Kilt Dead (11 page)

Liss drove in silence for a bit, through the familiar
hilly landscape dotted with dairy farms, apple orchards,
and the occasional disreputable-looking trailer. “I just
wish I’d been able to talk to Aunt Margaret before we
made the decision to open the booth”

“It wouldn’t have done anyone any good to hang
around the house all day.”

“I could have gone with you to The Spruces”

“You got any construction experience?”

“I wield a pretty mean hammer backstage. We built
our own sets, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And I’d like to show you the
place.”

As he talked about his father’s plans for the old hotel,
Liss let the words wash over her. She found his voice
oddly soothing. In fact, having him around all day had
been a pleasure. His presence steadied her.

Warning bells went off at the thought. It wouldn’t do
to become dependent on Dan Ruskin. And she sure wasn’t
looking for romance. Not now, when so much was undecided.

She stole a glance at him and felt an instant tug of attraction. Liss frowned. Where had that come from all of a
sudden? And what was she going to do about it? She hadn’t
come to any conclusions by the time she pulled into
Dan’s driveway.

“LaVerdiere.” Dan made the name sound like a curse.

Startled, Liss followed the direction of his glower. The
detective was just getting out of an unmarked car parked
in front of Dan’s house. With a growing sense of dread,
she watched him approach.

“Ms. MacCrimmon, we need to talk”” LaVerdiere opened
the car door for her and waited for her to get out.

“Let’s take this inside.” Dan didn’t look as if he really
wanted the state police detective in his home, but there
was still one news van parked in front of Aunt Margaret’s
shop and who knew how many eyes were watching from
windows around the town square.

Two officers followed them across the front porch and
into the living room, LaVerdiere and a state trooper carrying what turned out to be a fingerprint kit. Liss submitted to the process without comment, as did Dan. It made
sense the police would need to eliminate the prints of
people who’d had a reason to be in the building.

The ink had a distinctive smell to it. So did the wipes
she was offered to clean the black smudges off her fingers. Liss kept scrubbing long after every trace was gone.

“I’d like to hear your story again, Ms. MacCrimmon.”
LaVerdiere ordered his assistant to take notes.

“Do you badger everyone this way?” Dan asked him.

“As a matter of fact, yes. And you can both expect to
be questioned at least once more by another officer.”

There wasn’t much they could say to that. Dan reminded Liss that she didn’t have to talk to LaVerdiere,
but she saw no point in putting it off. She just wanted to
get this nightmare over with.

This time they sat on Dan’s sofa instead of Aunt Mar garet’s, but the questions were the same. For almost an
hour, LaVerdiere took Liss through the statement she’d
made the previous evening. Sustained by the coffee and
sandwiches Dan provided, she gritted her teeth and tried
to remember everything she could, everything that might
help them find out who had killed Mrs. Norris.

“You’re sure that’s the way it happened?”

“As sure as I was the last hundred times you asked that
question.”

He waited.

“Yes, Detective LaVerdiere, I am certain that’s the way
it happened. Is that all?”

“Not quite.”

She repressed a groan when he produced several typed
pages and skimmed through the contents. Inventory?
That was Liss’s guess.

“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Norris alive?”
he asked.

She blinked in surprise, having expected a question
about the contents of the stockroom or the value of items
in the locked display cases. “I saw her the afternoon I arrived. Oh, and at the Highland Games, for just a few minutes.”

“Yesterday?”

Liss nodded. It felt as if that encounter had taken place
days ago. And it seemed like weeks since she’d been free
of worry. Her thoughts drifted, longing for a relaxing
soak in the claw-footed bathtub Dan had installed and
about eight hours reclining on the excellent mattress on
the antique bed that now furnished her old room.

11
… `something a little naughty about you.’ Do you
want to tell me what she meant by that, Ms. MacCrimmon?”

“What?” Liss blinked at the detective, once again
caught off guard. She played back his words, but they still didn’t make sense. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what
you’re asking me”

He consulted the pages in his hands. “Mrs. Norris said
`Oh, I never forget a thing, dear,’ and then made mention
of `something a little naughty about you,’ and then said,
`we all have our little secrets. And I know most of them.’
Do you remember those comments, Ms. MacCrimmon?”
“Yes, but-“

“And do you remember that you said something about
blackmail?”

“We were talking about books,” Liss protested. “Mystery novels.”

“It didn’t sound that way to the person who overheard
your conversation.”

“Well, obviously he or she only heard part of it.” The
pages the detective held were a deposition, she realized.
Someone who’d been at the fairgrounds yesterday had
come forward upon realizing that the woman Liss had
been talking to had been killed in Aunt Margaret’s shop a
few hours afterward. The eavesdropper had added two
and two and come up with five.

“He heard Mrs. Norris say you were `murderously inclined.”’ LaVerdiere added after consulting the typescript
again. “Then she lowered her voice, and he missed most
of the conversation, but he caught the end. Mrs. Norris
said you’d get your just desserts, Ms. MacCrimmon.
That sounded like a threat to the witness. Does to me,
too”

“You’re taking this completely out of context, detective.”

“Explain it to me, then. What was the `something
naughty’ she referred to?”

“I’m not sure. Besides, she was just kidding around”

“What do you think she meant?”

Liss stared out the window, trying to figure it out. Something she’d done during her high-school years, but
what? As she’d reminded Mrs. Norris, she hadn’t been the
rebellious type. When had she had time? She’d been too
busy to get into trouble back then, just as she’d been too
busy with her career after high school to have much life
outside the dance troupe.

Her view encompassed the town square. If she looked
to the left, she could see Aunt Margaret’s shop with
Mrs. Norris’s house beyond. Looking right, she had a clear
view of more white clapboard houses and the impressive
red-brick municipal building. Her gaze zeroed in on the
second floor, above the town office. The library. Dolores
Mayfield was Moosetookalook’s town librarian. She was
married to a no-account drunk who went by the nickname
Moose.

“Oh,” Liss murmured.

“Yes, Ms. MacCrimmon?”

“I did something stupid once, as a teenager.”

She felt heat rush into her cheeks as she remembered.
Yes, that would fit Mrs. Norris’s definition of “naughty.”
Unable to meet either the detective’s eyes or Dan’s, she
blurted out her confession.

“I was scheduled to compete in a dance competition in
Portland. A friend was supposed to drive me, but she had
car trouble. My parents were away. I couldn’t stand the
thought of missing the competition, so I borrowed Moose
Mayfield’s old clunker of a truck and drove myself to
Portland.”

Liss thought she heard Dan stifle a laugh.

LaVerdiere gave her a hard look. `By `borrowed’ you
mean stole?”

“Yes, detective. I mean stole. And I am fully aware that
I could have ended up in j ail if I’d gotten caught. But I didn’t.
And I didn’t think anyone knew about it. You see, Moose
liked his beer. Since I refilled the gas tank before I brought the truck back, he never realized it had gone
missing.”

“Did you win the competition?” Dan asked.

“Yes” She dared a glance at LaVerdiere. No smile
there.

“Good thing the statute of limitations has run out on
that one,” Dan said, sotto voce.

“Detective LaVerdiere, I can understand why what
Mrs. Norris said, taken out of context, sounded suspicious.” Liss felt a bit braver now that she’d straightened
him out concerning the overheard conversation. “I can even
comprehend why you were inclined to believe I might
have some deep, dark secret. But why would you think
that a nice old lady like Mrs. Norris was capable of blackmail?”

It was a particularly nasty accusation, one that outraged Liss on the other woman’s behalf.

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
Then he leaned forward, holding her gaze. “We found evidence in Mrs. Norris’s house that she’d been accumulating compromising information about a number of people.
As to your conversation with her, Ms. MacCrimmon, I
have only your word that car theft was the worst she
threatened to reveal.”

“She did not threaten-“

“It sounded that way to my witness. And if she did
threaten you, then it follows that you had a reason to kill
her. Perhaps you didn’t mean to. A quarrel. A push. You
were overcome by panic and ran. Is that how it happened,
Ms. MacCrimmon?”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“I never kid, Ms. MacCrimmon. She warned you you’d
get your `just desserts.’ Isn’t that right?”

“She wanted me to come over for a piece of her apple
pie. `Just desserts’ was a play on words!” Liss balled her hands into fists to keep from acting on the impulse to
grab him by the lapels and shake some sense into him.

“So you say, Ms. MacCrimmon.”

She’d never heard a voice so cold. Just that quickly, an
icy chill drove the heat of her anger away

Oh my God, Liss thought. He’s serious. Detective
LaVerdiere really believes I killed Mrs. Norris!

hen LaVerdiere finally left, Dan checked his watch,
then reached for the phone. “What do you want on
your pizza?”

“I’m not very hungry.”

She looked like hell, but he didn’t suppose she’d want
to hear that. “You have to eat. Pick a topping or I’ll go
with anchovies.”

That got a faint smile out of her. “Mushrooms and
onions are my favorites, but order whatever you like. I’ll
only eat one slice anyway.”

By the time he placed the order and disconnected, Liss
had gone to stand by the window. He wondered what she
was thinking about as she stared out at the gathering
darkness. It had been just about twenty-four hours since
her life had been turned upside down. Again.

“All set. Be here in half an hour. I figure you for at
least two slices, so I made it a large. This is no time to
count calories,” he added, letting his admiring gaze skim
over an enticing back view. She’d given traditional Scottish dress a pass for the second day of the Highland
Games in favor of curve-hugging jeans and a camisole
top. “You’re not one of those women who’s always on a
diet, are you? You look just fine to me “

“I’m not, no. But if I eat as much now as I did when I
was dancing, I’ll double in size within a year.” She glanced at him over her shoulder and registered his doubtful look.
“Think retired football player who doesn’t continue to exercise at the same level.”

“So take up a new sport. One that’s easier on the knees.
You can’t just stop eating.”

“I haven’t stopped eating. I just watch what I eat.
That’s all.”

He heard the thread of annoyance in her voice,
grinned, and pushed harder. “So you say.”

She turned to glare at him.

Better. Her lack of animation, the total apathy she’d
displayed during the last part of LaVerdiere’s interrogation, had worried him. She’d been holding her own. Then
she’d suddenly gotten that deer-in-the-headlights look on
her face and abruptly shut down.

It had been about the time LaVerdiere told her he wasn’t
kidding. Dan winced, realizing he’d just used the exact
same words the detective had “so you say.”