Scone Cold Dead Page 10

  “She was hired to make scones. I’m not sure I understand why that rates a special trip to Waycross Springs.”

  “First of all, Janice Eccles and I are friends. Second, she made cocktail scones.” At his blank look, she explained. “A regular scone, at least the way folks around here make them, is usually this big.” She held her hands about four inches apart. “The cocktail scones Janice and I came up with for the reception were smaller.” She moved her hands so that they were closer by half the distance. “We experimented with some that were bite-size, but those were too hard to make with any kind of filling.”

  “Might have been the better choice.” He held up a hand when she glared at him. “I know. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

  “Actually I was going to say something about Monday morning quarterbacking, but the point’s the same.”

  He brought the conversation quickly back to business. “So, you’re telling me that the scones at the reception were distinctly smaller than regular scones?”

  “Yes. I thought you knew that.” As they talked, they moved toward the front of the shop and Liss was aware that Russ Tandy was watching them with unconcealed interest.

  “I didn’t, no.” Gordon paused to run his hand over a saxophone on an elbow-high shelf. Liss wondered if he could play that instrument as well as the bagpipe. Probably. He was a Tandy, after all. “Whoever brought the mushroom scones must have known what size to make. They looked just the same on the outside as the others. Who knew they should be smaller, Liss, besides you and Mrs. Eccles?”

  Liss opened her mouth and shut it again. She shook her head, but the answer stayed the same. “I mentioned the size in e-mails to friends in Strathspey .” She dared a glance at his face and winced at the open speculation she saw there. “I even gave them the recipe. I was so pleased with the results, you see. I . . . I was bragging.”

  “Which friends?” There was a distinct chill in his voice.

  Liss didn’t want to answer but she knew he could easily find out on his own. “Sandy and Zara. Stewart. Cal. Fiona. Not everyone in Strathspey has a laptop but they all have e-mail addresses. And traveling together on the bus the way they do, they naturally talk to each other. I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody in the company knew about the cocktail scones.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  Liss drew in a deep breath. “I, uh, talked to a few people yesterday. That is, Sherri Willett and I went by the places they’re staying . . . to make sure no one needed anything. I . . .” Her words trailed off when she caught sight of Gordon’s smirk. “You already knew that!”

  “Yup.” He took Liss’s arm. “Come on. We need to talk and this isn’t the place for it.” He acknowledged his brother’s questioning look with a “later” gesture and a wave, and whisked Liss out the door. “Have you ever been to Glendorra’s? No gourmet coffees, just plain old regular.”

  In the western Maine mountains, as well as in some other areas of the state, “regular” meant that the coffee came already doctored with cream and two heaping sugars. Fifteen minutes later, after a brisk walk, Liss sat opposite Gordon in a small booth. She took a cautious sip of the hot, sweet brew, then set it aside. She was too jittery already.

  “So, this is Glendorra’s,” she said.

  She’d heard about the place, but seeing it was something else. The seats were upholstered in bright red leather, cracked and worn in places. The tabletop was Formica. The decor in general didn’t look as if it had changed in half a century. There was even an old-fashioned jukebox in one corner. Liss wondered where they found the records—those little 45s—to play on it. No one had manufactured them in ages.

  Gordon Tandy was an even greater mystery. She couldn’t read him at all, couldn’t tell if he was amused by her snooping or ticked off at her.

  “I was just trying to help,” she said, and could have kicked herself when she heard how apologetic the words sounded.

  “Okay, Nancy Drew. Let’s hear what you found out.” He didn’t sound angry, but Liss suspected he wasn’t much pleased with her.

  “Not much,” she admitted. “The only really peculiar thing is that Emily Townsend isn’t anywhere to be found. Did you talk to her yesterday?”

  “The girlfriend? Yeah, I did. She was first on the list after I left your place.”

  “And?”

  “And she was upset, since she’d watched him die. She was in the ladies’ room when he ate the scone. She came back in time to see him fall to the floor.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all I’m prepared to share.”

  “About Emily? Or at all?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Was there a supply of epinephrine in Victor’s room?”

  “Yes.” A flicker of... something crossed his face.

  “What?”

  “There should have been other prescription drugs there, too. I can’t give you details—I shouldn’t even be telling you this much—but the autopsy revealed that he had a serious medical condition. If he wasn’t being treated for it, then he must have been in considerable pain, but we didn’t find so much as an aspirin in his belongings.”

  Liss was silent for a moment, considering. “I wonder if that’s why he was so hard to get along with the last few months.”

  “Could be.”

  “But it was the allergy to mushrooms that killed him, right?”

  “Pretty much. In addition to the other problem, he was overweight. Doc said his arteries were so clogged up it would take Drano to open them. The allergic reaction sent him into shock and triggered a heart attack. It’s a toss-up which actually finished him off.”

  Liss almost wished he’d stuck to not giving details. She drew in a shuddering breath and asked, “Did Emily know he was ill?”

  Gordon declined to answer.

  “You’re being a tad inconsistent. If you remember, you asked me for help.”

  “I didn’t ask you to question all the suspects on your own.”

  “But you want to know if I learned anything, don’t you?”

  She knew she should tell him about the quarrel between Sandy and Victor, but she wasn’t going to. Unfortunately, that meant she couldn’t ask if he already knew about it, either. It seemed crystal clear he wasn’t inclined to volunteer much in the way of useful information.

  Liss toyed with the salt and pepper shakers on the table until Gordon caught her hands in his. Startled, she looked up, straight into his dark eyes. There were lighter flecks in the deep brown depths. She stared, fascinated, until he spoke and broke the spell.

  “Tell me about Stewart Graham.”

  “What about him?”

  “Alcoholic?” Gordon released her hands and she pulled back, putting as much distance between them as she could within the confines of the intimate, two-person booth.

  “Maybe.”

  “Mad at Victor Owens?”

  “I doubt he denied it if you asked him. I also doubt he could have managed to bake scones in the short time between arriving in Fallstown and the start of the show, let alone smuggle them into the Student Center afterward. In fact, I don’t see how anyone in the company could have.”

  Gordon sipped coffee, regarding her intently over the rim of the cup. “What I’m about to tell you goes no further.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Liss nodded. She took refuge behind her own coffee cup, although it was really too sweet for her taste.

  “One of the unoccupied units at Lakeside Cabins was broken into. The oven was used—the owner always leaves the racks out and they were in—and there were pans in the dish drainer.”

  “That’s where the scones were baked?”

  “Looks like it. Problem is, so far we haven’t found a single fingerprint on the stove or pans, nor was there any trace of mushrooms. Everything was very thoroughly cleaned. We’ve taken other evidence from the cabin for further testing, but it’s not likely to be much use unless we have something to match it to. Fiber or a h
air could have come from the person who broke in or from a tourist who stayed there six months ago.”

  This was a good man sitting across from her, Liss thought. He wanted justice for Victor and he was trying, within the rules he had to live by, to be open with her. He really did want—and value—her input. He was talking to her as a friend, an equal, and she felt compelled to respond in kind.

  “Fiona said she talked to you this morning. Does she know about the break-in?”

  He shook his head. “I stopped by to see her to ask if she had the victim’s medical records. She’s filling in for him and had already passed on personnel and financial records, so I figured she’d know where to find them. She did, but they’re curiously incomplete. No mention of any recent visits to a doctor. Anyway, Fiona was heading out when I arrived and stayed only long enough to talk to me for a few minutes and hand me Victor’s file. She left before the owner hailed me. I gather Fiona rented a car yesterday, right after she agreed to cancel tonight’s show.”

  “Fiona always has been superorganized.”

  “I’m surprised so many people stayed at the cabins. They’re kind of isolated out there.”

  “Not really. Everyone has a cell phone and I had volunteer drivers lined up to take them anywhere the tour bus didn’t. Of course, I didn’t think they’d be there more than two nights.”

  “Stewart Graham have a number for a driver?” Gordon asked.

  “No. And I can’t see him breaking into a cabin, using a kitchen, or cleaning up every trace of his presence, either. Knowing Stewart, he’d have left a beer bottle, complete with fingerprints, in the trash.”

  “He has no alibi. He says he was in his room at the motel, having a couple of beers. There were empties in the wastepaper basket. The cleaning crew verified that. Can’t prove when he drank them, though.”

  A waitress interrupted them to ask if they wanted a refill on their coffee, enforcing a momentary lull in the conversation.

  “We’re all set, Monica,” Gordon told her.

  “Something else I can get ya?” It was obvious she knew Gordon well. A saucy wink went with the question.

  “Just the check.”

  Looking disappointed but resigned, Monica produced their bill. After a few more flirtatious words with Gordon, she took her coffeepot on to the next booth, but she put a definite wiggle into her walk as she left them.

  Gordon concentrated on finishing his coffee. Liss just stared at hers, wondering once again if she should tell Gordon about the quarrel between Sandy and Victor. Instead she asked him what he intended to do next.

  “More interviews. We’re still talking to the local people who attended the reception—those we know about, anyway. We’re looking for a witness who may have seen something out of the ordinary that night.”

  His words lifted her spirits. For the first time that day, she felt optimistic about the outcome of the investigation. “The murderer must have been behaving suspiciously. Sneaking into the kitchen. Bringing scones in from somewhere. Someone will have noticed something. I’m sure of it. We’ll find Victor’s killer. Strathspey will survive.”

  Gordon’s response to her sudden enthusiasm was a frown. He glanced at his watch, tossed a few bills on top of the check, and stood. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Yes, to talk to Janice Eccles. I’ll come with you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “But she—”

  One look at the stony expression on his face stopped Liss in midprotest. She felt as if someone had just tossed a dipper of cold water in her face. Straitlaced, by-the-book Detective Tandy was back and he clearly did not want help from an amateur.

  “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?” She heard the touch of asperity in her voice and knew he did, too, but he didn’t even blink.

  “Yes, you can go home and try to stay out of trouble.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sherri was almost at the end of her shift for the day when a woman walked into the small lobby outside the dispatch center. She seemed familiar, but it took Sherri a moment to identify her. Emily Townsend no longer looked sophisticated. Her hair was a tangled mess, she wore no makeup, and she was spooked by the sight of the security camera covering the entrance.

  “May I help you?” Sherri asked through the speaker.

  Emily started, then peered toward the bullet-resistant glass partition that separated them. She didn’t appear to recognize Sherri. “I . . . I’m trying to find the detective. I . . . I don’t remember his name.”

  “Detective Tandy?” Sherri asked, knowing full well that it was.

  Emily frowned. “I guess. Is he here?”

  “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll see if I can locate him?”

  Emily perched on the edge of one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that furnished the jail’s “lobby” but she looked as if she might bolt at any moment.

  Sherri punched in Tandy’s pager number. He could be anywhere and Emily Townsend didn’t look inclined to wait very long. She did, however, appear to be about to crack. Sherri’s decision was easy to make.

  Five minutes later, having gotten one of the other corrections officers on the shift to take over dispatch so she could leave work a bit early, Sherri was buzzed through two security doors and entered the lobby. “Miss Townsend?”

  “How did you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name!” She was on her feet and heading for the door before Sherri had a chance to explain.

  Cursing under her breath, Sherri went in pursuit. She ignored the blast of cold air that hit her the moment she stepped out into the frigid March afternoon—she hadn’t had time to put on the coat she carried folded over her arm—because Emily already had a good head start on her. The other woman was running full tilt across the parking lot.

  Sherri dropped her coat and sprinted after her. She was in decent shape, but she was not a professional athlete. Emily Townsend was. Fortunately for Sherri, uneven paving dotted with icy spots was a far cry from the typical stage. Emily almost fell, twice, giving Sherri the opportunity to shorten the distance between them. When Emily lost her balance the third time, Sherri leapt, catching the other woman by the sleeve.

  Emily turned, arms flailing, and they both went down, Sherri on top. Save for ample breasts, the woman was nothing but skin and bones, and her sharp cry told Sherri that the lack of padding had cost her.

  “Hold still!” Sherri struggled to keep a grip on her squirming captive. Her knees throbbed from the impact of striking the ground.

  “Let me go! Let me go! I haven’t done anything!” One hand, fingers curled into claws, came straight toward Sherri’s eyes.

  “Then why did you run?” Twisting aside, Sherri managed to grab both of her opponent’s thin wrists in one hand. She jerked them above the other woman’s head.

  Abruptly, Emily went still. She stared up at Sherri with a reproachful look. “You chased me.”

  “I chased you because you ran. Sheesh! Don’t you dare cry.”

  But it was too late. First Emily’s lips quivered. Then big sloppy tears ran down her face, making Sherri feel like the worst kind of bully. To make matters even more embarrassing, she belatedly remembered that they were performing for an audience.

  Security cameras didn’t just keep an eye on the lobby. They swept the parking lot at regular intervals. Sherri didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that the nearest one was currently pointed straight at her. Aimed, she realized with a sinking sensation in her stomach, directly at her backside.

  The slap of boots on tarmac heralded the arrival of other officers. That they were there to “assist” didn’t provide Sherri with much consolation. She was in for it now, and it would be a toss-up which part of the ordeal would be worse, explaining to the sheriff why she’d tackled a woman who probably hadn’t done anything wrong, or putting up with the ragging of the coworkers who’d witnessed her making a fool of herself.

  Liss arrived back in Moosetookalook in a rare temper. If she’d found San
dy and Zara alone at the house, she’d have unloaded on them, confessing her frustration with Gordon Tandy and sharing everything he’d confided to her, even the parts he’d asked her not to repeat.

  They were not alone. Beth Hogencamp had come over as soon as the school bus dropped her off. She’d already had another dance lesson from Zara. Now she was seated on Liss’s living room sofa, industriously brushing the cat and showing no inclination to leave.

  Definitely getting over her shyness, Liss thought.

  “He really needed brushing, Liss,” Beth said in her most earnest voice. Her big brown eyes pleaded for her to be allowed to continue, to stay longer in the company of real professional dancers.

  Liss wondered whether it was Sandy who was the object of her hero worship, or Zara. At Beth’s age, she’d bet on the latter. Thank goodness Zara seemed to like kids and was patient with her. She’d be a great teacher if she and Sandy ever decided to go into business with his parents.

  “How did it go?” Sandy asked.

  “Tell you later.” Liss sent a pointed look in Beth’s direction. “Anything new here?”

  “Nada. It’s a good thing Beth came over. Kept Zara from going stir-crazy.”

  They watched Beth brush Lumpkin. Gobs of fur came away with each stroke—he was a Maine coon cat, a breed well known for its long, luxuriant coat. Beth paused to clean the brush and deposit the wad of hair she removed from it on top of others she’d dropped beside her on the sofa cushion.

  “Good grief, Beth! You’ve got enough there to stuff a pillow!”

  At Zara’s words, Liss felt her face grow warm. She’d obviously been neglecting Lumpkin’s grooming. She’d have to start brushing him more often. Then again, he liked it when she ran the hose of the vacuum cleaner over his fur. Maybe that would make less of a mess.

  Lumpkin, meanwhile, had tired of behaving himself and had grabbed the brush in both front paws. Not surprisingly, it went directly into his mouth for an experimental chew.

  “You’re done,” Liss told the cat, rescuing the brush. “Thank you, Beth.”

  Beth scrambled to her feet, then turned to collect the pile of fur, which she wadded up and stuck in the pocket of her jeans.