The Corpse Wore Tartan (8 page)

They reached the second floor, where Phineas had a room, and started down the carpeted corridor.

“What was Sadie doing in the basement in the middle of the night?” Liss asked.

“I have no idea,” Dan said. “And right now, I don't care.” He stopped in front of a door and knocked. When repeated attempts to rouse someone had no effect, he pulled out a passkey and was about to open the door himself when it suddenly swung inward.

“Mr. MacMillan!” Liss yelped.

Until that moment, she hadn't realized that she'd been assuming it was Phineas who'd been killed. After all, Phineas was the one who'd managed to offend at least a half dozen members of SHAS earlier in the evening.

But it was unmistakably Phineas MacMillan, wrapped in a paisley bathrobe and sporting a bad case of bed head, who was standing in the doorway and frowning at her. “Who did you expect?” he demanded in a testy voice.

“May we come in for a moment?” Dan asked. “I'm afraid we have some bad news.”

The room was as beautifully furnished as all the others at The Spruces, and Phineas MacMillan had kept it almost as neat as it had been when he'd checked in. True, the bedding was rumpled, but there were no clothes strewn about and his toiletries were arranged with almost military precision on the bathroom counter. The only touch that made the place look lived-in was the James Patterson novel on the bedside table next to the lamp and clock radio, and even that was neatly aligned with the edge of the night-stand.

“Well? What is so important you had to wake me up at this ungodly hour of the morning?”

“I'm sorry to tell you this, sir,” Dan said, “but your brother is dead.”

“Impossible!” He dismissed the idea out of hand. “There must be some mistake.”

“I don't believe so, Mr. MacMillan.”

“We thought it might be you,” Liss blurted out. She felt heat creep into her cheeks at the ill-considered revelation, but there was no taking back her hasty words. And there was no way around telling Phineas the rest of it. “I'm sorry, Mr. MacMillan, but Phil was found in a storage room in the basement of the hotel a short time ago.”

“Nonsense. There's a simple way to settle this once and for all. Come along, kiddies. We'll go up to Phil and Eunice's suite and you can see for yourself that there's nothing wrong with my brother. He's my twin, for God's sake. Don't you think I'd know if something had happened to him?”

They didn't argue. Phineas was in denial. He'd have to have proof of what they'd told him. Liss dreaded having to give Eunice the bad news, but at least Phineas would be there to comfort his sister-in-law.

The three of them trooped up another flight of stairs and knocked at the door bearing the number 312. It took some time for Eunice to answer. Like Phineas, she showed signs of having been asleep. She was bundled into one of the thick, white terrycloth bathrobes the hotel provided to guests who booked suites. As her gaze went from Dan to Liss to Phineas, her lips pursed in annoyance.

“Where's Phil?” Phineas asked before she could speak. His voice sounded odd, as if he'd finally begun to believe Dan and Liss.

“He hasn't come up yet.” Eunice's eyes remained trained on Liss's face as she spoke. They narrowed abruptly at whatever reaction she glimpsed there.

“There's been an…accident,” Dan said.

Eunice gave an exasperated huff. “Don't beat around the bush with me. What happened?”

“We knew it was either your husband or his brother,” Liss said. “We couldn't tell which one until we…” She gestured helplessly at Phineas.

“Since I'm here,” Phineas said in a subdued voice, “that leaves Phil.”

“Why didn't you just
ask
—oh!” Eunice took a step backward before she caught herself. “I see. You mean he's badly hurt. Unconscious?” She blanched as Liss struggled to find the right words. “Dead?” Eunice whispered.

“I'm sorry,” Dan said. “Yes.”

Leaving the door open, Eunice retreated into the suite lit only by the lantern she'd placed on the coffee table. Another illuminated the bedroom.

“I'll dress. I won't be a moment.” She slammed the inner door behind her.

Phineas took a seat in the shadows, saying nothing. Not wishing to intrude, neither Liss nor Dan tried to talk to him, but Liss could not help but entertain a few cynical thoughts about the new-made widow. Where were the hysterics? Where were the tears?

In an effort to be charitable, she considered that perhaps Eunice was in shock. After all, she couldn't know what the other woman was going through, alone in the bedroom. But when Liss glanced at Dan, she knew one thing for certain—if she'd just heard that he was dead, she'd be a lot more shaken up by that news than Eunice MacMillan appeared to be.

 

Sherri ticked off items on a mental list. Photographs. Measurements. Chalk outline. They had not dusted for fingerprints. Those would still be there when the state police took over.

“Go back out,” she told Pete, “and guard the door. I'm just going to take one last look around.”

The room was cold. No heat. That was good when you wanted to preserve a body. Freezing would be even better. Belatedly, Sherri wondered if there was a window she could open. She should have asked Dan.

She shone the bright beam of her flashlight between the shelves forming the last aisle to the right of the door. No one had been down that way recently. There was a coating of dust on the cement floor. And at the far end she could see a cellar window that opened inward. It had been insulated with a block of pink Styrofoam, but that should be easy enough to pull out. There would be piled-up snow on the other side, blocking the opening, but that was good, too. She could lower the temperature in the storage room significantly without creating another means of entrance.

Her footprints in the dust were clearly visible. There would be no confusion about when or how they'd gotten there. She'd explain her reasoning to the state police. She was sure they'd understand the need to keep the room as cold as possible. This would preserve the integrity of the crime scene without compromising it in any way.

Or so she hoped. Too late now. She was at the window. If she was wrong, she'd already screwed up royally. It took only a few minutes to open the window and remove the insulation. The snow, as she'd expected, made a satisfactory barrier.

“Okay,” she whispered, talking to herself. “Now get out.”

But she took one last look around prior to returning to the hallway, locking the door, and plastering it with yellow crime-scene tape. Once that was done, this room would stay sealed until the state crime lab team arrived.

Sherri had no desire to go close to the body again. The cause of death was obvious. Even without seeing the full extent of that gaping wound in the throat, she suspected she'd have nightmares about it for years to come. A shudder ran through her that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

She shone her flashlight into the dark corner at the other end of the room, then turned the beam into the aisle between the dusty one and the one into which the body had fallen. There were footprints in the center aisle. Lots of them. And empty spaces on the shelves where the lanterns and flashlights had been stored.

How on earth had MacMillan had ended up here? For that matter, what had Sadie been doing opening the door to the storage room? And why did it have to be Sadie LeBlanc, of all people, who had found the body? Sherri did not look forward to questioning her. She hadn't handled their earlier session well, and back then—had it only been a matter of hours ago?—she'd only been investigating a robbery.

It was tougher than she'd thought, being in charge, especially when she had to deal with someone who remembered her as a sixteen-year-old troublemaker and treated her as if nothing had changed in over a decade.

The beam of Sherri's flashlight swept over the half-empty shelves as she turned to go back the way she'd come. She froze, startled, when it reflected off an object on a top shelf. Slowly, she played the light over a carton of furniture polish. There it was again. Only an inch or so of cellophane-wrapped package stuck out, but that was enough. Sherri smiled for the first time since Dan had come to her with the news that there was a dead man in the basement storage room.

At least one of her questions now had an answer.

E
unice MacMillan, dressed in jeans and a sweater, emerged from the bedroom looking composed. “I want to see my husband,” she announced.

Liss exchanged a look with Dan. That would not be a good idea, but she did not know how to dissuade Eunice without giving her all the gory details. Liss was sure Eunice would be better off not knowing them.

“She's right,” Phineas chimed in. “How else can we be sure you have the right man?”

“MacMillan tartan,” Liss said succinctly, hoping that would suffice.

It didn't.

“I insist on seeing the body,” Eunice said.

Liss gave up. Sherri would have to convince the MacMillans. She didn't envy her friend the task.

They emerged from the stairwell and entered the basement a short time later, just as Sherri finished attaching two crossed strips of yellow tape to the storage room door. Eunice gave the less-than-plush corridor a contemptuous look.

“I told you this was a mistake,” Eunice said. “Why on earth would Phil be down here?”

“Phil?” Sherri echoed, her gaze shifting to Phineas, who was still in his bathrobe.

“Let's get on with this, kiddies. Eunice is right. I'm sure this is all a mistake.”

Sherri glanced at the storeroom door. “I'm sorry, but this is a crime scene. I can't let you go in.”

“Crime scene?” Phineas repeated, incredulous. “What do you mean, crime scene?” He turned to glare at Dan. “You just said he was dead.”

“Mr. MacMillan appears to have been murdered,” Sherri said.

“Impossible,” Eunice insisted. “And how do we know it's Phil you've got in there?” But her face worked, as if she might be starting to doubt her earlier certainty.

“Ms. MacMillan,” Sherri said, “is the man with you your husband or your brother-in-law?”

“This is Phineas, of course. Do you think I can't tell the difference? But—”

“And when is the last time you saw your husband?”

“Phil was…I'm not sure…I…I don't know.” Her voice hitched and she swayed. She had to brace one hand against the wall for support. Then, without warning, she whirled, screeched, and flung herself at Phineas.

Liss watched in amazement as Eunice landed solidly against her brother-in-law, knocking most of the wind out of him.

“Ooof!” he exclaimed. “What the hell?”

“He's dead, Phineas!” Eunice wailed. “Phil's dead! And not just dead—he was murdered!” One fist struck the center of his paisley-covered chest with a solid blow. “It's all your fault, damn you, Phineas MacMillan. All those innuendoes in your speech. You ticked somebody off but good, and that somebody killed my Phil. The killer thought he was you!”

“You're crazy, woman!” Phineas shouted back.

Liss wasn't so sure about that.

Eunice continued to pummel her brother-in-law until Sherri stepped in and hauled her away from him. Once she had a good grip on Eunice, she caught Pete's eye. “Take Mr. MacMillan to Joe's office, will you please? I'll talk to him in a little bit. Come along,” she said to Eunice. “It would help if I could ask you a few questions. Just a few minutes of your time is all I'll need.”

“What?” Her outburst over, Eunice stared at Sherri with a dazed look on her face.

“Questions,” Sherri repeated. “To help us find out who did this terrible thing.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She let Sherri lead her into the nearby staff break room.

Liss followed, as did Dan.

Sherri settled Eunice in a chair and took the one facing her. “When did you last see your husband, Ms. MacMillan?” she asked again.

“I don't remember. It must have been shortly after everyone congregated in the lobby. You didn't need statements from us, so when I was ready to go up to bed I looked around for him. When I didn't see him anywhere, I assumed he'd already retired.” She frowned, creating deep wrinkles in her forehead.

“But he wasn't in the suite when you got there?” Sherri prompted her.

“No. No, he wasn't. I didn't think much of it at first. Sometimes, when he can't sleep, he takes long walks. He said something earlier about exploring the hotel, so I guess I assumed that's what he was doing.” She gave a choked laugh. “Lots of room to wander in this old monstrosity. I never thought…he'd never have expected—”

She broke off and buried her face in her hands.

Liss had been trying to stay in the background, but now she went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. She offered it to the bereaved woman. Eunice waved it away, but not before Liss got close enough to see that her eyes were still dry. In fact, she looked more angry than grief stricken.

“Ms. Mac—”

“Whoever did this made a mistake.” Eunice's voice took on a sharper edge. “He…or she surely meant to kill Phineas. They're twins, you know. Identical.”

“But why would anyone want to kill Phineas MacMillan?” Sherri asked.

“Because of the speech,” Eunice said impatiently, and looked to Liss for support. “You heard it. I saw you there. Phineas's speech was chock full of insults and innuendos. He upset quite a number of people.”

“Anyone in particular?” Sherri asked. She was taking notes now, Liss saw, scribbling frantically on a small spiral notebook she'd fished out of the breast pocket of her uniform.

“Lots of people.” Eunice's words came out in a broken whisper, but Liss still saw no sign of tears, nor was there any loud, heart-wrenching sobbing.

While it was true that some people simply didn't cry, Liss found it odd that Eunice MacMillan showed so little grief. Was it possible that she wasn't entirely unhappy to find herself a widow? If that was the case, she really should try to coax out a few crocodile tears. Didn't she know that the wife was always the number one suspect when a husband was murdered?

Liss glanced at Sherri. Her friend was watching Eunice with professional detachment coupled with a fair amount of suspicion. “I need names, Ms. MacMillan,” she said. “Who were the individuals Phineas insulted at the Burns Night Supper?”

“I can't remember anyone in particular. I didn't pay much attention.” Eunice made a vague gesture. “I just know that he upset people.”

After ten more frustrating minutes spent trying to get useful answers out of Eunice, Sherri gave up and asked Dan to escort Eunice back to her suite.

“We need to work out a time line,” Liss said as soon as the door closed behind them. She'd already found another, larger notepad and a pencil in one of the drawers next to the stove.

“We?”

“Can't you deputize us or something? Dan and I can help interview people. You and Pete will be overwhelmed if you have to do it all yourselves.”

“Pete has training. You don't.” Sherri held up a hand to stop the protests she knew were coming. “Besides, this isn't my case.”

“You have to do the initial interviews, don't you?”

“Liss, I realize that you read a lot of mystery novels, but that isn't real life and you aren't a cop. I really shouldn't have let you stay in the room while I was talking to Eunice just now. Not if I'm going to go by the book. And I am. I
have
to, or I risk blowing the case.”

“It isn't that I want to meddle in police business, especially murder,” Liss insisted, leaning against the counter, “but I'm responsible for keeping everything running smoothly for the Burns Night Supper, and the murder has to be connected to that. So I'm already involved. I have an obligation to help straighten things out.” She sent Sherri a pointed look. “
And
I know the names of most of the people Phineas MacMillan insulted during his speech.”

Sherri gestured at the pad of paper Liss held. “Write them down, then, along with everything you remember him saying. Then you're done.”

“What about Phineas MacMillan?” Liss asked as she scribbled. “If Eunice is right and the killer finds out that he killed the wrong twin, won't he go after the right one?”

“That's all I'd need,” Sherri muttered. “Two murders for the price of one.”

A few minutes later, Liss handed the tablet to Sherri. She'd written six names: Russ Tandy, Victoria Tandy, Lara Brown, Richardson Bruce, Harvey MacHenry, and Will MacHenry. After each was a brief summary of why he or she had been angered by Phineas's remarks. She'd also made a note that someone who'd had a nose job had been another of Phineas's targets.

“There's something else, too.”

Liss hesitated, knowing full well the trouble she was about to cause, but Phil had been murdered. Viciously murdered. She had to tell Sherri what she knew.

“Go on.”

“Will MacHenry and Phil MacMillan got into a scuffle outside the gift shop. And Russ Tandy—God! I really hate tattling like this! Russ said he'd like to bash Phineas's head in. Because, you see, both he and Will thought Phil was Phineas.”

“Are you sure it
was
Phil?”

Liss nodded. “Yes. Because of the bow tie.”

Sherri looked blank.

“Phineas wore satin,” she remined her friend. “Phil wore—”

“Okay. I remember now. You told me that earlier.” Sherri sighed and rested her head against the back of the chair. “My brain has turned to mush.”

“And this surprises you?” Liss asked. “Anyone with any sense went to bed hours ago.”

Sherri glanced at her watch and grimaced. “No rest for the wicked, but you should call it a night. As much as I appreciate your offer to help, there's nothing more you can do.”

“And you've still got to talk to Phineas,” Liss said, her voice full of sympathy.

“And Sadie,” Sherri reminded her, but there was something in her tone that made Liss think her friend was not dreading that second interview quite as much as she had been.

 

Dan Ruskin hid a yawn behind his hand. Now that Eunice MacMillan had been safely tucked away in her suite, he was more than ready to pack it in. Guessing that by now Sherri would have moved on to interviewing either Phineas or Sadie, Dan left the stairwell on the first-floor level.

A glance through the glass panel in the door to his father's office told him he'd been right. The thickness of the wood muffled the voices inside, but he could see that Phineas was agitated. Sherri stood with her butt propped against the side of the desk, her arms folded across her chest, but the man she was questioning didn't seem to be able to stay still. He paced as he talked, waving his arms about.

Dan didn't care much for Phineas MacMillan, but he did sympathize with the other man's loss. Dan knew how upset he'd be if it had been his brother Sam, who'd been murdered, and twins were supposed to have a closer bond than regular siblings.

Pete Campbell was also in Joe's office, leaning against the far wall. Dan caught his eye and a moment later Pete joined him in the hallway. “Problem, Dan?”

“When isn't there one, but at least there are no new bodies.”

“Wiseass.”

“There's an unused meat locker off the kitchen. I was thinking we could put the corpse in there.”

They'd have to replace the small walk-in freezer afterward. Dan couldn't imagine that any health inspector worth his title would allow them to store food in it again, no matter how well they cleaned and disinfected it. That meant more expense for the hotel, but it couldn't be helped.

He was both surprised and relieved when Pete shook his head. “Body stays put. But I'm wondering if we need to post a guard on the storage room. How many people have keys?”

“Any master key will open it, so me, Dad, the housekeeping staff.” He shrugged. “Quite a few.”

Pete grimaced. “Guess I know where I'll be spending the night.”

Dan sympathized, but didn't offer to take his place. “Did Liss turn in?” he asked.

“I think so. Sherri wouldn't let her help with the interviews.”

“Thank God!”

Pete chuckled. “You should probably go up and check on her, though. Tower suite, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Dan said. “Tower suite. And that's the best idea I've heard all night.”

Sadie LeBlanc sat hunched in her chair, a resentful look on her face. There was a distinct whine in her voice when she spoke. “You've got no call to threaten me, Sherri Willett.”

“I'm not threatening you, Sadie. I just want you to confirm why you went into the storage room.”

“I'm not talking.” They sat opposite each other at the conference table. Sadie concentrated on picking at the label on a bottle of Poland Spring water.

Sherri sighed and wondered if she'd have been better off leaving her interviews until after the sun came up. She hadn't gotten anywhere with Phineas MacMillan, either. He'd been uncooperative from the get-go, only reluctantly telling her that he'd gone to bed right after she'd “interrogated” him about the missing brooch. Once Pete left the room to talk to Dan, Phineas had apparently decided that Sherri was accusing him of his brother's murder. Prickly as the proverbial porcupine, he'd refused to answer any more questions. A few minutes later, he'd announced that he was going back to bed and stormed out of Joe's office.

By the time Sherri turned her attention to Sadie LeBlanc, she'd already been worn to a frazzle. That Sadie was giving her a hard time pushed her past her limit.

“Okay, Sadie,” Sherri said, “if you won't tell me, then I'll tell you. There is a pack of cigarettes hidden on a high shelf in that storage room where you found the body. I think you stashed it there. That's why you went down to the basement and into that storage room. You were planning to sneak a smoke.”

“You can't prove that.” Sadie sounded defiant, but she couldn't meet Sherri's eyes.

“No? Have you looked at your own face in a mirror lately? You show all of the classic signs of a person with a long-term tobacco addiction. You look older than you are. Smoking has ruined your complexion. Your face is deeply lined, Sadie. Anyone can see that much. And I know for a fact that you were a chain smoker when I was a little kid. I don't think you ever stopped.”