“Easy for you to say.” Lifting her head, Sherri reached for the list of guests and sighed. Liss had been right. It was going to be a long night.
At the check-in desk, Dan studied the display on the screen in front of him. The Spruces had plenty of available rooms. He’d just finished, somewhat arbitrarily, assigning a fair number of them to the members of the hotel staff who were still on the premises. His father, meanwhile, was making the rounds of kitchen and lounge to let everyone know they were welcome—make that encouraged—to spend the night at The Spruces rather than try to drive home in the storm currently raging outside.
Armed with three key cards, Dan headed for his father’s office to issue the invitation to stay overnight to the housekeeping staff. He hoped they hadn’t already left. What had begun as just a heavy snowfall was now predicted to turn into a full-scale blizzard. The Ruskins didn’t want anyone in their employ trying to navigate narrow, twisting roads in whiteout conditions.
The sound of raised voices reassured him as he turned into the narrow corridor that led to the offices and the conference room.
“Fine heck of a note!” That was Sadie’s raspy voice. “Some guy gets robbed and the first thing they do is suspect us. Of all the—”
Rhonda cut in. “It happened on my floor. That—”
“Doesn’t make it your problem,” Sadie snapped, cutting her off.
“Whose room was it, anyway?” Rhonda asked. “Sherri didn’t mention a name.”
“Who cares?” Dilys sounded peeved. “It’s nobody we know.”
“Excuse me, ladies,” Dan interrupted.
All three turned to stare at him. Sadie looked irritated. Rhonda appeared apprehensive. And Dilys’s expression struck Dan as three parts defiance and one part chagrin, probably because he’d caught them gossiping about the theft.
“It’s beastly weather out there. I realize the center of town isn’t all that far away, but it wouldn’t take much to go sliding off the road and into a tree in these conditions. On behalf of the management, I’d like to offer you each a room for the night.” He held up three folders containing key cards. “Breakfast in the morning is also included.”
“Free?” Rhonda asked.
“Free. No strings.”
Rhonda looked at the other two.
Sadie shrugged. “Your call. You’re the one driving.”
Dilys glanced uneasily at the windows, just as the wind made them rattle. “Better safe than sorry, Rhonda. You can go if you like, but I’m staying put.” She took one of the key cards from Dan, glanced at the room number written on the folder, and scurried away, as if she was afraid he’d renege on the invitation.
Still Rhonda hesitated. “My husband and my boys expected me home hours ago.”
“Call them,” Dan suggested. “I’m sure they won’t want you to take any unnecessary risks.”
“Well…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sadie snapped, grabbing the second key card. “Grow a backbone, Rhonda.” Then she, too, disappeared.
Dan set the last little folder on his father’s desk and addressed the remaining housekeeper in a gentle, coaxing voice. “You need to think of your own welfare sometimes, Rhonda. If you like, you can use this phone.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He left her alone in the office and went back to the front desk, busying himself with odds and ends that needed doing until Pete turned up some time later.
“You want the middle tower suite for you and Sherri?” Dan asked his friend.
“I don’t think she plans to sleep.”
“There are other things you could do besides sleep,” Dan said with a wink. “And there’s a king-size four-poster up there.”
“Tempting,” Pete admitted, “but my girl is in full cop mode. No point in wasting the luxury.”
“Maybe I’ll give the tower suite to Liss, then,” Dan said. “She might appreciate it after the day she’s had.” He keyed the appropriate information into the computer.
“So,” Pete said, “when are you going to stop procrastinating and propose to her?”
“As soon as I’m sure she’ll accept.”
“How soon is Gordon Tandy due back?”
“In a couple of months.” Trust Pete to go right to the heart of the matter. Dan’s rival for Liss’s affections was currently out of state. A state trooper by profession, Tandy had been sent for special training to some police academy out west. Dan didn’t know the details. He didn’t want to remind Liss of Gordon Tandy by asking.
“Better get a move on, chum. Time’s a wasting. Speaking of time, shouldn’t the supper be breaking up pretty soon? Sherri wants to talk to all of them.”
Dan glanced at his watch. He’d lost track of time and was surprised to see that it was nearly ten. “They booked that private dining room until midnight. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to let them know not to call it a night until they’ve seen Sherri. I—”
The lights went out.
“Damn.”
After a moment, they flickered and came back on again.
“Better check the phone,” Pete said.
Dan lifted the receiver and heard nothing but dead air. “Landlines are out.”
“Not too surprising, I guess.”
“At least we’ve still got cell phones.”
“Don’t count on it.” Sherri entered the lobby, police band radio in hand. “My portable isn’t working.” She returned it to its holster on her utility belt. “The tower must be down.”
Dan checked his cell phone. “No service. Just how bad is this storm supposed to get?”
As if in answer, the lights flickered again.
“Well, hell,” he muttered.
An outage wasn’t totally unexpected, but neither was it something to take lightly. Like everyone else who’d lived in that part of Maine for a long time, Dan still had vivid memories of the ice storm of ’98. That one had knocked out power for the best part of a week. He still had the T-shirt that commemorated it.
If the hotel lost power, backup generators would kick in. They’d provide enough juice to pump water in from the well and run the refrigerators and freezers in the kitchen. Fortunately the stoves and ovens ran on gas. The generators would keep lights and heat going, too, but not at full capacity. Faced with the possibility that they might lose electricity for days rather than just hours, especially if the winter storm turned really wild and wooly, the Ruskins had prudently stockpiled emergency supplies. To conserve energy, they had plenty of battery-powered lanterns for light and they could stoke up the fireplaces in the public rooms to augment the heat.
“We’d best grab a few flashlights and head for the private dining room,” Dan said, suiting action to words. There were three in a drawer behind the counter. “If the power does go out, we may have to do without electric lights for a while. There will be less panic if our guests are prepared. I’d like to get everyone down here to the lobby. Once we gather them all in one place, I can brief them on safety measures and hand out lanterns.”
“And tell them I’m waiting to talk to them,” Sherri said, taking one of the flashlights and trailing after Dan toward the stairway to the mezzanine.
“Tell me where you keep the lanterns,” Pete said, armed with the third flashlight, “and I’ll start bringing them up.”
“I’ll show you,” said Joe Ruskin, coming up behind Pete. He dumped a large cardboard box full of them on top of the check-in desk.
“Better take the stairs,” Dan called after them as his father and Pete headed back the way Joe had come. The storage room was in the basement, and it wouldn’t help matters any if the two of them ended up trapped between floors in the freight elevator.
“Can you leave the check-in desk unattended?” Sherri asked when they reached the mezzanine.
“If the power goes out, calls from guest rooms won’t get through anyway. And, trust me, this is one night when no one is likely to wander in off the street to ask for a room.”
T
hey slipped quietly into the private dining room, not that anyone would have noticed them if they’d thumped and clattered. The members of SHAS were all on their feet, singing at the top of their lungs.
Liss intercepted Dan and Sherri before they’d gone more than a few steps inside the door. “The supper is just wrapping up,” she mouthed.
The singers belted out last few words of “Auld Lang Syne” and abruptly fell silent. People started gathering up their possessions, preparatory to leaving the room. Anxious to make his announcements before they could scatter, Dan headed for the microphone. Liss and Sherri were right behind him.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he said, “if you could just stay put for a moment?”
He heard grumbling, but everyone obediently stopped moving.
“Thank you.” He drew breath to ask them all to adjourn to the lobby, but before he could say another word, the room plunged into darkness.
A woman gasped. A man cursed. Someone bumped into the table and let out a colorful oath. For a moment, confusion reigned, but everyone present lived in Maine or New Hampshire. They were not exactly strangers to power outages.
The emergency lights flickered to life. The word EXIT lit up over the doors and a few dim bulbs shed pale illumination from strategic spots along the walls. Dan turned on his flashlight and shone it up at his own face. The microphone was dead, but he had a good loud voice when he needed it.
“Sorry about this, folks,” he bellowed. “If you could all just hold on another minute?”
He waited for them to settle again.
“Well, we’ve got a beaut of a storm tonight,” he said, opting for a folksy tone he hoped would soothe rattled nerves. “Just about everything is on the blink—electricity, phones, computers. And I’m not even going to try to guess how long we’ll have to do without. But, as you can see, we do have emergency lights and we have plenty of flashlights. We also have battery-powered lanterns. Enough for everyone. What I’d like each of you to do right now is go down to the lobby—use the stairs, please—and collect the illumination of your choice. Even if the power comes back on in short order, you’ll probably want to keep another light source handy tonight, in case of further outages.”
“Will the johns work with the power out?” someone called from the back of the room.
Dan waited for the laughter to die down. “You’ll be glad to know that the hotel’s generator will indeed keep the plumbing going.”
Applause greeted this announcement.
“We do ask that you don’t take any long, hot showers or baths until power is restored. As for heat, we will have to keep the thermostats turned low—around sixty degrees—and the fireplaces some of you have in your rooms are not approved for use by the fire marshall, so please don’t try to use them. However, we already have a fire lit in the hearth in the lobby and there are fireplaces in most of the public rooms. We have a plentiful supply of wood to keep all of those going, and the stoves in the kitchen run on gas, so providing you with hot meals will not be a problem.”
Someone tugged on Dan’s sleeve. He looked down to see Sherri Willett standing beside him. For a moment, he’d forgotten about that stolen brooch. He cleared his throat.
“There is one other thing. This is Officer Willett of the Moosetookalook Police Department. She needs to speak briefly with each of you before you turn in for the night. I’ll let her explain, and then we can all head down to the lobby together.”
He stepped back and hoped for the best. So far, everyone was being pretty understanding about the loss of utilities, but Dan had a feeling that their tolerance was about to be put to the test. It was one thing to be asked to do without a few creature comforts, especially when an act of nature was responsible for the situation and everyone else was in the same boat. It was quite another to have a uniformed police officer imply that you might be a thief, even when everyone else was a suspect, too.
Sherri set up an interview space in the lobby near the sweeping staircase that led to the mezzanine. She’d decided to limit her questions to asking when each guest had checked in, where they’d been between 3:45 and 4:45, and—for those with rooms nearby—if they’d seen anyone suspicious near the MacMillans’ suite. She was pretty sure this line of questioning would not turn up the missing brooch, but she had no better idea how to proceed. At least Phil MacMillan wouldn’t be able to complain that she wasn’t doing anything.
It was slow going, even with only those few questions. The replies were so similar that before long the members of SHAS, and their tartans, became little more than a blur.
At least everyone seemed to be in a cooperative mood. It helped that the Ruskins had set up a free buffet table and opened a couple of portable cash bars. The first round of drinks had been on the house. There had been cheering when Joe announced that breakfast the next morning would also be free.
“Next up is one of the practical jokers Phil MacMillan fingered,” Pete whispered as yet another man in a kilt approached. “Eric Buchanan. I’ve met him before, at one of the Highland Games.”
Sherri took Buchanan through the same questions as everyone else. He claimed he’d been in the lounge during the relevant hour. Sherri had no reason to doubt him, but she took the precaution of talking to Tricia Lynd next.
“Oh, yeah,” the hotel’s only intern agreed. “He was there the whole time. Him and his friend.” She pointed out a man with buck teeth and cauliflower ears. “His buddy there pinched my butt, so I definitely remember him!”
Sherri had a sneaking suspicion that the pincher would turn out to be the second practical joker MacMillan had named, but several loud blats, the sound of a bagpipe tuning up, made asking her next question a challenge. “Who else was in the lounge?” she shouted.
Russ Tandy was one of the SHAS members Sherri had already interviewed. The noise he was making prevented her from hearing Tricia’s answer. He chose that moment to launch into an impromptu bagpipe concert. It was suddenly impossible to think, let alone continue the interview.
Holding up one finger as a signal for Tricia to wait, Sherri semaphored her arms until Liss MacCrimmon looked her way. Then Sherri pointed to Russ and mimed zipping her lips. If there was a signal for “make the piper shut up,” she didn’t know it, but Liss got the message. By then, Russ was well into a spirited rendition of “Scotland the Brave.” Liss waited patiently until he finished the piece, then caught his arm and whispered in his ear. A moment later, she led him away, bagpipe in hand.
As silence descended, Sherri breathed a sigh of relief.
“About those two men, Tricia—how long had they been in the lounge?”
“Awhile. They came in right after we opened at three.”
“Did either one go out and come back in again?”
Tricia shook her head. “I’d have noticed. Until two more guys in kilts came in, they were our only customers.”
“Huh,” Sherri said. That seemed to rule them out as suspects. When she’d confirmed the name of the bottom-pinching practical joker was Norbert Johnson—the second name MacMillan had mentioned—Sherri decided to talk to him next. He had an alibi, all right, but she indulged herself by leaving him with the impression that if he didn’t behave himself in the future he was going to find himself charged with sexual harassment.
“Dumbass,” she muttered as she watched Johnson scurry back to the bar. But he was an innocent dumbass. She turned to Pete. “Who’s next?”
“Hank and Glenora Huggons.” Pete gestured for a middle-aged couple to come forward, but before they could reach the table where Sherri and Pete sat, a tall man in an orange and yellow kilt shoved rudely in front of them.
“Run along, kiddies,” he told the couple. “I’m talking to the officer next.”
Sherri frowned. Even in the dim lighting, she recognized Phil MacMillan’s beak of a nose and square jaw. “Have you remembered something else, Mr. MacMillan?”
“You haven’t talked to me yet. I’m Phineas MacMillan and I’m tired of waiting around.”
Sherri felt herself grow warm with embarrassment. She’d known Phil had a brother, but she hadn’t realized the two were identical twins. Still, that being the case, it was entirely natural that she might mistake Phineas for Phil. He didn’t have to be so rude and contemptuous about it.
She gestured to one of the chairs they’d set up on the opposite side of the table. “Please sit down, Mr. MacMillan.”
MacMillan took his time getting settled. He adjusted his kilt and sporran, tugged on the bottom of his jacket, and made sure his bow tie was straight. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he cleared his throat. “I hope this won’t take too long. It’s a bit nippy sitting this far from the fireplace.”
“Perhaps you should change out of the kilt,” Sherri suggested in saccharine tones.
“I may do that. Or perhaps I’ll just turn in for the night. I was under the impression that I was not permitted to leave the lobby to do either until after I’d answered your questions. Shall we get on with it?”
“Certainly. I understand you were with your brother when his brooch went missing.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is about? That absurdly overpriced clan crest brooch?”
Sherri nodded. She had asked Phil and Eunice not to mention the theft, but she was a little surprised Phil hadn’t confided in his own brother.
Phineas looked thoughtful. “Am I to assume it disappeared while Phil and Eunice and I were inspecting the private dining room with Ms. MacCrimmon?”
“That’s right.” Who was asking the questions here, anyway? Sherri supposed it didn’t matter. Phineas MacMillan had a solid alibi for the time of the theft. He’d been with Phil, Eunice, and Liss. Still, she needed to confirm his movements. “I understand you met your brother and his wife in their suite?”
Phineas nodded. “Yes. We went down to meet Ms. MacCrimmon together. I was back in my room in under an hour.”
“Did you see anyone else on the third floor?”
“Not that I recall. If that’s all…?” He stood, fussily smoothing the pleats in his kilt as he did so.
“Thank you for your help,” Sherri said, as she had to everyone she’d questioned.
The Corpse Wore Tartan Page 6