Scotched (17 page)

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Authors: Kaitlyn Dunnett

BOOK: Scotched
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Liss paused to tap her pen against the table. It seemed likely that Jane had found out about the murders
because
of the conference. In that case, she might have had an interest in the First Annual Maine-ly Cozy Con other than talking to townspeople. She wrote:
Who else was Jane after at the conference?
On a separate page she listed names of all the people she knew of who'd had conversations with Jane:
Bill Stotz
Yvonne Quinlan
Dan
Eleanor Ogilvie
Nola
There might have been others. There probably were. She'd have to remember to ask Dan and Margaret if they'd seen Jane talking with anyone else at the reception.
Her third list contained the names of everyone who'd been at the MSBA meeting. She listed Dan and Nola again, then added Stu, Patsy, Betsy, Doug, Joe, Margaret, the couple from the jewelry store, and the craft store woman. Everyone had been pretty riled up, but Liss doubted that any of them had been mad enough at Jane to kill her. Besides, only Nola and Dan, Joe and Margaret had ever met Jane, and Joe and Margaret's contact with her had been ephemeral at best.
Liss flipped back to the first page. There was one other question she needed to add, one that had no sensible answer. It had been the middle of the night—pitch dark and overcast after a rain storm—when Jane had gone over the edge of Lover's Leap to her death. Why had she been out there in the first place?
She started a new page for Nola. It was possible that Nola had fallen by accident, but why had she taken flowers to the scene? She'd certainly had no love for Jane Nedlinger.
Liss filled two more pages in her notebook with questions and speculation, but for once writing things down did not help her think more clearly. All it did was raise more questions. She started doodling, a clear reflection of the way her thoughts were circling round and round without reaching any conclusions. She really wished she'd managed to talk to Nola Ventress before the other woman's death.
“I'm giving myself a headache,” Liss muttered, and was glad when the next influx of conference-goers distracted her. Most of them got in line to have their books signed by the authors who'd been panelists during the last hour. Very few bought anything. The T-shirt vendor across the way was doing a far better business than either Liss or Angie.
Just before noon, Margaret turned up with an offer to take over the Emporium tables so that Liss could attend the luncheon. The guest of honor interview would take place while attendees ate. Liss accepted. She'd already agreed to be responsible for Angie's tables, as well as her own, when Angie went back into town to manage Yvonne Quinlan's signing at the bookstore.
Sherri intercepted Liss on her way to the ballroom. “Can I tempt you with a quick meal in the hotel restaurant?” she asked.
“Come with me to the luncheon instead and tell me why you're in uniform.”
“Don't I need a ticket?”
“I think we can take it for granted that there will be two no-shows. And I can't believe I was just heartless enough to say that.”
“You're just displaying cop humor. Perfectly natural under the circumstances. And yes, I'd be delighted to join you. Fictional murders will make a nice change.”
“I do not want to start finding cop humor funny,” Liss muttered, but Sherri didn't hear her. The babble of a hundred voices, all talking at once, drowned out her words.
They found a table just as the waitstaff started to serve the meal. By the time Sherri had explained how she came to be working, shouting directly into Liss's ear, Nola's former second in command mounted the podium to address the crowd. She had to use a microphone to be heard over the clink of glasses and the rattle of cutlery.
“Welcome to our guest of honor interview,” she greeted them. “I'm Phoebe Lewis. I'm filling in for Nola Ventress, who is unable to be here this afternoon.”
Liss exchanged a puzzled glance with Sherri. Phoebe knew that Nola was dead. So did a lot of other people. Did she really think word wouldn't get out? True, they were hoping the press wouldn't get hold of the story quite yet, but Liss was certain the news had already begun to spread through the hotel by word of mouth.
When no one challenged her statement, Phoebe introduced Sandy Lynn Sechrest, who would conduct the interview with Yvonne Quinlan. “I give you our talented toastmistress,” Phoebe said, handing over the microphone.
“Thank you,” Sandy Lynn said in her soft, Southern drawl, “but if you'll recall, we decided on toast-chick. Now, I will admit that I thought about calling myself a toast-kitty or a toast-puppy, since I write about pets, but those didn't seem quite right. Neither did toast-hamster!” She waited for the laughter to die down, then added, “So, there's no alternative. Toast-chick it is.”
Liss ate a forkful of pasta salad and glanced at her watch. If Yvonne was going to be interviewed and still get to Angie's Books by two, Sandy Lynn had better get a move on.
As if she'd heard the thought, Sandy Lynn introduced Yvonne. Her first few questions were routine ones about Yvonne's life and her career as an actress. Then Sandy Lynn zeroed in on the books Yvonne had written.
“One of the things that fascinates readers is the insider's glimpse you give them into the world of making movies and television shows. You poke fun at the industry you work in. Isn't that risky?”
Yvonne's gentle laugh drifted out over the room. “Not really. Everyone knows how much more accurate novels are than screenplays. Hollywood ... and Vancouver ... are notorious for repeating the same mistakes over and over again. How many times have you seen a cop, who should know better, taste an unknown powder to determine whether or not it's an illegal drug? And don't even get me started on the smell of cordite.”
This got a laugh, since most mystery readers knew that substance was no longer used in gunpowder and hadn't been for decades. Whatever someone might smell after a modern gun was fired, it wasn't cordite.
“I've called attention to numerous theatrical bloopers in my books. A couple of my favorites are cars that
always
explode when they crash and female detectives who chase the bad guys while wearing high heels and short, tight skirts.”
They went on in that vein for a few more minutes before Sandy Lynn grinned and switched subjects. “You know I have to ask,” she said. “Is Simon really a vampire?”
Yvonne gave her a variant of the same answer she'd given Liss at the opening reception—“I'll never tell.”
Since Liss and Sherri were seated at a table near the exit, Liss heard the door when it creaked open behind her. Heavy footsteps approached and stopped beside her chair. She wasn't surprised to look up and find Gordon Tandy staring down at her.
“I need to talk to you again,” he said.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.” He waited, expecting her immediate compliance.
He got it, but not without a disgruntled look.
“It's just a re-interview,” Sherri whispered as Liss stood. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Easy for you to say.”
As far as she knew, she was still Gordon's prime suspect. And if he decided he had a personal bone to pick with her, he might just be vindictive enough to arrest her. Although he had to know she wasn't a murderer, when there was a volatile emotion like jealousy involved, anything could happen.
Liss followed Gordon out into the hall.
Sherri was right behind them.
“I should get back to work,” she said.
“Or you could sit in on the interview. I'd like you there, and I'm sure Gordon won't have any objections.” She sent him a look that said he'd better not.
He wisely agreed to the suggestion and once again led the way to the hotel library, this time descending the stairs from the mezzanine and crossing the lobby to reach that large, comfortable room that was situated in the west wing near the gift shop. When Liss saw that Dan was the one working behind the check-in desk, she gave him a little wave and forced herself to smile brightly. If his glower was any indication, he didn't buy her nonchalant attitude.
This time, Liss made the mistake of taking the first chair she came to. The oversized, upholstered wing chair almost swallowed her whole. She'd have fought her way free and chosen another seat had Gordon not already repeated his maneuver with the straight-back chair and settled in, facing her. His big body blocked her escape.
Sherri eased herself down onto the arm of Liss's chair and put a comforting hand on her arm. That reassurance helped calm Liss's jittery nerves, but she still felt nervous. Once she'd thought she knew Gordon Tandy well. Now he was a stranger to her—a stranger who appeared to suspect her of murder.
They were just getting started, with her name and address and occupation, when the door to the library opened and Dan came in. Apparently he'd found someone to take over at the front desk.
“This isn't an open house,” Gordon snapped. The silent, unobtrusive officer who'd once again been manning the recorder and notebook shot to his feet, ready to toss Dan out.
“In this case, I represent the owner of this hotel.”
“I could have you evicted,” Gordon said. “Sherri, too.”
“Not if you want me to answer your questions,” Liss cut in. Sadly, she had some familiarity with this part of Maine's criminal law. “I don't have to talk to you at all. I'm willing to do so only if they both stay.”
That got Gordon's full attention and stopped the other officer from laying hands on Dan.
“Do you think you need protection from me?” Gordon asked. There was a peculiar quality to his voice, but Liss couldn't decide if he was hurt or offended or both.
“I don't know,” Liss said. “Are you planning to arrest me?”
“No.”
“I'm no longer a suspect in Jane Nedlinger's death?”
“You're not at the top of the list anymore.”
“Is she a suspect in Nola Ventress's death?” Sherri asked before Liss could.
“No.”
“Then why do you want to talk to me again?” Liss demanded. “And don't give me any more one-word answers. It's very irritating.”
Gordon looked ready to chew nails. “Turn off the recorder.” As soon as the other officer did so, Gordon burst into speech. “Liss MacCrimmon, you are the most aggravating, exasperating woman I've ever met. In my saner moments, I consider myself well rid of you.”
Liss didn't know what to say to that. Dan went stiff with outrage. Sherri seemed to be trying to hold back a laugh.
“Okay,” Liss said. “Well ... good.”
Gordon got himself back under control. “Let's stick to business, shall we?”
Liss nodded, but she put her hand over his before he could signal his colleague to turn the recorder back on. “I want to do all I can to help, Gordon. The sight of Nola Ventress at the bottom of that cliff is going to haunt me for a very long time. I need to know how she ended up there.”
He stared at her, long and hard, then abruptly stood and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the chair and away from the others in the room. “Stay put,” he ordered them, and led Liss to a secluded corner that offered a modicum of privacy. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don't have an official answer for you. Not yet.”
“But you have a theory?” She kept her voice as low as his.
“It's
just
a theory,” he warned. “Nothing official,” he repeated, stressing that word. “Not yet. And I shouldn't be talking to you about it. I wouldn't if I could think of any other way to keep you out of the investigation.”
“Oh, thank you very much!” He was breaking the rules in an attempt to keep her from interfering. Wasn't there anyone who thought she was capable of minding her own business?
“I know you, Liss. You have trouble letting go. Well, there's no need for you to get involved this time. We have things well in hand.”
“How do I know you aren't just saying that to—?”
“What? Protect you? Keep you out of trouble?”
“Well ... yes.”
For just an instant, his expression softened. The old affection was there in his dark, gold-flecked eyes. He still cared about her. “This information is not for public consumption,” he warned, “but right now the deaths of Jane Nedlinger and Nola Ventress are looking like a case of murder/suicide.”
Liss gasped so loudly that Dan took a step toward them. He stopped when Liss motioned for him to stay back. She needed a few seconds before she could manage to ask the obvious question: “You think Nola killed Jane and then herself? But why?”
Gordon shrugged. “I'm not at liberty to say, since the investigation is ongoing, but I will tell you this much. After I talked to you earlier today, I made an interesting discovery in Nola Ventress's room. I found more of Jane Nedlinger's notes hidden under Nola's mattress. And just a few minutes ago, the results came through on a fingerprint we found in Jane's room. It belonged to Nola.”

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