Not a picture she’d wanted to imagine, Liss thought, but Dan’s blunt words had the desired effect on Ned. “Sorry, Liss,” he mumbled, studying the floor.
“You didn’t know.”
Ned shifted his gaze to her face, trying his best to ignore Dan. “Thing is, we can’t let Mother down. She’s counting on us to keep the business solvent. There are going to be big profits today. Always are on the Sunday of the Highland Games. We can’t afford to sacrifice those.”
“Maybe I should call Aunt Margaret and find out what she wants me to do.”
“No! Don’t do that!” Ned’s voice rose in alarm. “Why upset her? Just go to the games and open the damned booth.”
“If you feel so strongly about it, why don’t you do it?”
Dan’s suggestion earned him glares from both Liss and Ned. Then Ned laughed. “Sorry, folks. It would go against my principles. I’ve said for years that the only Scottish import I want anything to do with comes in a bottle.”
Liss rolled her eyes heavenward. What an asinine remark! Sometimes Ned sounded more like a spoiled frat boy than a grown man of thirty-one.
“I’ll open the booth,” she said, ending the discussion,
“but I may not stay open all day. If things get to be too much, I’ll close early.”
Ned’s relief was almost palpable. “Excellent! And don’t you worry about breaking the news to Mother. I’ll take responsibility for contacting her.”
Liss told herself she should feel relieved. She had no idea what to say to her aunt. But she wasn’t sure she trusted Ned to be accurate. As soon as she moved back into the apartment and reopened the shop, Liss decided, and had made certain nothing was missing from either, she’d call Aunt Margaret herself.
Chapter Six
Dan hadn’t been to the Highland Games for years and wasn’t all that excited about the prospect. The skirling of bagpipes didn’t do a thing for him and he wasn’t fond of crowds. But when he saw the light come back into Liss’s eyes, watched her smile in spite of the ordeal ahead, he was glad he’d accompanied her from Moosetookalook.
They went in by way of the back gate, waved through by one of the security guards hired for the event. Liss drove straight to the booth Margaret Boyd had leased and parked behind it. Sherri’s truck was already there.
Liss’s joy faded. The two women got out and stared at each other. For a minute, Dan didn’t know what to expect. Then they flew into each other’s arms, hugged, cried a little, and engaged in a murmured exchange he didn’t even try to interpret. He stayed by the car, well out of the way, until they broke apart.
While Liss dashed moisture from her face and blew her nose, Sherri gave the tent a hard look. “Well. So. Set up or tear down?”
Liss hesitated. “Ned thinks we should stay open. He reminded me that the rule of thumb in my world is ‘the show must go on.’ So we open. But it seems in bad taste to pretend nothing has happened.”
“Most people won’t have heard a thing about it.” Sherri managed an encouraging smile. “They come from all over northern New England. They aren’t interested in local news.”
“It won’t have made the Sunday papers, and this is the day most people sleep in. Chances are, they’ll have missed the early broadcasts.” Dan wasn’t sure why he was backing Sherri up. Chances were also good that the news of Mrs. Norris’s death had spread by other means.
“Besides, CNN rarely shows up this far north in Maine. They think the state stops a mile north of Kennebunkport.”
It was an old chestnut, but Sherri’s straight-faced delivery sparked a flicker of amusement in Liss’s eyes and persuaded her to give the go-ahead to start unloading the stock she’d stored overnight in her car. When Dan’s part in that was finished, Liss sent him off to buy scones.
“Terrible thing,” said the scone-maker, who baked them fresh all day in a portable oven. Dan saw by the sign on her tent that she came from nearby Waycross Springs. As he’d expected, the Carrabassett County grapevine had been working overtime.
“Yes,” he agreed, and placed his order.
“Heard Liss MacCrimmon was the one who found Mrs. Norris.”
So much for the police keeping details quiet.
“She was here yesterday,” the scone-maker continued. “Mrs. Norris. Saw her over there”—She nodded toward the Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium tent—“talking to Liss.”
Turning, Dan realized that the vendors could watch a good deal of what happened at the other booths, if they weren’t too busy with their own customers to take notice. The scone-maker might not know just who he was, but she’d seen him arrive with Liss and help Liss and Sherri open the booth. That made him a prime target to pump for information.
“Had what looked to be a real intense conversation.”
Dan ignored the blatant invitation to gossip. He had no idea what Liss and Mrs. Norris had talked about the previous day. Liss had mentioned seeing the older woman but not that it had been at the Highland Games. He paid for the scones, wished the baker a profitable day, and headed back across the midway.
Liss fell on the flaky pastries with murmurs of delight. “Comfort food!”
“Anything else I can do to help?”
“Ever work a cash register?” Two small ones had been set up and money transferred to them from the cash box Liss had insisted upon taking with her when she left the shop the previous night.
“Guess it couldn’t hurt to learn.”
“Good.” The warmth in Liss’s expression caught Dan by surprise.
“Brace yourself,” Sherri warned as a distant fanfare sounded. “The gates just opened.”
Customers descended in droves. For the next hour, Dan barely had time to draw breath. To his great relief, no one mentioned Mrs. Norris’s death. He was just beginning to relax, in spite of the hectic pace and noisy crowd, when Sherri made a strangled sound. A familiar figure in blaze orange bore down on them—Ernie Willett, Sherri’s father.
Willett shoved a woman customer out of his way without appearing to notice he’d done so. He glared at his daughter. “Are you crazy, working for these people?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Lucky you’re still alive!”
“Mr. Willett, please—”
Willett cut Liss off with an impatient gesture. “You stay out of this, missy. I’m talking to my girl here.”
Bright red flags flew on Sherri’s cheeks as she faced her father. “Why now, when you haven’t spoken to me for almost three years? What do you really want?”
“Maybe I’m worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why? I’ll tell you why! A woman was killed in that shop. Could have been you.”
Dan rounded the display table and caught Willett’s arm, hoping to steer him away from the booth before his bellowing attracted any more unwelcome attention. “Settle down, Willett. There’s no need to make a scene.”
Willett jerked free, his gimlet-eyed gaze never leaving Sherri’s face. “I hear it was Amanda Norris got herself killed. Nosy old busybody. Not surprised somebody bumped her off. But it could have been you, girl.” He pointed one arthritis-riddled finger at her. “By rights, it should have been Margaret Boyd.”
Liss gasped.
Dan stopped trying to use reason. He seized Willett by the shoulders and spun him around. “That’s enough! You leave now or I call security to escort you off the fairgrounds.” He’d have attempted it on his own except for the certainty that they’d end up in an undignified wrestling match. Dan wasn’t even sure he could best the older man. Willett had a wiry strength and the stubbornness of a mule.
Liss had retrieved a cell phone from her purse. The woman at the scone booth was already talking into hers. No fool, even if he was hot tempered, Willett went still. Cautiously, Dan let go of him.
Willett straightened his vest, thrust out his chin, and stomped off. A smattering of customers watched him go, returning their attention to the wares offered by Moosetookalook Scotti
sh Emporium only after he’d disappeared into the crowd.
“So much for most people not knowing what happened,” Liss murmured.
As the day wore on, Liss was too busy to worry about the chaos awaiting her when she returned to Moosetookalook. Only stray concerns crept in. She had to make sure Ned had called his mother. She had to find someplace to store anything they didn’t sell today. She had to ask someone when she would be allowed back into the apartment and shop. But overall, the business of selling kept her mind off less pleasant topics.
During one lull it occurred to her to wonder why Detective LaVerdiere hadn’t asked her for an inventory of merchandise. She’d told him that as far as she knew nothing was missing, but he hadn’t followed up on that angle. She froze in the act of folding cashmere shawls a browser had left in disarray. Maybe he hadn’t bothered because he really did believe she was the one who’d killed Aunt Margaret’s long-time neighbor.
You had no motive, Liss reminded herself, falling back on her reading of detective stories for reassurance. Opportunity, yes. Means, yes. But no reason to harm Mrs. Norris.
She was surprised to find her hands clenching the soft fabric, twisting it out of shape. They were not quite steady as she smoothed the cashmere flat again and finished restoring the display to order.
She looked up to see Barbara, the woman who wanted Aunt Margaret to make a kilt for her, sidle up to the booth. There was an anxious expression on her face. Jason Graye didn’t appear to be with her, but Liss had a feeling he wasn’t far away.
“Did you bring the material?” Barbara asked.
Liss swallowed as her stomach knotted. She didn’t want to remember the last time she’d seen that particular bolt of cloth. “I’m sorry. We had some trouble at the store yesterday while it was closed.”
“That’s too bad,” Barbara said, “but what does it have to do with my kilt?”
“I’m not allowed to remove anything from the shop until the police have finished investigating.” Liss wasn’t certain what that involved, although she was pretty sure television’s version of crime scene investigations was flawed. Screenwriters almost never got the details right.
Barbara’s brow creased, and then alarm overspread her features. “Just what kind of trouble did you have?”
Graye came up behind his lady friend, a smirk on his face. “A murder, it seems. I’ve been hearing all about it. It’s the talk of the fairgrounds, Barbara. I guess you won’t be getting that kilt after all.”
Liss cleared her throat. “There need be no more than a slight delay. After all, construction on the kilt couldn’t have begun until my aunt’s return from Scotland in any case.”
She fought the urge to tell Jason Graye to take a hike. She was determined to complete this sale. If Aunt Margaret needed money as badly as Dan seemed to think, the least Liss could do for the cause was endure a few minutes with an obnoxious customer.
“How did she die?” Graye asked. “Shot? Strangled? Stabbed?”
Repulsed by the avid curiosity in his eyes, Liss took a step away from him. She realized she had no idea what to say. He already knew it was murder. LaVerdiere hadn’t specifically ordered her not to discuss what had happened. But Liss had no wish to dwell on the horrible discovery she’d made in the stockroom. She didn’t even want to think about what she’d seen, let alone describe it.
“Talk to Detective LaVerdiere.” Dan came up beside Liss, six feet two inches of protective male. “He’s the one in charge of the case.”
Liss clenched her fists at her sides. She didn’t need Dan rushing to the rescue. She was perfectly capable of handling a boor like Jason Graye.
Let it go, she warned herself. Dan’s one of the good guys. He’d stepped in earlier, too, when Ernie Willett’s diatribe had threatened to disrupt things.
Liss squared her shoulders and met Graye’s sneer with a cold stare. “What you don’t seem to realize is that the woman who died was someone I’ve known all my life. We are all deeply upset by her loss.”
“Yeah. I can see that. So upset that you rushed right out here to open up for business.”
Stricken, Liss had difficulty keeping her voice level. “We had a commitment to keep, Mr. Graye.” And an obligation to the living, as Ned had said.
“Come on, Jase.” Barbara tugged at his sleeve. “I want to go home.”
“Yeah, yeah.” As he had the previous day, he let her lead him away, but he was no happier about it than he had been the first time.
Liss breathed a sigh of relief when the two of them had gone, but the respite didn’t last long. Another customer had overheard the entire exchange.
“Murder?” He gulped audibly, goggling at Liss with a look of alarm on his face.
Liss stared back, thinking he looked familiar. Then she remembered. He’d debated a long time over the purchase he’d made yesterday, using his indecision as an excuse to flirt with Sherri. She was probably the sole reason he’d come back today.
“Is there something I, or my assistant, can show you?” Liss asked.
“Naw. I just, uh—never mind.” And he took off, almost running.
Dan watched him go, shaking his head. “Guess we’ve lost that sale.”
She forced a smile. There were other customers waiting. “No big deal. I just remembered what he bought when he was here the last time. It was a bumper sticker, the least expensive item in the entire inventory.”
By the time the Highland Games closed to the stirring sounds of the massed bands, there was only enough merchandise left to fill the back of Liss’s car. She felt a pleasant glow of satisfaction at the success of the day.
“Happy with the receipts?” Dan asked as they headed for Moosetookalook.
“Astonished would be more like it. Except for the kilts, just about everything sold.” Of all the shawls and skirts and ties, the pins and figurines, only a few of each item remained. They’d unloaded all the refrigerator magnets and most of the bumper stickers and even sold a couple of the “Learn to Play the Bagpipe” kits that included practice chanters and instruction books.
Liss drove in silence for a bit, through the familiar hilly landscape dotted with dairy farms, apple orchards, and the occasional disreputable-looking trailer. “I just wish I’d been able to talk to Aunt Margaret before we made the decision to open the booth.”
“It wouldn’t have done anyone any good to hang around the house all day.”
“I could have gone with you to The Spruces.”
“You got any construction experience?”
“I wield a pretty mean hammer backstage. We built our own sets, you know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And I’d like to show you the place.”
As he talked about his father’s plans for the old hotel, Liss let the words wash over her. She found his voice oddly soothing. In fact, having him around all day had been a pleasure. His presence steadied her.
Warning bells went off at the thought. It wouldn’t do to become dependent on Dan Ruskin. And she sure wasn’t looking for romance. Not now, when so much was undecided.
She stole a glance at him and felt an instant tug of attraction. Liss frowned. Where had that come from all of a sudden? And what was she going to do about it? She hadn’t come to any conclusions by the time she pulled into Dan’s driveway.
“LaVerdiere.” Dan made the name sound like a curse.
Startled, Liss followed the direction of his glower. The detective was just getting out of an unmarked car parked in front of Dan’s house. With a growing sense of dread, she watched him approach.
“Ms. MacCrimmon, we need to talk.” LaVerdiere opened the car door for her and waited for her to get out.
“Let’s take this inside.” Dan didn’t look as if he really wanted the state police detective in his home, but there was still one news van parked in front of Aunt Margaret’s shop and who knew how many eyes were watching from windows around the town square.
Two officers followed them across the front porch and into the li
ving room, LaVerdiere and a state trooper carrying what turned out to be a fingerprint kit. Liss submitted to the process without comment, as did Dan. It made sense the police would need to eliminate the prints of people who’d had a reason to be in the building.
The ink had a distinctive smell to it. So did the wipes she was offered to clean the black smudges off her fingers. Liss kept scrubbing long after every trace was gone.
“I’d like to hear your story again, Ms. MacCrimmon.” LaVerdiere ordered his assistant to take notes.
“Do you badger everyone this way?” Dan asked him.
“As a matter of fact, yes. And you can both expect to be questioned at least once more by another officer.”
There wasn’t much they could say to that. Dan reminded Liss that she didn’t have to talk to LaVerdiere, but she saw no point in putting it off. She just wanted to get this nightmare over with.
This time they sat on Dan’s sofa instead of Aunt Margaret’s, but the questions were the same. For almost an hour, LaVerdiere took Liss through the statement she’d made the previous evening. Sustained by the coffee and sandwiches Dan provided, she gritted her teeth and tried to remember everything she could, everything that might help them find out who had killed Mrs. Norris.
“You’re sure that’s the way it happened?”
“As sure as I was the last hundred times you asked that question.”
He waited.
“Yes, Detective LaVerdiere, I am certain that’s the way it happened. Is that all?”
“Not quite.”
She repressed a groan when he produced several typed pages and skimmed through the contents. Inventory? That was Liss’s guess.
“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Norris alive?” he asked.
She blinked in surprise, having expected a question about the contents of the stockroom or the value of items in the locked display cases. “I saw her the afternoon I arrived. Oh, and at the Highland Games, for just a few minutes.”
Kilt Dead Page 7
