Scone Cold Dead

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  Zara reached for the clicker and muted the movie. “You didn’t tell me you and Victor argued.”

  “For the last few months, Victor and I clashed over just about everything. No big deal. Yelling lets off steam.” Liss couldn’t see his eyes. He had taken Zara’s hands in his and spoken directly to her.

  “This was in Vermont,” Liss said. “Last week.”

  “Not ringing any bells.” And he still wasn’t looking at her.

  “You shook your fist at him.”

  “Liss, I’m telling you I don’t remember confronting Victor in a parking lot. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. If it happened, it wasn’t over anything important enough that I remember details.”

  Far from satisfied, Liss had to be content with that answer. An awkward little silence engulfed the three of them.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Zara said after a moment, “but when Beth showed up for her lesson, I filled in for you.”

  Liss squeezed her eyes shut and made a face, annoyed with herself. “I completely forgot she was coming over.”

  “No problem. She’s a sweet kid. Skittish, though.” Zara chuckled. “And is she always such a picker-upper?”

  Liss knew exactly what her friend meant. Beth Hogencamp was nine years old and extremely shy around strangers. Her nervousness manifested itself, indoors at least, in a compulsion to pick things up and put them down again. Liss usually cleared a space in the middle of the living room for the dance lessons. In the course of an hour, Beth would have handled every picture frame, every knickknack, and every cat toy within reach. She was the same when she visited Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium, where there were even more small items to move about.

  “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dance teacher,” Liss lamented. “Of course I never did think I was.”

  “I liked working with her. It was a bit disconcerting, though, to have the cat watching us from the top of the television like some disapproving gargoyle.”

  “He vanished when Dan came over, though,” Sandy put in.

  Since Sandy was openly watching her for a reaction, Liss tried to sound nonchalant. “Dan was here? What did he want?”

  “To talk to you. He didn’t seem surprised when we told him where you’d gone, though.”

  Good old Moosetookalook grapevine, Liss thought. Having everyone know your business was both the curse and the blessing of living in a small, rural village.

  “He stayed for supper,” Zara said. “He liked my cooking.”

  Liss’s astonishment grew, but she didn’t have time to focus on Dan Ruskin’s motive. Clearing her friends of suspicion had to come first. “Fiona made spaghetti.”

  “That’s right,” Zara said. “She was looking forward to being in a housekeeping cabin so she could cook.”

  “I talked to everyone except Emily Townsend. Is there any reason I should be suspicious of her because she didn’t stay put at the B-and-B?”

  Sandy and Zara exchanged glances.

  “What?”

  Zara spoke. “Emily has her own agenda. She was using Victor as much as he was using her.”

  “Using him how?”

  “To build her résumé. You don’t think she intended to stay with Strathspey all her life, do you? She wanted my part in the show. Then she’d have moved on.”

  Liss shook her head. “I thought women had gotten past the need to sleep with their bosses to get ahead. What was she thinking?”

  Sandy snorted. “I don’t think it’s a need so much as a choice. Emily probably looked on cozying up to Victor as a shortcut.”

  “Someone should really have a talk with that woman about her self-esteem.”

  “Just because her actions aren’t politically correct in this day and age doesn’t mean she isn’t doing exactly what she wants to do,” Zara pointed out.

  “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about her.” Sandy had snugged an arm around Zara’s shoulders and no longer had any trouble meeting Liss’s eyes. “She’ll turn up. Where’s she going to go?”

  “She could rent a car and go anywhere.”

  But Sandy shook his head. “Unless she already had another job lined up before Victor died, she’ll stick. In spite of appearances, she’s no dummy. She has to know taking off would make her look suspicious. Did she stay around long enough to talk to your cop friend?”

  “I think so. I haven’t had a chance to compare notes.”

  “Take my advice and don’t worry about Emily. She’s the type who always lands on her feet.”

  “That’s because she walks all over everyone else,” Zara added.

  Liss sighed. “Wouldn’t it be nice if Emily did kill him? We could write it off to a lovers’ quarrel and that would be that. I wouldn’t have to suspect my friends anymore.”

  She meant Sandy, because of the fight with Victor, but it was Zara who spoke up. “If they arrest me, the rest of the company will be free to go. Emily will have my part with no questions asked.”

  Liss narrowed her eyes. Zara’s expression was once again deeply troubled, her eyes bleak. Even her bright red hair suddenly seemed duller. “You know, if you’d just tell us why you think the police will be interested in you, we might be able to help.”

  “I can’t.”

  “A clue?”

  “I—it’s something to do with my family, okay? I’m not going to say any more. It will all come out when they arrest me, but I don’t want to talk about it before that.”

  “Zara—” Sandy tried to tug her closer but she broke away and stood.

  “It’s late. I’m going up to bed.” And with that, she bolted.

  Liss and Sandy stared at each other. “Can you get it out of her?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Sandy let his head fall against the back of the sofa, eyes closed, the picture of discouragement.

  “Do you know her family? Can you make any sort of guess what she meant?”

  “No.”

  As if he realized someone needed comfort, Lumpkin reappeared. He took Zara’s place on the sofa and insinuated himself under Sandy’s right hand, butting his head against it until Sandy began to stroke him.

  “No to which?” Liss persisted. “Do you know her family?”

  “She doesn’t have much family. Just a mother in a nursing home in California. That’s all she’s ever mentioned to me, anyway.”

  “Zara is what, twenty-three? How old is her mother?”

  Sandy frowned. “I don’t know. Young to be in a nursing home, that’s for sure.”

  As one, they looked toward the stairs. Then Liss shook her head. “We both know Zara didn’t kill Victor. The police may have to invade her privacy, but we don’t need to. Not yet, anyway. Don’t pressure her.”

  Sandy made no promises, just said good night and followed his fiancée up to bed. Liss wandered back into the living room, sank down onto the sofa next to the cat, and stared at the muted television screen. She had no idea what the plot of the movie was, but she watched it anyway. Situation normal, she thought. She didn’t know what was going on in her life, either.

  To add insult to injury, Lumpkin bit her finger when she tried to pet him.

  Everyone at Liss’s house slept late on Monday morning. No one pounded on the door. No one phoned. By the time Liss got up and put the coffee on, Dan had long since gone to work for his father’s construction company and Sherri was well into the seven-to-three shift at the county jail in Fallstown.

  “Don’t you have to work?” Zara asked when the three of them sat down to toast and coffee at the table in the kitchen.

  “The Emporium is always closed on Mondays, to make up for being open on Saturday.”

  “So you have nothing you have to do with your day?” Sandy asked.

  “Not a thing, although I should probably try to reach Gordon Tandy by phone.” She regretted sharing that thought as soon as it was out and hastily suggested taking a drive instead. “I’d like to show you some of the sights. There’s a ski area not far from here and—”
>
  The ringing of the doorbell cut her off in midsentence. A sense of dread filled her before she got control of her rampaging imagination. Don’t panic before you have to, she warned herself, and headed for the front door.

  This time the figure on the other side was not a tall, muscular state trooper. Liss recognized Fiona’s dark red coat with the fur trim and hastily unbolted the door.

  “I rented a car,” Fiona explained as soon as Liss let her in. It was parked at the curb, a nondescript dark blue sedan.

  “We’re in the kitchen,” Liss said, taking Fiona’s coat and hanging it up in the closet.

  Lumpkin, who had been sleeping in a sunbeam, lifted his head and opened one eye when Fiona entered the room. She saw him at the same time.

  “Oh dear. I didn’t realize you had a cat.”

  Then she sneezed.

  Lumpkin tore out of the kitchen as if the hounds of hell were after him.

  Fiona sneezed three more times in rapid succession.

  “I’ll close the door to keep him out,” Liss said.

  “Won’t help.” Fiona sneezed again. “There’s sure to be cat dander everywhere. It’s okay.” After another sneeze she rummaged in her purse. “I’ve got a pill I can take.”

  Ten minutes later the four of them were back at the kitchen table. Fiona’s eyes and nose were red, but she’d finally stopped sneezing. Liss had made more toast and supplied Fiona with tea.

  “Stop looking so worried,” Fiona said. “Not all allergies are fatal. This one’s just inconvenient. You see, I was planning to ask if I could move in with you for a few days. That won’t work with a cat in residence. You’d have to get rid of him and vacuum everything thoroughly, and I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” Liss agreed. “But . . . a few days? I thought you were all leaving tomorrow.”

  “So did I, until I talked to that nice Detective Tandy this morning. I’ve canceled all the performances we had scheduled this week.”

  “What?” Sandy looked stricken.

  “You can’t—” Liss began.

  Zara cut her off. “Fiona, you didn’t!”

  “I can and I did. I am determined to cooperate with the police to the best of my ability. After all, it only makes sense that we do everything we can to get this matter cleared up.” She calmly bit into the toast she’d just slathered with raspberry jam.

  “Can the company survive that many cancela-tions?” Liss’s appetite had vanished. She exchanged a worried look with Sandy and Zara.

  “If it can’t, it won’t.” Fiona didn’t seem to care.

  “Does this mean you’ve taken over as manager for the rest of the tour?” Sandy asked her.

  “Under duress. And it’s not permanent. I’m leaving the company before the next tour starts. I know I haven’t mentioned this before—sorry to spring it on you—but I’ve been planning for some time now to retire. Victor knew.”

  “What will you do instead?” Liss well remembered how hard it had been for her to adjust to leaving Strathspey.

  Fiona shrugged. “I expect I’ll open a dance school somewhere. I’ve squirreled away a bit of a nest egg. Enough to get by.”

  “That’s all very well for you,” Zara said, sounding waspish, “but there are twenty-eight other members of Strathspey. What do they do if the company folds?”

  “It won’t if we can find ways to speed up the investigation,” Liss said.

  “Get this show back on the road?” Fiona quipped.

  “Someone must have seen something,” Liss insisted. “I just have to find that person.”

  “Where will you start?” Fiona’s amusement had vanished.

  “With Emily.”

  “She’s still missing,” Fiona told her. “I stopped by at the B-and-B on my way here.”

  “Then with Janice Eccles, the woman who baked the cocktail scones—the real ones. And with the food service staff at the Student Center. Victor’s murderer had to have slipped those adulterated scones into the kitchen. Someone must have noticed him. Or her.”

  Liss frowned, wondering how the killer had managed to bake them in the first place, and when. The company had arrived by bus only a few hours before the performance began.

  “Haven’t the police already talked to all of those people?” Sandy asked.

  “How would I know?” She realized she’d snapped at him and sent him a quick look of apology along with an explanation: “I haven’t heard a peep out of Gordon Tandy.”

  Instead of backing off, Sandy leaned toward her, elbows on the table. “Look, Liss, maybe you shouldn’t get any more involved in this. You ask the wrong person questions and you could get hurt. Dan told us how close—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “I can take care of myself.”

  “At least let us ride shotgun.”

  The image would have amused her if she hadn’t been so irritated. “This is not the Wild West. I’m in no danger of being bushwhacked. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a woman to see about a scone.”

  The Scone Lady was not at home.

  One more setback in a day already overloaded with frustration! Liss returned to her car and sat there with the heater on, trying to decide what to do next.

  She glanced at her watch and saw that it was just past two in the afternoon. She’d wasted a good deal of time in Fallstown, trying to track down the people who’d worked in the kitchen Saturday night. Those few she had located either claimed they hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary or refused to talk to her. She could hardly compel them to answer her questions. She had no official standing in the case.

  So—wait and hope Mrs. Eccles returned soon? Head home? Neither choice appealed.

  Like Moosetookalook, Waycross Springs had a pretty little town square. Liss was parked in front of Janice Eccles’s house and there, just across the snow-covered green, was Tandy’s Music and Gifts. Without giving herself the chance to think better of it, Liss was out of the car and walking briskly toward the shop.

  A cheerful little bell jangled to announce her entrance. She recognized Russ Tandy behind the sales counter even though she hadn’t seen him in years. Russ had more gray in his hair than Gordon did and wore it longer, and he was taller and leaner than his brother, but the resemblance was unmistakable. They had the same dark brown eyes. Good genes obviously ran in the Tandy family.

  Liss knew Gordon’s grandfather had founded the business and passed it on to his son, but Russ had run it as long as she could remember. There was some overlap between Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium and Tandy’s Music and Gifts in that the Tandys carried a few Scottish-themed items, but the main thrust of the Waycross Springs store was music. Russ not only sold a wide variety of instruments—everything from flutes to tubas—he also taught his customers how to play them.

  He glanced at Liss without recognizing her, giving her a professional shopkeeper’s smile before he went back to ringing up a sale for a woman in a bright pink parka. Liss took the opportunity to wander the aisles, comparing Russ’s merchandise to the items she and her aunt stocked.

  A wide selection of CDs took up about a third of the floor space. Another third was devoted to gift items. Those on display had a musical theme. Liss picked up a figurine of a dancing dog playing a drum, amused by the comical expression on its face.

  Assorted musical instruments composed the remaining stock and along the back wall, arranged against paneling that showed them off to advantage, were two sets of bagpipes, one on either side of a tall, narrow window. A glance through the glass revealed that Tandy’s Music and Gifts overlooked Waycross Stream . . . literally. If the bank hadn’t been shored up to keep it from eroding, the entire building would have been in imminent danger of sliding into the water.

  To Liss’s right, a shelf contained stacked boxes labeled PRACTICE CHANTERS. The remaining section of paneling was the background for a display of awards won at piping competitions by members of the Tandy family—trophies, plaques, and ribbons of all sorts.
Russ Tandy’s name was well represented, as was that of his daughter, Amanda. Liss remembered her slightly. She’d be in her late teens or early twenties by now.

  On the far side were several awards with Gordon’s name on them. Not one of them was dated more recently than ten years back. Liss wondered if he still played the bagpipes or if he had given them up altogether after he’d gone to work for the state police. It was not an easy instrument to master, and if a piper did not stay in practice, his skills soon grew rusty.

  There was no more grating sound than that of a bagpipe badly played.

  When the bell over the door sounded, Liss ignored it. A small charcoal drawing of a piper playing for a dancer had caught her eye. It was beautifully executed and she wondered if the artist was someone local. If so, it might be possible to commission similar pieces for the Emporium.

  She jumped at the sound of Gordon Tandy’s deep voice. “Small world,” he remarked.

  He was standing right behind her, back stiff as a soldier at attention, expression carved in granite. She had a feeling he was hiding his reaction to finding her here, but she couldn’t begin to guess if the emotion he was being so careful to repress was anger or something else. He looked very . . . official.

  Liss cleared her throat, feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Isn’t it just,” she murmured.

  Gordon might not have called her, but neither had she tried to reach him. She hadn’t told him that she’d talked to the others in the company after he had. She hadn’t consulted him about her decision to question the kitchen staff or visit the Scone Lady. It was a good bet he was going to think she’d been meddling . . . and he’d be right.

  “So, what brings you to Waycross Springs?” he asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.” The best defense, she’d once heard, was a good offense. Or was that the other way around?

  “I’m here to talk to Mrs. Eccles again.”

  “What a coincidence. So am I. I just stopped by her house, to thank her for all her hard work providing food for the reception. She wasn’t home.”