“There will be fingerprint powder on everything.” Mrs. Mayfield gave a decisive nod of the head for emphasis. “Almost impossible to clean off. Be careful you don’t get the surfaces wet or you’ll have a real mess on your hands.”
“Thanks for the advice. Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about it until they let me back into the shop.”
“Good thing you’re closed on Mondays.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
Liss toyed with the idea of trying to pry information out of Mrs. Mayfield but decided against it on two counts. For one, she wasn’t sure what to ask. For another, she could hardly ask direct questions about Ernie Willett, Mrs. Norris, or her aunt without contributing to the local gossip mill. Several other library patrons had been there and gone while she’d sat at the computer. One had given her a suspicious look, another a glare that was downright hostile. Liss had the feeling they knew she’d been questioned about Mrs. Norris’s murder and thought the worst.
“Thanks for your help, Mrs. Mayfield,” she said in a dismissive tone, and began skimming pages. The librarian took the hint and went back to her desk.
Hoping she’d know what she was looking for when she saw it, Liss scanned reports on school plays and sporting events, municipal elections and traffic accidents, only peripherally aware that there were other patrons in the library. She advanced the film bit by bit, moving through the years, growing steadily more discouraged. There did not seem to be a single mention of any Willett or MacCrimmon or Boyd. By the time her eyes blurred and she had to stop what she was doing to blink and stretch, she was ready to quit. She lifted her hand to rewind the microfilm but froze at the sound of her own name.
“Why would the MacCrimmon girl kill Amanda Norris?”
“Maybe Amanda knew about her hot affair with Dan Ruskin.”
Two men, elderly by the sound of their voices, stood just on the other side of a set of bookshelves, talking in low but carrying tones. Liss couldn’t have stopped listening if her life depended upon it.
“What affair? She’s only been in town a couple of days.”
“Pretty obvious to me that something has been going on for a while. Either that or she’s awful free with her favors. Look how quick she moved in with him.”
They moved away, their voices fading. Liss pressed both hands to her burning cheeks. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. She shouldn’t even be offended, let alone embarrassed. Gossip was a part of life in a small town.
But she wasn’t about to leave the shelter of the microfilm reader until those two men left the building. Why subject herself to the awkwardness of coming face to face with them?
Her hand shook a little as she gave the crank another turn. She stared at the page, unseeing, then turned again. She’d almost wound the microfilm right past the picture when something about one of the faces caught her attention. She blinked, then had to bite back a gasp of surprise.
The photograph was centered under the heading VALENTINE’S DAY SWEETHEARTS. The caption identified the subjects standing inside a gigantic heart, not that Liss was in any doubt about who they were. The man on the right was a young, thin Moose Mayfield, whose real first name turned out to be Roger. Next to him was Dorothy Heston, now Dorothy Mayfield. Beside her was a beaming Margaret MacCrimmon. And on Margaret’s other side, his arm around her waist and an adoring look on his face, was Ernie Willett. Thirty-five years ago, they’d been a couple.
Chapter Ten
The municipal building was directly across the town square from Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. Emerging into the bright afternoon sunshine, Liss squinted against the glare. Trees blocked part of the view, but she could see enough to tell that yellow police tape was still in place. Two state police cars were parked in front of Mrs. Norris’s house.
She debated cutting across the green to confront whoever was there now and demand access to the shop and apartment. After what she’d overheard in the library, staying longer than she had to with Dan was probably a bad idea. Not that she cared what other people thought. It wasn’t as if she was planning to stay in Moosetookalook. And if you believe that, I’ve got a bridge I’d like to sell you!
The taunt from her inner voice brought a wry, self-mocking smile to Liss’s face as she stepped off the curb and crossed the street to the strip of sidewalk surrounding the town square. She’d taken only a few steps onto the grass before she changed her mind. If Detective LaVerdiere wasn’t on the scene, whoever was would probably just tell her she’d have to wait and talk to him. And if he was there . . . nope! Call it cowardly, but she just didn’t feel like putting up with him or his cockamamie suspicions just now.
She walked briskly toward Dan’s house instead. A cold drink and a cool shower, she thought. And maybe, if she was in the mood, she’d offer to fix supper.
She’d barely gone inside and turned up the air conditioner, relishing the blast of cold air on her overheated skin, when she saw a familiar truck pull up to the curb. Moments later, Sherri was pounding on the front door.
“I thought you were going to spend the day catching up on sleep. What’s wrong?” The dark circles under Sherri’s eyes were proof enough she hadn’t gotten much rest. Then again, she wore no makeup and had simply pulled her hair back into a queue and secured it with a scrunchie.
“You try napping with a five-year-old in the next room.” Sherri’s expression softened at the thought of her son, but the next moment she looked grim again. “We need to talk.”
Liss gestured toward the kitchen. She found a pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator and filled two glasses, adding a couple of ice cubes to each. “So what’s up?” She took a sip but it was sweeter than she liked. She set the glass aside and looked expectantly at Sherri.
“I saw LaVerdiere at work last night. He interrogated me.” Sherri gulped down too much lemonade and started to cough. Liss waited impatiently until she recovered and was able to continue. “Sorry. It’s just that the more I think about him the madder I get. I woke up angry. He thinks you killed Mrs. Norris, Liss.”
“Yeah. I got that impression.” But it was discouraging to hear it confirmed. So much for the faint hope she and Dan had been mistaken about LaVerdiere’s conclusions.
“That’s crazy. He’s crazy.” Sherri sucked down more lemonade.
“Crazy or not, he’s the one in charge of the investigation. What did he ask you?”
“He wanted to know if I overheard what you and Mrs. Norris talked about. If I did, I don’t remember any of it. And I could only say when I left the games, not when you did.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sherri. I didn’t expect you to provide me with an alibi.”
“No, but I could have found out what else he’s got. I should have asked him flat out why he thinks you did it.” With an irritated slurp, she drained the glass.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s no sense putting your job at risk. Besides, I already know what he believes my motive was.” As concisely as she could, Liss told Sherri about the looseleaf Dan had seen. “We think that’s why LaVerdiere has decided Mrs. Norris was a blackmailer.”
“She was writing down juicy gossip about fictional characters?”
“Maybe. Or she was using those names to hide real people’s identities.” Liss had been mulling that question over, on and off, all day. “Keep in mind that Dan only saw one page and he didn’t remember everything that was on it.”
“Maybe I can find out more.”
“Sherri, your job—”
“Well, we can’t just sit around doing nothing till he comes to arrest you! Besides, I’d love a chance to spike LaVerdiere’s guns.”
Liss hesitated, wondering why Sherri seemed so eager to help. It wasn’t as if they were lifelong best friends. Until Saturday, they hadn’t seen each other for more than ten years. Liss didn’t know anything about Sherri Willett. Not really. Except that she was Ernie Willett’s daughter.
Sherri’s grin faded. She dropped her gaze and began to tug at a loose
thread on the bottom of her cut-offs. “Guess it’s none of my business. And I suppose LaVerdiere will have to see he’s wrong eventually.”
Liss sighed. “I wish I could believe that.” She collected the glasses and carried them to the sink. Her back to Sherri, she tried to think how to broach the subject delicately and decided it was impossible. “I paid a visit to your father earlier today.”
“What for?”
“I wanted to know why he made that scene at the fairgrounds. And why he broke up Aunt Margaret’s shop.”
The visit was still fresh in her mind and she’d been brooding about what Ernie Willett had said to her . . . and what he’d left unsaid.
“I think he was really worried about you, Sherri. He heard someone had been murdered in the shop where you work and he got to thinking how easily it could have been you. That’s why he gave in to the impulse to go to the fairgrounds. He had to see for himself that you were okay. And then, probably embarrassed to be seen showing fatherly concern, he started yelling to cover up his real feelings.”
“That’s just crazy.”
“Maybe, but there’s more to all of this than we thought. After I talked to him, I went to the library. I found a picture in an old newspaper, a picture of my aunt and your father.”
“Doing what? Trying to kill each other?” Remembering the look the camera had caught on both their faces, Liss shook her head. She turned to face Sherri, bracing one hand against the counter on each side of her for support as she dropped her bombshell. “More like planning to spend the next week in a hotel room somewhere.”
“What?” Sherri started to laugh, then caught sight of Liss’s face. “You’re serious? They were . . . together?”
“The library doesn’t own the kind of microfilm reader that makes copies, but I wrote down the date and page number. You can see for yourself.”
“Thanks, but imagining it is bad enough.”
“They were younger than we are now at the time. Young and in love, by the look of that photograph.”
Sherri looked reluctantly intrigued. “I wonder what happened.”
“And I wonder what that long-ago relationship has to do with the way your father feels about Aunt Margaret today.”
Sherri sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoa. Wait a minute. I know my father has a temper, but you can’t be thinking that he killed Mrs. Norris. What, by mistake for Margaret Boyd? Not likely.” She came to her feet in a rush, hands curled into fists at her sides.
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to!” Petite and blonde, Sherri looked like an enraged pixie, but Liss wasn’t fool enough to underestimate the smaller woman.
“Will you calm down? I’ve already said I thought your father was checking to make sure you were okay. If he’d killed Mrs. Norris, he’d know that already.”
Sherri blinked at her and then, to Liss’s immense relief, gave a short bark of laughter. “You’re right. Sorry I overreacted. Don’t know why I did. It’s not like there’s any love lost between my father and me. It’s just that . . . well, sometimes I get sick and tired of everybody thinking he’s the bad guy. My mother—” She waved the thought away. “Never mind. That’s neither here nor there.”
There was more of her father in Sherri than Liss had realized. Disconcerted by the perception, she attempted to get the conversation back on track. “Your father is no longer on my suspect list, but just about everyone else is.”
“You’re collecting suspects?”
“Do I have any choice? You said it yourself. If LaVerdiere is set on me as his murderer, then we can’t just sit around waiting for him to arrest me. I have to do some investigating on my own. That means I have to consider everybody.” She forced a weak smile. “Even you, Sherri.”
“Me? Why am I a suspect?”
“Least likely to have done it? If this were a mystery novel, you’d be a shoo-in.”
“Yeah. Right. Okay, I’ll go along. I leave you at the fairgrounds, drive up here and let myself in—with my own key, by the way—and I’m helping myself to . . . what? Not much to steal. The cash was all with you.” She shrugged. “Whatever. Mrs. Norris is spying on the neighborhood, as per usual, and spots somebody moving around in there and goes to investigate.” Sherri frowned. “At seven o’clock or so, wouldn’t she just assume it was you?”
“You’d think. That suggests she was murdered earlier in the afternoon. It makes more sense that she’d have gone over to investigate if she’d seen someone then.”
“The results of the autopsy ought to be available by the time I go on shift tonight. I’ll see if I can find out what the M.E. put down for time of death. It will only be a ballpark figure. You know that, right?”
“I know. Anything will help. Maybe it will turn out that I got home too late in the day to have killed her.”
“So, have we ruled me out yet?”
“You’re in the clear . . . unless Mrs. Norris knew some deep, dark secret that you didn’t want her to reveal.”
Liss meant the comment as a joke. She expected Sherri to laugh, or else confess to some minor, humorous-in-hindsight sin similar to Liss’s own teenage venture into crime.
Sherri looked stricken.
The slam of a vehicle door sounded loud in the awkward silence.
Liss cleared her throat. “Dan’s home.”
“You’re right,” Sherri blurted. “Everyone has secrets. You should suspect everyone, even me, but I’ve got an alibi. I was with you until I left the fairgrounds. I drove straight home. My mother and my son can verify that I fell into bed and slept from about five minutes after I arrived until I had to get up to go to work.” She moved closer to Liss and lowered her voice. “You’re right to suspect everybody,” she said again. “Dan Ruskin, too.”
“Sherri, I don’t think—”
“Look at the facts, Liss. He was on the spot awfully quickly. He was around all day. I know you like him, but good-looking men usually turn out to be rats. Trust me on this . . . and watch your back.”
That she spoke from her own experience was so obvious that Liss took the warning with a grain of salt. She squeezed Sherri’s hand and promised to be careful. By then, Dan was coming through the kitchen door.
“Hey—two beautiful women waiting for me. What more could a man ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Liss drawled. “A hot meal on the table? You’ll notice that neither one of us is waiting with your slippers and your newspaper.”
He chuckled. “That’s okay. I’m a twenty-first century kind of guy. I’ll settle for a welcome home kiss.” Hauling Liss into his arms, he planted a big wet one on her.
Sputtering, she pounded on his chest—lightly, because she hadn’t really minded. He ignored the ineffectual protest and zeroed in on her lips for a second try. This time he did it right. Way too right. It wasn’t until she heard Sherri loudly clearing her throat that she surfaced and pulled away.
Their eyes held a moment longer, his full of promises, hers full of questions.
“Hot meal on the table, huh?” Sherri asked, sotto voce.
“Okay. That did it. Dash of cold water.” Liss felt her face flame as she fumbled for the chair she’d been sitting in earlier and sank gratefully into it before her knees gave way. “Stop kidding around, Dan. We’ve got serious stuff to talk about here.”
Sherri had taken the lemonade pitcher out of the refrigerator, retrieved their glasses from the sink and added a third from the cupboard, and poured generous portions into each while Liss and Dan had been preoccupied with each other. Now the two women brought him up to speed.
“So we’re back to that damned looseleaf.” Dan didn’t look happy.
Sherri stared into her lemonade glass as if fascinated by the movement of the ice cubes. “Obviously there was more that you didn’t see. We need to know what else was in it. I’m pretty sure I can find out what LaVerdiere took away from her house. They’ll have made a list.”
“Sherri, your job—”
“I’
m not letting that jerk railroad you! I can help, Liss. Let me help.”
“Only if you promise to be careful.”
“I still think there has to be some explanation other than blackmail,” Dan insisted. “If Mrs. Norris had been hitting people up for money, it would have gotten out. And any secrets she knew about, you can bet other people did too. Maybe . . . maybe she was writing a novel.”
“Wouldn’t she have made up her own names for characters?”
“Maybe she hadn’t gotten around to it. Maybe it was a what-do-you-call-it? Like Peyton Place. You know—real place and people but disguised so she couldn’t be sued.”
“Roman à clef,” Liss supplied. “Possible, I guess. Unless she also wrote down her reasons for leaving a record, we may never know for certain. In the meantime, I guess it’s time for me to do some writing.”
Dan leaned back in his chair until he could reach a nearby drawer and extracted a notepad and pencil. “Suspect list?”
“Suspect list. We’ve pretty much eliminated Ernie Willett, and Aunt Margaret was on a plane over the Atlantic, so that lets her out of the running. Dan and I talked to the neighbors this morning, Sherri. No one saw anything suspicious, but one woman did describe a couple who wanted to know if she had a key to the Emporium. It sounded like Jason Graye and his lady friend. What if he helped himself to the spare above the door?”
Sherri frowned. “And he’d kill Mrs. Norris because . . . ?”
“She caught him someplace he shouldn’t be?”
“Why wouldn’t he just tell her to mind her own business and leave?” Dan asked.
“It was the bolt of tartan cloth he was interested in that fell on top of Mrs. Norris’s body,” Liss reminded him.
“Coincidence.”
“Maybe.”
“He hasn’t lived here all that long. He probably doesn’t know that most people keep spare keys hidden near their back doors.” Dan frowned. “We don’t know if Margaret’s key is missing or not. LaVerdiere didn’t say.”
“Maybe I can find out.” Sherri grinned. “I need to start a list of my own.”
Dan tore the memo pad in half. While he fished for another pencil in the drawer behind him, Liss grabbed the one he’d been using and wrote down Graye’s name. She tapped the eraser end against her chin. “Graye lives on Lowe Street. That’s not too far away. He could have walked back later. Sherri, do you know Barbara’s last name?”
Kilt Dead Page 12
