Ho-Ho-Homicide (A Liss MacCrimmon Mystery Book 8)

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  This time she introduced herself properly. He asked for proof. She pulled out her ID and badge. He studied both for an insultingly long time.

  “What do you want?” The question was his only acknowledgment that he believed she was who she said she was.

  When in doubt, Sherri thought, fudge. “As you know, my husband and I are friends with the Ruskins, but I have another reason for being in New Boston at this time. What do you know about a young woman named Katherine Sloan? She goes by the nickname Kitty.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “She was arrested a couple of years back for soliciting.”

  Purvey’s thin eyebrows lifted a smidgen. “She’s a prostitute?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to determine.”

  In court the first time, Kitty had argued that she’d been drunk and accepted a dare. She’d made an indecent proposal to a stranger who’d turned out to be an off-duty police officer. She’d made the whole thing sound like a silly college prank. The judge had been skeptical about her claims but had sentenced her to probation. The second time she’d been charged with soliciting, she’d spent time in jail.

  “I don’t know what kind of crime you deal with in Moosetookalook,” Purvey said, “but we do not tolerate that sort of thing here in New Boston.”

  “I’m sure you don’t, once you know about it. The whole point of an illegal operation is to keep it secret from local law enforcement.”

  “You’re saying there’s prostitution in my town?” The tiniest bit of red tinged his cheeks. “And just how would you come to hear about something like that?”

  “I’m afraid that’s privileged information at present. What I can tell you is that Kitty Sloan spends a lot of her time at the dance studio over on Commercial Street. It’s possible she works there. Do you know the place?”

  “I’ve passed by. I’ve never had occasion to visit the premises.”

  “Have you ever had any complaints about late-night activities?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I understand Ms. Cressy does meet some male customers after hours.”

  “She gives private dance lessons.”

  Interesting that he knew that, Sherri thought, since he claimed he’d never done anything more than “pass by” Dance-Ex. When she put his evasiveness together with the things Mike Jennings had said to Pete years ago and with the bits of gossip she’d picked up on the police Listservs, she had to struggle to hide her disgust. In her book, there were few things worse than a crooked cop. She had no respect for a chief of police who’d ignore a flagrant violation of the law when it took place right under his nose. If he turned a blind eye when it came to prostitution, what else was he capable of overlooking?

  “If this Kitty Sloan has committed a crime in my town, rest assured I will deal with her.” Purvey’s sibilant whisper made Sherri think of every bad vampire movie she’d ever seen. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing. I promise you, the wrong sort of person doesn’t last long in New Boston.”

  Sherri was so incensed by his condescending manner that she almost missed the implied threat in his words. Everything he said in that whispery voice was creepy, but she was suddenly intensely aware that she was alone with him, late at night, in an otherwise deserted police station.

  You’re a trained police officer, she reminded herself.

  She might be small in stature, but she knew how to defend herself. She’d been taught how to avoid being seriously hurt in a face-off against a belligerent, intoxicated man twice her weight and strength and how to take him down. Pete had added a few more moves to her repertoire, unsanctioned but effective. Sherri wasn’t as religious as Liss was about her physical conditioning, but she wasn’t out of shape, either. Purvey was. Unless he pulled a gun on her, she had the advantage, and since they were still in the lobby of the PD, she was only a few steps from the door.

  Seeing no sense in taking unnecessary chances, she left.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Thursday morning, Liss was up early. For a change, she had slept well and, having turned in before ten, had managed more than the eight-hour minimum she needed to function at full capacity. Dan was stirring but was not yet coherent when she slipped her feet into her pull-up boots—she’d forgotten to pack bedroom slippers, and the floors were ice cold—and headed for the downstairs bath.

  She hummed off-key as she started the coffee brewing. She was pouring herself the first steaming cup, inhaling the delicious smell and thinking that there was no more perfect drink to start the day, when Sherri joined her in the kitchen.

  “You’re cheerful this morning,” Sherri said.

  Liss took a closer look at her friend. “So are you. Is that cat-ate-the-canary smile Pete’s doing?”

  “Not this time.” Sherri chuckled. “In fact, Pete knows nothing about what I was up to last night.” She poured herself a glass of juice and sat down next to Liss.

  “What did I miss?”

  Sherri told her what she’d seen at the dance studio. “I think Juliette’s selling sex on the side. And if she’s employing Kitty Sloan, then she’s a madam, as well as a prostitute.”

  “That’s an awfully big leap.”

  “Not really. Young Kitty was arrested a couple of years back for soliciting. Looks to me like she’s continuing on that same career path.”

  “If you’re right, why haven’t they been arrested?”

  “My hunch is that Wyatt Purvey doesn’t want to know what’s going on. It’s supposed to be a victimless crime, after all. Some people don’t see the harm in it. Purvey may prefer to let her keep on breaking the law rather than put up with the publicity busting her would generate.” She took a long swallow of orange juice. “Or she could be paying him to look the other way.”

  From the jumble of thoughts in her brain, Liss plucked one. “Rowena doesn’t know. She thinks Simeon Snowe went to her daughter to learn to dance.”

  “I don’t imagine either Juliette or Snowe wanted her to find out the truth.” Sherri leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “But I haven’t gotten to the best part of the story yet. After I saw Juliette and Kitty, I had a little chat with Wyatt Purvey himself. He threatened me.”

  “And you’re happy about that?” Liss tried to imagine sitting there, calmly sipping her juice, if she’d been the one in Purvey’s sights.

  “I thought about it most of the night,” Sherri said. “His reaction screams guilty conscience, and I don’t just mean over Juliette’s sideline. As much as I hate the idea that someone in law enforcement could turn out to be a killer, Wyatt Purvey meets all the requirements. He had motive, means, and opportunity, especially motive, to kill our John Doe.”

  “What motive?” Bewildered, Liss emptied her cup in three big gulps, but the caffeine didn’t help. Sherri’s logic still eluded her.

  “He’s obsessed with keeping what he calls ‘the wrong sort of person’ out of New Boston. I don’t know exactly what threat John Doe posed, but I think Purvey saw him as one and got rid of him.”

  “Then you ought to be quaking in your boots.”

  Sherri waved off the warning and got up for a refill.

  “Have you been listening to yourself? I don’t like Wyatt Purvey any more than you do, but murder?”

  In the distance, the stairwell door opened and closed. Liss heard Pete’s voice and then Dan’s. Sherri touched Liss’s shoulder. “I’m not ready to share my thinking with Pete yet.”

  “Fine with me.” Talk about dreaming up far-fetched scenarios! Liss wasn’t at all sure Sherri was right about Juliette and Kitty, let alone the chief of police.

  It wasn’t until after breakfast that the two women had another chance to talk in private. On the theory that they’d head home as soon as Gina’s package arrived, Liss decided to strip the beds and wash the sheets before they left. She was upstairs, hauling the covers off the bed Sherri and Pete had used, when Sherri joined her.

  “I don’t know about this theory of
yours.” Liss tugged the fitted sheet away from the corner of the mattress. “Maybe I can see Purvey killing John Doe, but why would he put him through the netter?”

  “To muddy the waters. Make it harder to figure out why he was killed.” Sherri grabbed a pillow and divested it of its case.

  “And Snowe? Did Purvey kill him, too?”

  “He must have. Maybe Snowe saw him with the body. Purvey was in an ideal position to misdirect the search parties. He must have thought he was in the clear until you and Dan turned up.”

  “All we did was ask a couple of questions.” She reached for the other pillow.

  “But you’re staying here. You might have stumbled across . . . something.”

  “Like a body?”

  “Or some incriminating information Snowe hid in the house. Who knows? But Purvey wanted you gone. When causing Dan’s fall backfired and you stayed on, he set the fire.”

  Abandoning the sheets and pillowcases in a pile on the floor, Liss crossed the room to the window that overlooked the Christmas tree farm. The morning sun cast the blackened ruins of the maze in a harsh light. The recent snowfall was only a memory now. Every trace of it had melted away.

  “Snow,” Liss murmured.

  What was it Andy had said? There had been an early snowstorm right after Simeon Snowe disappeared. The search had been suspended until the weather cleared. When it resumed, the ground would have been covered with a blanket of white.

  Sherri came up beside her. “What are you thinking?”

  Liss shook her head.

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be any crazier than my theory.”

  “Well, that’s true.”

  Sherri punched her—lightly—on the arm. “Come on. Give.”

  “What if the reason the search parties didn’t find Snowe above ground was that he was already dead and buried?”

  Sherri followed the direction of Liss’s gaze. “In the maze?”

  “Andy told us that Snowe was constantly moving trees around. That would have made it easier to dig in that area and would have helped hide a burial, too. Then add snow on top and who would think to look for him there?”

  Now it was Sherri’s turn to be skeptical. “If he’s buried there, it would be pretty stupid to set fire to the maze. Why call attention to that one section of the tree farm?”

  “What if he thought everything would burn, not just the maze?” Liss rubbed her forehead, where an ache was beginning to build. None of this made any real sense.

  “I wonder if they used dogs in the search,” Sherri mused.

  “Rescue dogs?”

  “Or cadaver dogs. But I bet they didn’t bring in either, especially if someone involved in organizing the search didn’t want Snowe to be found.”

  “Wyatt Purvey? Sherri, you’re developing a fixation with the man.”

  Sherri ignored the comment. “It won’t do any good to share our suspicions with the local PD, not with Purvey in charge, but I wonder if the fire marshal knew about Snowe’s disappearance. Being chief of the Moosetookalook Police Department may not be all that impressive as far as credentials go, but maybe it will be enough to convince him to give me a few minutes of his time. With any luck, he’ll start the ball rolling for someone on the state level to come out here and do some serious excavation.” Sherri already had her cell phone out and was punching in numbers. “It’s either that or do the digging ourselves.”

  “You’re forgetting that Dan wants to leave this afternoon. And doesn’t Pete go on duty at midnight?”

  Sherri finished entering the phone number.

  Liss left her to it, carrying away the sheets and pillowcases to add to those from the downstairs bedroom. The last thing she wanted was to be the one to find the body.

  “I’m not real sure about this,” Liss said.

  Sherri made an exasperated sound. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I’m still not convinced you’re right about Juliette’s sideline, but it’s going to be awkward to have that possibility in my head and behave normally around Kitty and Juliette and, most of all, Juliette’s mother.”

  “Will you get in there! You’re already running late. That should be sufficient reason to explain why you look flustered.”

  Liss grumbled but got out of Sherri’s car and crossed the street to Dance-Ex. Sherri watched until she was inside before setting off on foot.

  It had been an interesting morning so far. The fire marshal had not been particularly interested in what she had to say, and when she’d brought Pete up to date, his reaction hadn’t been encouraging, either. When Dan reminded Liss of her aerobics class, Sherri had seized on the excuse to go into town.

  There was something rotten in New Boston. As long as she was here, anyway, she was determined to dig deeper into Wyatt Purvey’s failings as chief of police. The logical place to start seemed to be John Doe’s appearance in town a little over seven years earlier, and since Andy Dutton had never been shown the victim’s picture, Sherri suspected that there were others who’d missed seeing it, too. Among them there might be someone who had actually encountered the man before he was killed. If she was really lucky, that hypothetical someone had seen John Doe in the company of Wyatt Purvey.

  It was a long shot, but since Sherri didn’t have any better ideas, she armed herself with a fresh printout of the sketch of John Doe’s face and began to canvass the neighborhood.

  Across the street and two doors down from Dance-Ex, the owner of a small antiquarian bookshop, Eloise Crandall, was happy to talk to her. “Never saw him before in my life.” The elderly woman peered at the sketch through tiny wire-rimmed spectacles. “Cheating on his wife, is he?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “He looks the sort. Men! Can’t trust them as far as you can throw them.”

  “He was in the area about seven years ago.”

  “Heeresboro? That’s a good eighty miles from here. What was he doing in New Boston?” Despite a prominent hearing aid in each ear, she had apparently missed most of what Sherri said and had put her own interpretation on the rest.

  Eloise adjusted her glasses until they perched on the very tip of her snub nose and took another look at the picture of John Doe. “That’s the face of a man who’d sneak around in the middle of the night.”

  Sherri reached for the sketch, but the older woman eluded her with a deftness that belied her age. She carried it to the window, where the light was better.

  “Definitely a wrong ’un.” She jerked her head in the direction of Dance-Ex. “Is he one of her customers?”

  Sherri stifled a chuckle. She made sure Eloise was looking at her, then spoke loudly and with careful enunciation. “You tell me.”

  “Ha! I bet he is.”

  “But you don’t recognize him?”

  “How could I? They come and go in the dark. Every half hour some nights. I live above my shop. I’ve seen them.”

  “She gives private ballroom dancing lessons.”

  “Lessons, is it?” Her laugh crackled like old parchment.

  “Have you reported these goings-on to the police?” Sherri asked.

  “Fleece? What fleece?” The twinkle in her faded blue eyes told Sherri the score. Eloise enjoyed being privy to scandalous goings-on at the dance studio. She had no interest in putting a stop to something so entertaining.

  Sherri moved on to the next business on the block. In the course of half an hour, she showed the sketch to a dozen people with no results. When she asked if they’d noticed any unusual nocturnal activities in the area, she sometimes saw a flicker of unease in an expression, but no one admitted to knowing what she was talking about.

  Once she turned the corner of Commercial Street onto Main, she no longer had a line of sight that included the dance studio. She continued on, showing the sketch and coming up empty. Only once did someone refuse to talk to her. The proprietor of an old-fashioned barbershop took one glance at John Doe’s picture and told Sherri to get out. She felt his gaze follow her all the way
to the computer repair shop on the opposite side of Main Street.

  The owner was a cheery little man as round as he was tall and as bald as an egg. He introduced himself as Bucky Hogarth—she could guess the reason for his nickname when his broad smile gave her a glimpse of his teeth—but he didn’t recognize the man in the sketch.

  “He would have visited New Boston about seven years ago,” Sherri said.

  “Ah, well, I’ve been here for five. Before that I was running the business out of my house in Doddridge, the next town over. I was barely making ends meet. Now I drive twenty miles each way, but New Boston has a decent population base, enough to keep me in business.”

  “If you don’t live in New Boston, I don’t suppose you know your neighbors all that well.”

  “I beg to differ. I know everybody in the area. They’re all computerized these days, aren’t they? Who do you think installed those systems for them?”

  “So, you know Juliette Cressy?” she asked. “And her mother?” she added as an afterthought. Bucky looked to be more of age with Rowena than her daughter.

  “Of course I do. Lovely woman, Rowena. No mystery why she’s been married so many times. Five,” he added before Sherri could ask.

  “Five husbands? What did she do to them all?”

  He let out a whoop of laughter. “She’s no black widow, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “What happened to her husbands, then? Divorce?”

  “First one was a soldier. Killed overseas. Second one was an older guy. Rich, though. Juliette’s father. He left money for his kid in a trust fund, and when she was old enough, she used some of it to start her business.”

  “And the other three husbands?”

  “Let me see.” Bushy eyebrows knit together as he considered the question. “I have trouble keeping them straight. I think number three was a construction worker. She divorced him. Number four ran a local dry cleaning service. He was sickly—probably all those dry cleaning fumes—and lasted only a year or so before he croaked. That last husband, though . . . I remember him. He was a real stinker, not worthy of her at all. Abandoned the poor woman just because he found out she wasn’t as well off as he thought she was when he married her.”