Scone Cold Dead (20 page)

“What do
you
think was in that particular letter?” Liss perched at the foot of the bed, close enough to see Zara's shuttered expression.

“I don't know,” she said evasively. “I write lots of letters.”

“Did you ever write any to Victor?”

“Once or twice, back when we were still a couple.” She sipped more cocoa, avoiding Liss's eyes.

From behind her, Liss heard Lee Annie shift position in the chair. She thought about asking the singer to leave, but nothing was going to stay secret much longer, not now that Gordon had arrested Sandy.

“Did you write any letters to Victor recently?” she asked Zara.

“No.”

“How would that detective have gotten hold of one of her letters, to Victor or anyone else?” Lee Annie asked.

“He was in Providence earlier today, searching Victor's apartment. He probably found the letter there.”

Liss hadn't thought it possible for Zara's face to lose any more color, but it did. She shoved the mug of cocoa at Liss, threw herself facedown on the bed, and buried her face in her arms.

“What?”

The other woman just sobbed harder.

“Tell me, Zara! God, you're worse than Emily!” She would have tried to shake an answer out of her if both hands hadn't been full.

“Patience, Liss. She'll have to stop the waterworks sometime.” Lee Annie, looking thoughtful, drained her mug of hot chocolate and set the crockery aside. “Maybe you should try to find a lawyer for Sandy.”

Guilt swamped Liss as she realized she should have thought of that herself, and long before now, too. She should also have called the hospital in Fallstown, to find out how badly Sandy had hurt his ankle. “Keep an eye on her?” she asked Lee Annie.

“As if she were my own sister.”

It didn't take long to make her calls. She only knew one attorney, Edmund Carrier III. As a rule, he didn't handle criminal cases, but he could look quite formidable when he put his mind to it. After she'd exacted his promise to look into Sandy's arrest, she phoned the emergency room, but they wouldn't tell her anything. She'd forgotten about Maine's strict confidentiality law.

Liss returned to the guest room to find that Zara had recovered her composure. “I think I know what letter it was,” she blurted the moment Liss came through the door. “I wrote it more than a year ago, before Victor and I broke up for good. We'd had a spat and he'd said we were finished. I should have let it go, but that was before Sandy and I got close and there were a lot of things I liked about Victor, so I wrote to him to tell him I wanted to get back together with him.”

“Foolish girl,” Lee Annie murmured.

But Liss understood. She'd known Victor for eight years. He'd rarely been without a lady friend among the dancers and never once had Liss heard he'd harassed or ill-treated any of them until Sarah. She blamed his mysterious illness. Pain and uncertainty could well have accounted for his aberrant behavior.

Zara swiped at the tears once again running freely down her cheeks. “I should never have written that letter. It was stupid of me to want to get back together with Victor. It's not like he was that great a lover or anything, and I knew we didn't have a future together. He wasn't the picket fences and babies type.”

Neither was Sandy, but Liss let that pass. She was trying to work out why an old letter had made Gordon suspect Sandy of killing Victor. “Zara, was that letter dated?”

She looked blank. “I don't know. Why?”

“Because if it wasn't, Gordon Tandy must think you wrote it recently, and that Sandy murdered Victor to keep you from going back to him.”

Horrified, Zara leapt off the bed. “I'll tell him he's wrong. I'll go right now and—”

“Why should he believe you? Besides, Gordon didn't arrest him for that.” Gently, she pushed Zara back down on the bed, keeping her in place with a hand on one thin, trembling shoulder.

Liss wasn't certain exactly what had happened in this room earlier, but she was sure Gordon Tandy hadn't made up the charges. Sandy must have done something stupid even before he jumped over the balcony railing, something it would take someone better versed in the law than she was to straighten out.

Exhaustion hit her like a sledgehammer. Too many questions. Too few answers. Why hadn't Gordon just shown Zara the letter and asked her when she wrote it? Why had he wanted to take Sandy somewhere else to question him? And why had Sandy, in a fit of panic, tried to run? What was he hiding?

“We'll all see things more clearly after a good night's sleep,” she said. “I called a lawyer. He'll take care of everything.”

Lee Annie, yawning, seemed willing to fall in with her suggestion. Telling them she'd see them in the morning, she headed for bed. Liss was about to follow suit when Zara spoke.

“I thought he'd come to arrest me,” she whispered.

Liss turned to stare at her. “Why? What made you think you were a suspect?”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“Maybe it does.” Checking first to make sure Lee Annie had retreated into her own room, she closed the door. “You want to help Sandy, right?”

“Of course I do. How can you ask? I love him.”

And once she'd loved Victor. Unless, Liss thought with unaccustomed cynicism, she'd just been using him, as Emily had. “Why did you think the police would decide you'd killed Victor?”

“Because of the rumors that
Strathspey
is in financial trouble.”

“Yes?” This was worse than pulling teeth, Liss thought.

“I trained as a bookkeeper.”

“So what? You weren't the one keeping the company books.”

“They aren't that hard to get at.”

“Still, I don't see—”

“My mother is in prison for embezzling money from the company she worked for! She's an accountant. Oh, Liss, don't you see? I was sure that if the police found out about her, they'd be bound to think the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”

Liss didn't “see” at all. Even if Gordon did know about Zara's mother, he'd have no reason to assume Zara would take money from
Strathspey
, let alone kill Victor to cover it up. Besides, hadn't Fiona told her that it was Victor himself who'd been skimming money from the company coffers?

“If Gordon is focused on Sandy, that means he doesn't believe you stole any money or killed Victor,” Liss told her.

“Neither did Sandy!”

“No, neither did Sandy. He isn't a murderer. Or an embezzler.” Liss almost smiled at the thought of the latter. Sandy could barely balance a checkbook and was convinced that ATMs had a personal grudge against him. He had so much trouble getting cash from them that whenever he could he had someone else push the buttons.

Liss's amusement vanished when she resumed her contemplation of
Strathspey
's finances.
Was
there money missing? “What if someone
has
been embezzling from the company?” she mused aloud. “And what if Victor found out?”

That might make sense of what Cal had told her.
A new layer of mean tacked on top of the surliness
, he'd said. And that it had started just a few weeks ago. Was that when Victor first discovered there was money missing? Or when he figured out who'd taken it?

“Zara? Who could get at the box office receipts?”

“Almost anyone. Victor didn't even keep cash under lock and key. And he mailed in deposits. I can think of two or three ways you could get at the account and make changes. You wouldn't need to forge Victor's signature, either, not if you intercepted the deposit and had access to the company books.” She frowned. “I doubt Victor would have noticed for a while if the figures didn't match. He only got statements from the bank every three months.”

“He didn't bank online?”

Zara shook her head and prefaced her answer with a short, rueful laugh. “He didn't trust computers.”

Chapter Fifteen

S
uck it up,
Sherri told herself.
Friendship comes first.
The fact that she might lose her job was a secondary consideration.

Yeah, right
.

She told herself the risk was small. Deputies served “at the will and pleasure of the sheriff” and the sheriff of Carrabassett County was a reasonable, generally sympathetic soul named Penelope Lassiter. She was second-generation law enforcement but always willing to listen to explanations. On rare occasions, she could even be persuaded to bend the rules. With that in mind, Sherri had traded duties for the day with one of the other corrections officers. She would work inside the jail instead of manning the dispatch center, her usual preference.

“I need a change of pace,” she'd lied. A short time later she was locked in with the lowlifes, trying to ignore the pervasive smell of disinfectant and a distinct twinge of claustrophobia.

Not that she'd actually be
with
them. Not most of the time. The majority of the monitoring was done with cameras. The locks on the individual cells were remotely controlled, too. But some eyeballing still had to be done. Cell checks in particular, Sherri's first task of the day.

Later, medium-security prisoners would be released into the cell block to interact with each other and enjoy the meager comforts offered in the central space—a television, the books in the “library,” several decks of cards, and a few well-worn board games like checkers and Monopoly. At the beginning of Sherri's seven-to-three shift, the cells were not yet open for the day. As she did a quick visual check of the inmates behind each door—ordinary doors rather than bars, with only a small window for security purposes—she clutched the key that could unlock them so tightly that it left an impression on her palm. She did not use it until she reached the cell in which Sandy Kalishnakof had spent the night. She'd left him till last.

She wasn't doing anything wrong, Sherri reminded herself. She just wanted to have a word with Sandy in private. She rapped lightly on the door, feeling a trifle foolish for observing the courtesy under the circumstances, then turned the key in the lock and let herself in.

Sandy was sitting on his cot, his ankle propped up on a pillow. He looked smaller dressed in a blaze-orange jail uniform and was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep. His pallor was all the more noticeable because of his jet-black hair.

“Hey,” she said.

“Sherri.” His dark blue eyes fixed on her distinctive brown uniform. “I forgot that you worked here.” The words were careful, the tone neutral.

Well, why
should
he trust her? “How's the ankle?”

“Twisted.”

She already knew he'd been taken to the hospital for an X-ray and that nothing had been broken. She also knew, from personal experience, that strains and sprains sometimes hurt worse than more serious injuries.

“I've only got a minute but I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“Oh, sure. Lap of luxury.” He shook his head in disgust as he glanced around the cell. Aside from the bed, made of metal, anchored to the wall, and furnished with a thin mattress and institutional bedding, the only objects in the room were a sink and a toilet, also well secured.

“All the comforts of home,” Sherri quipped. “Well, with any luck you won't be here much longer. Liss got you a lawyer. He'll be over to see you later this morning. The way it works, if a prisoner has to go somewhere, even within the secure perimeter—the laundry, the infirmary, or to see his lawyer—he's escorted by a corrections officer. That would be me.”

When he didn't respond with more than a bleak look, she pushed an extra ration of confidence into her voice. “Mr. Carrier should be able to get you out.”

“Not if bail is set high. I'm not exactly rich, Sherri.”

“I expect they'll end up dropping the charges.”

“Fat chance,” he muttered. “Tandy thinks I killed Victor.”

“Well, yes, but that's not why you were arrested.”

“Sure it was.”

“Sandy, that you're sitting in jail right now is entirely your own fault. If you'd just have gone quietly when Gordon Tandy asked you to come in for questioning—”

“He was going to arrest me!”

“He was not about to do anything of the kind. He hasn't got a case against you.”
Yet
. “He wanted to talk to you in neutral territory, away from Liss and Zara. I suspect he hoped you'd be more forthcoming without them around.”

“If that's true, what am I doing in a jail cell?”

“You're here because you shoved Gordon aside when you took off. The charge is assaulting a police officer.”

It wouldn't stick, of course. Gordon Tandy had simply taken advantage of the situation to do what he'd wanted in the first place—question Sandy Kalishnakof. Only Sandy, from what Sherri had heard when she'd arrived at work that morning, had clammed up completely after his arrest. He'd refused to say word one about anything. Gordon's attempt to intimidate him had been a total waste of time and the county's money. No, the state police detective, now mildly embarrassed by the whole debacle, would not be pressing charges. He'd wait till Mr. Carrier showed up, though, before dropping them. Sherri suspected he'd also make at least one more attempt to question Sandy.

“Is that why you're standing way over there?”

“What?”

Sandy's chuckle sounded forced, but for the first time there was the hint of a genuine smile on his face. “Afraid I'll assault you, too? Try to escape?”

“You wouldn't get far, and I don't mean just because you've got a bum ankle.”

“Don't worry. I'm not feeling suicidal. But I didn't kill Victor, Sherri. You believe me, don't you?”

“Sure I do. But I also think you're holding something back.” She glanced at her watch. “I've got to go. I just wanted to let you know that you probably won't be here much longer. I'll be back when the lawyer arrives. You'll meet with him in what they call the contact visiting room. Someone will bring Mr. Carrier in first. Then I'll take you to him and leave you two there. Nobody will listen in because of the lawyer-client confidentiality thing. So do yourself a favor, okay? Don't talk to anyone else till Mr. Carrier gets here, but then level with him. Tell him everything you know—even what you only
think
you know—and take his advice about sharing it with the police. I don't know who or what you're trying to protect by refusing to answer questions, but I'll bet good money Gordon Tandy will get to the bottom of things eventually. Secrets will come out, with your help or without it. You want to make this whole mess go away? Help Tandy do his job.”

 

 

The invaders were back.

In spite of Sandy Kalishnakof's arrest the previous night, or maybe because of it, the entire
Strathspey
company, even the nondancers, met in the dining room at The Spruces on Friday morning. For the dancers, it would be another rehearsal, and for the third day in a row, Dan would have to stay and babysit.

He hadn't had a chance to talk to Liss about Sandy, but he'd already heard the story from Ray, Stewart, and Cal. And he knew that Liss planned to address the entire company with an update before rehearsal began.

He propped himself against a convenient wall, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, and scanned the faces of individuals in the troupe as they waited for Liss to begin. He saw apprehension in some and in others only mild curiosity. Most of them were just impatient to get on with their practice session. The members of
Strathspey
, Dan decided, were remarkably alike in one respect—their lives centered on their work. Everything and everyone else came in a distant second.

“Most of you already know about the latest development,” Liss began. “Sandy's in jail in Fallstown, but he hasn't been charged with Victor's murder and I don't think he will be. This is all a misunderstanding because of a letter Zara wrote to Victor more than a year ago. I'm counting on those of you who can provide corroboration to voluntarily go to the police and assure them that Zara and Victor were not planning to reconcile. Without that motive, Sandy had no reason to want Victor dead.”

An ominous silence followed this request.

Flushing slightly, Liss continued her little speech. “The other thing I want all of you to know is that I've decided to apply for Victor's job.”

Amid scattered applause and whistles, Dan shoved away from the wall with a violence that nearly cracked the plaster. He'd taken several steps toward Liss before he realized what he was doing and put on the brakes. He was less successful at stopping a string of silent curses or the red haze of hurt and anger and sheer indignation. She might have warned him! Did he mean nothing to her?

When Liss had made a few closing remarks and promised further updates on both Sandy's situation and a departure date for the company, her audience splintered. Individuals and small groups spread out around the large room and launched into a wide variety of warm-up exercises.

Dan threaded a path through stretching, bending, and pliéing dancers and dodged one doing a leap to get to Liss. She couldn't be serious about leaving. She wouldn't make such a life-altering decision without at least warning him she was thinking about it. Would she?

He had to contain his impatience when he finally reached her. She was not alone. Lee Annie, who was not needed for rehearsal, had just cornered Liss and Fiona to demand that someone loan her a car.

“Try not to put too much mileage on it,” Fiona cautioned, reluctantly turning over the keys to her rental.

“I'll pay for the gas.” Lee Annie sounded irritable. “I just have to go off on my own for a bit. Nothing against your quaint little town, Liss.”

Liss shrugged off the backhanded compliment and gave Lee Annie driving directions to the nearest good-size mall. When the singer left, Liss flashed the briefest of apologetic smiles at Dan to acknowledge his presence before addressing Fiona.

“I'd like to take a look at the company books before I commit myself,” she told the older woman, “although I'm not overly concerned if
Strathspey
is in financial trouble. Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium was in a bad way before I took over and I straightened things out there.”

“The police have them, but they're supposed to give them back. I'll get in touch with Detective Tandy and remind him and I'll bring them over to you as soon as he returns them.” Impulsively, Fiona embraced Liss. “I couldn't be more delighted. I do not like being the one in charge. Makes me surly!”

“Nothing's settled yet,” Liss warned her.

“Just the prospect that someone may take the burden of management off my shoulders makes me feel ten pounds lighter.”

“You can't afford to lose ten pounds,” Liss teased her.

“Ha! You know what they say.”

They quoted together, laughing: “You can never be too rich or too thin!”

When Fiona finally stopped chuckling and began her warm-up exercises, Dan caught Liss's arm and pulled her away from the others. “We need to talk.”

“Not here. Not now.”

“Where and when?”

“Dan, I've—”

Abruptly losing patience with her, Dan used the hold he still had on Liss to tow her out of the dining room and into the passage that led to the kitchen. The sudden quiet on the other side of the baize door was startling. “We talk now. What the hell was that announcement in there all about?”

As she jerked free, Liss's eyes flashed blue, then green in the uncertain light of the hallway. “I want to get a look at the books.”

“I'm not talking about the books. I'm talking about you applying for Victor's job. Why—?”

“I want to get a look at the books,” she repeated.

“Damn it, Liss—”

She stopped the flow of words by placing her fingers on his lips. “I don't want Victor's job. I just said I did so I could get access to the company records. There's a rumor the show is in financial trouble. There may be some embezzling going on.”

“Oh.” Relief came tempered with renewed fears for her safety. He caught her hand in his. “Do you think it's wise to—?”

“Not now, Dan. Okay? I can only handle one crisis at a time. Two or more will make me nuts.”

“Tell me about it!”

She frowned. “You don't mean that literally. I heard the sarcasm. Has something else happened? Something to do with the hotel?”

“Good guess.” And she was right. It was the “final straw” theory in action. Add one problem too many and things got crazy. He tried to make light of it, but there was no way it didn't sound outlandish. “We have a ghost in the hotel.”

“You're kidding, right?”

He leaned his head back against the wall. “I wish. One of the neighbors spotted lights moving through the second floor of The Spruces last night. Sam and I came out here and looked around, but it's a big place. We didn't find anything. I'm going to search more thoroughly now, in the daylight. Want to help?”

He wasn't surprised when she shook her head.

“It was probably just teenagers looking for a place to neck, but I have to check things out.”

“Then it seems you have your mystery to solve and I have mine.”

“Missing money, huh?”

“Fiona thinks Victor helped himself from the till. Zara is afraid the police will suspect she did.” She waved away his question before he could ask it. “I don't know much yet, but it seems to me that if someone did steal from the company coffers, it could be connected to Victor's murder.”