Scone Cold Dead

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “The redhead with the classic Corvette? How could I miss her?”

  Liss didn’t know much about cars, but his words struck a chord. “Isn’t that a sports car?”

  “Yeah. Cherry red. I was some surprised she let anyone else drive it, but the last time her friend was here, she let her take off with it for the night.”

  “Let me guess—another redhead?”

  “Yeah. Not so much of a looker, but she’s got a real pretty voice.”

  As the valet drove off in her aunt’s station wagon, Liss fished the cell phone out of her purse and tried Gordon’s number again. It was still out of service. “Damn it, Gordon! Where are you?”

  She asked the same question of Corrie Sinclair a few minutes later.

  “I’ve no idea where he is, but unless something new came up with one of the cases he’s working on, he was hoping to take a little time off this weekend.”

  For some reason, Liss had envisioned Gordon working round the clock until Victor’s killer was caught. Talk about unrealistic! He’d taken a break to escort her to dinner, hadn’t he? And obviously he would be involved in other ongoing investigations, too. He’d pretty much have to be, since he was the only state police detective officially assigned to Carrabassett County.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Corrie asked.

  “Okay, here’s the thing,” Liss said, and spilled what she knew, and what she suspected, about Sarah Bartlett.

  “That doesn’t sound like enough to warrant calling in the police. Let’s try this instead.” Corrie reached into a drawer for a passkey . . . and a canister of pepper spray.

  A few minutes later, with Corrie for backup, Liss rapped on the door of one of the hotel’s most expensive rooms. Whatever else was going on, Sarah Bartlett was not hurting for money.

  “May we come in?” Liss asked when the redhead answered the door.

  Lee Annie appeared in the opening behind Sarah, a deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes. “Liss! What . . . ? How . . . ? Did you follow me?”

  “Never even occurred to me.” With Corrie close behind her, Liss pushed past the two redheads and entered the living room of their suite.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “That’s the same question I was going to ask you.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sarah planted herself at Lee Annie’s side and slid one arm around the other woman’s waist. Then she gently kissed Lee Annie’s cheek. “She’s my girlfriend. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Only if the two of you conspired together to embezzle money from Strathspey and kill Victor Owens.”

  Sarah’s response, a slow blink, provided counterpoint to Lee Annie’s squawk of denial. With admirable self-possession, Sarah weighed the situation and suggested they all sit down, have a good stiff drink, and put their cards on the table.

  Although Liss was already half convinced she was barking up the wrong tree, she took Sarah up on her invitation—for the talking, not the drinking—and started by asking the dancer where she had been the previous Saturday.

  “St. Louis,” came the prompt reply, “with a touring company of Chicago.”

  “And you just up and left your job when you heard about Victor?”

  “Not quite. I have a twin sister who is also a dancer. Susan is filling in for me. Pretending to be me, actually. She’s good for another week or so. Then she has to get back to her other job. She’s a children’s book illustrator.”

  “Is she the one Detective Tandy talked to?”

  Sarah nodded and took a sip of the champagne she’d already poured before Liss and Corrie’s arrival.

  “Can you prove it was you and not your sister who performed the night Victor was killed?”

  She shrugged. “If I have to.”

  Liss could detect no nervousness in the other woman’s manner. In fact, she seemed mildly amused by Liss’s suspicions. “Okay. Let’s say I believe you. When did you arrive in Fallstown?”

  “Monday. I was planning to stay with Lee Annie in her motel room, even though doing so meant I had to be careful no one else saw me, but then you came along and put the kibosh on that plan.”

  “Why didn’t you want to be seen?”

  “I was trying to keep my private life private.”

  “Ray doesn’t know about us,” Lee Annie said, sotto voce. “He’d be hurt if he found out she preferred me all along. We were just trying to spare his feelings.”

  Liss suspected that knowing the truth might make Ray’s case of unrequited love more bearable, but it wasn’t up to her to enlighten him. Nor was this particular love triangle any of her business . . . as long as it didn’t have anything to do with Victor’s murder.

  “You traded up from the Fallstown Motor Lodge,” she observed. “Pretty ritzy digs on a Gypsy’s salary.” Liss had never even considered booking the members of Strathspey into the Sinclair House. It was way too expensive, not to mention a long commute to either Fallstown or Moosetookalook.

  Corrie Sinclair, who had all but faded into the woodwork, came alert at Liss’s comment, probably wondering if Sarah’s credit was good. Ignoring the hotel owner, Liss kept her attention fixed on Sarah.

  “How can you afford all this?” She waved a hand to encompass the tower suite with its private balcony and fireplace and fully stocked bar.

  “Victor Owens.” When Liss goggled at her, Sarah laughed. “You heard that he threatened to fire me if I didn’t put out? Yes, I thought you had. And that I threatened to bring charges of sexual harassment against him? The upshot was that he wanted the matter hushed up. He paid me off. I call it my ‘out-of-court settlement.’ Way out of court, if you know what I mean, and no lawyers involved.”

  “Where did he get the money?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. I do, however, intend to spend every cent of it having fun. Hence this suite. I’ll go back to working for a living when the money runs out.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “At the rate I’m going? No more than another week.”

  “She’s a free spirit.” The look on Lee Annie’s face combined love with hero worship. “Money doesn’t mean a thing to her.”

  Liss believed her. After a few more questions, to clarify the timing of certain events, Liss left the lovebirds to their tryst. Armed with Corrie Sinclair’s easy-to-follow directions, she went next to what Gordon Tandy had described as his “little house.”

  He hadn’t been kidding. The place was tiny, a one-story cape on a postage-stamp-size lot. Gordon was just getting out of a dark green pickup truck when Liss pulled up in front. The look he gave her was wary in the extreme. Not surprising, she supposed. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been arresting her best pal.

  “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon,” she said.

  “I’ve been back in the boonies. Out of cell range.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “What do you want, Liss?”

  “I’ve found out a few things that you should know.” He stared at her for a long moment, his expression enigmatic. Then he gestured toward the house. “You’d better come in.”

  The interior was warm and welcoming, decorated with comfort in mind but color coordinated and tasteful. Liss wondered if there had been a serious girlfriend, maybe even a fiancée in the picture at the time he’d purchased it. She didn’t think it wise to ask.

  He settled her at the kitchen table, plugged in the coffeepot, and grabbed a lined tablet. “Talk.”

  She surveyed the room, taking in the bright yellow cabinets and the country scenes on the wallpaper.

  “What?”

  “Just checking for rubber hoses.”

  She was rewarded with a flash of temper. “For God’s sake, Liss!”

  “Sorry.” Not! “Gordon, you did ask for my help.”

  “And you’re never going to let me forget it,” he muttered. “I also warned you not to meddle.”

  “I tried to reach you.” She attempted to
look virtuous, but the glare she got in response warned her she’d better stop teasing the wolf. “I did try the number you gave me. Twice. Then I went to talk to Sarah Bartlett at the Sinclair House.”

  “Sarah—? No, wait. First tell me you didn’t go alone.”

  “I didn’t go alone.” Since he was clearly waiting for a name, she supplied it. He cursed. “There wasn’t any danger.”

  “You didn’t know that going in.”

  “Okay, I might have made a mistake, but will you please just listen to what I found out? It may be important.”

  He gestured for her to continue, too angry, she suspected, to trust himself to speak.

  She filled him in on her search of the records and her conversation with Sarah and Lee Annie, then grabbed the pad on which he’d been taking notes and tore out a blank page. While she wrote, he poured two mugs of coffee and set one down in front of her.

  “Here’s the order in which I think events must have occurred.” She read what she’d written aloud. “First, Victor is ill, but may or may not be getting treatment yet. He’s moody, irascible, acting out of character. For one thing, he propositions Sarah. She threatens to sue, which he realizes could cost him his job. He knows he’s ill, or he finds out right about then, and he knows he needs the job, and the medical insurance. He offers to pay her off. He takes the money out of the company funds, and that’s when he realizes that someone else has already dipped a hand into the till. He figures out who it was. He threatens to turn that person in if he or she doesn’t put the money back, plus enough to cover what Victor took. Rather than risk exposure, the embezzler kills Victor and tries to make it look like an accident.”

  “Nice theory.” Gordon took a long swallow of the coffee. “Pretty close to one we considered ourselves. Problem is, there’s no proof.”

  “Is there money missing?”

  Still reluctant to share more than he had to with her, he gave a curt nod.

  “How much?”

  “How much does Sarah say she was paid?”

  When Liss told him, he looked thoughtful.

  “Well?”

  “We’ve still got people working on the books, and the bank records the board of directors supplied, but it looks like there should have been a lot more money in the Strathspey accounts, especially this late in a tour. As much as ten times what Victor paid Sarah.”

  Liss gave a low whistle of astonishment. “How could Victor not miss that much?” Then she answered her own question. “He was ill. It had to have started after he got sick. He had his own crazy bookkeeping system, but it passed muster for eight years. He couldn’t have been doing too much wrong.”

  “Drink up, Liss. Then go home. This is police business.”

  “In other words, butt out.” She sighed and reached for the coffee. She might just have to follow that advice. She was fresh out of bright ideas.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Fiona?” Liss called as she let herself into Aunt Margaret’s kitchen by way of the back door to the apartment.

  It was the first time she’d used that entrance in some time, since it could only be reached by climbing a flight of outside stairs. They were snow-covered and slippery in winter. They weren’t any prize today, what with the rain pouring down again. Mud season was in full swing.

  “Fiona? Emily? Winona? Anybody home?”

  “In here,” came Fiona’s muffled voice, and Liss followed the sound to the bedroom. “Hello, Liss. Winona is with Ray, making a check of all the equipment and costumes and props.”

  “I did see the bus parked in front of Dan’s house.” Liss felt dumb for not realizing what that meant. “And Emily?”

  “I think she’s trying to turn over a new leaf. She volunteered to help Winona. So, what brings you calling?”

  Fiona was packing, as Liss supposed many of the members of Strathspey were. They’d finally decided to move on. First thing tomorrow, Monday, they’d be on the road, making the eight-hour drive to Clifton Park, New York, for a performance that evening.

  “I’m at loose ends,” Liss admitted. “It’s Sunday, so the Emporium is closed. Sandy and Zara are so busy billing and cooing at each other that they barely know I exist, and Lee Annie . . .” She hesitated, not sure how much to tell Fiona.

  “It’s all right. She phoned me. She’s leaving the company at the end of the tour, just as I am. You’re going to have your work cut out for you, Liss, finding replacements.”

  “Uh, about that. Fiona, I lied to you. I don’t want Victor’s job. I won’t be applying for it. That was just a ploy to get a look at the company records. I thought I might find something that would help me figure out who killed him.”

  “I see.” A flash of annoyance crossed her face. “Did you?”

  “No.” Restless, Liss wandered the bedroom as Fiona continued to sort and fold the clothing she’d just laundered using Aunt Margaret’s washer and dryer. The desk beside the window was littered with paperwork, everything from the company’s schedule for the rest of the month to the rental contract for the car Fiona had been driving. She’d have to return it today, Liss supposed, glancing idly at the date at the top. She’d rented the car on March 8 and this was the sixteenth so she probably owed the rental company a pretty penny.

  “I don’t suppose I could convince you to change your mind?” Fiona said, emerging from the closet.

  “Not a chance. You could stay on as manager.”

  “Get stuck with the job, you mean? No, thanks.”

  “They need you, Fiona.”

  “Well, I don’t need them.” She had started to say more when they were interrupted by a knock at the back door. “Now what?”

  “Shall we go see?” The last thing Liss wanted was to quarrel with one of her old friends. “And while we’re in the kitchen, I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.”

  “Good idea,” Fiona said. “I baked bread this morning. I’ll slice it and we’ll have some toast and jam to go with it.”

  Beth Hogencamp stood on the small landing outside the back door. She was a picture of reluctance, head bowed, eyes on the ground, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she waited for someone to answer her knock. In one hand she clutched an envelope.

  She looked up when Liss opened the door and seemed surprised to see her. Her gaze darted to Fiona, then back to Liss. “I wrote the letter,” she announced.

  For a moment, Liss couldn’t think what on earth the girl meant.

  “What are you doing here?” Fiona looked up from the bread board, serrated knife in hand, scowling when she caught sight of Beth. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

  “I came to apologize!” Beth sounded defiant.

  Startled, Liss stepped back and let her in. What had happened to that shy little girl? Or was this just bravado? It took courage to admit to being wrong, to confess to bad behavior. Liss knew that from personal experience.

  Fiona snatched the envelope Beth held out to her, ripped it open, and read the letter inside. Then she swore ripely.

  “Fiona! Language!”

  “I’m sure she’s heard worse in the schoolyard. God, I hate children!”

  “Then why on earth are you planning to teach them?”

  As soon as Liss asked that question, it was as if something clicked in her brain. Pieces fell into place. Glaring inconsistencies stood out as if written in neon.

  Fiona was lying about her plan to open a dance school. Her obvious dislike of young people made that plain. She’d said she was going to teach dancing because it was a logical thing for a retired dancer to do, and retired dancers, unless they were independently wealthy, still needed to make a living.

  Fiona had a “nest egg.” She’d said so. And now Liss was pretty sure she knew where that money had come from.

  Fiona had not been taking a nap on the afternoon of the day Victor died.

  Something Dan had said days earlier came back to Liss in a rush. His sister, Mary, had made two trips to the cabins to ferry someone in the company into Fal
lstown proper. That had been Fiona. Both times. Because Liss had given Fiona Mary’s phone number herself. A specific volunteer had been assigned to each member of Strathspey staying at the cabins.

  As Liss’s thoughts tumbled, one after another, into a line that pointed straight to Fiona, a sense of despair settled over her. The other woman’s guilt suddenly seemed so obvious. Why had it taken her so long to notice all the clues?

  Fiona’s cabin had been in sight of the one that had been broken into. Had she used the other unit to bake the scones or had that been a red herring? More likely, Liss thought, she’d prepared them in her own oven, covering up the evidence by making spaghetti—with mushrooms in the sauce—the next day.

  But it was the date on the rental contract for the car that cinched Liss’s certainty. March 8 was the day of the performance, the day of Victor’s murder. Fiona had picked up the car on Saturday, not Sunday, giving her the mobility to carry out her scheme as well as a place to hide the mushroom-filled scones until she was ready to smuggle them into the kitchen at the Student Center.

  Shock left Liss reeling. She couldn’t stop herself from staring at Fiona, nor could she disguise the revulsion she felt.

  Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “You never could hide what you were thinking.”

  “Beth, get out of here!”

  “I don’t think so.” Fiona caught hold of the girl with one hand and grabbed the knife she’d been using to slice bread with the other. Before Liss could blink, the serrated blade was digging into Beth’s throat.

  “Fiona, you don’t want to do this.”

  “Do you expect me to go docilely off to jail? I did kill Victor, you know. But you’ve already figured that out, haven’t you?”

  “Fiona, you’ll only make things worse if you—”

  “Shut up.” The knife pierced Beth’s neck, drawing blood. The red seemed very bright against her pale skin and the yellow rain slicker she wore. Beth’s big brown eyes, wide with fear, silently pleaded with Liss to save her.

  “Okay. Okay. You’re right, Fiona. I guessed what really happened. But if you let Beth go and get in your rental car, I promise I won’t call the cops. I’ll make sure you have plenty of time to get away before I even hint that you’re missing.”