Kilt Dead Read online

  “Both Mrs. Norris and I agreed that information should be kept confidential, but I can assure you that she never changed her will unless she was convinced that the new heir needed her estate more than the previous one did.”

  The reality of it was at last sinking in. She owned a house. And a cat.

  Mr. Carrier cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, there is one problem Mrs. Norris did not anticipate. Given the circumstances of her death, it will not be possible for you to take possession of the house until the police clear it.” Avoiding her eyes, he studied his blotter. “And it was necessary that I share details of the will with the state police detective in charge of the case. He was quite interested to learn that you would inherit.”

  “I’ll bet he was.” The thought of LaVerdiere’s reaction destroyed any happiness Liss had derived from the news of her good fortune. She closed her eyes and tried to gather the energy to get up out of Mr. Carrier’s chair. “I suppose he wants to talk to me again?”

  When she got no answer, she opened her eyes just enough to peek at the lawyer from beneath her lashes. He was studying her with a disconcerting intensity. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “Do you handle criminal cases, Mr. Carrier? You see, Detective LaVerdiere thinks I killed Mrs. Norris. At first it was just because I found the body. Then he decided she’d been blackmailing me. And now, I suppose, he thinks I knew about the will and murdered her to get her money.”

  Two hours after leaving the lawyer’s office, Liss sat in a much less comfortable chair—plastic—in much less pleasant surroundings. LaVerdiere had commandeered an interview room in the Carrabassett County jail in which to question Liss. With Mr. Carrier at her side, she sat across from the detective at a heavy wooden table that took up most of the space. A tape recorder sat between them on its scarred surface.

  They’d already gone over everything twice. LaVerdiere’s annoyance ratcheted up a notch with each repetition. “How could you not know you were in line to inherit that much money?”

  Mr. Carrier spoke before Liss could. “She did not know because no one told her. She wasn’t in the area until a few days ago, and I know Mrs. Norris had no intention of mentioning the matter to anyone. Why should she? She might well have decided to make someone else her heir once Ms. MacCrimmon recovered completely from her injury and found new employment.”

  “She looks pretty fit to me. Maybe Mrs. Norris was already looking for a new heir.”

  “Groundless speculation, as was your earlier supposition that Mrs. Norris acquired her fortune by illegal means.” Carrier abruptly stood, making Liss scramble to follow suit. “Detective LaVerdiere, I have had enough of this nonsense. Do you plan to charge Ms. MacCrimmon?”

  Santa Claus had morphed into Perry Mason. Liss felt like letting out a cheer.

  LaVerdiere glowered at him. “Not at this time.”

  “Good. Have you finished with Mrs. Norris’s house?”

  He got a curt nod in response.

  “And my aunt’s building?” Liss chimed in.

  “Yes. We have all we need. But you haven’t seen the last of me, Ms. MacCrimmon.”

  Carrier put a hand on Liss’s arm to keep her from saying anything more. He’d already opened the door for her when he turned back to speak to LaVerdiere. “One more thing, Detective. About Mrs. Norris’s effects? I assume you have a list of what you took away as evidence. There was a computer, I believe?”

  Liss held her breath, hoping LaVerdiere wouldn’t guess that her lawyer only knew that because she’d passed on what Sherri had told her.

  “Ongoing investigation. I don’t discuss—”

  “We’d like a receipt for everything you confiscated. I’ll expect to have it in hand by this time tomorrow.”

  The door closed with a quiet snick right in LaVerdiere’s face. Liss had to stifle a laugh.

  Yup—Perry Mason, all right. As played by Raymond Burr. With a dash of Peter Falk’s Columbo thrown in for good measure.

  In spite of LaVerdiere’s continued suspicions, Liss felt much more optimistic as she drove back toward Moosetookalook. Her route took her past the trailer park where Sherri lived with her mother and son. On impulse, she stopped. Sherri might still be sleeping, but if she wasn’t, Liss could share her news.

  Most of the trailers were neat and well-kept, the single exception an old wreck at the back near the woods. The Willetts lived in a blue and white double-wide with a picket fence around its small yard. Flowers had been planted next to the trailer but the rest of the space was a grassy playground containing a swing set and a sandbox. Mrs. Willett looked up at the sound of a car stopping. Her young charge, a small, towheaded boy who could only be Sherri’s son, Adam, paid no attention to Liss’s arrival.

  Liss didn’t have much experience with children. Some parents brought their offspring to Strathspey but they were usually older than this. “Good morning, Mrs. Willett. I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  “You’re Liss MacCrimmon. You take after your mother.”

  Liss was surprised by the observation. Most people said she looked like the MacCrimmon side of the family. “Is Sherri up yet?”

  “No, and I’m not going to wake her.” Sherri got her size from Ida Willett. Hands on thin hips, the woman looked as if a good gust of wind could blow her away, but Liss didn’t doubt her determination for a minute. Sherri had inherited that from her mother, too.

  “That’s good. That’s fine. I just took a chance stopping by.” She wondered if Sherri had told her mother anything about the investigation.

  “Nana? Who’s she?”

  The high piping voice of Adam Willett served to remind Liss that anything they said would be overheard by an impressionable child and probably repeated at the most inconvenient time to someone who didn’t need to know what they’d talked about. So much for asking Ida questions.

  “This is your mama’s friend Liss,” Mrs. Willett said. “Say hello and shake her hand, Adam.”

  Liss took the small, rather dirty hand in hers and solemnly shook. “Good morning, Adam. Is that your sandbox?”

  He nodded earnestly. Then, suddenly shy, he sidled behind his grandmother’s legs, clinging to her knees.

  “Go make a sand castle,” she told him. “I’ll be right here watching.” She moved a little farther away and motioned for Liss to follow.

  Assuming Sherri had filled her mother in on some of what had been happening, or that at the least she’d have read about Mrs. Norris’s death in the newspaper, Liss expected her to make some comment on the murder.

  Instead she hissed a warning: “Leave us out of your troubles, Liss MacCrimmon.”

  Sherri had gotten into trouble over this. Liss started to ask what had happened at the jail last night, but Mrs. Willett was still talking.

  “You’ve got no business snooping around in the past.”

  The past? “Mrs. Willett, my only goal is to find out who might have broken into my aunt’s shop and killed Mrs. Norris.”

  “I know what you’re thinking—if the intruder wasn’t a thief, then maybe it was someone who wanted to hurt Margaret Boyd’s business, someone who had a personal grudge against her.”

  “Like your ex-husband?” Liss’s gaze shifted to Adam, who was industriously scooping sand into his bucket and piling it in towers. When she glanced from the boy to the street beyond, she was not surprised to see several neighbors taking an interest in her presence.

  “Like Ernie,” Ida Willett agreed.

  “The police didn’t find his fingerprints. Besides, his absence from his store would have been noticed and remarked upon. Since it wasn’t—as far as I know—then the odds are good that he never left the premises that day, let alone had time to drive to the Emporium, get inside, murder Mrs. Norris, and get back to his own place.”

  “So you’ve got no reason to tell anyone, then? About the picture you found?”

  Belatedly, Liss caught on. “Not unless he does have a personal grudge against Aunt Margaret.”<
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  “I’m the one with the grudge,” Mrs. Willett snapped. “Your aunt ruined my marriage.”

  Liss stared at her. Did she really expect anyone to believe Ernie Willett was suffering from a broken heart? That the origin of his anger—and Ida’s—might go back thirty-five years boggled the mind. Granted, if he’d never gotten over losing his first love, that would have been hard on the woman he later married, but for Ida to have been jealous of Margaret Boyd all this time . . .

  “I’m only interested in finding out who killed Mrs. Norris,” Liss repeated. “Unless you did it—”

  “I was here, with my grandson, all afternoon. And if I was going to kill anyone, it wouldn’t have been Amanda Norris.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Liss made one more stop before going back to Dan’s house. She wanted to talk to her aunt, but first she needed to know how Aunt Margaret had reacted to the news of Mrs. Norris’s death. Certain Ned had been able to reach her in Scotland by now, Liss drove one more block instead of turning right off Main Street onto Birch, and hung a left onto High Street. Ned lived in one of two apartments above the grocery store.

  She parked and was halfway across the small lot before she remembered she still had all the merchandise left over from the Highland Games stored in her car. She fished in her bag for her keys and pressed the lock button. The horn beeped once, startling her. She really had to get in the habit of locking up before she slammed the car door. Much quieter. But she hadn’t even gotten used to owning a car yet. With a cab, or the company’s tour bus, all she’d had to do was get out and go.

  Liss didn’t expect her cousin to be home and had planned to leave him a note telling him that she was moving back into Aunt Margaret’s apartment, at least temporarily. It didn’t seem right to move into Mrs. Norris’s house while things were so unsettled. But when she reached Ned’s door, it was open. Ned himself lounged against the doorsill.

  “Saw you coming through the window. Coffee? Cocktail?” He gestured toward the small kitchen directly across from the inside hallway.

  “Nothing. I’m good. What are you doing home in the middle of the afternoon?”

  “I took a vacation day.”

  Hence the ratty jeans and sweatshirt. And it was beer she smelled on his breath, not coffee. Liss hadn’t visited Ned’s apartment before and was struck by how oddly arranged the rooms were. They had to cross Ned’s bedroom to reach the pocket doors that separated it from the living room. As Liss threaded her way through the mess in her cousin’s wake, she couldn’t help noticing that his bed was unmade and that discarded clothing lay scattered about in disorderly piles. The living room wasn’t much better. The furniture looked both new and expensive, but Ned’s carelessly strewn possessions, from magazines and DVDs to crushed beer cans and dirty socks, completely spoiled the effect.

  “Did you talk to your mother?”

  “Yeah. I called her.” He picked up the can of beer he’d left on the coffee table and took a long swallow. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “How did she take the news?” Liss shoved a pile of newspapers aside so that she could perch on the end of the couch.

  “She was upset, but she’s not coming home early. You know Mom. She committed to the three weeks, so she’ll stick it out. No reason for her to come home really. Nothing she could do.” Still carrying his beer, he settled into the recliner and elevated the footrest.

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “What for? You’ll just make her feel bad that she can’t be here to help out. Probably mess up her concentration so she won’t do a good job over there. I’m pretty sure she wants to be asked back. Don’t go screwing things up for her.”

  Torn, Liss leaned forward, hands clasped on her knees. It wasn’t just that she had questions for Aunt Margaret. She needed a dose of her aunt’s common sense. A little affectionate consoling wouldn’t be amiss either.

  Ned regarded her through bleary, slightly bloodshot eyes. “Give Mom a break, Liss. Don’t bug her about stuff she can’t do anything about. Besides, she’s going to be moving around a lot. She said it would be easier for her to call me than for me to catch up with her again.”

  Liss frowned. That didn’t sound right. Margaret had given her a copy of her itinerary, complete with phone numbers. “But, Ned—”

  “Let her enjoy herself, for God’s sake!” He came halfway out of his chair and tossed the now empty beer can across the room for emphasis.

  “Okay. Okay, I won’t try to phone her. But she’s going to call you?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “When she does, please let her know that I’m moving back into the apartment tonight and I’ll reopen the shop tomorrow or the next day, depending on how long it takes to put things back in order.”

  “Mom said to tell you she trusts you to take care of everything.”

  “That’s good to hear.” But Liss couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Ned was improvising, saying whatever it took to get her off his back.

  “So, the cops are through with whatever they were doing in the shop?” Ned’s eyes drifted closed. He looked relaxed enough to drop off to sleep at any moment.

  “Yes. If it’s not gone already, I’ll be taking down the crime-scene tape as soon as I get back there.”

  “LaVerdiere arrest anybody yet?”

  “No.” She gave Ned a sharp look, wondering what rumors he’d heard. “He suspects me.”

  Her cousin’s eyes popped open. “No way.”

  “Way.” She sighed. “He’s got a dilly of a motive now, too.” Certain he’d hear about it soon anyway, Liss filled him in on Mrs. Norris’s will. By the time she’d finished explaining, she stood in front of the big bay window that overlooked the street and Ned had left his chair to wander into the kitchen and get himself another beer.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” He toasted her with the can before he took the first gulp. “Here’s to you, cuz. May you spend your fortune well, preferably on generous gifts to members of your immediate family.”

  His attitude irritated her. “Maybe I’ll invest in The Spruces,” she said in saccharine tones.

  He choked on the second swallow. Glaring at her, he reached for a tissue and dabbed at his chin. “What is it about that place? Or is it the Ruskins?” He gave a short bark of laughter. “Must be pheromones or something. Mom falls under old Joe’s spell; you’re hot to trot with Dan.”

  “Hey!”

  “Just saying—”

  “Well, don’t. Dan’s a friend, that’s all. And I was kidding about The Spruces.” Probably. She’d have to look into the idea now that she’d thought of it. “Besides, I’ve still got to prove I didn’t kill Mrs. Norris. Can’t inherit if I’m the one who murdered her.”

  “Bummer.”

  “You could help me out, Ned. You stopped by Dan’s workshop that afternoon. Did you see anyone hanging around the Emporium?”

  “I came straight home.”

  “No need to sound defensive. No one saw anything. It’s very discouraging.”

  “Ah, Liss, Liss. Have a little faith. If you’re innocent, eventually you’ll be cleared.”

  “In this decade? Sorry, but I’m too impatient to wait for the police to get their act together. I’ve got to at least try to find out who really killed Mrs. Norris on my own.”

  He considered that for a moment, contemplating the ceiling above his recliner. When he glanced at Liss again, he looked both sober and concerned. “You know, Liss, you go poking around, asking questions and acting suspicious, you might as well paint a big old target on your forehead. Whoever did kill her isn’t going to want to be caught.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “I hope so. You know what they say—it’s always easier to kill the second time.”

  With her cousin’s dire warning still fresh in her mind, Liss returned to Dan’s house. There were messages on his answering machine. This time she didn’t hesitate to play them.

  Two were for her. Mr. Preston
had set Mrs. Norris’s memorial service for Saturday morning at ten. He promised to notify the newspapers and the radio station. And Liss’s parents had called. They still had friends in Moosetookalook.

  “Are you all right?” her father demanded. “What’s going on there?”

  On the extension, her mother’s voice was more soothing. “Give us a call, darling, when you have a moment. We worry about you.”

  Liss stared at the phone. If they knew to call here, it was a good bet they’d heard an earful already about her “relationship” with Dan Ruskin. She reached for the phone.

  It had a long cord. Liss stood at Dan’s living-room window as she listened to the distant ringing. Looking out across the corner of the town square, she had a clear view of the two houses to which she now had keys.

  Her mother answered and called for her father to pick up in his den. Liss cut short their anxious questions and gave them a garbled version of events. She didn’t want them to know she was a suspect in a murder case.

  “Are you shacked up with that Ruskin boy?” her father demanded.

  “That’s none of our business,” Liss’s mother chimed in. But Liss could tell from her tone of voice that she wanted to know what was going on every bit as much as Liss’s father did.

  On her second attempt, Liss managed to give a more lucid account, event by event, ending with the news of her unexpected inheritance.

  “So it’s just platonic between you and Dan?” Her mother sounded a trifle disappointed.

  “What? I don’t have enough complications in my life right now?”

  “Leave the girl alone,” her father said. “Do they have any idea who did it?”

  “No. The only trouble Aunt Margaret’s ever had in the shop before this was an incident with Ernie Willett a couple of years ago. Dad? Did you know they used to date?”

  A long silence answered her.

  “Dad?” Liss realized she was twisting the phone cord and forced herself to let go.

  Violet MacCrimmon was the one who finally spoke. “They were engaged to be married once. I never heard exactly what happened, but there was a bitter quarrel and they didn’t speak to each other for years afterward.”