Liss asked the usual questions, then added one. “Do you know where Emily is?”
“I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Did you talk to her last night after the reception?” Sherri asked.
“Only to tell her how sorry I was.” She shifted her attention to Liss. “You heard she and Victor were an item, right?”
Liss nodded, frowning. “If they were so tight, why was she staying here instead of at the motel with him? I went by requests from individuals as to what type of lodging they preferred. If I’m not mistaken, Emily specifically asked for a B-and-B.”
“Asserting her independence? About time, if she was.” Idly, Winona resumed her virtual card game.
“Did anyone have a particular grudge against Victor, Winona?”
“Particular enough to make them kill him, you mean?” She didn’t look away from the glowing screen. “That’s what that cop wanted to know, too. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. Everybody cussed Victor out at one time or another, but it was just talk. You know us. We’re just one big, happy family.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” She met Liss’s eyes and grinned, then went back to her game.
Liss winced, but accepted the dismissal. “Well, thanks, Winona. I’m going to talk to Josie and Cal, then go out to the cabins. If Emily shows up, will you have her call me on my cell? I want to make certain she doesn’t need anything.”
“Sure thing, sweetie.”
Liss headed for the door. Sherri scrambled off the high bed where she’d perched—she’d decided it was the place from which she could do the least damage to the overflowing clutch in the room—but she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. “Do you know anything about a quarrel between Victor and Sandy?” she asked Winona.
The wardrobe mistress didn’t answer right away. She seemed to be weighing the question. Or perhaps she was just involved in the card game. Finally, she shook her head. “Nope. Don’t know a thing about it.”
“What about Stewart? It’s pretty obvious he resented Victor for cutting his part in the show.”
Winona played one last card, gave up on winning, and closed the laptop. Setting it aside, she narrowed her dark, exotically slanted eyes at Sherri. “You’ve met Stewart, right?”
Sherri nodded.
“How likely is it that he’d have been able to plot a murder?”
“Good point,” Sherri conceded. Given the beer-soaked state of his brain, she doubted Stewart Graham could devise a complex plan to poison anyone, let alone carry it out.
Josie Malone, just across the hall, was even less help than Winona. She didn’t seem to mind having an extra day off, though. She was already comfortably dressed in an old football jersey that came down to her knees and told them she intended to go to bed early and sleep late, an unheard-of luxury when they were on the road. The smell of onions and french fries had Sherri scanning the room—yet another tribute to the Victorian penchant for clutter—until she found the wastepaper basket. The distinctive bag, wadded up and tossed away, confirmed that Josie had bought her supper at a nearby fast food restaurant.
The last room was occupied by yet another dancer, Calvin MacBain. Liss introduced him as her erstwhile partner in the country dances.
“Does that mean you’re paired with Emily now?” Cal’s room was just as frilly as the others. A Victorian doll with a painted china head sat in a small wooden rocking chair in one corner.
“For my sins, yes, we’re partners.” Cal had a smooth tenor voice and a friendly smile. There was a slight but distinct gap between his two top front teeth.
“Any idea where she is now?” Liss asked.
“In her room?”
“Guess again.”
“No idea. Haven’t seen her since last night and she wasn’t exactly in friendly mode then.”
Same questions. Same lack of answers. Once again, Sherri had to be the one to ask about Sandy and Victor’s quarrel. She believed Cal when he said he didn’t remember witnessing any such thing, or hearing about it from anyone else afterward.
“What about Victor harassing people, especially women?” she asked.
“Sexually, you mean?” Cal grinned. “In Victor’s case, it would only be women. Back when he was dancing, he was petrified someone would think he was gay. He made a big point of always having a lady on his arm.”
“I’d forgotten you knew him when he was a dancer,” Liss said. “Victor managed and danced the first two years we were on the road,” she said in an aside to Sherri.
“So you two go way back,” Sherri said to Cal. And that meant Liss would have a blind spot where he was concerned, just as she seemed to about Sandy, Zara, and Stewart. Sherri wondered if that was another reason Liss had wanted her along—she needed a “bad cop” to her “good cop,” someone who wouldn’t care about ruffling feathers or stomping on egos.
“I’ve been with Strathspey about six years,” Cal said.
“Were you two partners all that time? Till Liss left, I mean.”
It was Liss who answered. “Not until about three years ago when I took over the featured dancer’s part in the country dances. There are twelve male and twelve female dancers in the company, so we can form three circles of four couples each. That’s what looks best on a small stage.”
“What do you do if someone is sick?”
“It depends. In a pinch the singer and piper would fill in, just as a couple of the dancers could fill in for one of them if they had to. That’s why Stewart ended up dancing on a regular basis until recently. If we couldn’t manage that, we’d sometimes have to cut back to two circles.”
“So when you were injured, they had to find a replacement in a hurry.”
“Yes. Someone named Sarah.” Liss pinned Cal with a look. “And that brings me back to sex. I hear Sarah threatened to charge Victor with harassment. Know anything about it?”
“It wouldn’t have held up in court. It was just a case of Victor being Victor. There was no harm in it. Anyway, Ray got her calmed down before she left.”
“Ray? What’s Ray got to do with anything?”
“He’s . . . how shall I put this? He’s sweet on Sarah.”
The remaining members of Strathspey were lodged at Lakeside Cabins. Located a couple of miles outside Fallstown on the shores of Loon Lake, these small housekeeping cabins, each furnished with a wood stove for heat, rented at outrageous rates in the summer. Since it was March, the owners had offered six of them to Liss at bargain-basement prices.
Liss wondered what was going on as she drove past the first five cabins and saw no lights on in any of them. When she came to the sixth, a bit removed from the others and sheltered by spruce trees, she understood. The heavenly aroma of garlic-laced spaghetti sauce wafted out to them, along with the smell of an apple-wood fire.
“Fiona’s cooking.”
In answer, Sherri’s stomach growled.
“She’ll have made plenty. Come on.”
Liss put off asking questions in favor of eating. The cabin was already crowded—everyone had brought chairs from their own cabins—but the dancers quickly found space for Liss and Sherri to sit on Fiona’s bed and supplied them with heavy-duty paper plates loaded down with meatballs, sauce made with mushrooms and onions as well as tomatoes and garlic, and thick slices of store-bought Italian bread.
As she ate, Liss listened to the cheerful chatter around her. Except for Fiona, the others—Jean Ferguson, Anna Buchanan, Laura MacGowan, Serena Guthrie, and Denise Johnson—seemed very young to her, barely into their twenties. They talked about dancing, about clothes, and about television shows or movies they’d seen in hotel rooms all over the country during the tour. No one mentioned Victor.
That was Fiona’s doing, Liss supposed. She was hardly ancient—only in her early forties—but she’d fallen early on into the role of mother hen. She was the one who took newcomers under her wing, the one who always seemed to have the knack of keeping morale high,
even on the most discouraging days on tour.
Liss hated to destroy the mood, but it was getting late and she still had to drive back to Moosetookalook. She spared a brief thought for Sandy and Zara. She hadn’t wanted to abandon them, but she was doing this to help them and they could hardly have come with her. She hoped they’d found something at her house to fix for supper. She’d planned to take them out to eat tonight.
“So, ladies,” she began. “Did Detective Tandy come by to talk to all of you?”
This produced a flurry of comment on Gordon’s good looks, which Liss tried to ignore. She could sense Sherri’s grin even without looking at her friend.
“Yes, but did anyone have anything useful to tell him?” she interrupted. “The sooner he can clear things up, the better, you know.”
“What’s to tell?” Serena asked. “Victor was the boss. We mostly tried to stay under his radar.”
“He was an old grouch,” Jean complained. “I didn’t think so when I first joined up, but he sure did yell a lot the last couple of months.”
A chorus of agreement greeted this observation, making Liss wonder, and not for the first time that day, if something had been wrong with Victor besides his allergy to mushrooms. “Victor changed?” she asked. “Was he having a nervous breakdown or something?”
“Something?” Fiona asked.
“Well, was he taking drugs? I don’t mean illegal drugs. At least I don’t think I do. Had he been taking some prescription medication that had made him moodier than usual?”
“Not that I know of.” But Fiona looked troubled by the thought.
“Maybe someone should search his room,” Denise suggested.
“Or ask Emily.”
The way Anna said Emily’s name made Liss suspect she did not like the other dancer much. “Anyone know where Emily is?”
“The B-and-B,” Fiona said.
“Not as of an hour ago.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Liss saw Sherri pull out her cell phone and punch in a number. Quietly, while Liss continued to question the dancers about Victor’s actions during the last few months and his quarrels with others in the company, Sherri asked for Emily Townsend. A few minutes later, shaking her head at Liss to indicate that Emily was not yet back, she thanked whoever was on the other end of the line and disconnected.
Liss was batting zero on helpful answers as well. If there had been any serious rifts between any of these members of the company and Victor, none of them were admitting it.
“What about the fight between Sandy and Victor in the parking lot?” Sherri asked.
Liss held her breath. Sandy wasn’t the one who’d killed Victor. She was certain of it. She couldn’t fault Sherri for wanting verification of Ray’s story, but neither could she help being glad when no one supplied it.
“What about Stewart and Victor?” Sherri asked.
Everyone agreed Stewart was drinking too much. Everyone thought Victor had it in for him. No one thought Stewart capable of killing anything bigger than a fly, and then only if he was stone-cold sober.
Scone-cold sober, Liss thought before she could stop herself. Her groan was silent, too.
Laura and Jean dished the dirt on Ray and Sarah when Liss asked about them. Apparently it had been a somewhat one-sided romantic attachment, and Ray had been vocal in blaming Victor for Sarah’s abrupt departure from the troupe.
“Ray wouldn’t go so far as to commit murder,” Serena said, and the others all nodded. Liss didn’t think so, either.
“He could find work anywhere,” Jean added. “Wherever Sarah ended up, he could just go after her. If he really wanted to.”
“Unless Victor sent the word out on Sarah. Blackballed her.”
“Could he do that?” Sherri asked.
“Maybe. Depends on what he said and who he said it to. Nobody wants to hire a troublemaker.”
“What’s Sarah’s last name?” Sherri asked. Liss had a feeling she was going to run a check on her the next time she was working at the dispatch center at the county jail.
“Bartlett,” Jean said. “Sarah Bartlett.”
It might be worthwhile, Liss thought, to ask the owners of various hotels and motels in the area if they’d had a Sarah Bartlett registered for the night of the reception.
“I can’t see Sarah killing Victor, either,” Serena said, as if she’d read Liss’s thoughts, “but Emily might have.”
“Why?” Liss asked. “I thought they were an item.”
“She was sleeping with him, but she said he was an awful old bore in bed. She was hoping he’d get tired of her soon so she could move on to someone more interesting.”
“Nice girl,” Sherri murmured.
“If he was so boring, why didn’t she end it? For that matter, why did she take up with him in the first place?” Liss had a sneaking suspicion she already knew the answers.
“She wanted Zara’s part in the show,” Serena said. “Figured that was the quickest way to get it.”
The other dancers chimed in with words to the same effect.
Liss remembered Victor’s words at the reception. He’d all but promised to give Emily the role. Why, then, would Emily want to kill him?
The more questions she asked, the less satisfied she was with the answers. It seemed to her that the other dancers resented Emily, and were taking advantage of the fact that she wasn’t around to defend herself to level accusations.
Liss understood the impulse. There was a part of her that wanted Emily to be guilty, too. That would be the perfect solution. She didn’t know Emily Townsend. She didn’t care what happened to her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Liss saw Sherri glance at her watch. “I’ve got to get home,” her friend said. “I’m on the seven-to-three shift starting tomorrow.”
Liss was ready to go, too. She didn’t think they would learn any more tonight. She delayed only long enough to say good-bye to Fiona, who’d retreated to the cabin’s tiny kitchen area to wash the pots and pans she’d dirtied.
“The spaghetti was wonderful, Fiona. A real feast.”
“I thought we all needed some cheering up. You, too.” She studied Liss, her fond expression filled with concern. “What happened to Victor wasn’t your fault. You’re not responsible.”
“I know that. In my head. But in my heart . . .”
“Dinna fash yersel, as the Scots say.”
“Hard not to. And there seems to be plenty to worry about. Sandy says the shows aren’t bringing in as much revenue as they used to. If the company doesn’t get back on the road soon—”
“Hey—my problem, okay? I’m the one who’s stuck in the role of acting manager, not you. We’ll muddle through. We always do.”
Liss lowered her voice. “Detective Tandy asked for my input, since I know the people involved.”
“And you agreed?” Fiona scrubbed harder at the bottom of the pot, although it looked perfectly clean to Liss.
“How could I not? Victor was murdered, Fiona.”
“Yes, I can see where you’d have to help all you can.” She put the pan aside and turned to face Liss fully. Her pale blue eyes were troubled. “Do you suspect one of us?”
“Not really, although I don’t know what to make of Emily Townsend’s disappearance. I’ve got very mixed feelings about Emily.” She shrugged. “I guess it bothers me that I find it so easy to think she might be the killer, just because she wasn’t in her room. And because she replaced me in the company. And because I hate that titter of hers.”
Fiona gave a husky chuckle, the polar opposite of Emily’s laugh. “It is a bit much, isn’t it? But you mustn’t worry about your reaction to Emily. After all, it isn’t necessary to like everyone you meet. God knows, I don’t! I couldn’t stand Victor.”
Startled, Liss found herself stuttering. “B-b-but you worked with him for eight years.”
“Guess I was just a glutton for punishment,” she said with a smile. It faded when she saw Liss’s expression. “Don’t you think,” s
he asked, “that if I’d wanted to kill Victor I’d have done it years ago?”
“I can’t imagine you killing anyone.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Anyone can be driven to extreme measures, and Victor was certainly getting on everyone’s nerves.” She glanced toward the main part of the room, but no one was paying any attention to them. Sherri had already gone out to warm up the car. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I think I know what was behind Victor’s attitude problems the last six months or so. I’m pretty sure he was borrowing money from the company coffers. Sandy’s right, Liss. Strathspey is in deep financial trouble, and Victor Owens is the reason why.”
Chapter Six
Liss arrived home much later than she’d intended to find Sandy, Zara, and Lumpkin cozily sharing the living room couch and watching a movie on cable. She didn’t know what it was, but she recognized a few of the actors’ faces. Their names eluded her.
“Well, finally!” Sandy greeted her. “We were thinking of sending out the Saint Bernard.”
It had started to snow again, but Liss was used to driving in the white stuff. It hadn’t occurred to her that her friends might worry. “I should have called to tell you I was held up. I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” Zara assured her. “We had a lovely dinner. I cooked.” Sandy pantomimed gagging, then yelped as she sent an elbow into his ribs.
Lumpkin, his peaceful nap disrupted, jumped down and stalked from the room, his plume of a tail held high to reflect his disdain for the foolish humans.
“Any luck?” Sandy asked.
“Not much.” Liss hated to spoil the mood, but there was no advantage in putting off uncomfortable questions. She settled into the chair opposite the sofa, the perfect vantage point from which to watch his face. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d had a quarrel with Victor?”
“Victor didn’t quarrel. He sniped.” He was grinning as he corrected her.
“This happened in a parking lot. There was a lot of hand waving. No blows were exchanged, but apparently it was a near thing.”
Scone Cold Dead Page 8
