Bagpipes, Brides and Homicides (Liss Maccrimmon Scottish Mysteries) Read online

  She settled into one of the easy chairs. A quick peek at an author photo showed her a dark-eyed man with a shock of white hair and strong facial features. Then she began to read.

  After she closed the shop that afternoon, Liss drove out to The Spruces. It didn’t take long to get there. The hotel was only a couple of miles from the center of town. The trip would have been even shorter if the road hadn’t twisted and turned and gone up and down enough hills to qualify as a roller coaster.

  From below, villagers could look up and see the highest rooftops of The Spruces standing out against a scenic backdrop of tree-covered mountains. Up close, the hotel revealed itself as a gleaming white three-story building with octagonal towers at each corner. They rose to four stories while the central tower had five floors and was topped by a cupola. The present structure had first opened for business in 1910, although there had been a hotel in this location for some twenty years before that.

  Liss parked in the staff lot but she didn’t go inside right away. Instead she took a moment to enjoy the view. Even on an overcast day heavy with mist, it was impressive. The grounds contained a pretty gazebo at the center of the back lawn. It was the twin of the one in the town square. A blanket of green extended for more than the length of a football field, ending in a wooded area that stretched for a considerable distance before merging with civilization. Expanses of manicured lawn, unbroken save for the occasional flower bed, bench, or piece of decorative statuary, spread out from the other three sides of the hotel. Unquestionably, the grounds were more than adequate to accommodate the highland games.

  But if space wasn’t a problem, surely there were others. Aside from the threat of demonstrations, there was the damage heavy foot traffic would do to the grass. And what about those colorful flower beds, wooden benches, and bits of fanciful statuary that dotted the landscape? The thought of turning a large crowd of people loose in this pristine setting brought the words “bull” and “china shop” to mind.

  Liss tried to visualize all the booths and stages that would have to be set up. Each one would leave its mark, no matter how careful the organizers were to fill in any holes made by tent poles, stakes, and the like. Some of the events, like tossing of the caber and the stone of strength, would also leave marks. The lawns at The Spruces would never be the same.

  Liss shook her head and with the movement realized that the mist had turned back into a steady drizzle. It was past time she stopped procrastinating and went inside.

  When she’d finger-combed the worst of the moisture from her hair, she made her way to Joe Ruskin’s office. Unlike the rest of the hotel, which screamed luxury, he kept his work space plain and utilitarian. She found him sitting behind his desk and scowling at a computer screen.

  “Got a minute?” she asked, poking her head into the small, cramped space. Besides the desk, there were several file cabinets and two visitors’ chairs.

  Like his son, Joe was over six feet tall with the kind of muscular build that came from hard physical labor. On Joe, Dan’s sandy brown hair had acquired a hint of gray at the temples—very distinguished, Liss thought—and Joe’s molasses-brown eyes and mobile lips were set off by a series of laugh lines.

  Examine the father to see what the son will look like in forty years, Liss thought, smiling to herself. The smile faded when she remembered the corollary to that old saw: check out the mother to see what the daughter will become. Liss was certain she was nothing like her mother and she hoped she never would be.

  “Problem?” Joe asked.

  “Maybe.” She sat, her hands twisted in her lap. “I hear my mother conned you into hosting the games.”

  He chuckled. “It didn’t take much persuasion, Liss. I could see the advantages right away.”

  “I’m not sure she told you the whole story.”

  He leaned back in his chair, studying her through eyes disconcertingly like his son’s. “She told me the one thing that matters—that she wants your wedding to be perfect. So do I.”

  “Joe, the ceremony isn’t officially part of the Medieval Scottish Conclave. We were just going to use the site . . . for the ambiance,” she added, quoting her mother with a self-conscious little smile.

  “I get that, Liss. But it would be a shame to have to cancel the whole shebang. The Western Maine Highland Games have been held in Carrabassett County for decades. I just can’t understand what the fairgrounds folks were thinking to make such a stupid mistake with the scheduling.”

  Liss drew in a deep breath. As she’d feared, her mother hadn’t given Joe the whole story. In a rush, wanting to get it over with, she told him everything she’d learned from Sherri, along with what little more she’d been able to gather from other sources in the course of the last few hours. Then she threw in her observations about the kind of property damage that would inevitably occur, given the events the games included and the size of the crowd they’d draw.

  “Even if the organizers do their best to clean up after themselves,” she concluded, “you may be looking at more expenses than you bargained for.”

  “What is it you Scots say, Liss—dinna fash yersel?”

  “Don’t worry,” Liss translated, and had to smile at his pronunciation. “Yes, but—”

  “Believe me, I’ve taken all that into consideration. I admit I didn’t know about the possibility of a picket line till you told me just now, but I’ve got the rest of it covered. The deal I made with the highland games people includes compensation for damages and extra funds for security. In addition, they’ve paid me a healthy fee up front for our use of the grounds.”

  She’d been right, Liss thought. Joe had needed the cash. “What about the media? Demonstrations will undoubtedly have the news vultures circling.”

  He shrugged off her concern. “That will be annoying, as the protests will be, but this is private property. We can keep both picketers and the press off the grounds. And on the plus side, any television coverage should show The Spruces in the background of every shot. That’s free publicity, Liss. Can’t beat that.”

  “It will come at a cost.”

  “A negligible one. Look on the bright side—this change in venue will be good for the other businesses in Moosetookalook, too. The Emporium should do especially well, what with all the fans of things Scottish in town.”

  “Except that the store won’t be open.”

  Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium was always closed during the highland games. They had a booth at the fairgrounds instead. Although it was always profitable, this year she’d planned to give it a pass. After all, she was getting married on the Saturday of the games and would be on her way to Scotland on the Sunday. Her mother had talked her into changing her mind.

  Liss frowned. The current agenda called for hiring a couple of people to man the booth on Saturday, then turning it over to Vi and Mac on Sunday. Liss had duly recruited two employees of The Spruces for the Saturday shift. Now, they’d be needed for their day jobs. She wouldn’t feel right depriving Joe of their services. He didn’t have a huge staff to begin with. Usually family members filled in as needed, but on Saturday they’d all be involved with the wedding.

  “I’m glad you’re all right with this,” she told Joe as she stood, “but just thinking about the logistics is giving me a headache.”

  “Then leave that end of things to me and your Aunt Margaret,” he suggested.

  Liss readily agreed. These days, Margaret MacCrimmon Boyd was events coordinator at The Spruces and she was very good at her job.

  “And to your mother, of course,” Joe added. “You can bet I jumped at the offer when Vi volunteered to serve as our liaison with the organizers of the games.”

  By the time Liss got home, her mother already had an early supper prepared. Over the meal, Liss broached the subject of the change in venue. Before she could say more than a few words, her mother rushed into speech.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said. “It’s all under control.”

  “Even the
demonstrators? You didn’t mention them to Joe.”

  “She didn’t mention any of this to me,” her father said. “Fill me in.”

  Liss’s father looked like exactly what he was, a sixty-three-year-old successful businessman, now retired. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and eyes the same blue green Liss had inherited. Early-onset osteoarthritis had prompted him to move to Arizona twelve years earlier, but he was still able to play the bagpipes. As Liss explained about Professor Palsgrave’s theory, the reenactment, and the various reasons people objected, the ready smile that was a big part of his personality flattened into a grim line.

  “Violet, what have you done?”

  Liss glanced at her mother. Vi was the picture of innocence. “I have saved your daughter’s wedding.”

  “Don’t you think you and I should have discussed the situation before you suckered Joe into offering the hotel?” he asked.

  “There was no time to waste.” Vi bent to lift Lumpkin, Liss’s oversized yellow Maine coon cat, into her lap. Lumpkin immediately stretched out a paw, attempting to snag a sliver of leftover chicken.

  “The wedding is still several weeks away. A couple of hours wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  Liss didn’t understand why her father was so upset. She wondered if it was the rain that was making him so grumpy. Dampness did make his arthritic joints ache. That had to be it, she decided. Unfortunately, the weather did not explain the thundercloud over her mother’s head.

  “Stick to meddling in our daughter’s wedding,” Mac said, “if you have to interfere in something.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Vi shot to her feet, dislodging Lumpkin. In retaliation, he tried to bite her foot. Vi was too quick for him. She was already halfway across the room. “This all has to do with Liss’s big day. I don’t want it to be spoiled by anything. Not picket lines. Not—”

  “Neither do I.” Liss’s father reached down to stroke Glenora, the small black cat busily stropping his ankles in the hope of cadging some of the chicken for herself. “That being the case, perhaps Joe should ask the nutty professor to cancel his part of the program.”

  “If Dr. Palsgrave wouldn’t back down so the games could stay at the fairgrounds,” Vi said, “he won’t pull out now.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to ask,” Liss interjected. This whole debate was making her uneasy. She wasn’t accustomed to hearing her parents quarrel. Ordinarily, they got along extremely well. Her father simply agreed to go along with whatever her mother wanted. She fixed Vi with a pointed stare. “Since Joe tells me you’re the contact person, you should be the one to talk to him.”

  From the doorway, where she stood poised for a dramatic exit, Vi expelled a theatrical sigh. “If you insist. I’ll set up a meeting.”

  “Take my sister with you,” Mac suggested in a disgruntled tone of voice. The expression on his face was grim. “Better yet, deal with Palsgrave in a phone call and save yourself the long drive.”

  Vi didn’t answer. She just flounced off down the hall.

  Liss turned to her father. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart.” He glanced at his watch. “Weren’t you going to go over to Dan’s this evening?”

  Literally throwing her hands in the air, Liss left.

  Plucking a whoopie pie out of the bakery bag she’d brought with her, Liss settled in beside Dan on the sofa in his living room. Her fiancé sent a tired smile her way and slung an arm around her shoulders. She knew he’d barely had time to take a shower and grab a sandwich before she arrived, even with the detour she’d made to Patsy’s Coffee House to pick up dessert.

  Dan had been working long days in the family construction business, hoping to finish up several ongoing projects before their wedding so that he could take three weeks off for their honeymoon with a clear conscience. In spite of today’s rain, he’d put in ten hours straight.

  Liss fed him a bite of the rich snack, smiling as some of the marshmallow fluff filling oozed out from between layers of chocolate to end up just under his nose. “White mustache,” she whispered as she wiped it away, then licked her fingers clean.

  “Mmmm,” he agreed.

  She peered into his dark brown eyes, expecting to see a spark, but he was too worn out to muster up a smile, let alone a smoldering look. She poked him in the ribs. “Stay awake. I need to give you an update on our wedding.”

  “I’m fine with whatever you want,” he mumbled sleepily.

  Eyelids at half mast, Dan rested his head against the back of the sofa. Liss suspected he would drift off at any moment. She talked fast, filling him in on the day’s developments.

  He surprised her by speaking when she finally ran down. “Do I still have to wear a kilt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Still bagpipes?”

  “Yup.”

  “So, the only change is that we’re going to exchange our vows at the hotel instead of at the fairgrounds, right?”

  It sounded much less complicated when he put it that way. “Right.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Liss had to wonder if he’d missed the part about the picket lines, but she decided not to ask. “I was thinking we could hold the ceremony in the gazebo.”

  “Works for me.” He yawned hugely. “Are we done with wedding talk?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Want to fool around?”

  She laughed. “I might, if I thought you could stay awake long enough. As it is, I think you should toddle off to bed—alone—before you fall asleep where you sit.”

  “I will be so glad when home is the same place for both of us.” With another jaw-cracking yawn, he stumbled to his feet to walk her to the front door. His house was the next one beyond Dance Central. It would take Liss less than two minutes to get home.

  “Soon,” Liss promised when she’d given him a tender good night kiss.

  “Definitely,” he agreed. “Picket lines or no picket lines.”

  “So you were listening.”

  “Heard every word. But I also know something else. Come hell or high water, never mind picket lines, you and I start our life together as man and wife on the twenty-fifth of July.”

  Chapter Three

  Liss’s mother and her Aunt Margaret duly met with Professor Palsgrave. It was not a productive session. He refused to cancel the battle.

  A few days after that meeting, the man Mac MacCrimmon had dubbed “the nutty professor” walked into Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. He was better looking in person than in his author photo, a tall, white-haired gentleman with intense dark eyes, a prominent nose, clearly defined cheekbones, and a square jaw.

  “Good morning,” said A. Leon Palsgrave. He spoke in a cultured voice that had probably been wowing young female students for decades. Charisma oozed out of his smile.

  Although Liss immediately understood the impact Palsgrave had on most people, she herself remained completely unaffected by it. She supposed being in love and about to get married gave her immunity to the charms of any man other than her fiancé.

  “May I help you?” She had the fleeting thought that she ought to ask him to autograph the six copies of his book currently taking up space on her shelves. Then she decided that he didn’t need the ego boost. Better to let him think she hadn’t even recognized him.

  “We are looking for Violet MacCrimmon.”

  Belatedly, Liss realized that Palsgrave hadn’t been the only person to enter Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. Two women had trailed in after him.

  Physically, they could not have been more different from each other. The older of the two appeared to be in her midforties and if she topped the five-foot mark, Liss would have been surprised. Loose, bulky clothing made her look almost as round as she was tall. She had short, curly, ash-blond hair and eyes of such a bright blue that Liss suspected they were colored contact lenses.

  The second woman was much younger than the first, making Liss think she might be
a college student. She was also a walking contradiction. Her muddy brown hair, downcast eyes—Liss couldn’t even tell what color they were—and poor posture were at odds with lush feminine curves displayed in tight jeans and a black T-shirt emblazoned in white with the slogan “Drink Coffee: Do Stupid Things Faster With More Energy.”

  Palsgrave did not introduce either of his companions. There was more than a trace of impatience in his voice when he addressed Liss the second time. “Do you know where we can find Violet MacCrimmon? It was my understanding that she lives in one of the houses on the town square.”

  Liss gestured in the proper direction. “You’ll find her right next door.”

  “Excellent.” The charm was back. “Thank you so much for your help.”

  Ignoring the wares Liss offered for sale, he headed straight for the exit, but the plump woman who’d come in with him, and who had been studying a display of Celtic jewelry, stopped his retreat by the simple expedient of catching hold of his arm as he went past.

  “This is beautiful stuff,” she said, sending a sweet smile Liss’s way. “You have good taste.”

  “Thank you. I—”

  Palsgrave’s irritated voice cut her off in midsentence. “We’re in a hurry, Caroline. You can shop later.”

  Caroline’s expression hardened. “This store specializes in Scottish items,” she said with tightly leashed annoyance. “We’re interested in publicizing the Medieval Scottish Conclave. I’d call that a match made in heaven.”

  Palsgrave continued to look peeved, but he studied his surroundings with more care. Survey complete, he addressed his colleague in a more conciliatory manner. “What did you have in mind?”

  Caroline turned to Liss and produced a card that identified her as Caroline Halladay, professor of medieval studies at the same small, private college where Palsgrave taught history. “Would you be willing to put a display in your front window to help us publicize the Medieval Scottish Conclave?”