Scone Cold Dead (17 page)

“Uh, no. I have to get to work.”

Liss headed downstairs, but at no great speed. She was still trying to make sense out of what Winona had said in light of what Ray had told Dan. Hadn't he claimed he'd not seen Sarah again after she left the company? Was Winona mistaken? Or had Ray lied?

“That cop was here,” Lee Annie announced when Liss reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped through the door behind the sales counter.

Big surprise. “What did he want?” She was pretty sure she could guess, and that guess depressed her.

“He wanted to know who else worked here and who spelled you when you wanted to run an errand or something. He already knew about Sherri. Said he'd already talked to her. What's he want, Liss? And why did he head over to the bookstore after he left here?”

“Good question. Will you mind the Emporium for another half hour while I go find out?”

“Depends. Can you give me a discount on this?” She waggled a finger on which she wore one of the heather-filled rings.

“Sure. Take fifty percent off the price that's marked.” The jewelry was pretty, but not horribly expensive, even though each “gem” had supposedly been individually shaped and lacquered by skilled craftsmen.

Liss shrugged back into her coat and set off for Angie's Books, the business owned and operated by Beth Hogencamp's mother. Angie spotted Liss crossing the town square and had the door open for her before she reached the porch.

“Funny,” she said, “you don't look like a murderer.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Don't worry. You're off the hook. I told the detective you couldn't have left the Emporium that day without being missed. He already knew that, I think. It was just a formality to ask around.”

Like Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium, Angie's Books took up the ground floor of what had once been a one-family home. The Hogencamps lived in the apartment upstairs. Angie sold books of all sorts, new and used, and non-Scottish crafts made by local artisans, including Dan, on consignment. One of his clock-and-picture-frame combinations was prominently displayed. Liss noticed that Angie had replaced the stock photo of a baby with a picture of her own son, a preschooler named Bradley. Since Liss didn't see or hear him tearing around the shop, she assumed he was down for an afternoon nap.

“Sounded to me like he just wanted to make sure you had no chance to transport poisoned scones to Fallstown,” Angie said cheerfully. “I swear, I was a little nervous when he first introduced himself, after that business last year. But this one isn't at all like the last state police detective assigned to our area.”

“Thank goodness. It isn't exactly comfortable being suspected of murder.”

“Again.”

“Again,” Liss agreed. “Did he ask about anything else? You and Beth were at the reception.”

“Yes, but we'd left before that man died.” Her smile vanished. “I'm glad we did. Beth doesn't need to be exposed to that sort of thing. Bad enough what she sees on television. But I could tell Detective Tandy that I saw you at the Student Center and that you were right there in plain sight the whole time Beth and I stayed.”

“Did Beth enjoy the show? I never thought to ask.”

“Oh, she loved it. And she enjoyed meeting some of the dancers afterward. Most of them were very nice to her.” A shadow passed over Angie's face, a clear indication that someone at the reception had
not
been so nice.

Liss let it go. There wasn't anything she could do about it if Stewart or Emily or one of the others had been short with the girl. And she had bigger things to worry about at the moment.

Why was Gordon Tandy asking so many questions about her? What had happened to his certainty that the mushroom scones had been baked in that cabin that had been broken into?

She started to inquire into the specifics of Angie's interrogation, but the other woman was staring past her out the display window at Fiona, who was getting into her rental car. Liss glanced back at Angie in time to see a flash of extreme dislike momentarily distort the bookseller's amiable expression.

“
Fiona
was the one who was rude?”

“I didn't hear what she said myself, but I saw Beth approach her—like a fan with a rock star—and I saw my daughter's disillusionment when she was snubbed. Fiona Carlson looked down her nose at Beth and told her to get lost. That's what Beth told me later. She said ‘Get lost, kid,' in what Beth called ‘a really mean voice.' ”

“That doesn't sound like Fiona. We tease her about being the mother hen of the company. She's the one who takes all the younger dancers under her wing.”

“That's not the same thing as being good with real children.”

“True. I hope Beth didn't let the incident spoil her evening.”

“Oh no. She's still talking about the performance, and about her new friend, Zara.”

Liss winced. “I'm afraid I'm as bad as Fiona. I completely forgot Beth was coming over for a lesson the other evening.”

“You've had a lot on your mind lately.” Angie dismissed her oversight with a little wave of one hand. “Beth understands that.” Unspoken was the corollary that neither Angie nor Beth understood Fiona's rudeness. Liss didn't, either, but she was willing to give her old friend the benefit of the doubt. Everyone was less than polite sometimes.

“Speaking of your troubles . . .” Angie gestured toward the window.

Liss was afraid to look, and it turned out she had good reason to be wary. Gordon Tandy had just parked in front of the Emporium, in the spot Fiona had vacated. He emerged from his car and, almost as if he could feel her staring at him, turned to look straight at Angie's Books.

Chapter Twelve

T
hey met halfway across the town square.

“Walk with me?” Gordon asked.

“Sure. Why not? If you're sure I'm not going to poison, stab, bludgeon, or otherwise do away with you.”

The official stone face hardened further. “I had to rule you out completely. I've done that now.” The words were clipped and emotionless.

“I can't tell you how much better that makes me feel. I thought you trusted me already. In case you've forgotten, you asked for my help.”

The town square was crisscrossed with walking paths kept well shoveled by maintenance crews based at the municipal building that overlooked one side of it. Their route took them past a monument to the Civil War dead, a flagpole, and a playground with swings, a jungle gym, a merry-go-round, and a slide, eventually ending at a gazebo-style bandstand. Gordon offered her a hand to help navigate the steps and indicated one of the benches. Liss sat.

Gordon Tandy propped one hip against a section of railing and folded his arms across his chest. “When were you planning to let me know that you'd played musical motel rooms with my suspects?”

“No law against providing housing for folks who need it.”

“You know what this looks like, don't you? It looks suspiciously like someone's trying to gather all her suspects together in one place. Do you fancy yourself as a modern day Miss Marple?”

Irritated, Liss spoke without thinking. “Perhaps that will make it easier for you to solve the case, Inspector Clouseau.”

“Ouch. Low blow!”

Liss searched his face, trying to read his mood. Was that an amused glimmer in his dark eyes? The lighter flecks almost seemed to be dancing.

Liss blinked, laughed a little self-consciously, and decided to risk teasing him. “Would you prefer I called you Sherlock?”

“I'd prefer you stay out of police business, but I suppose it's too late for that.” His tone suggested regret rather than annoyance.

“You're the one who asked for my help,” she reminded him again. “And then you made it pretty obvious that you suspected my friend Sandy of killing Victor. I thought it would be a good idea to provide you with a few alternatives.”

“All right. Cards on the table.” He shoved off from the rail to sit beside her on the bench, turning so that their faces were only inches apart. “I do suspect Kalishnakof, but no more than a couple of the others. I do not have a closed mind. If you want to tell me why I should consider one of these folks more closely, I'll be happy to listen to your reasoning.”

Gordon's broad shoulders shifted to block her view, but not before Liss had seen Angie come out of her shop. The bookseller was pretending to sweep the porch, but her gaze darted toward the bandstand every few seconds. Lee Annie was almost certainly glued to the window of the Emporium. Liss had the feeling there were eyes watching her from every building that looked out over the town square. It was only a small comfort that none of them would be able to overhear what she and Gordon said to each other.

“Some of the cast and crew now staying here in Moosetookalook had reason to hate Victor Owens,” she admitted. “Ray Adams, the stage manager, was in love with Sarah Bartlett, a dancer who left because of Victor's sexual harassment. He has an alibi for the time period before the performance, but if Sarah was working with him . . .”

She waited for Gordon to comment, but he merely nodded. That he didn't pull out his handy-dandy notebook made her suspect he already knew about Sarah.

“Then there's Stewart Graham. He was angry because Victor cut his role in the show and threatened to let him go entirely.”

Another nod.

“And Emily . . . well, you must agree Emily Townsend's behavior has been odd. Who knows what Victor did to her? Treated her like dirt, I expect. Maybe she got fed up.”

“And then there are your friends Sandy and Zara,” Gordon said, “currently engaged to be married. Zara and Victor used to be an item. He was threatening to replace her with Emily.”

Liss gritted her teeth, but it was her turn to nod. “You've obviously already thought of everyone I just suggested.” The real question was, had he followed up on their motives? Instead she asked, “Any other suspects?”

“Fiona Carlson ended up with Victor's job.”

“She doesn't want it. She's planning to retire at the end of the tour.”

“Kind of young for that, isn't she?”

“She's a professional athlete. You do the math.”

He pondered that for a moment and acknowledged that early retirement made sense.

“I gather I made your suspect list,” Liss said. “Is that why you suddenly shut me out when we met in Waycross Springs?”

His lips quirked, almost making it to a smile. “Truth? It never even occurred to me to suspect you until I was talking to Sherri in the parking lot at the jail the other day.”

“Then why
did
you pull back? You were acting as if I had something to offer, as if I could help you, and just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“you changed.”

“No, Liss.
You
did. Your . . . enthusiasm for the investigation started to worry me. You were excited by the prospect. Excessively so. It made me remember that you're a civilian. I had no right to drag you into a potentially dangerous situation. I'd let my . . . admiration for you blind me to the facts. I shut you out to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake! I wouldn't have—”

“You
did
get hurt the last time you meddled in a murder investigation.”

“Fine! Let's everyone protect poor, defenseless,
stupid
Liss! So how did I go from useful source of information to suspect? What was
my
motive supposed to be?”

“The same as Fiona's—Victor's job.”

“Oh, please!”

“No interest?”

“I considered it, okay? But not for long.” She shifted uneasily on the bench, and then hugged herself. It was chilly sitting there in the shade. “I'm settled here. I like my life the way it is.”

“Good.”

Liss's eyes narrowed. There was entirely too much satisfaction in his tone.

“Fortunately,” Gordon went on, “you're not a suspect any longer. Like I said, I just had to be sure you were in the clear. It's my job to look at everything, even if it means putting personal feelings aside.” He reached out to touch her bare wrist, exposed by the gap between the top of her glove and the bottom of her coat sleeve.

Liss felt a distinct tingle when his fingertips grazed her skin. It coursed inward, setting off aftershocks in even more intimate places. His rueful expression told her he was just as aware of the chemistry between them as she was. More so. He'd deliberately provoked the reaction by putting his hand on her.

Frowning, Liss pulled away. He was
flirting
with her. Now that she thought about it, he had been, on and off, all along. And she'd been flirting back.

How had she missed that?

That she was attracted to Gordon Tandy worried Liss. The timing was, to say the least, inconvenient. For one thing, she was supposed to be in a relationship with Dan Ruskin. And even if Dan weren't in the picture, Gordon Tandy was twelve years older than she was. Besides, for all she knew, he could have two or three ex-wives and a half dozen kids.

Her panic subsided as abruptly as it had emerged. No, he did not come with former spouses or with children. She'd have heard about them by now if he did. That was one good thing about gossipy small towns. The bad stuff surfaced quickly.

Gordon studied her, a contemplative look on his face, for a long time before he finally spoke. “Here's the thing, Liss. I'm drawn to you. I have been since we first met. I told myself it was just a fluke. I was trying to ignore how I felt. Then, when you were briefly a suspect, I
couldn't
say anything. Even now, I'm probably crossing a line. But I'd like to spend some time with you when we aren't talking about murder. Will you have dinner with me tonight? At the Sinclair House?”

The Sinclair House was a landmark in Waycross Springs, a turn-of-the-last-century hotel that had somehow kept operating through the hard times. Unlike The Spruces, with which it had much in common, it had found new ways to keep guests flocking to an out-of-the-way location.

Liss stared at her gloved hands as she attempted to examine her feelings. She was still ticked off that Gordon had checked up on her with her neighbors. She understood, on an intellectual level, why he'd had to ask questions about her movements on the day of the murder, but that did not diminish her irritation at being considered capable of killing someone.

She could forgive him for that, she decided. He was just doing his job. He had his responsibilities . . . and she had hers.

If she discounted the tingle . . . sizzle . . . whatever the heck it was—surely an aberration!—she could use him as he'd initially used her, as a source of information. There was no harm in a little mild flirtation, especially if it helped her friends in
Strathspey
.

“Tonight?” she asked, looking at him at last. She sent a bright smile his way. “Why not?”

She told herself she was accepting his invitation so that she could pick his brain about the case and make sure he really was keeping an open mind about his suspects. Not talk about the murder? No way!

“Good.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go now. I'll be back to pick you up at six.”

But she shook her head. She needed to be the one in control of the situation. “I'll meet you there at seven.”

 

 

After her regular shift at the jail on Wednesday, Sherri headed for Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium and her part-time job. She was scheduled to work until closing. She had just gotten out of her pint-size pickup truck when Beth Hogencamp came barreling out of the store and nearly bowled her over.

“Whoa, there, hotshot! What's the rush?” Sherri caught Beth by the shoulders to hold her still—the kid squirmed worse than an eel—but when she saw the tears, Sherri dropped to one knee beside the girl and loosened her grip. “What's the matter, Beth?”

“She's a mean old witch!”

“Who is?”

“Miss Carlson.”

“Fiona? What did she do?”

“Zara said I could watch a rehearsal at The Spruces and then
she
said I couldn't. Mom would have let me skip school.” Her lower lip began to tremble. That, and the earnestness in her voice, made Sherri's heart ache.

Standing, Sherri took Beth's hand and led her back to the truck, boosting her into the passenger seat. She went around to the driver's side and got in, but she didn't start the engine. With the late-day sun beating down, it was warm enough in the cab to sit and talk for a while.

A few pointed questions elicited the rest of Beth's story. Zara had told her she'd have to ask Fiona if it was okay to watch the troupe rehearse. Beth had obediently trotted up to Margaret Boyd's apartment after school to request permission. She'd been shot down with a blunt “Forget it, kid!” and no explanation.

“Cheer up, Beth,” Sherri told her. “You're still taking private lessons from Zara, right?” Liss had told her how the two had bonded. She'd almost sounded envious.

Beth nodded.

“Well, then—”

“Why doesn't she like me?”

“I don't know, Beth. Maybe it's just one of those things. I don't think Fiona Carlson likes Lumpkin, either.”

The girl's incredulous look had Sherri fighting not to smile. “How can anyone not love Lumpkin?”

Sherri could come up with several reasons and not even work up a sweat. First among them was Lumpkin's habit of biting people's ankles. “Fiona's allergic to cats. Some people are, you know. The sheriff is. Then again . . .” Her voice trailed off as a long-ago memory surfaced.

“Then again what?”

Sherri grinned. “My great-aunt Susan
claimed
she was allergic to cats. She was my grandfather's brother's wife and my grandmother didn't like her much. She thought the whole ‘allergic' thing was just an excuse not to come visit. It wasn't that Gram really wanted Aunt Susan's company, you understand. She just didn't like being lied to. Anyway, one Thanksgiving when the whole family was together at my house—I must have been around your age at the time—Gram decided to test her theory. We didn't have a cat, but our neighbor did, a sweet-natured calico named Calpurnia. Gram borrowed her and put her behind the sofa in her cat carrier before Aunt Susan arrived. Since Aunt Susan didn't know Calpurnia was there, she didn't sniffle or sneeze. Not once.”

Beth giggled. “Did your grandmother show her the cat?”

“She intended to, but my mother got suspicious of all the knowing glances Gram and I exchanged. When Aunt Susan left the room, Mom looked behind the sofa, spotted the cat carrier, and made me take Calpurnia back to her owners.” Ida Willett had not been amused!

Once Beth headed for her mother's bookstore, in much better spirits than she had been, Sherri entered the Emporium. She found Liss perched on a stool behind the sales counter, attaching tiny price tags to necklaces and sets of earrings. “So, anything new on the murder front?”

Liss kept at her task, which allowed her to avoid meeting Sherri's eyes. “I'm having dinner with Detective Tandy this evening. At the Sinclair House.”

Sherri gave a low whistle. “Guess you must have come up squeaky clean in the alibi department.”