Kilt Dead

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “Then let’s hope one of the other neighbors saw something.” He pushed away from the railing and offered her his hand.

  Dan’s next-door neighbor to the east, on the corner of Birch and Main, was John Farley, an accountant who specialized in preparing income taxes. He used two rooms on the first floor of his house as an office but this was the wrong season for him to be in it much. He agreed Mrs. Norris should be given a memorial service and promised to attend, but he hadn’t been open on Saturday. He hadn’t even been home.

  “The wife and I went to her sister’s for the day. When we got back, there were about a dozen police cars over at the Emporium.” He shook his head. “Damned shame. Amanda Norris was a good woman. Interrupted a robbery, you think?”

  “The police aren’t saying,” Dan said.

  Patsy’s Coffee House stood just across Main Street. Inside, a small seating area flanked the sales counter. Chalkboards advertised coffee blends by the cup and by the pound, ground to order, along with homemade donuts and pastries. It was a far cry from Starbucks, but it had a certain homey charm and it smelled wonderful. Dan requested “the usual,” which turned out to be coffee and two Boston Creme donuts.

  “How about you, Liss?” asked Patsy, the pale, thin fifty-something owner, who did all the baking. “The sticky buns are wicked good.”

  Liss couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t heard that expression since she’d left Maine. “Wicked good, are they? Then I guess I can’t resist.”

  “Sit a spell, Patsy,” Dan invited when she brought their order. For the moment, there were no other customers.

  Unfortunately, the only unusual event she’d noticed on Saturday had been Jeff Thibodeau’s headlong dash across the town square.

  The municipal building was next door to Patsy’s. “Everything was closed on Saturday except the police station, and that’s at the back of the building. Jeff wouldn’t have seen a thing.”

  “Onward, then.” She checked at a sign that read “Angie’s Books” on the porch of the house at the corner of Main and Ash. “That used to be Cecil Morgan’s place.”

  “He moved away about five years back. The bookstore will be closed, since this is Monday, but Angie will be home. Angie Hogencamp. She’s got two young kids.”

  “What does she do with them when the shop is open?”

  “They ‘help’ her with the business.” Dan grinned. “As long as she keeps everything that’s breakable on high shelves, it works out fine.”

  Liss got only a glimpse of the shop on the lower level of the house as Angie, who lived upstairs with her family, led them through to the kitchen. The former living and dining rooms had been turned into a new and used bookstore crammed with bookshelves and knick-knacks that were also for sale.

  “Coffee?” she asked. “I just put on a fresh pot.”

  Liss accepted to be courteous but passed on the coffee cake. Dan devoured both. The man seemed to have a hollow leg. She didn’t know where else the food could be going.

  “Such a shame about Mrs. Norris.” Angie’s eyes were the big brown variety that always looked a little sad, but she seemed sincere in her sentiments. “She was an old busybody, but she was nice about it,” she added with a self-conscious little laugh. “I mean, you knew she was prying into things that were none of her business, but she was so sweet about it, so sympathetic when sympathy was called for, that before you knew it you were telling her your deepest, darkest secrets.”

  “You didn’t worry about her repeating things you told her?”

  “Oh, no. She’d gossip, sure, but she never passed on anything that really mattered.” A frown creased her brow. “She’d hint, once in a while. Like she knew something really juicy but she wasn’t going to tell.” Her expression cleared. “Well, she was old. I suppose she had to have something to amuse herself with.”

  Liss and Dan exchanged a look, but neither made any comment.

  After a moment, during which Liss could hear the quiet murmur of children’s voices from another room, Angie started talking on her own. “It was such a quiet day on Saturday, or so everyone says. It seems impossible that some stranger could have walked into the Emporium and committed murder.”

  “You didn’t notice anything unusual? No one hanging around Aunt Margaret’s shop?”

  “No. Not that I was looking. It wasn’t just a quiet day, it was dead.” She flushed as she realized what she’d said. “Slow, I mean. My son took a nap that lasted most of the afternoon and I spent the time restocking shelves. I don’t suppose I glanced through the window more than once or twice.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone?”

  “Well, there was old Lenny Peet, walking his dog. I swear, that dog’s got to be as old as he is, but they’re out there every day, taking their exercise.”

  “Regular schedule, huh?” Liss asked, hoping she sounded casual. “Like clockwork?”

  “Well, no, he’s not quite that much a creature of habit, but close. Early morning. Late afternoon. Speaking of clocks.” She turned her attention on Dan. “You willing to make a few more and put them in here on consignment? We did pretty well on them last leaf-peeper season.”

  “You make clocks?” Liss asked.

  “Oh, he makes wonderful clocks. Haven’t you seen them?” Angie started to get up from the kitchen table but Dan stopped her.

  “I’ll show her the ones in the shop.”

  “Well, all right. I’ve only got one of the little picture-frame clocks left anyway. I want another big Shaker-style, and at least two more with picture frames, and . . . well, surprise me.” She turned to Liss again. “He makes the most interesting shapes and sizes. I sold one that looked like a boat, and a couple made from cherry burl. The customers love it when I can tell them he knew the tree personally.” She chuckled.

  Dan just looked embarrassed. “I’ll get some to you before the leaves turn. Right now, though, we should get going.”

  “Yes, of course. Let me know when the services for Mrs. Norris are. I’ll close up the shop if need be.”

  “She seems nice,” Liss said when they were out on the sidewalk again.

  “She is nice.”

  “A real fan of yours, too.”

  A band of red crept up his neck and into his face. “Angie got a little carried away.”

  “Don’t be modest. And don’t think you’re going to get out of showing me your workshop later, either.”

  Ash Street went east to west along one side of the town square, but just beyond the corner of Main and Ash was another cross street, Elm. Next door to the bookstore, on the corner of Main and Elm, was Locke Insurance. Liss checked the line of sight. In spite of the gazebo and the trees in the square, the front windows had a pretty clear view of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium, and on the side with the entrance to the stockroom, too. “Should we stop in there?”

  “They were closed Saturday. And the upstairs apartment is vacant right now.”

  “Figures. What’s next, then . . . ?” Her voice trailed off as she took a good look at the building on the corner opposite Angie’s Books. It was, and always had been, Preston’s Mortuary.

  Douglas Preston was a refined gentleman of indeterminate age who offered them tea and sympathy and informed them that Mrs. Norris had made her own pre-arrangements for burial. After a moment’s thought, however, he decided that a memorial service arranged by her neighbors would not conflict with what she’d wanted for herself. “She said no fuss, but how could she object to something that will give closure to her friends?”

  How could she object, indeed, Liss thought cynically. She wasn’t around to stop it, and Preston had no qualms about making a few extra bucks.

  He wasn’t any help otherwise, however. He’d been busy “out back” all afternoon on Saturday. Liss decided not to inquire into exactly what had occupied his time.

  Alden’s Small Appliance Repair came next. Like the other businesses, it occupied part of the ground floor of what had once been a one-family house. Moosetookalook h
ad been extraordinarily fortunate. No “great fire” had destroyed the many homes built during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries by bankers and ministers, merchants, and professional men. Nowadays, for the most part, the owner of each store lived above the premises. Only in one or two cases were the upstairs apartments rented out to strangers.

  Warren Alden was in his seventies, lived alone, and opened his shop when he felt like it. Saturday afternoon, like Angie’s toddler, he’d taken a long nap in his living quarters. If anybody had come by wanting his services, they hadn’t bothered to ring the bell.

  “It’s a good loud one,” he informed them. “I’d have heard it if it rung.”

  “I’m beginning to get discouraged,” Liss said. “For a small town, these folks sure do mind their own business.”

  Dan chuckled. “Just wait. The fact that you and I are making the rounds together will have all of Moosetookalook buzzing by nightfall.”

  “What an appalling thought.”

  “Hey! I think I’m insulted.”

  She ignored him and pushed open the door to the next building on the west side of the square. The Clip and Curl occupied the back of the house, with no view of the square or of Aunt Margaret’s shop. The proprietor, Betsy Twining, lived in the rooms above, but she’d have been busy doing hair on Saturday afternoon. Liss and Dan popped in only to tell her about the memorial service. The front half of the building, completely separate from the Clip and Curl, was the Moosetookalook Post Office.

  Liss didn’t know the postmaster, a husky brunette about her own age, but the woman recognized her on sight. “You’re Margaret’s niece!” she exclaimed in a loud, nasal voice. “Nice to meet you. How’d Margaret take the news about Amanda? She coming back early?”

  “I doubt it. She has a commitment to the tour company.”

  “Well, I guess that makes sense.” She checked the old-style mailboxes as she chattered, pulling out both Aunt Margaret’s mail and Dan’s from her side and passing it over the counter. “And a package.” She took back the yellow card. “Hold on.” She was back a moment later. “Something from Klockit. More clock parts, huh?”

  “So, Julie,” Dan said, leaning on the counter and giving her his best smile. Liss was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy at the overt flirtation. “You miss all the excitement Saturday?” The post office closed at noon.

  “I guess. Terrible thing. I mean, you can see Mrs. Norris’s house plain as can be from here.” She gestured at the front window. The post office was on the northeast corner of Ash and Pine. Mrs. Norris’s house was on the southwest corner.

  “Had she come home before you left?” Liss asked. “She was at the Highland Games earlier in the day.”

  “No idea. She picked her mail up right after I opened up. She always does. Did.” Her face twisted as she tried to fight off tears. “I really liked her, y’know?”

  “Everyone did,” Dan said as they beat a hasty retreat.

  “She’s not from around here, is she?” Liss asked.

  “New Yorker by birth. She married local, though. You remember Will Simpson?”

  “Simple Simpson?” Liss glanced back at the post office, trying to imagine the shy, gawky high school kid she’d known, romantically involved with the rather brassy woman she’d just met. Apparently opposites did attract.

  Mrs. Norris’s house still had yellow crime-scene tape over the doors, as did Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. They continued along Pine Street to the next house, another white clapboard Victorian but with a difference. The shutters were painted bright purple and there was a life-size skier on the sign mounted on the roof of the front porch.

  Stu’s Ski Shop had been in that location for years. Inside it hadn’t changed much, nor had Stu Burroughs, the proprietor. “Well, well, if it isn’t little Amaryllis MacCrimmon.” He reached up, intending to pinch her cheek, but she took evasive action in the nick of time. She was wise to his moves.

  “Never little, Stu,” she reminded him. She’d towered over his five feet two inches by the time she was twelve.

  There followed the usual exchange. Sadness over Mrs. Norris’s death. Plans for a memorial service. Aunt Margaret’s obligations in Scotland. Nothing out of the ordinary to report on Saturday afternoon or evening.

  “Last one,” Dan said as they stepped off the porch of the ski shop, crossed Pine Street to the southwest corner of the town square, and looked across Birch at the three houses in the block between Pine and Main. When Liss had lived at 4 Birch Street, the one in the middle, number 6 had belonged to old Mrs. Crowl. She’d gotten birthday wishes on The Today Show during Liss’s senior year for living to be a hundred.

  “She’s dead, right?” Liss asked. “I mean, she looked like a corpse ten years ago.”

  Dan snorted a laugh. “Yeah. You’re safe.”

  “She used to yell at me for cutting across her yard. And she didn’t much like my folks, either. Because of her, Dad had to soundproof the spare bedroom so he and I could practice on the bagpipe without getting cited for disturbing the peace.”

  “I wondered about that. Warmest spot in the house. Anyway, a couple from Waycross Springs bought Mrs. Crowl’s house a few years back. They put a consignment store in the downstairs. Sell used clothing and accessories. Surprisingly nice stuff. They’d probably do better in Fallstown, with all the college kids there, but they seem to be making a go of it.”

  Liss liked Marcia Katz from the start. The visit was another repeat of their previous stops, but Liss stayed on and chatted a bit, admiring the stock and promising to come back when she had more time to browse. The line between thrift shop and vintage clothing store was very thin.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Marcia said as they were leaving. “I got a sale thanks to the Emporium being closed on Saturday. Guess I should thank you for that. A couple came in. Asked if I had a key to Margaret’s shop because they wanted to look around in there. When I told them I didn’t—well, I wouldn’t have let them in even if I did have one—they spent some time in here and the woman bought a nice designer scarf that was just as good as new. Priced like it too,” she added with a grin.

  Liss felt her heart speed up as she stepped back into the shop. “What did they look like?”

  “Well, let me see. I’m not so good at remembering faces. The guy was real pushy. You know the type? Wants what he wants when he wants it?”

  “Big nose? Thin lips? Late thirties or early forties?”

  “Could be. I didn’t look at him that closely. The woman with him was a blonde. I remember that.”

  “Strawberry blonde?”

  “Yeah.” Marcia’s face cleared. “And she wore it in a bun of some sort. She was the classy type, except for her perfume. Strong, you know?”

  “Jason Graye and Barbara. I don’t know her last name.”

  “Couldn’t prove it by me,” Marcia said.

  “Do you remember what time this was?”

  “Afternoon sometime. Sorry, that’s the best I can do. Is it important?”

  “Probably not. They were at the fairgrounds earlier and I told them the Emporium was closed. They must not have wanted to take my word for it.”

  “That goes with this guy’s attitude. Don’t you hate customers like that?”

  Liss waited until she and Dan were outside and on their way next door to his house to comment further on Jason Graye. “Do you think he could have tried to get in the back door after he found out Marcia didn’t have a key?”

  “Even if he did, even if he found the key over the door and went in, why would he kill Mrs. Norris? If she’d caught him, he’d have been embarrassed, but that would just have made him bluster at her. All sound and fury—”

  “Signifying nothing. Nice quote, but I’m not sure it’s accurate. I wish we knew when he was here. It must have been sometime between one and two when Barbara looked at kilts in the booth. Do they both live in Moosetookalook?”

  “He does. Over on Lowe Street near my dad’s house. I don’t kn
ow about her.” Dan glanced at his watch as they climbed the steps to his front porch. “We’ve got time enough to put together some sandwiches for lunch. Then I’ve got to get to the construction site. What are you going to do this afternoon?”

  Liss turned to look at the square and the buildings surrounding it. Her gaze returned a second time to the municipal building. “I’m going to stop by the police station and find out when I can get back into Aunt Margaret’s.”

  Chapter Nine

  “How soon can I move back into my aunt’s apartment?”

  Jeff Thibodeau shrugged. “Coffee?” he offered, waving her toward an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair.

  “No thanks. Just information.”

  Liss had never visited the police department before and was surprised at how small it was. Stuck at the back of the municipal building, the whole shebang consisted of a reception area, presently unoccupied, an office with two desks, and a tiny holding cell, also empty, in a connecting room. Since that door stood open, she had a clear view of a space not much bigger than a closet.

  Perched on the edge of her chair, Liss clasped her hands over her knees and waited until Officer Thibodeau was seated behind the desk facing her. Then she repeated her question.

  Thibodeau had been on the Moosetookalook Police Force—three full-timers and a handful of part-timers—as long as Liss could remember. He’d been “Officer Friendly” for school programs and done annual safety inspections on all the kids’ bicycles. It didn’t occur to her to be wary of him. She couldn’t lump him in the same category as Detective LaVerdiere any more than she could put Sherri or Pete there.

  Smoothing down the few wispy strands of hair that surrounded a nearly bald head, Thibodeau hemmed and hawed a bit before finally admitting he didn’t have an answer to give her. “Local police get pushed pretty well out of an investigation like this, unless they happen to know something that’s useful. Not that I’m complaining. I wouldn’t want the responsibility. Tricky thing, murder.”

  “Do you suppose you could find out for me?” Liss gave him her most winning smile. “If I could get back in tonight, I might still be able to open the shop on schedule tomorrow.”