X Marks the Scot

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  Liss was glad she was sitting down. “The dozen or so I’ve made in the last week, ever since Margaret and I had a little chat about your future plans. I left messages.”

  “Huh,” her father said. “I guess Vi forgot to tell me about them.”

  She forgot? Liss’s heart sank. Her thoughts leapt at once to the fear that haunts all children of parents over the age of sixty-five—could Violet MacCrimmon be in the early stages of Alzheimer’s? “Are you sure you’re both okay?”

  “Right as rain.”

  He sounded so cheerful that she knew he believed it. It remained to be seen whether or not he was deceiving himself.

  “As a matter of fact,” he went on, “the reason I called was to let you know that we’re on our way north.”

  “So soon?” Listening more closely, Liss could hear traffic sounds in the background and a car radio playing softly. A more immediate concern grabbed her by the throat. “Please tell me you’re not talking on the phone while you’re driving. You need to keep both hands on the wheel!”

  He laughed. “I’m not such a fool. Your mother is spelling me.”

  Liss held the receiver away from her ear and stared at it. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. While it was true that her mother had a driver’s license, she never voluntarily drove if she could get someone else to play chauffeur. She’d barely absorbed that detail when she suddenly saw the bigger picture.

  “Are you driving all the way from Arizona to Maine?” The last few times they’d come to visit, they’d flown into Portland International Jetport. Liss and Dan usually met them there and brought them the rest of the way to Moosetookalook.

  Her father cleared his throat. “I thought you said Margaret talked to you. We, ah, have some extra baggage with us this time.”

  Did that mean they’d already sold their condo in Arizona and were heading north with all their possessions crammed into a rented trailer? Before she could find the right words to ask, her father spoke again.

  “Anyway, we’re taking our time on the road, but we expect to be there to help you and Dan celebrate your anniversary.”

  “Daddy—”

  “And we’re looking forward to those cooler temperatures in Maine. You wouldn’t believe the heat wave we’ve had to endure lately!”

  “I watch the news, but I thought all that dry heat was good for your arthritis.” Liss leaned her head against the back of the sofa. She needed the support. This conversation was making her dizzy.

  He chuckled. “I’m on some really good drugs.”

  That was not reassuring. She tried again. “Daddy—”

  “Got to go now. We’re coming up on a good place to stop for an early supper. Love you.”

  Without waiting for her response, he ended the call.

  Liss swore under her breath. She considered hitting redial, then thought better of it. Either he wouldn’t answer or he’d pick up and give her the runaround all over again.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning dawned as one of those bleak, drizzly days that sometimes engulf Maine in July, even the Maine that is far distant from fogs that come in off the ocean. Liss dragged herself to work, tempted to leave the CLOSED sign up and concentrate on updating the Emporium’s Web pages. The sense of responsibility hammered into her from an early age would not permit such a lapse. With a long-suffering sigh, she flipped it around to read OPEN.

  No one came in until two hours later, and then it was only Sherri, but Liss was glad to take a break from her self-imposed task. Adding items and their prices to the store’s online inventory and making sure they could be moved seamlessly to the “shopping cart” function by customers was a picky and time-consuming process. Once, she’d accidentally priced an item at $10.99 instead of $110.99. She’d been obliged to honor the lower price, even though that was far less than what each one had cost her. She’d been able to fix the problem fairly quickly, but the mistake had taught her a valuable lesson. She now proofread every bit of copy at least three times before letting it go live.

  “Coffee?” Liss offered.

  “Love some. Do you have a minute?”

  “I have way more than one.”

  Liss disappeared into the stockroom and returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs and the last two jelly doughnuts from the half dozen she’d bought at Patsy’s Coffee House on Tuesday.

  Sherri had made herself comfortable in the cozy corner. She looked tired, Liss thought. No surprise there, not when she worked full time at a stressful job and was a full-time mother to three active children, one of them a teenage boy. Pete was a great father, but he worked full time, too, and his job as a patrol deputy for the sheriff’s department meant he was often called upon to work extra hours.

  After gulping down the first few swallows of coffee, Sherri perked up. “I finally have some news to report. This morning, I received confirmation that Aaron Lucas did enter Canada, and on the same day you and Margaret did, too.”

  “Now what? Arrest him?”

  “Talk to him.”

  Liss placed her almost-full mug on the coffee table, sloshing a little of the hot brew over the side as she did so. She was surprised to note a slight tremor in her hand, a sure sign that she already had way too much caffeine in her system. She couldn’t remember how many cups of coffee she’d downed since coming into work. She hadn’t slept well the night before for worrying about her parents and their imminent arrival in Moosetookalook.

  Sherri handed her a napkin to mop up the spill. “You okay?”

  “Sure.” Embarrassed by the irritation she heard in her own voice, Liss was quick to turn the conversation back to Aaron Lucas. “What else do you know?”

  “Not much. He crossed the border at Calais at two in the afternoon. That would be three New Brunswick time.”

  Liss stared at her. “But that’s hours after Margaret and I entered the country.”

  “I think you’d have noticed if he was in the car behind you the whole way.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she realized that a part of her had truly believed that Lucas had been responsible for Orson Bailey’s murder, as well as for the lesser crimes tied to the map she’d found. Was there a way he could have killed the archivist? From the border, he’d have had to drive across New Brunswick into Nova Scotia. He couldn’t have known where she and Margaret would stop for the night. They hadn’t made reservations in advance. In order to kill Bailey, he’d have had to arrive in Chadwick first thing the next morning. But how could he have known what town they were headed for, let alone that they had a meeting scheduled at the historical society? As far as anyone but Dan had been aware, their only destinations in Nova Scotia had been Truro, a couple of places on Cape Breton, and Antigonish.

  “Lucas was in Canada,” she said slowly. “He was the man I saw in Truro. He was probably the one who broke into our motel room in Antigonish.”

  “Looks that way,” Sherri agreed, “but that’s still just speculation. Speaking of which, I asked my contact to find out if Benny Beamer was north of the border on the dates in question. He’ll check, but it could be a few more days before I hear anything back from him.”

  Liss nodded her thanks, but her enthusiasm for investigating Benny had waned. Although she’d already shared her theory about a Chadwick connection with both Sherri and Margaret, in the murky light of this new day the possibility seemed at least as far-fetched as her conviction that Aaron Lucas had murdered Orson Bailey.

  Sherri stood. “I’ve got to get going. Just before I came over here, I talked to Maurice Kelsey on the phone and persuaded him that it would be to his advantage to produce Aaron Lucas.” She looked well pleased with herself. “I may have led him to believe that someone actually saw him with Lucas at The Spruces. Anyhow, he caved. Lucas will meet me at the hotel in half an hour for an informal interview.”

  Liss’s answering smile was weak but genuine. “I don’t suppose you’d let me come with you? If I see Lucas close up, I s
hould be able to confirm that he’s the one I saw in Truro.”

  Sherri hesitated. “You’re a civilian.”

  “I’m a witness.” Liss crossed to the phone on the sales counter and punched in the number for Angie’s Books. A few minutes later, she’d arranged for Beth to take charge of the Emporium.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Sherri warned her.

  “It’s a great idea,” Liss insisted, as much to convince herself as to get Sherri to agree. “Lucas will assume I know more than I do and you’ll get more out of him.”

  “I do all the talking,” Sherri stipulated.

  “Of course.”

  Although Sherri still looked doubtful, she agreed to the revised plan.

  * * *

  Sherri had arranged to meet Aaron Lucas in the staff conference room at The Spruces. In contrast to the meeting rooms in the rest of the hotel, this one was exceedingly plain, furnished with nothing more than a long wooden table, several chairs, and a smaller side table that held a coffeemaker and containers of sugar and creamer. Aaron Lucas had already fixed himself a cup and taken a seat. His eyes—rather nice, bright blue ones—narrowed when Liss and Sherri came in. He took note of Sherri’s uniform, acknowledging her authority with a curt nod, but he regarded Liss with obvious suspicion.

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “Concerned citizen,” Liss said.

  “Interested party,” Sherri answered at the same time.

  Lucas grunted and took another swallow of his coffee.

  Sherri took the seat opposite him while Liss remained standing near the door. She produced a notebook and a pen, flipping open the former before she looked her suspect straight in the eye. Liss had to admire her style.

  “Mr. Lucas, I must inform you that you are a person of interest in an investigation now being carried out by Canadian authorities. It would be to your advantage to cooperate by helping to clarify certain matters.”

  His look was cool and assessing. He did not seem at all intimidated by the possibility of arrest. Not a good start, Liss thought, especially when he knew that he was not obligated to answer Sherri’s questions.

  “Mr. Lucas,” Sherri said, “I was under the impression that you had agreed to cooperate.”

  “Kelsey’s idea. Not mine.”

  “Yes, well, the company you both work for no doubt prefers to avoid bad publicity.”

  Liss studied Lucas as he maintained a stubborn silence. His expression gave away nothing of what he was thinking—a good “cop face.” That was a skill Sherri had yet to master. Liss could see her friend’s patience begin to fray as the silence lengthened.

  Impatient herself, Liss put an end to it by breaking her promise to Sherri and thrusting herself into the interview. She plunked herself down next to Sherri, glared at Lucas, and demanded, “Did you kill Orson Bailey?”

  “Liss!” Clearly appalled, Sherri glared at her.

  Liss swallowed hard. That wasn’t what she’d meant to ask. The question had just popped out, as if it had been lurking in her subconscious, waiting for the opportunity to escape.

  Lucas’s voice rose to a bellow. “Who the hell is Orson Bailey?”

  Liss stared at him. His stone face had cracked to reveal a combination of bafflement and outrage. His blue-eyed glare was leveled at her with laser precision, demanding an answer. She had to swallow again before she could oblige.

  “He was murdered in Chadwick, Nova Scotia, just before he was scheduled to meet with me and my aunt. You entered Canada the same day we did. You could easily have gotten there ahead of us.”

  “Listen up, lady, and listen good. I didn’t go near Chadwick. I didn’t even know there was such a place.”

  Lucas’s hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. In her peripheral vision, Liss saw Sherri shift slightly to give herself better access to her utility belt. Belatedly, it occurred to Liss that Lucas might be armed. He was in the security business, after all.

  Even without a gun or a knife, he was dangerous. He was a big guy in good physical condition. If he was the violent type, he was capable of doing considerable damage with only his fists.

  Sherri spoke in a soft voice, her demeanor calming. “We’re attempting to get at the truth, Mr. Lucas. Mr. Kelsey seemed confident you have nothing to hide. If you’ll just answer a few simple questions, we can settle this matter.”

  “Simple? She just accused me of murder.”

  “She will stay out of it from now on or be evicted from the room.”

  Liss, watching Lucas, saw the tension in his shoulders ease a fraction, but he still had her in his sights.

  “As far as I can see,” Sherri continued, “you had no reason to kill anyone, but if you did follow Ms. Ruskin and Ms. Boyd to Nova Scotia, it is possible you have information that will help the RCMP find out who did murder Orson Bailey.”

  Without looking away from Liss, Lucas addressed Sherri. “You’re lousy at this.”

  Sherri blinked in surprise. “At what?”

  “Interrogation. If I had killed this guy, Bailey, you’d be doing a good job of lousing up the investigation for the Mounties.”

  The accusation made Sherri bristle and caused Liss to suspect that Aaron Lucas might have more experience questioning suspects than her friend did. That shouldn’t have surprised her, she supposed. After all, when a murder occurred in rural Maine, the state police took over. Town cops were pushed out of the loop.

  “I would appreciate your cooperation,” Sherri said, “without the critique.”

  At last Lucas took his eyes off Liss, swiveling toward Sherri so fast that she jerked back in reaction. Her hand went to her holster. Liss held her breath, but all Lucas did was slowly unclench his fists until his fingers lay flat on the tabletop. His lips curved into something that was more smirk than smile.

  “You really should be recording this,” he said.

  “Are you planning to confess?” Sherri shot back.

  “I’m planning,” he said in icy tones, “to exonerate myself.”

  Lucas’s shift from obstructive to cooperative didn’t make him any less dangerous, but Sherri, too, placed both hands in plain view.

  “Joe has one of those memo cubes,” Liss offered. “Shall I borrow it?”

  At Sherri’s nod, she left the room, returning a few minutes later with a small electronic device that was years out of date. It had been designed to let busy people record reminders like “buy milk” and “call Mom about babysitting,” but it would work well enough for Sherri’s purposes.

  In her absence, Sherri had apparently identified Orson Bailey.

  “He couldn’t have had the map,” Lucas said. “I wouldn’t have had any interest in him.”

  When Liss set the recording device on the table between Lucas and Sherri, Sherri turned it on and gestured for him to start talking. Wearing a long-suffering look, he picked it up and held it like a microphone.

  “Lester Widdowson stole formulas he’d been working on from Cornwall Pharmaceuticals, my employer. They have been anxious to get them back, one of them in particular. After Widdowson’s death, his son consented to be interviewed. That’s how we learned that his father, on his deathbed, mumbled something about a frame. At first we thought Widdowson was claiming he’d been framed. It was only when I dug deeper that I found a connection between the word frame and a house Widdowson owned.”

  “The Chadwick mansion,” Sherri murmured.

  “Right. By then the house had been sold and the new owner had scheduled an auction of the contents. On the strength of my theory, the company sent me to Moosetookalook to buy up anything with a frame—photos, paintings, mirrors.”

  “But you let the Grant piper go,” Liss said. “Why?”

  Sherri sent her a quelling look, but Lucas didn’t seem to mind the question, now that the accusation of murder had been dismissed.

  “I didn’t want to call attention to myself by bidding any higher. I was planning to contact you later to see if I could take a look at the fra
me, assuming I didn’t find anything in the ones I purchased.”

  “What about the other bidder?” Liss asked.

  “Someone else just liked the painting, I guess. I didn’t see who it was.”

  “Go on,” Sherri interjected, shooting Liss a glare she interpreted as “don’t interrupt with any more questions.”

  Lucas leaned back in his chair, giving every indication of being perfectly relaxed as he continued his tale. “I confess I was still around when you were loading the painting into the car. I saw you drop it and I saw you find something behind the backing. It wasn’t in the frame, but it was close enough. I figured it had to be the formula we were looking for.”

  “You could have approached her then and there,” Sherri said. “Why didn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Do you want to hear my side of things or not?”

  “Go on.”

  “I followed you two back to town. It wasn’t hard to figure out where Ms. Ruskin here lived, or why she’d bought the portrait. And it didn’t take much more effort than that to discover that what she’d found was a map.”

  “You spied on me!” Liss was halfway out of her chair before Sherri grabbed her arm and jerked her back down.

  Lucas seemed amused by her outrage. “People leave their windows open in the summer. Voices carry.”

  It must have been that same evening, Liss realized, when she’d told Dan and Margaret about her find at the auction. The dogs had known there was someone out there. They’d barked and she’d foolishly ignored them.

  “I’m surprised no one saw you lurking,” Sherri said. “This is a small town. Neighbors look out for each other.”

  “No one was home on that side. There were no lights on in the house or in the downstairs dance studio. Besides, I’m good at what I do. I listened, but what I heard didn’t seem relevant.” He shifted his gaze back to Liss. “It wasn’t a formula you’d found, unless it was in the scribbles on the back.”

  “Faint markings,” Liss murmured, remembering the conclusions they’d drawn at the time. “Hardly noticeable and nothing we could make sense of.”

  “From what I overheard, the writing on the back had to relate to the map, if it meant anything at all, and the map didn’t seem to have any connection to Lester Widdowson. Not then. You were convinced it was old.” His tone implied that he blamed her for steering him wrong.