Kilt at the Highland Games (15 page)

Try as she might, Liss couldn't quite put her finger on what it was that made her so uneasy. At first she thought it might be the way they were dressed. At the Highland Games, people wore everything from full Highland regalia to cutoffs and T-shirts. Eldridge stood out in dress slacks and a long-sleeved, button-down shirt, an odd choice for a warm July day. The man with him wore a short-sleeved polo shirt and chinos—also a bit dressy for a Scottish festival.

A woman towing two young children passed close to the two men. When she was near enough that she might accidentally overhear what they were saying, they abruptly stopped talking. Eldridge kept an eye on the trio until they were safely out of earshot. Then he glanced around in a manner Liss could only describe as furtive before resuming the discussion with his companion.

No, she decided, it was not what they were wearing. It was the intensity of their conversation that was out of the ordinary. Whatever it was that the two men were talking about, they were anxious—too anxious—to keep it private.

She very much doubted they were critiquing Shakespearean plays.

Before Eldridge could look her way and realize she'd been watching him, Liss turned in the opposite direction. Instead of returning to the Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium booth, she headed for the lobby of the hotel.

Despite her best efforts, it had proven impossible to avoid thinking about recent events. Now that her curiosity about Martin Eldridge had been piqued, she felt she had to do something to satisfy it.

As she'd hoped, Joe Ruskin manned the front desk.

“Question for you, Joe—what guests have been here more than a week?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Liss didn't think her father-in-law would balk at giving her the information she wanted, but she hesitated over how much to tell him. “It occurs to me that the troubles in the village might be the work of an outsider. If that's the case, any guest who has been here more than a week could be involved.”

“You know Sherri already asked me for this same information?”

“Then there's no harm in sharing it with me. Come on, Joe—what's the harm? If I was helping out here today instead of working at my booth, I could look it up for myself.”

True, she'd only substituted for a sick employee once or twice, and that had been in the hotel's gift shop, but she was a member of the Ruskin family, and all the Ruskins had a stake in The Spruces. So did Aunt Margaret.

Shaking his head, Joe consulted the computer terminal behind reception. Liss heard the tapping of his fingers on the keyboard.

Although the hotel was completely modern, it had retained its Victorian roots. The rich wood her hand rested upon was polished to a high gloss, and the wall behind reception boasted old-fashioned cubbyholes to hold guests' keys and messages.

“Like I told Sherri,” Joe said after a moment, “there are only four people who came in before last Friday and are still here. There's a couple, Angus and Janine Grant, and two individual men, Eliot Underhill and Martin Eldridge.”

“What more do you have on them? Where are they from? What business are they in?”

Joe consulted the screen. “The Grants are from New Jersey. Underhill hails from Virginia.”

“Virginia?” Coincidence, she told herself. But sometimes coincidences turned out to be important.

Joe sent her a questioning look as he confirmed it. “Says here he's from Roanoke. Eldridge listed Virginia as his residence, too, but he's from a different city. None of them put down a company name. The Grants drove here in their own car. The other two are driving rentals. That's all the information we ask for, other than a valid credit card number. Funny thing, though. Underhill paid cash. Said he didn't believe in buying on credit. Didn't even quibble when I asked for an additional deposit to cover incidentals.”

Liss's brows shot up. That was very unusual. “What does he look like?”

Joe shrugged. “Average height. Average build. Short little nose. Real short hair.”

As Liss had expected, Joe's description matched the man she had just seen talking to Eldridge. “Thanks, Joe.”

She had already started to turn away when he spoke. “Do my son a favor, Liss. Let the cops handle this.”

“I'm not going to meddle. I promise. It's just that I can't help thinking about things.”

“Things like arson? Missing persons? Murder?”

“Don't forget vandalism,” she quipped, although it was hardly a joking matter. She sobered instantly. “Really, Joe. You don't have to worry. My impulsive days are in the past. If I come up with any bright ideas at all, I'll go straight to the police.”

Chapter Twelve

S
herri had worked all night and slept till noon, when a phone call from Liss woke her. Now she was back on duty by two in the afternoon on Saturday. She had too much on her plate to take any more time off, even though she was not the one responsible for investigating the murder of Jason Graye. Fortunately, Pete's mother was willing to keep an eye on the children while both their parents worked. Thea, Sherri suspected, was mellowing in her old age. Or maybe she was just shaken by the death of a fellow member of the board of selectmen and wanted the comfort of loving grandchildren around her. Whatever her motivation, Sherri was grateful.

Before Sherri went to the police station, she drove to the scene of the crime. As she'd expected, the state police were still there. She parked and climbed the steps to the porch to rap at the door. Gordon Tandy himself came to open it.

“Do you need any additional help today?” she asked.

Overnight, Sherri's department had taken on the responsibility of making sure no one got inside Jason Graye's empty house. Until the state police were sure they had taken away everything of importance, even the carpet beneath Graye's body, no one wanted to risk potential evidence being contaminated.

“We're covered.” Gordon's tone was brusque and slightly impatient. “With the games going on, there's not a lot of traffic in town.”

“Any progress you can talk about?” She doubted it, but figured she might as well ask. After all, Moosetookalook was her responsibility. She was the one the board of selectmen held accountable when it came to upholding the law and keeping order.

Gordon unbent a fraction. “I expect we'll be through with Graye's house by the end of the day.”

“Excellent.” She'd have her officers check the place periodically, but there would no longer be a need to assign someone to stand guard.

She was starting to walk away when Gordon called her back. “There is one thing you can do. Liss didn't know the names of that young couple on the swings. You probably have a better shot at finding out who they are than I do.”

“I'll see what I can come up with,” Sherri promised.

She'd intended to pursue the matter even if Gordon hadn't brought it up. The odds that one of the young lovers had seen the killer weren't good. Courting couples tended to be completely absorbed in each other. Still, it was worth looking into.

The other item on her day's agenda was tracking down the man calling himself Eliot Underhill. She'd meant to talk to him on Friday, but with one thing and another—a traffic accident, a complaint about cows running loose in the middle of one of the back roads, a domestic dispute over to Lower Mooseside, and a dog complaint in Ripley—she'd never had the chance. And then, of course, there had been the murder. She didn't put much stock in Liss's new information—that Angie's sister-in-law apparently lived in or had visited Virginia—but she certainly intended to show the bookseller's photo to the mysterious Mr. Underhill.

After a brief stop at her office, Sherri left the municipal building and crossed Main Street to the town square. She settled herself on one of the swings, facing into the rest of the square, and pushed off. For a few minutes, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of flying up into the air. Then she got back to work.

From this vantage point, her view took in the municipal building, the remains of the bookstore, the historical society's museum, and the jewelry store. The trees and various other objects in the town square prevented her from seeing any of those buildings in its entirety. She glanced to her left and caught a glimpse of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. Had the courting couple seen Liss and Dan leave for the fireworks? Given the distance and the time of day, Sherri didn't suppose that the Ruskins would have been more than shadowy shapes. Someone crossing the square wouldn't have been easy to recognize, either—unless he . . . or she . . . happened to pass directly under one of the street lamps that dotted the paths.

Sherri got up, circled the swings, and sat down again facing the other way. This gave her a fine view of Liss's house and those on either side of it on Birch Street. By turning her head slightly, she could see Patsy's Coffee House.

A few minutes later, Sherri was inside the café, seated in the corner booth Pete always chose when he came to Patsy's. The entire dining area was compact, containing only three booths and two tables, plus the five stools at the counter.

When Patsy brought her coffee, Sherri gestured toward the bench seat opposite. “Got a minute?”

Patsy shot her a suspicious look. “Why?”

“I need to pick your brain.”

“Huh! I don't have time to do your work for you, hon.” But she eased her tall, skinny frame into the booth and waited, an expectant look in her eyes.

“There were two people sitting on the swings in the town square last night. Probably teenagers. I figure chances are good that wasn't the first time they'd sat there in the dark.”

“Amie Fitzwarren and Kent Humphrey,” Patsy said. “They come in here sometimes. She likes my ginger cookies.”

Pay dirt,
Sherri thought. She knew them both. In fact, she'd talked briefly to each of them just the other day, since their names had been on Boxer's list of Beth's friends. “You saw them sitting on the swings last night? You're sure?”

Patsy nodded. “Last night and every night for the past week.”

“I don't suppose you know why?”

“I've got ears, don't I? Amie's father doesn't approve of her dating Kent, so she tells her folks she's studying at a friend's house. Then they meet up in the town square.”

“Better there than in a motel room, I guess.”

Patsy snorted. “If either of them had a feather to fly with, you can bet they'd have moved it indoors. You'd be surprised how steamy things can get just sitting in the dark on a pair of side-by-side swings.”

“I do remember being young and stupid,” Sherri conceded.

“What do you want to know for anyway?” Patsy leaned across the table. “I hope you're not going to cause trouble for that girl. She's a nice kid, even if she does have stars in her eyes.”

“I just need to talk to her, and to Kent. They might have seen something last night.”

Patsy reared back, eyes wide, as she caught the significance of what Sherri had just said. “Something? Or someone?”

Sherri was reluctant to tell her more. The last thing she wanted was to add grist to the town's gossip mill. On the other hand, Patsy was more discreet than most people, and if she'd picked up any other useful information, Sherri wanted to hear it.

To give herself time to decide how much to confide, she made a production of checking the rest of the coffee house for potential eavesdroppers. The only other customer was Alex Permutter. He was sitting with his back to them as he drank coffee and polished off one of Patsy's gigantic chocolate chip muffins. He didn't look as if he planned to leave anytime soon. He had a newspaper spread open on the table in front of him.

“Don't worry about Alex,” Patsy said. “He can't hear a word you say unless you shout right into his ear.”

From firsthand experience, Sherri knew this was true, but she still hesitated.

Patsy plucked a napkin from the nearby dispenser and wiped up a spot of coffee, crumpling the napkin in one hand when the tabletop was clean. “I guess maybe there's something else I should tell you.”

Sherri waited, watching in fascination as Patsy smoothed the napkin flat again. “Same time as I saw those kids, I caught sight of someone else in the town square.”

Although she was careful not to react outwardly, Sherri felt a jolt of excitement pass through her. “When? What time was this?”

“It was just before the fireworks started.” With precise movements, Patsy tore the napkin into long, thin strips.

Disappointment replaced elation. That was too early. But Patsy wasn't done with her revelations.

“I'm thinking I must have seen him when he was on his way to Lowe Street, right before he up and killed Jason Graye.”

Sherri stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words. When the ability to speak came back to her, she all but shouted at Patsy. “Do you mean to tell me you've thought all along that you saw the killer?”

“I don't know that I did!” Offended, Patsy left the booth in a rush. “If I was sure, I'd have told you before now. All I saw was a shape. Nothing I can identify.”

Calm down,
Sherri warned herself.
Honey, not vinegar.

“I'm sorry, Patsy. Of course you'd have said if you knew who it was. Sit down again. Please?”

Looking grumpy, Patsy complied. She scooped up the napkin shreds and stuffed them into the pocket of her apron.

“Thank you. Now, please, tell me everything. Was there something about this person that made you suspicious of him?”

“I didn't think anything was all that peculiar at the time, although he
was
keeping his head down, like he didn't want to be recognized.” She frowned. “Now that I think about it, he must have cut across the grass. There's no path where he was walking.”

Hard to see the
KEEP OFF
signs in the dark, Sherri thought. Was Patsy's information relevant or not? Anyone who lived in the area might have cut through the square.

“When I heard about the murder, I got to wondering if that's where he was headed. You know what they say—hindsight is twenty/twenty.” Patsy chuckled, but Sherri heard no amusement in the sound.

Both women fell silent when the bell over the door sounded and a new customer walked in. Sherri recognized Louie, owner of Graziano's Pizza, and expected Patsy to get up to wait on him. Instead, Louie headed straight for the small alcove where Patsy had installed a couple of coffee grinders and several bins of coffee beans.

“Taking two pounds,” Louie called out. “Put it on my tab.”

“You got it,” Patsy answered.

A moment later, the sound of grinding beans sent a heavenly aroma into air already perfumed with cinnamon and spice from Patsy's baked goods.

“He can't hear us over that racket,” Patsy said. “You got more questions?”

“Do you have any suspicion about who it was that you saw?”

“Wish I did. I couldn't even say man or woman for certain, except that I had the impression it was a man.” She lifted her bony shoulders in a shrug.

“I don't suppose you'd hazard a guess as to where he came from?”

Patsy shook her head. The look of worry on her face intensified. “Could have parked somewhere east of the town square and walked to Lowe Street. That would account for him coming back the same way, right?”

Although the coffee grinder was still going strong, Sherri lowered her voice and leaned toward Patsy. “As you've already guessed, someone did come this way after the murder. It could well be that he left a car somewhere. It's also possible he lives or works in the neighborhood. He might have ducked inside a building.”

Patsy went stiff as a poker. “Are you accusing me of hiding a killer?”

“Of course not! Where did
that
idea come from?”

“Who do
you
suspect, then?” Patsy narrowed her eyes and fixed Sherri with a basilisk stare. “Huh! You think Dolores Mayfield did him in, don't you? Well, you're a damn fool if you think that. She wouldn't kill anybody, not even a lowlife like Jason Graye. She had worse in mind for him.”

“Worse?”

“Lawsuits.” Patsy's head bobbed up and down on her scrawny neck. “She intended to take him to the cleaners in court. There's nothing Graye would have hated more than being ordered to pay damages.”

“Damages for what?”

“Mental anguish, of course, caused by his attempt to shut down the library.” Patsy rubbed her hands together, a gleeful look in her eyes. “He'd have been some pissed, let me tell you, when he had to shell out thousands of dollars just to get Dolores off his back.”

The noise from the coffee grinder abruptly stopped. Sherri took that as her cue to leave. Patsy wasn't the only one she had to talk to today.

* * *

The Fitzwarren house was out past Dr. Sharon's clinic, on Elm Street but a good quarter mile from the town square. Forewarned that Amie's father wouldn't take kindly to the news that his daughter had disobeyed him, Sherri resolved to be careful not to blow the girl's cover—that she'd been studying with a friend. She didn't anticipate any problem getting permission to talk with Amie. The Fitz-warrens already knew the police were looking for information on Beth Hogencamp and that Beth and Amie were BFFs.

As it turned out, no excuse was necessary. Amie was alone at the house.

“We were watching the fireworks,” she said in answer to Sherri's question. “I didn't notice anyone else around.”

She was a pretty girl, blond and leggy and a few inches taller than Sherri—but then, almost everyone was. That Amie was also skinny as a rail bothered Sherri more than her greater height. She hoped the teenager wasn't starving herself in an effort to look like some emaciated movie star.

“So, no one ran past you while you were sitting there?” she asked.

Amie's blush gave her away. She wouldn't have noticed an earthquake, as long as she and her boyfriend were engrossed in each other.

“Did you notice when I left the municipal building and cut across the northwest corner of the square?”

Amie shook her head.

“But you were facing that way, right?” The fireworks had been set off at The Spruces, and the hotel was northwest of the center of the village. Even if they were more interested in making out than in watching the show, it stood to reason that they'd want a good view of the pyrotechnics.