“My cousin the prude,” Boxer teased her.
“Am not.”
“Are too!”
They grinned at each other.
Reminded of their kinship, Liss remembered that she had yet to ask Boxer about Angie’s sister-in-law. Murch had not had any luck identifying her, nor had Sherri. Neither Patsy nor Gloria had admitted to knowing Angie had a sister-in-law.
Boxer reached into the cooler once more and this time snagged a soda. The crowd around the vendors had thinned out. Cheering from the field where the athletic competitions were under way explained why. There was only one customer at the Emporium’s booth, a woman examining the rack of ready-made kilts.
“I don’t suppose,” Liss said without much hope, “that Beth ever mentioned an aunt. Her father’s sister? Or maybe the wife or widow of Angie’s brother? A sister-in-law, anyway.” She supposed, these days, a sister-in-law could also be the spouse of a sister.
“Nope.” Boxer took a long drink.
“She visited at the time of the Maine-ly Cozy Con. You probably don’t remember that. You may not even have known Beth back then.”
“I knew who she was. And I used to go in the bookstore sometimes. Just looking around. I didn’t have the money to buy anything.” A rueful expression on his face, he added, “Angie always thought I was going to shoplift stuff. She kept an eagle eye on me.”
“Do you remember someone else manning the store while Angie was at the Cozy Con?”
Boxer drank again. Frowning, he considered. “Y’know, I do. A woman. She didn’t kick me out.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?”
She was unsurprised when he shook his head. It had been more than six years. But then the most peculiar expression came over his face.
“Bumper sticker,” Boxer said. “There was a car parked in Angie’s driveway that day, and it had a bumper sticker that said ‘Virginia Is for Lovers.’ I remember thinking that was a pretty stupid slogan, but then I was only, what? Twelve? Does that help?”
“Not much,” Liss admitted, “but it’s more than we knew before.”
Boxer polished off his soda and tossed the empty can into the bag they were using for recyclables. “You want to take a break while it’s quiet?”
The same woman was still browsing among the kilts. No one else had shown any interest in their booth for a while now.
“Are you sure you can answer any questions she has?”
“I’ve only heard your spiel about a gazillion times. All those are tartans anyone can wear, clan or no clan. The red, green, yellow, blue, and white is Royal Stewart. The dark one is Black Watch. The dark green and blue with black and pink worked in is Flower of Scotland and was specifically created for those who don’t have Scots roots. The fourth one is called Hunting Stewart.”
“Okay. Okay. You pass the test.” His sing-song recitation had her smiling again. “Just don’t forget to tell her we can also special-order kilts in any tartan.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go if you’re going.”
“And don’t count on making a sale,” she warned him. “The cheapest kilt on the rack is priced at over three hundred dollars.”
They were labor-intensive to make, requiring at least eight yards of material apiece. Tightly pleated at the back with an apron front, a kilt had to hang just right and be the correct length, just clearing the ground when the wearer knelt. At one time, when Margaret had been sole proprietor of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium, she had made kilts herself. She’d given up the sideline when she went to work at the hotel.
Liss’s first stop was at the row of port-a-potties. Her second was the scone-maker’s booth.
“I was so sorry to hear about all the troubles in Moosetookalook,” Janice said as she passed over the freshly baked pastry and took Liss’s money. She was from Waycross Springs, a good hour away by car, but news traveled fast on the Carrabassett County grapevine.
“It’s just been one thing after another,” Liss agreed.
“And this latest! I hear you know a little more than most people about what happened.”
Liss repressed a groan. She didn’t think she’d been identified in any news reports as the one who’d found Jason Graye’s body, but the local gossips must all know by now. Neighbors would have recognized her at the scene.
“I’m sorry, Janice, but I can’t talk about it.”
The Scone Lady looked disappointed but didn’t press for details. Whether she thought Liss found the subject too upsetting to discuss or guessed she’d been ordered to keep quiet by the police, Liss couldn’t tell.
“You take care of yourself now, Liss,” Janice called after her as she turned to wait on her next hungry customer.
A quick glance at the Emporium’s booth reassured Liss that Boxer was doing just fine on his own. She fished a copy of the schedule of events out of her pocket. She’d just missed the sheaf toss, an event that involved tossing a sixteen-pound sheaf of hay encased in a burlap bag over a bar using a three-tined pitchfork. The current athletic competition was the hammer throw.
Liss grimaced. The hammer, a metal ball attached to a wooden handle, weighed a little over twenty pounds and had been known to fly more than a hundred yards. She’d come close to being coldcocked with one once and had been a little leery of the sport ever since.
She did enjoy watching the caber toss. The cabers, which most people compared to telephone poles, were nineteen feet long and weighed 120 pounds and took a good deal of skill to lift, let alone throw. That event, however, wouldn’t be held until later in the day.
Her timing was off to attend any of the dance competitions, too. No one was currently performing on the stage set up for those events. There were, however, a few people lingering in the area. She walked in that direction, hoping to spot someone she knew from the old days.
Liss did recognize one face, but it was not that of a dancer. It was the gentleman who’d come into Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium looking for postage stamps—Martin Eldridge. Omnipresent walking stick in hand, he was deep in conversation with another man, one who looked vaguely familiar.
The second man was both shorter and younger than Eldridge. His hair was cut so close to his scalp that he very nearly looked bald. Was this the same man she’d seen talking to Eldridge in the town square? She had no idea. On the previous occasion, he’d been too far away for her to see clearly.
Murch would know for certain. He’d been close enough to eavesdrop on that earlier conversation. Although he’d dismissed what he’d heard as harmless, Liss had to wonder if he might have missed something. Watching the two men near the stage, she had a strong sense of something “off” about them.
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
Sherri 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 you
r 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.
Kilt at the Highland Games Page 15
