It could be much worse. The adult child’s worst nightmare had to be the prospect of nursing elderly parents as they descended into increasingly poor physical and mental health.
“I should have gone to see them at Christmas,” she muttered under her breath.
“Dan came down with the flu,” Margaret reminded her. “No one expected you to abandon him. Not even your mother.”
“And they were okay then? Health-wise?” Margaret had gone to Arizona for the holidays.
“As far as I could tell.”
Liss stared unseeing at the panoramic view. “Somehow, I just assumed my parents would always be there, available to visit when I had the time, paying occasional visits to Maine when the spirit moved them.”
Belatedly, she realized that it had been several years since they’d made the trip. When had it become too much for them? And what other clues had she missed? How badly had their health declined while she had been too wrapped up in her own affairs to pay proper attention?
Margaret stood. “We should get going. We still have a drive ahead of us to reach the hotel we’ve booked for the night.”
“Maybe I should call them.” Liss fumbled in her tote for her cell phone.
Margaret stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “It would be best if you just think about what I’ve told you for a few days. To tell you the truth, I was of two minds about saying anything to you at all.”
“Why did you?” Side by side, they headed toward the car park. The clouds that scudded in front of the sun reflected the way Liss’s delight in the day had dimmed.
“My brother didn’t want to break the news to you over the phone. He was afraid you’d freak out.”
“I wouldn’t have—”
“You did.”
She had. She still was. And suddenly she didn’t want to talk about her parents anymore.
* * *
By Saturday, when Liss and Margaret arrived at the fields set aside for the Highland Games in Antigonish, nothing had been resolved concerning the impending return to Moosetookalook of Mac and Vi MacCrimmon. Liss had, however, found a new kilt maker to handle orders placed at the Emporium. She looked forward to spending the next two days scouting products for the shop, watching competitions, and listening to the skirl of bagpipes.
At the same time, she was beginning to feel a bit homesick. Phone calls and e-mails just weren’t the same as being right there with Dan and the cats. It didn’t help that their last few conversations had been a bit strained, at least on her end, because of her desire to avoid certain topics. Until she saw her husband in person, she preferred to postpone telling him about the murder of Orson Bailey. Likewise, the news about her parents was something best delivered face-to-face.
The gathering at Antigonish was a welcome distraction.
“Business first?” she asked Margaret.
Her aunt nodded. The area designated for merchandise vendors was only a short distance inside the entrance.
Although it was tempting to wander over to watch the Highland dancing competition or visit the cultural and arts workshops, browsing the stock for sale took precedence. They were on the lookout for items that would sell well at the Emporium, particularly those imported from Scotland. Finding them in catalogs was all well and good, but it was always helpful to be able to examine them firsthand.
It did not take long for Liss to spot a potential gem. It was billed as a “DIY Haggis Kit”—hokey, but something that might sell quite well.
On closer inspection, she changed her mind. She snickered as she read the label. The kit contained three synthetic haggis bungs—a bung being helpfully identified in parentheses as skin—together with three lengths of twine, a pack of haggis seasoning mix, and a recipe sheet. It was left up to the cook to add minced beef or lamb.
“Not exactly authentic,” Margaret said.
“Authentic would never get past the health inspectors.”
According to the label, the haggis seasoning mix wasn’t anything special, just oatmeal, salt, rice flour, dried onion, wheat flour, black pepper, vegetable suet, and unidentified spices and flavorings. Since Liss already offered imported canned haggis for sale, she decided to give this item a pass.
Other offerings were more promising. She found a crystal Loch Ness Monster for under twenty-five dollars. Figurines billed as “Clanta Claus” and made in Nova Scotia were on the pricey side, but definitely collectible. Each Santa Claus figure carried a bagpipe and wore a kilt made of 100 percent pure new lamb’s wool. A hand-lettered sign indicated that all clan tartans were available. In the small notebook she carried with her, Liss scribbled down contact information for the craftsperson who made them.
“Oh, Liss! Look at these.” Margaret had moved on to the next booth.
Liss took one look and started to laugh. “Yes, we have to have them,” she agreed, leaning closer to inspect a selection of tartan dog collars and leashes. She decided to pass, however, on tartan bow ties for dogs and cats.
And so it went, until they’d examined every vendor’s display. Agreeing to meet later at the area of the grounds where the food vendors were located, Margaret set off toward the clan tents to pursue the family tree of some obscure Scotswoman who’d married into the MacCrimmon family and Liss headed for stage where the dancers were competing. Solo piping competitions were going on at the same time. Later there would be a tug-of-war, the pipe band championships, and an afternoon ceilidh, among other events.
The crowds were colorful, noisy, and friendly. Liss was enjoying herself when, without warning, the back of her neck began to prickle. She looked around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. Certainly, there was nothing threatening about anyone’s demeanor, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being watched. It grew stronger as she made her way toward the food vendors. By the time she reached them, she was moving so fast that she almost sailed straight past her aunt.
“What on earth is the matter?” Margaret asked. “You look . . . frightened.”
“No! No, of course not. I’m just a little spooked, that’s all. I thought someone was following me.”
Margaret scanned the crowd, her face a mask of concern, but after a moment she returned her attention to Liss. “I don’t see anyone. Maybe you’ve just been out in the sun too long.”
“I didn’t imagine it.”
“Well, then, it was just someone in the crowd thinking what a good-looking woman you are. Men do stare at pretty girls, you know.”
Liss had to laugh at that assessment. “I’m a long way from being a girl and I was never all that pretty.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
Liss let the matter drop, but she knew she was right. Today, having dressed for the occasion, she wore traditional Scottish women’s clothing—a long tartan skirt and a white blouse. She’d taken no particular care with her hair or makeup. Dan might have admired the way she looked, but she didn’t stand out in any way, especially in this crowd, and it wasn’t likely she’d attract male attention by her looks alone. If someone had been watching her, it had been for some other reason, and that left her feeling uneasy.
Together, Liss and Margaret browsed the food offerings and settled on an item that looked suspiciously like a Cornish pasty, even if it had been given an impressive Gaelic name. To Liss’s relief, the sensation of being watched disappeared while they ate and did not return. She and Margaret spent the afternoon watching competitions and performances, had an early supper at a small restaurant recommended by one of the people manning a clan society tent, and returned to their motel just as the sun was about to set. Given the time of year and the time zone, that made it only a little after seven, but Liss was already yawning as she fumbled for her room key.
She froze, staring at the door. It was not all the way closed.
Liss swallowed hard and slowly backed away. She checked the number on the door as she did so. Yes, this was the right room.
Margaret came up behind her, saw what
she’d seen, and barged inside anyway.
“You’re being overcautious,” she said as she flicked on the light. “Housekeeping will have come in to make the beds and leave fresh coffee packets. They were careless when they left and the lock didn’t engage. It happens once in a while even at a classy hotel like The Spruces. There’s no need to complain to the manager or to call the po—”
She broke off with a gasp.
Whoever had last been in their room, it had not been housekeeping. Clothing was dumped out of suitcases. Papers were scattered everywhere. And Liss’s iPad, which she’d left plugged into the charger, was missing.
* * *
As Liss had already learned, the RCMP had detachments rather than precincts and members instead of officers. The Antigonish detachment proved to be every bit as efficient as the one that had responded to the murder in Chadwick, especially when it was discovered that Liss and Margaret’s room was not the only one that had been broken into.
Their possessions had been thoroughly ransacked. In addition to Liss’s iPad, a brooch Margaret had bought during their travels had also been stolen. Liss had to wonder if Canada was as law-abiding a place as she’d been led to believe.
The rest of their purchases had been in the trunk of the car or in the tote Liss was carrying instead of a purse. In addition to her wallet and passport, it contained brochures, the notes she’d made on merchandise that might sell well in the Emporium, and the map she’d brought from Maine to show Orson Bailey.
A good deal of the evening and part of the next morning were spent talking to the police and cleaning up the mess the burglars had left. By the time they were done, Liss had little enthusiasm for returning to the Highland Games.
“At least we don’t have to go to the trouble of canceling credit cards and changing passwords.” Margaret seemed determined to look on the bright side.
“There is that.” She kept nothing on her iPad except books and a few games. She used the device primarily as a reader and to look up things on the Internet. She did her banking in person at the tiny branch bank in Moosetookalook where she knew all the tellers and they knew her.
“It was obviously a random crime,” Margaret added. “We shouldn’t let it spoil our trip.”
Just like Orson Bailey’s murder had been random? Liss kept that question to herself. Instead she asked if Margaret wanted to go back to the games.
“Of course.” Margaret’s voice was firm. “And turn off your cell phone,” she added. “If Dan calls you, he can leave a message. The last thing you want is to blurt out what happened. There’s no sense worrying him when we’ll be home tomorrow evening.”
It was good advice and she followed Margaret’s suggestion. “One more thing to tell him about as soon as I get home.”
Margaret sent her a narrow-eyed look. “Meaning you didn’t tell him about the murder? Never mind answering. You couldn’t look any more guilty if you tried.”
“As you said, why worry him?”
“But it bothers you to keep quiet about it.”
Liss shrugged. “Dan and I promised we wouldn’t have secrets from each other.”
“It isn’t as if you’re hiding anything. You’re just waiting for an appropriate moment.”
That was what she’d been telling herself, but Margaret’s words did little to ease her conscience. Once they arrived at the field, however, she let the excitement of the Highland Games take her mind off her worries.
Sunday’s schedule included many of the same events as the day before. There was also a pipe band competition. The entrants were vying for the championship of all of Atlantic Canada. In the heavyweight athletic events, Canada was competing against the U.S. in both pro and open divisions. Since the annoying sensation of being watched did not return, Liss enjoyed herself more than she’d expected to. She and Margaret stayed through the closing ceilidh and the final performance of the massed bands.
Back at the motel, they found their room securely locked. No one had broken in. Nothing had been stolen. Muscles Liss hadn’t realized she’d tensed relaxed as she collapsed into the chair.
When she pulled out her cell phone and turned it on, she found a voice mail from Dan. She was about to return his call when she saw that she had a second message. As she listened to it, her good mood evaporated.
Margaret came out of the bathroom, caught sight of her expression, and sighed. “Now what?”
Liss held up the phone. “Remember Sergeant Childs?”
“That nice Mountie who interviewed us in Chadwick. What about him?”
“He wants us to meet with him tomorrow on our way home.” Liss tucked the phone back into her tote, no longer in any mood to talk to her husband. “It didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like an order.”
Chapter Five
It was not difficult to locate the headquarters of the RCMP detachment in Amherst. Liss pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. She wished, not for the first time, that Sergeant Childs had given a reason when he suggested they meet at eleven this morning, and that his voice mail request hadn’t sounded so ominously official.
“Why is it that cops always make people nervous?” she asked as she unfastened her seat belt. “I know I’m innocent as a lamb, but I still have this awful feeling that I must have done something wrong, because why else would he want to talk to me again?”
“Maybe one of us should have told that nice constable who interviewed us after the break-in that we’d already had dealings with the RCMP,” Margaret suggested.
“I would have.” It annoyed Liss to hear the defensive note in her voice. “He was too efficient.” The truth was, she’d been hesitant to mention the murder and had been relieved when she had been given no opportunity to do so.
Now that they had arrived, she admitted something else to herself. Ever since leaving Chadwick the previous Monday afternoon, she’d been trying to pretend she had no interest in the investigation into Orson Bailey’s death. She’d also tried to convince herself that the murder could not possibly have any connection to the map or to the Chadwicks. After all, she knew almost nothing about Orson Bailey. They’d had no relationship beyond an exchange of e-mails, and that had been with her aunt, not her. Bailey could have made enemies left and right while he was alive.
But she had been the one who’d found his body. In some inexplicable way, that made it important to her that his killer be caught and punished. With an abrupt movement, she opened the car door and got out.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Sergeant Childs was waiting for them. “Ms. Ruskin. Right on time. And Mrs. Boyd. I trust you had a pleasant week?”
He listened politely as Margaret recounted some of their successes in finding new suppliers. She was singing the praises of the Highland Games at Antigonish as they settled in around a table in a small meeting room.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Liss interrupted, “but we have a long drive ahead of us. Why are we here?”
Childs’s infectious grin soothed her jangled nerves even before he answered. Really, she thought, the RCMP was wasting its natural resources if they weren’t using him on their recruitment posters.
“I apologize if my message sounded curt or left you with the wrong impression, but since the route you described in your interview indicated you’d have to pass through Amherst anyway, I thought it best not to discuss police business in a voice mail. I won’t keep you in suspense. I simply wanted to let you know that we’ve made an arrest in connection with the death of Orson Bailey. You can return to the States and put this distressing incident behind you. I’m afraid I can’t discuss the case in detail,” he added when Liss opened her mouth to ask a question.
“Won’t we need to return to testify at the trial?” Margaret asked.
“It doesn’t seem likely. We have a confession.”
Liss told herself she should be relieved. The matter was settled. She could go home and forget the entire unpleasant experience. Echoing Margaret, she thanked
the sergeant for keeping them informed. Telling them in person was good public relations, and good international relations, as well.
Sergeant Childs escorted them back to their car and sent them on their way with another of his killer smiles, but as Liss drove off she was plagued by a sense of something unfinished. It didn’t take much effort to figure out what it was.
* * *
When Liss pulled into the parking lot at the Chadwick Historical and Genealogical Society, Margaret sent her a satisfied look. “I wondered if this was where we were headed when you didn’t stick to the main road.”
“Just a short detour,” Liss said. “I thought we could stop in and ask Cindy if she has the information Mr. Bailey was going to give you.”
“She must be relieved that the killer has been arrested.” Margaret followed Liss along the flagstone-paved sidewalk, but when they reached the entrance she stopped and pointed to the sign that listed the society’s hours. “It’s Monday. They’re closed.”
“Cindy was here last Monday, and I got the impression that it was her usual practice to come in every day.”
Liss tried the knob, but the door was locked. She shaded her eyes and peered through the glass. She could see lights burning inside the building. Either the society’s secretary was in, or someone wanted to give the impression that the building was occupied. She rang the doorbell. When no one appeared right away, she rang it again and knocked on the door for good measure. Once again, nothing stirred. She was about to give up when she caught a flicker of movement at the entrance to the short corridor, the one off which Cindy had her office.
“Cindy?” she called. “It’s Liss Ruskin from last week. If you have a minute, I’d like a word with you.”
She’d barely finished speaking when the redhead showed herself. Cindy didn’t look enthusiastic about letting them in. Her steps dragged as she circled the reception desk and she took her time to verify Liss’s identity before she released the deadbolt. When the door swung inward, she stepped back to allow them to enter.
Cindy had abandoned her “business casual” attire of the previous week in favor of jeans and a peasant blouse. Her shoes were ballet flats instead of three-inch heels, making it necessary for her to look up to meet Liss’s gaze. She led them into a small office that was cramped but cheerful, decorated with colorful prints of flowers and supplied with a coffeemaker and mini-fridge.
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