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. “Li
ss 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.”
“So Nola went in there after Jane was dead and stole her notes.” Liss’s brow furrowed. If Nola had done that, it had been after she knew Jane was dead, but it didn’t mean she had been the one who’d killed her. All it meant was that Nola had left other notes behind, notes relating to Jane’s story on Liss. Had that been deliberate? Had Nola hoped to focus suspicion on her old friend Margaret’s niece?
“Our working theory is that Nola Ventress pushed Jane Nedlinger off that cliff,” Gordon said.
“No,” Liss said. “No, I don’t buy it. How could Nola kill Jane? She was half her size.”
“The larger woman could have been off balance. In that case, a good shove wouldn’t necessarily take a lot of strength.”
“And what were they doing on the cliff side of the fence in the first place? Don’t tell me you think a little bit of a thing like Nola lifted Jane up and tossed her over!”
The three other people in the room were looking very interested in their conversation. Gordon sent Liss an exasperated look. “Lower your voice. I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s a preposterous idea, and you’re being pretty stingy with details. You know a great deal more than you’re sharing.”
“There’s a lot about this case that’s absurd,” he said, admitting nothing more.
That was certainly an understatement!
“Why did Jane go out to Lover’s Leap?” Liss asked. “Was she asked to meet someone there? Even if she was, why would she go? Only the heroines of Gothic novels are that foolish, running into the woods when anyone with any sense would hide under the bed. And if the old book covers are to be believed, they’re usually wearing flowing white nightgowns as they flee the looming castle in the background. Jane was dressed for a run.”
And if Jane had been a character in a Gothic novel, Liss decided, she would not have been the virginal heroine. She’d been more the sinister housekeeper type. The murderer, not the victim. She’d been a nasty piece of work, but she’d also seemed to be a sensible, organized sort of woman, one who undoubtedly knew she’d made enemies and would have been prepared to deal with them.
Who would she have agreed to meet there? A lover? Liss shook her head. In spite of Margaret’s story about Nola and Stu, a romantic or sexual rendezvous seemed unlikely. Liss knew she’d never agree to meet Dan out there, and she was crazy about him. Then again, Dan would never suggest such a stupid thing. When Liss tried to imagine Jane with a lover, planning to meet him in a remote spot after midnight, she just couldn’t picture it. Why bother when Jane had a perfectly good bedroom in the hotel?
“Jane may have been the one to suggest the meeting spot,” Gordon offered. Then he clammed up, reluctant to say more.
Liss hadn’t been serious when she’d quipped—had it only been yesterday?—that Jane might have gone to Lover’s Leap to collect a blackmail payment, but the more she thought about that scenario, the more plausible it seemed, especially when stacked against even less likely explanations. Jane had appeared to enjoy taunting her victims. Perhaps she’d chosen that spot for its intimidation factor.
Her silent ruminations seemed to annoy Gordon. “As you pointed out,” he said, “Jane Nedlinger was a large, imposing woman. If the person she planned to meet was much smaller, she may have felt she had no reason to fear for her own safety.”
“Fear,” Liss echoed. “Well, then, it couldn’t have been Nola. Nola was scared of the woods, day or night. She’d never have agreed to go up there after dark.”
“What about the notes under her mattress?”
“Were they about Nola?”
“No,” Gordon admitted. “I expect she destroyed any that were.”
But she’d kept Jane’s notes about other people, except for the ones that concerned Liss. She’d deliberately left those behind in Jane’s room for Gordon to find. What kind of sense did that make?
“At least you must have other suspects now. Besides me, and besides Nola, too. And at least now Moosetookalook won’t be fodder for Jane’s blog.” Frowning, Liss replayed what she’d just said to Gordon. “Wait a minute. You said notes. Didn’t Jane Nedlinger have a laptop in her room? I mean, she made her living writing a blog. Weren’t those notes—?”
“Electronic? No. Everything we found was handwritten. She did have a laptop and we confiscated it, but she hadn’t added anything to her files since before she arrived in Moosetookalook. Maybe she thought pen and paper were more secure. Less likely to be stolen, at any rate. That means Nola knew what to look for. What to take. She left the computer because she knew it wouldn’t have anything on it to incriminate her.”
“That implies she knew Jane well. I don’t think they ever met before Thursday evening.”
“Is that what Nola told you?”
To herself, Liss conceded that Nola might have lied. She’d certainly been up to something if she’d searched Jane’s room. But murder Jane? That was still hard to believe, especially given Nola’s physical size and her phobia. Unless she’d been lying about that, too.
“This is all very confusing,” Liss admitted aloud.
“Tell me about it.”
“But you said murder/suicide. You think Nola killed herself. Why? Even if she did murder Jane, she must have thought she got away with it.”
&nb
sp; He shrugged. “Maybe she couldn’t live with the guilt. We’re still working on it, Liss. Give us a little time and we’ll tie up all the loose ends.”
But Liss shook her head. “Nola’s death was not suicide. The First Annual Maine-ly Cozy Con was her brainchild. Her baby. She’d have wanted to participate in every moment of it. If she was going to kill herself—and I’m not convinced she was, or that she was responsible for Jane’s death—then she’d at least have waited until after the conference was over.”
“Murder/suicide makes more sense than double murder.”
“I didn’t know Nola well enough to say what she was capable of, but I do know how much this conference meant to her. Unless she thought you were close to arresting her ... ?” He shook his head in the negative. “Then she’d never have taken a leap off that cliff earlier than late Sunday afternoon, after the closing ceremonies.”
“I’ll take your opinion into consideration.” Without giving her the chance to say more, Gordon took her arm and led her back to the others.
When she’d once more been swallowed whole by the wing chair, Gordon’s associate turned the recorder on and Gordon repeated the same questions he’d asked her earlier in the day. Liss gave him the same answers. He added a few new ones, most of them regarding Nola and her interaction with various attendees at the conference.
“If you want to talk to any of the Cozy Con people,” Liss pointed out after she’d replied, “you’ll have to do it soon. Another twenty-four hours and they’ll be scattered all over Maine and beyond.”
“I know my job.” Gordon sounded testy. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do it.”
“I’ll see to it that she stays out of your way,” Dan said, speaking for the first time since he’d insisted on sitting in on the interrogation.
Liss glared at him. She had no plans to interfere in Gordon’s investigation, but she didn’t like Dan answering for her.
“Just clear things up quickly, Tandy,” Dan continued, his stance as aggressive as that of a guard dog defending his territory. “That’s all I ask. The longer this goes on, the worse it is for everyone in the community.”
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