm, no-nonsense grip. “Nice to meet you at last.”

“I was just showing your husband around the gift shop and trying to decide about opening it in the morning. If this snow keeps up, our regular clerk will have a hard time getting to work tomorrow.” One more thing to add to her to-do list, Liss thought—fill in for Fran. She heaved a silent sigh at the thought of dragging herself out of bed by seven. She'd been looking forward to a night spent in the lap of luxury—the fabled tower suite at The Spruces—but it was likely to be a very short night.

Tory made approving sounds as she moved from a rack of hand-knit mittens and scarves to Liss's display of Scottish paraphernalia. Tandy's Music and Gifts carried a few of the little figurines of Highlanders, but only the ones who held tiny bagpipes. Still, Liss was glad Russ's business was located far enough away from Moosetookalook to keep them out of direct competition with each other.

As Liss watched the other woman wander, she wished that she'd brought a few more items to the hotel from the main branch of the Emporium. Some of those nice warm imported sweaters would have been nice. The temperature in the gift shop had been turned down when it closed for the night. Liss hadn't felt the cold at first, but now she had to wrap her arms around herself and stamp her feet to keep the shivering at bay.

“Oh!” Tory exclaimed, catching sight of the display of jewelry. “What a gorgeous ring!”

“The stone is a tourmaline,” Liss told her.
Please don't buy it
, she added silently.

Standing side by side, they peered at it through the glass, angling their flashlights for a better look. They jumped in unison when the door creaked open behind them.

A snarl that could only have come from Russ Tandy had Liss whirling around, dreading what she'd find. Her fears were justified.

“Get out of here, MacMillan,” Russ said in a voice so cold it sent shivers down Liss's spine. “You've already done enough damage.”

“It's a free country, Tandy. I'm just exploring the hotel.”

Russ had set his lantern down on one of the tables. He stood in shadow, but Liss could tell from the set of his shoulders that he had both hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he took a threatening step toward the new arrival, she made a grab for him, catching one of his arms while Tory latched onto the other.

MacMillan's response was to unsheath the skean dhu tucked into the top of his hose. The small knife glinted in the light of a second lantern, the one MacMillan carried in his free hand.

“As a defensive weapon, that's pretty pathetic,” Russ taunted him.

“One of these can still do a lot of damage at close quarters,” MacMillan replied, baring his teeth so that they, too, gleamed in the lantern light.

Liss tried desperately to remember which twin it was who kept his skean dhu razor sharp. Was it Phineas? Or Phil? A dull blade wouldn't do nearly as much damage. She hoped.

“He's not worth an assault charge!” Tory's agitated whisper sounded loud in the tense silence that followed MacMillan's threat.

Liss didn't trouble to lower her voice. Suddenly impatient with their childish behavior, she snapped at the two men. “Grow up! Both of you. And put that sticker away before you cut yourself.”

What is it with these SHAS people?
First one idiot tried to beat his friend over the head with a bagpipe. Now these morons appeared ready to fight a duel because MacMillan had insulted Russ's daughter during his speech.

“He owes me an apology,” Russ muttered, even as MacMillan obeyed Liss's order and sheathed the skean dhu. “And he owes Mandy one.”

MacMillan snickered. “You're the one who named the kid Mandy Tandy, Russ. She should be used to fielding snide remarks.”

Russ lunged, very nearly breaking free of his wife's grip. Liss did lose her hold on him. She staggered back a few steps, off balance, as he slipped out of her grasp.

Holding on to her own temper by a thread, Liss abandoned her attempt to control Russ and advanced on MacMillan. He, wisely, was already retreating. Still chuckling to himself, he backed out into the wide corridor that connected the gift shop to the lobby. She paused in the doorway. There was just enough light for her to see the dumbfounded look on his face when he found his way blocked by yet another dimly lit figure in a kilt.

Before MacMillan could escape, the newcomer seized him by the lapels. Then he slammed him back against the opposite wall. Liss hoped that ominous cracking sound wasn't breaking bone.

She rushed out of the shop after them as the fisticuffs continued, moving erratically down the hall. Both men cursed loudly as they scuffled, but she did not hear any blows land.

“You'd better help her, Russ,” Tory said from the shop doorway.

“Not a chance,” Russ said. “I'm perfectly happy to let Will MacHenry beat Phineas to a pulp. I'd rather bash his head in myself, but this is the next best thing.”

Behind her, Liss heard Tory make an exasperated sound and then the patter of light footsteps as the other woman left her husband to come to Liss's aid herself.

“Tory, get back here!” Russ shouted. “Damn. All right. Stand down. I'm coming.”

The fight, such as it was, continued to move away from the lobby and toward the music room the hotel used for small, intimate gatherings. The two men appeared to be evenly matched and, so far, neither had inflicted any serious damage on the other. MacHenry was younger, but MacMillan was in better shape, and Liss was grateful he'd sheathed the skean dhu.

Russ Tandy stalked the combatants, watching for his chance. The moment there was an opening, he came up behind Will MacHenry and wrapped his arms around him. Holding MacHenry in a bear hug, Russ hauled him away from the object of his fury.

MacMillan made no attempt to follow. He sagged against the wall, trying to catch his breath. As soon as he had wind enough to speak, however, his words came out as a bellow.

“I'm Phil, you imbeciles!” he shouted at them. “Not Phineas!”

Even in the poorly lit hallway, Liss could see the color leach out of Will MacHenry's face. Russ gave a start of surprise. Tory just looked embarrassed.

Will blew out a ragged breath. “Christ, Phil. I'm sorry. I thought—”

“I know what you thought! Go beat on my brother and leave me alone!”

The moment Russ freed him, Will MacHenry beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the lobby, stopping only long enough to collect the flashlight he'd dropped when he first accosted the man he'd thought was Phineas.

Narrowing her eyes, Liss stared hard at MacMillan. “Are you really Phil, or did you just say that to get off the hook?”

MacMillan made a production of straightening his bow tie and his jacket. “I outgrew trading places with my twin when we were both in high school.”

Liss wasn't sure she believed him. She was surprised Will MacHenry had. Then again, all three men had probably had quite a bit to drink, what with the whiskey at the supper and Lord knew what else from the cash bar.

“I wouldn't put it past Phineas to lie to us,” Russ said.

Neither would Liss. “How could we tell?” she mused, ignoring MacMillan's glower. “How could anyone?”

“I would hope Eunice would know the difference,” Russ muttered.

Liss made the mistake of catching Tory's eyes. The glint of wry amusement she saw there echoed her own reaction. Obviously, they'd both seen too many movies on the Lifetime and Oxygen networks. In real life, it simply could not be that easy to fool people.

Taking a closer look at the MacMillan twin in the hallway, she noticed a single detail that decided the issue. “He's Phil,” she said.

“You sound awfully sure,” Tory said.

“I am. It's the bow tie.”

Both Russ and Tory squinted at the accessory in question. “It's black,” Russ said.

“This one is brocade,” Liss clarified. “Phineas's tie is satin.”

Phil's bark of laughter broke the tension. “You've got a good eye, Ms. MacCrimmon.” He turned to Russ, hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose I do owe you an apology for that Mandy Tandy crack, although I spoke nothing but the truth. And it's also true that my brother was out of line earlier this evening, but I can't apologize for him.” He spread his hands wide. “I can't be blamed for anything Phineas says or does, now can I?”

When Russ said nothing, Tory smacked her husband on the arm. “Tell Phil that you accept his apology and apologize to him for wanting to brain him.”

“When hell freezes over,” Russ muttered. “For my money, he's almost as bad as his twin.”

Phil laughed again. It was not a good-natured sound. Liss felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Never mind,” Phil said, sounding almost cheerful. “I'll just be on my way.”

“Your way where?” Liss asked. “You're headed in the wrong direction if you mean to return to your suite, and the lobby is the only place on this level that's warm right now.”

“Oh, I was just exploring a bit,” Phil said. “Stretching my legs before I turn in. What
is
down this way?”

Liss collected her wits and answered politely, reminding herself that, obnoxious or not, he was still a paying guest. She indicated the door to her right. “Library. Game room opposite. There's a billiard table in there, plus a couple of arcade games. Of course, those won't work with no power. You've already gone past the gift shop and the business center. Up ahead is the music room. There's a grand piano in there. When the hallway hangs a right, the lounge is straight ahead, but that's closed now. The bartender moved his operation to the lobby when the lights went out.”

“Ah, I see. And there's an indoor pool somewhere, is there not?”

Liss nodded. “The lounge overlooks the pool from above. The entrance to both the health center and the pool is down one flight.” Because of the slope of the land, the basement was below ground level at the front of the hotel but almost fully above ground at the back. The view from the health club and from poolside windows was of an expanse of lawn and the woods beyond.

“I don't suppose the pool is open.” Phil sounded wistful. “I wouldn't mind a swim before I went to bed.”

“You can take one if you want, but there are no lights and there's no power to heat the water. And no one is on duty to help you if you get a cramp.” Not that the Ruskins had a lifeguard anyway. The staff working in the lounge were instructed to keep an eye on what was going on below, but they weren't in a position to effect a quick rescue if someone got into trouble. For that reason, the pool was clearly posted to tell guests that they swam at their own risk.

Phil considered for a long moment. His gaze came to rest briefly on Russ Tandy. Then he shook his head. “No, I think not, but I will just take a peek at the facility to satisfy my curiosity. Good night, all.”

They watched him in silence until he rounded the bend in the corridor and disappeared from view. Then Russ flung an arm around Tory's shoulders and steered her toward the lobby. “I think I need another drink and some music, in that order. Did either of you see where I left my bagpipe?”

 

Sherri was nearly done with her interviews. She'd already questioned almost everyone who'd attended the Burns Night Supper. A few had been the worse for the amount of whiskey they'd consumed, but they'd all been pretty cooperative.

She'd also talked to the five hotel guests who had been in the lounge when the power went out. Simon and Tricia had herded them into the lobby as soon as it became obvious that the outage was going to last awhile. Then Simon had gone upstairs to talk to the remaining guests and to the hotel staffers who'd already retreated to their rooms and tell them that their presence was required downstairs. The guests had all been skiers who had turned in early because they planned to head for the slopes at the crack of dawn.

Good luck with that, she thought. She'd kept her best guess about likely road conditions to herself.

Next up was an elderly gentleman who identified himself as Harvey MacHenry. “I saw you arrange for Russ Tandy to be taken away earlier, Officer,” he said with a mischievous sparkle in his faded blue eyes. “Don't you enjoy the skirling of the pipes?”

“In moderation, Mr. MacHenry,” she told him. “In moderation.”

He chuckled. “Well, then, we'll have to arrange for a little concert later on. In the meantime, what can I do for you?”