“I never asked if you’d met him before, Dan. Have you had dealings with him?”
“Only in passing. He didn’t handle the sale of your house. I bought it directly from the guy your parents sold it to ten years ago.”
“What about his girlfriend? Who is Barbara Zathros?”
“I think she’s his secretary,” Pete said.
“More than that if he’s buying her expensive presents,” Sherri put in. “Kilts don’t come cheap.”
“I need to contact her about that,” Liss murmured. “The fabric was taken as evidence. I don’t want to order more unless she’s sure she still wants the kilt.”
“Contact him, you mean,” said Sherri.
“Contact them both.”
“Hold on,” Dan protested. “If you really think one of them killed Mrs. Norris, you don’t want to do anything to arouse their suspicions.”
“I have a perfectly legitimate reason to get in touch. And a perfect opportunity to fish for more information. I’ll just tell Jason Graye I want to sell Mrs. Norris’s house. Then he—”
The appalled look on Sherri’s face stopped her. Dan’s expression was almost as disconcerting—he looked disappointed.
“Do you know how bad that will look?” Sherri asked.
“I’m not really going to put it up for sale. At least not right away.”
Selling the house made sense, but in her heart Liss knew she was far from ready to put it on the market. Foolish of her. It wasn’t as if she could stay in Moosetookalook and live there. She might prove she never murdered anyone, but she’d still be the shameless hussy who’d moved in on Dan Ruskin. Small-town life, small-town gossip—that wasn’t her style. She’d go back to a city, once she decided what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Wouldn’t she?
Shaking off the melancholy mood that threatened to overwhelm her, she tapped her list. “This Barbara. Aside from her poor taste in men, she’s hardly a likely suspect, but if she and Graye were here that afternoon, she may have seen something. Oh, and I need to talk to Lenny Peet, too. He was out in the square that afternoon, walking his dog.”
“Well, there’s your murderer,” Sherri said with a sly grin. “Weren’t you the one who told me that the least likely suspect is always the person who dunit?”
“Most crimes are pretty straightforward,” Pete said. “If we put our minds to it, we should be able to figure out who’d profit most from Mrs. Norris’s death.”
“Besides me, you mean.” Liss sighed. “I wish I knew who her previous heir was. Maybe he or she didn’t know Mrs. Norris had changed her will.”
“Long shot,” Dan said.
“You’re sure the police didn’t find any fingerprints but ours?” Liss asked Sherri.
“I imagine they found lots of them, but they have to be able to match prints with those already on file to identify them.”
“Can you find out—?”
“Not for a bit.” Sherri held up a hand, palm out, to stop her question. “LaVerdiere turned up when I was . . . chatting with another state cop. I don’t think he bought the story that I was just being friendly.”
“Let me see what I can come up with,” Pete offered.
Dan had picked up Liss’s list of suspects. “What about Ned Boyd? He was around here earlier that afternoon and I don’t know where he went after he left me.”
“He went home,” Liss said. “I stopped by his apartment when I got back from Fallstown. I was going to leave him a note but he was there. Took a vacation day.”
Sherri cleared her throat. “Uh, Liss? He isn’t on vacation. He got fired from his job at the call center in Fallstown a couple of months ago.”
“Huh,” Dan said. “Interesting. Just last week, Margaret was bragging that he’d been promoted to shift supervisor. To hear her tell it, he was all but running the place.”
“Margaret doesn’t know. Ned’s been keeping it from her. The only reason I found out is that one of my neighbors works there. She told me all about it when it happened. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was my place to rat him out to his family.”
Liss plopped down on the arm of Dan’s chair, her gaze fixed on Sherri. “Why was Ned let go?”
“Bad attitude. He pissed off the boss. That’s what my neighbor said, anyway.”
“I’ll bet that’s why he’s so stirred up about the hotel deal,” Dan said. “Margaret invested money that Ned could have used himself.”
“Can’t see how that would lead to him killing Mrs. Norris,” Pete said.
Liss sent him a grateful smile. “Good point. If she’d seen Ned go into the building, she wouldn’t have bothered to investigate. It’s his mother’s place, after all.”
“And round and round we go.” Sherri stood and stretched. “Sorry to break this up, but I need to go home, kiss my son goodnight, and get ready for work.”
Pete went with her, leaving Liss alone with Dan.
“I don’t like you staying here by yourself,” he said. Liss hadn’t felt nervous before, but the worried look on his face had her wondering if it wouldn’t be better to go next door to Mrs. Norris’s house. “Nonsense,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “I’ll be fine. All the locks are deadbolts.”
Before he could offer to stay with her for protection, Liss sent him a bright smile. Keep it light, she reminded herself. “I’ve got an idea. Go get Lumpkin. He’s an excellent watch cat—goes straight for the ankles.”
Sherri had barely settled in on her shift when Larry Granby shuffled into the dispatch center from intake. “Sheriff wants to talk to you, Sherri. What’d you do? Lassiter hardly ever stays this late.”
“No idea,” Sherri lied. By the time she walked the short distance to the administrative offices, she’d broken out in a cold sweat, convinced she was about to be fired.
“Come in, Sherri,” the sheriff said in a low, throaty voice. “Haul up a chair.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Penelope Lassiter was second-generation law enforcement. Her father had been sheriff of Carrabassett County in his day and she had won the office in the most recent election. She was not much bigger than Sherri, standing a little under five-foot-five in stocking feet, and she had a small, uptilted nose, a pointy little chin, and almond-shaped eyes that put you in mind of a pixie . . . until you spent a few minutes in her company. She made up for being “cute” with a forceful personality, formidable scores in every area of police training, and a dogged determination to make herself and her department the best in the state.
“I’ve been hearing things about you,” she began.
Sherri started to speak, then thought better of it.
“You seem to be doing some investigating on your own initiative. You realize that’s not part of your job description?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you think you could unbend for a second?”
“Ma’am?”
“For God’s sake, Sherri. You make me want to tear my hair out.” She gave a yank at one short, straight, mud-brown strand. “I’m only a dozen or so years older than you are. See? No gray yet. Ten years ago, I was working your job. At least in private, will you please relax and call me Penny!”
“Yes, ma’—I—thank you, Penny.”
“Better. Now, about your extracurricular activities. I can’t say I think you’re wise to pursue them, but as long as you don’t break any laws I’m prepared to overlook your interest in Amanda Norris’s murder.” She tipped back in the desk chair, propping shoeless feet on the blotter. “I take it you don’t think much of the way Detective LaVerdiere is handling the case?”
“He’s on the wrong track. Liss MacCrimmon never killed anybody.”
“Got any theories who did?”
“Well . . . no. Not really.”
“I’d like to get rid of him, you know.”
“LaVerdiere?”
She nodded, watching Sherri through half-closed but alert dark brown eyes. “God only knows if the next one will
be any better, but this one’s a dead loss. You didn’t hear it from me, but LaVerdiere was transferred here because he screwed up his last assignment. They wanted to give him another chance. I don’t know why, but Carrabassett County seems to be the dumping ground for incompetent officers. You should have seen the last one. Geoff Tooley. God, what a loser. Thought he was hot stuff, too. Even made a pass at me once.”
Sherri felt warmth creep up her neck and into her cheeks and hoped Penny Lassiter wouldn’t notice. The sheriff seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling as she rambled on.
“Bad apples. That’s what they are. But instead of tossing them out, they send them here. I expect that’s why he’s so fixated on your friend. He needs a high-profile arrest to save his career.”
Bad apples, Sherri thought. That about summed it up. She knew that all law enforcement agencies tried to screen applicants, but some misfits always managed to slip through. More often it was the overly aggressive type, bullies drawn to the power of the badge. They didn’t last long. They overreached their authority and got canned for it. Poor interview skills and pigheadedness, on the other hand, were harder to use as grounds for dismissal.
The sheriff lowered her feet to the floor and sat studying Sherri’s face. “I don’t want to hear any more complaints about your interference and I don’t want to hear that you’re leaking information. I don’t want to hear about it. You understand? And if you need to miss work, you take vacation time, not sick days.”
“Yes, ma—Penny.”
“Good. I’m glad we had this little chat. Get back to work.”
Liss did not sleep well. Lumpkin was restless. Every time he jumped up onto her bed, Liss jerked awake. When the phone rang at a little past seven, she embarrassed herself by squeaking in alarm. One hand over her rapidly beating heart, she picked up before the instrument could shrill again, expecting Sherri to be on the other end of the line.
“Hope I didn’t wake you,” Aunt Margaret chirped, “but the day’s half gone over here.” It was a good connection. She sounded as if she were standing in the next room.
“I was just about to dress and go down to the shop,” Liss told her. “You’ll be glad to hear we can reopen tomorrow.”
Today was earmarked for a trip to Fallstown to talk to Jason Graye. It might be foolish to think she could succeed where the police could not, but she didn’t see any way around trying. Otherwise she might yet end up in jail.
Liss’s announcement was greeted by a long pause on the other end of the line. “Excuse me?”
“You, ah, didn’t know we were closed yesterday?”
“Amaryllis MacCrimmon, what is going on there?”
Standing in the kitchen doorway with the phone, Liss took a moment to turn and bump her forehead, none too gently, against the wall. She should have expected this. The minute she heard Ned had lied about his job, she should have realized he’d also lied about calling his mother.
“Aunt Margaret, you’d better sit down. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
Liss left out as much as she put into her account. She didn’t want her aunt to worry. She had no need to hear that her niece was Detective LaVerdiere’s prime suspect, or that her son had chickened out and put off calling her with the news of Mrs. Norris’s murder. For the moment Liss also held back the story of her unexpected inheritance, although she had to admit that Lumpkin was in residence. Aunt Margaret heard him yowling in the background.
By the time Liss wound down, she felt as exhausted as if she’d lived through the last few days all over again. It took another ten minutes to convince her aunt to stay put in Scotland.
“There’s no point in rushing back home,” she repeated. “There’s nothing you can do here.”
“It’s my store that was broken into.”
“Do you have any idea why? I discovered a wall safe in the stockroom but I didn’t have the combination. I don’t know if anything was taken from it.”
“The safe?” Aunt Margaret sounded surprised but not alarmed. “Mostly I use it to store documents, since it’s fireproof. My passport, when I’m not using it. My birth and marriage certificates. My social security card. That sort of thing. Oh, and my diamond ring may be in there, the one your uncle gave me when we got engaged. It got too tight, so I stopped wearing it a few years back. Or did I leave that in my jewelry box? I don’t remember. Do you have a pencil and paper? I’ll give you the combination.”
Liss wrote down the series of numbers Margaret gave her, then listened as her aunt rambled on. Should she mention stumbling upon Margaret’s past relationship with Ernie Willett? It no longer seemed relevant. Willett might have an irrational streak when it came to his wife, his daughter, and his old girlfriend, but he also had an alibi.
“My God. Amanda Norris murdered. I just can’t take it in. Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so, Aunt Margaret. Everything’s under control here now. And we had two very good days at the Highland Games. Oh, and you may have a customer for a custom-made kilt. A woman named Barbara Zathros?”
“I remember her. Works for Jason Graye, doesn’t she? What does she want with a kilt? Zathros isn’t exactly a Scottish surname.”
“Don’t be such a snob,” Liss teased. “She wants the Flower of Scotland tartan.”
Too late, Liss realized she’d opened up a can of worms. She hadn’t planned on mentioning the damage to the stock, but there was no way to avoid it now. “I’m going to have to order more cloth. The fingerprint powder made a terrible mess. I don’t think it will clean out of the bolts of fabric.” That the Flower of Scotland was unavailable because the police had taken it was something Liss chose not to share with her aunt.
In hindsight, it was easy to see that bolts of cloth should have been stored in their protective wrappings, but who could have imagined that the ordinarily spotless workspace where Aunt Margaret processed mail orders and unpacked newly arrived merchandise from her suppliers would turn into a crime scene?
“Hold off on that,” Aunt Margaret instructed.
“But the kilt—”
“She’ll have to wait.” She spoke sharply, cutting off Liss’s protests, but with the next sentence had moderated her tone. “Now that I think about it, you’d better tell Ms. Zathros to go elsewhere for her kilt, or choose one off the rack. I’ve got a busy schedule when I get back. I won’t have time for sewing.”
Liss hated to lose the sale, but she didn’t argue. After further assurances that both she and the shop could survive on their own until her aunt’s scheduled return, Liss ended the call.
Five minutes later, Liss was in the stockroom, the slip of paper with the combination to the safe clutched in her hand. At least one mystery would be solved today.
Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. One by one, Liss took out the envelopes her aunt had stored there, checking the contents against the notations on the outside. Birth certificate. Marriage certificate. Uncle Noah’s death certificate. Ned’s birth certificate. Certificate of Deposit from the Carrabassett County Savings Bank—closed out two months ago. Liss frowned. When she checked the other envelopes with the bank’s name on them she found similar evidence of recent withdrawals. Aunt Margaret’s savings account was down to three hundred dollars. She had even turned in her life insurance for the cash.
The last two envelopes in the safe held the explanation. One contained the agreement Margaret Boyd had signed with Joe Ruskin for a share in The Spruces. The other held documents relating to the bank’s claim on the Emporium. Aunt Margaret had taken out a second mortgage to help finance her plans.
Considerably perturbed, Liss returned everything to the safe and locked it up again. It looked as if Ned had been right. His mother had risked more than she could afford on the renovation project. If the hotel failed and the shop had even the slightest setback, Aunt Margaret faced bankruptcy.
Chapter Fourteen
Liss spent the drive from Moosetookalook to Fallstown trying to think o
f ways to improve her aunt’s bottom line. A slick mail-order catalog. Online sales. Liss was certain that if she put her mind to it they could generate more income. Even though she’d never before had occasion to use it, Liss did have a degree in business.
She almost steered off the road when she realized where her ideas for improving the Emporium were leading. Was she actually thinking of staying in Moosetookalook?
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Nonsense. Of course I’ll move on after Aunt Margaret gets home.”
There was nothing for her in a small rural town.
Just the shop. Family. Friends.
Dan?
Stop it!
It was a relief to pull into the tiny, secluded parking lot in back of Graye’s Real Estate. The only emotion likely to be involved in dealing with Jason Graye was extreme irritation.
The real estate office was small and reeked of Barbara’s trademark perfume, but was extremely well-appointed. The receptionist’s desk in the outer room was equipped with all the latest gadgets and gizmos.
Liss made a mental note: invest in upgrade for the Emporium’s computer. Aunt Margaret still relied on a five-year-old system with a printer that did nothing but print. Even Liss’s secondhand laptop, which she’d bought to take on the road with her, was newer and faster.
Barbara Zathros turned from watering a fern and recognized Liss. “Ms. MacCrimmon. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to talk to Mr. Graye about selling some property, but I’m afraid I also have some bad news for you. I talked to my aunt this morning. I’m sorry, but she won’t be able to make a kilt for you after all. Perhaps you’d like to come by the shop and take another look at what we have ready-made?”
“This is very disappointing, Ms. MacCrimmon.” She frowned as she moved on to a spider plant. “And very unprofessional.”
That stung, but Liss wasn’t about to apologize again.
“Does this have something to do with that old lady getting killed?” Barbara stopped to pinch a dead leaf off an African violet, her back to Liss.
Kilt Dead Page 16
