Scone Cold Dead Page 7

  The comments people made gave Sherri the impression that most of the differences between Victor and various members of the troupe were pretty petty. No one, of course, confessed to killing him.

  It was getting dark by the time they worked their way around to the last of the lot staying at the motel. “Ray Adams is our stage manager,” Liss said as she knocked on his door. “Head of a two-man crew responsible for lights, sound, scenery, and just about everything else backstage except costumes and props.”

  When Adams absently waved them into his room, Sherri remembered seeing him at the reception. How could she forget that nose? It rivaled Jay Leno’s in size. Fortunately, Ray’s chin was of normal proportions.

  He’d been watching a hockey game on television. He muted the sound, but made no other concession to their presence. His gaze returned to the screen as soon as they entered. He left it to Liss to close the door against the chilly March twilight.

  “Ray’s a rabid Islanders fan,” Liss said, sotto voce.

  “What are you, nuts?” Ray yelled at the screen. His voice was deep and raspy. Sherri would have said it was a smoker’s voice, except that there was no smell of cigarettes in the room.

  “He roots for the Yankees during baseball season and the Giants when football games are on. Hates both the Red Sox and the New England Patriots with equal passion.”

  “And you two still speak to each other?”

  Neither Sherri nor Liss was a big sports fan, but anyone hailing from Maine knew where their loyalties must lie, especially when, miracle of miracles, a New England sports team actually managed to win a championship.

  “Ray is backstage during every performance,” Liss said, “and I have a feeling that he sees a lot that the rest of us miss.”

  “Shoot, already!”

  “Uh, Ray?” Liss touched his arm.

  “What?”

  “Cops talk to you earlier?”

  “Yeah. All right! Hat trick!”

  “Ray!”

  A commercial came on. He swung around to face them, blinked once, and grinned. “What?”

  “Victor was murdered. You’re all stuck here for an extra day.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Heard that already.”

  Sherri watched his face intently as Liss questioned him, just as she’d watched the others they’d talked to. So far everyone had agreed Victor had been more irritating than usual lately, but no one had admitted to being ticked off enough to want him dead.

  “Tell me about the last week or so,” Liss urged Ray. “Did Victor clash with anyone in particular? Was someone grumbling about him?”

  Distracted by the game, Ray just shook his head.

  “Come on, Ray. Help me out here.”

  Sherri couldn’t tell if he was frowning because of the goal the Islanders had just missed or because it had finally dawned on him that Liss was pumping him for information. Maybe both. He shot her a sharp look. “Victor was always pissing somebody off, y’know? You want I should list every time? I should live so long!”

  “Ray . . .”

  “All right, already!”

  With ever-increasing frequency, “y’know?” ended Ray’s sentences as he reeled off accounts of half a dozen clashes between Victor and various members of the company. All were minor incidents except the last, which had taken place earlier that week in the parking lot of a high school they’d been playing in Vermont.

  “Let me get this straight.” To Sherri, Liss’s voice sounded shaky. “Victor and Sandy got into it a couple of days ago but you didn’t hear what they said to each other, you just saw that they were shouting?”

  Ray nodded. “A lot of arm waving, y’know? Sandy shook his fist right under Victor’s nose. Victor knocked his arm aside, y’know? And they both stalked off in different directions.” His attention drifted back to the television.

  Liss looked stricken. It was clear that although she didn’t want Zara arrested, she wouldn’t be happy if suspicion shifted to Sandy, either. After a moment, she gathered her wits and smacked Ray on the arm to regain his attention. “Did you tell the cops what you just told me?”

  “You want I shoulda lied?”

  “No. No, of course not.” She sighed. “Thanks, Ray. Talk to you later.”

  They were at the door before Ray said anything else. “Victor got what he deserved, y’know.” The words sounded heartfelt. “You should let it go, already.”

  When he got home from The Spruces, Dan took a quick shower, then headed for Liss’s house. That he owed her an apology was only half his reason for going there. He also needed to make sure she was okay. He knew her well enough to be certain she’d involve herself in any trouble the members of Strathspey were in. She’d think them her responsibility, since she’d been the one to invite them to perform in Fallstown.

  He didn’t see Margaret Boyd’s station wagon on the street in front of the Emporium, but didn’t let that alarm him unduly. It might be parked in Liss’s garage. Given the likelihood of more snow, it probably was.

  When Sandy Kalishnakof answered the door, Dan gritted his teeth and greeted him cordially. He could hear recorded bagpipe music coming from the living room and recognized Beth Hogencamp’s excited, high-pitched voice. She’d come for a dance lesson. Liss must be home.

  But when he advanced into the house, he saw that it was Zara Lowery, not Liss, who was demonstrating a step for the girl. Liss was nowhere in sight.

  Zara turned the music off and watched while Beth imitated what she’d just been shown. “That’s it,” Zara said encouragingly. “The third step is the toe-and-heel.” She watched for a moment. “No. Spring, then hop on the right foot, and execute the toe-and-heel movement with the left foot in fifth position. Good. Spring. Then hop on the left foot. Toe-and-heel with the right foot in fifth position. That’s it! Now repeat.”

  Beth’s smile was triumphant as she went through her paces. When her movements brought her around to where she could see Dan, however, she faltered. A shy child, she wasn’t quite ready to perform for an audience.

  Zara glanced at him, then at her watch. “That’s it for today, Beth. I hope you didn’t mind having me as a substitute teacher.”

  “Oh no. You were great, Miss Lowery. Thank you.” All the while avoiding looking directly at either Dan or Sandy, she traded her dancing shoes for sturdy boots and bundled up in her winter coat. Moments later she was racing toward home, the apartment above Angie’s Books on the other side of the town square.

  “Nice kid,” Zara said. “She’s going to have to get over that shyness, though.”

  An awkward silence fell. They were probably wondering how much he knew, Dan thought. And he’d certainly like to know what Liss was up to. He cleared his throat. “Liss around?”

  “She went to Fallstown to talk to the rest of the company. We’re staying an extra day.”

  “Ah. I see. And she asked you to take over Beth’s lesson?”

  “Actually, she forgot all about Beth, but since that was our fault . . .”

  Sandy must have seen the flash of anger in Dan’s eyes. He moved protectively in front of Zara. Dan held up a hand. “Whoa. Sorry about that. I’m not upset with you two. Guess you know the police are taking an interest in Victor Owens’s death. They’ve been here, right? Talked to Liss?”

  Zara sank into the nearest chair and let her head fall back against the cushions, closing her eyes. Sandy settled in on the arm of the same chair, taking one of her hands in his. “We’ve all been interviewed,” he admitted.

  “And that’s why Liss went to Fallstown to talk to the others in the company.” Dan frowned. No sense beating around the bush. “Did she go to talk to them or to interrogate them? If one of you people is a cold-blooded killer, it isn’t exactly safe for her to go snooping around.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with Liss. We certainly have no control over her actions.”

  “Nobody does. That’s the problem. She’s too damned impatient to let matters work themselves out. She’ll take a han
d, hoping to hurry things along. I don’t like to think what could happen if she corners the wrong—or in this case, the right—person.”

  “She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Sandy said. “She knows how to take care of herself.”

  “She knows one self-defense move.” Granted, it was a good one. He’d ended up flat on his back himself when she’d demonstrated it to him. But it wouldn’t help her against a man with a gun or a woman with a knife or poison—real poison, not just something only one person in the group was allergic to. “Any idea when she’ll be back?”

  “None. Truthfully, we expected to see her by now. I mean, it’s not like her to forget that she had promised to give Beth a dance lesson this evening.”

  Dan didn’t like the sound of that at all. Reaching for the phone on the end table, he punched in Sherri Willett’s number. He got her mother, and an earful, but no information on where either woman might have gotten to.

  “Whatever she’s doing, it’s to help us,” Sandy said when Dan hung up.

  “You sure you don’t know anything? The sooner someone’s arrested, the better, and I personally don’t care who it is. None of you mean squat to me.”

  To his surprise, Sandy found that amusing. Chuckling, he eased himself off the arm of Zara’s chair and urged her to her feet. “You feel like fixing us something to eat?” he asked her.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “No.”

  “Do it anyhow.” It was a gentle-voiced suggestion, not a command, but she sighed and drifted off toward the kitchen. Sandy waited until she’d disappeared down the hallway before he turned back to Dan.

  “More than one person had reason to wish Victor gone from the company, but killing him is a little drastic. He’d probably have been fired at the end of this tour. He was causing a lot of morale problems and getting careless about finances.”

  “You one of the ones who wanted him gone?”

  “Yes. And if there hadn’t been a risk that the company’s backers would simply disband Strathspey rather than find a new manager midtour, several of us would have filed formal complaints before now. We were biding our time. And Zara and I were looking for another dance company to join, just in case they decided to keep him and not us.”

  The smell of frying onions drifted into the room and Dan heard the clank of spatula against pan. Maybe he would stick around for supper. See what he could find out about these people.

  “How’s Strathspey set up?” he asked Sandy. “You said something about backers?”

  “Yeah. A group of self-styled patrons of the arts put up the seed money and act as a board of directors. First couple of years, they paid most of the expenses. Since then we’ve been self-supporting. No big profits, but holding our own.”

  “You said you and Zara were looking for new jobs. Are there a lot of companies like yours?”

  “Not really. Riverdance runs a couple of tours. Irish dancing and Scottish dancing aren’t the same, but we could adapt.” His gaze was unfocused, as if he were trying to see into the future. After a moment he shook his head and shot a rueful look in Dan’s direction. “Yeah. Okay. Pipe dream. Especially when there are two of us. But we had feelers out. Musical theater’s a possibility. Summer stock. Lots of shows employ dancers of one sort or another.”

  It didn’t sound like they had much in the way of job security to Dan, and he knew from Liss’s experience that the career of a professional dancer could be a short one. “How’d you get into this line of work, anyway?”

  “Dancing? It’s in my blood. My father was with a ballet company before he left Russia for this country. My mother, like Liss, competed in Scottish dancing from the time she was a kid. When they married they opened a dance school. Taught everything, in fashion or not. Ballet. Tap. Modern. Folk dances and Celtic dancing.”

  “And Zara?”

  “Victor found her at a Scottish festival two years ago, winning all the dance competitions. He recruited her for the company.”

  “Victor, huh?”

  “Victor Owens was hired as manager when Strathspey was organized. He was a dancer, too, at first. Better at running things. He had a good eye for talent and could pinch a penny till it squealed. Until recently, nobody had any real complaints about him, except a lady or two who also got pinched.”

  “So Victor was with the company from the beginning, just as Liss was. Anyone else go back that far?”

  “Four of us,” Sandy said. “Fiona, Ray, Stewart, and me.”

  Chapter Five

  Fallstown wasn’t the sort of place that went in for disreputable bars. Instead it had a brew pub called the Meandering Moose that was half lounge and half restaurant. There was no smoking in either section, thanks to a strict state law, and the clientele was a mixture of couples, singles, and college seniors who were finally old enough to buy themselves a drink.

  Liss and Sherri found Stewart in the lounge section, where he had commandeered a four-person booth. Only one beer bottle and one glass mug sat in front of him, but Liss was fairly certain he was well past his first drink of the day. His color was high and his watery blue eyes looked a trifle unfocused even after he recognized her.

  “Ah, Liss!” Stewart grinned widely. “Who would have imagined that such a delightful establishment could exist in the back of beyond? Look—this is a place after my own heart. Will you join me in a lager?” He turned the longneck around so that she could read the label. The brew pub had named this particular beer Fallstown Logger.

  Liss refused to dignify such a pitiful pun by acknowledging it. Instead she gestured toward Sherri. “You remember my friend Sherri Willett. I’m pretty sure I introduced you two at the reception last night.”

  Stewart rose, bent over Sherri’s hand, and kissed it. Sherri’s brows lifted and she sent a questioning look in Liss’s direction.

  Liss shrugged. “Stewart was born in England. His accent becomes more pronounced after a few beers and the lord of the manor manners seem to increase along with it.”

  “And I believe I’m in need of another. Ladies?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a beer,” Sherri said.

  Liss asked for a ginger ale.

  “Excellent, my dears. Oh, waiter!”

  “So, what do you do with the company, Stewart?” Sherri asked when they had been served. Her first cold gulp of Snowe’s Pale Ale, another local special, went down a treat.

  “He plays the bagpipes when the show calls for live rather than taped music and he dances.” Even as she spoke, Liss realized that last night Stewart had not danced. “At least he usually does. Injury?”

  “Victor,” Stewart growled. “I had a much bigger role in the show until he started making changes.”

  “Why did he do that? I mean, why mess with what works?”

  “Said I was unreliable. Ha! I’m as reliable as good clockworks. Just wind me up and I can do my stuff no matter how I spend my time off. Get it? Time?”

  Liss and Sherri exchanged a glance. Liss put one hand over Stewart’s on the table. “You’ve been . . . partying lately, haven’t you? Staying out late? Showing up late? Missing the bus?” It was an old pattern with Stewart, but Liss had been under the impression that he’d licked it. They’d staged an intervention about three years ago, after which he’d cut way back on the drinking.

  “Man’s got a right to enjoy life,” Stewart grumbled.

  Sensing that there was no point in being subtle with Stewart when he was half-plastered, Liss asked right out if he knew of anyone, besides himself, who had a bone to pick with Victor.

  If Stewart knew about Sandy’s quarrel with the company manager, he didn’t mention it. Nor did he come up with any other useful suggestions.

  “Okay, Stewart. I’ll talk to you again when you’re sober.” Liss stood and Sherri followed suit. On the way out, Liss asked the bartender to call a cab for Stewart when he was ready to leave.

  “You don’t want to give him a lift to the motel now?” Sherri asked.

  “I know him too well.
He’ll just take off again on his own, end up in worse shape, and try walking back. I’d hate for him to get hit by a pulp truck.”

  Four members of Strathspey had been booked into rooms in the Lonesome Stranger B&B, a charming old Victorian house decorated in the style of that period. Sherri was almost afraid to move for fear of breaking something. The rooms were stuffed with furniture and every level surface seemed to be littered with breakable knickknacks. Keeping a wary eye on her surroundings, she followed Liss upstairs.

  There was no answer when Liss rapped on the first door they came to. She knocked again, then tried the knob, which turned easily in her hand. “Emily?”

  She flipped the light switch, revealing a heavily carved bed, a massive dresser, and huge cabbage roses marching across what wallpaper could be seen around a profusion of framed sketches, portraits, and landscapes. Of Emily, however, there was no trace.

  “I thought she might be lying down,” Liss explained, turning the light off again and backing out of the room. “Emily Townsend dances my old role in the show. Apparently she was romantically involved with Victor. His death must have been a terrible shock to her.”

  “The blonde?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lot of help she was. I handed her my phone so I could start CPR. She turned it off and left it on the refreshment table.” Sherri hadn’t seen her again.

  “Unless you told her what to do with it, she probably didn’t have a clue. Most civilians don’t, you know.”

  The next room along the upstairs corridor was occupied by a snub-nosed, sloe-eyed older woman Liss introduced as Winona West. She was in charge of costumes and props for the company. She was wearing what appeared to be a costume herself, a long flowing skirt of apricot-colored velvet and a military-style black velvet jacket.

  Her room, like Emily’s, was all lace and flowers and smelled faintly of potpourri. Only one lamp had been turned on. Since its glass shade, in the shape of an owl, was amber colored, the light it offered was feeble. Winona didn’t seem to need more. She’d been playing solitaire on her laptop when they’d interrupted her.