“Well, I suppose I forgive you, then,” Margaret said, trotting along beside him. “How’s your father coping?” Margaret and Joe had been friends for a long time, and she’d always been one of his biggest supporters on the hotel project, even investing her own money in the venture.
“Taking it one day at a time, as always.”
Dan had been trying to emulate his parent, but with only partial success. As long as the hotel was cut off, no new guests could check in. Meanwhile, they were losing money hand over fist on the guests who were stuck there. Since their extended “vacation” at The Spruces was not their choice, they could hardly be charged for their food and lodging.
“Liss didn’t tell me much.” Margaret gave him an eager look that invited him to share what he knew.
“Liss and I don’t know much.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well, anyway, after Liss told me about Sadie finding a body, she described this strange dream she had. She’s named the kitten Glenora.”
Dan wasn’t sure he followed Margaret’s train of thought. “Is that important?”
“I suppose not, except that it shows how much this murder is preying on Liss’s mind. Glenora Huggons is one of the SHAS people.”
They’d reached the log Dan had earlier used as a bench. Sam spotted them and headed their way, walkie-talkie in hand. This wasn’t the time to be talking about Phil MacMillan’s murder, Dan decided. Once again, there were too many people around. Dan had given Sam the basics the previous night, but he didn’t want to go into more detail, not even with his brother.
“Look, Margaret, let’s wait till we’re back at The Spruces to discuss this, okay? And you’d better wear the snowshoes I had on yesterday to get there. I’ll use the ones you brought.”
“Thanks.” She sent him a sheepish smile. “They are kind of heavy.”
They were also going to make walking around the remaining fallen tree much more of a challenge, but he’d manage. “Okay, then. If you’ll wait here at the work site, I’ll go get Liss and we’ll be back in a few.”
He was already retracing his steps toward the town square when she called to him. “Wait, Dan! Liss isn’t at the house. She said she’ll meet us here as soon as she can.”
Slowly, Dan walked back to where Margaret stood. “And where, exactly, is she?”
“She was going to Rhonda’s to pick up a change of clothes for her.”
Dan frowned. “I didn’t know Liss and Rhonda were friends.”
“They aren’t, as far as I know.”
“Then why—?”
“She didn’t say. I swear, the two of you are turning into the most closed-mouthed individuals I’ve ever met! You really should have told me about the trouble at The Spruces last night. I’m sure we could have found a quiet corner where no one could overhear.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.” He still didn’t.
While Sam and Margaret greeted each other, Dan peered down the street, hoping to see Liss hurrying toward them. There was no one in sight. He tried to tell himself he had no reason to be concerned about her, but he still felt uneasy.
The hell with it, he thought. If she didn’t like him interfering, that was just too bad. He headed for the Snipes house. He wasn’t quite running, but it was a fast walk.
“Well, well. If it isn’t little Liss MacCrimmon. Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.”
“Hello, Mr. Snipes. Hello, Rodney. Hello, Norman,” she added as his two sons appeared in the doorway behind him.
They were not an appealing sight. Rhonda’s husband, known by one and all as “Cracker,” could best be described as slovenly. He wore an old pair of sweatpants, paint spattered and full of holes, and an even older and more ratty-looking sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off above the elbow. It did nothing to hide rolls of belly fat.
Cracker’s oldest son, Rodney, was only a few years younger than Liss, but he was already starting to resemble his father. Liss remembered him as a brat, the kind of boy who delighted in pulling girls’ hair and shooting people with water pistols. The youngest son, Norman, didn’t look much like his father or brother. Instead, he bore a strong resemblance to a ferret.
At least they were already up. She would have hated to see what any of them looked like when they first rolled out of bed.
“You’re lettin’ the heat out,” Cracker Snipes said, gesturing for Liss to enter.
She accepted the invitation, though not without a few second thoughts, and followed the three men into the kitchen. They had a woodstove. The entire downstairs of the house was wonderfully warm. They were using it for cooking as well as heating. A kettle full of hot water steamed on the back section, and on the front a cast-iron fry pan contained the remnants of Canadian bacon and scrambled eggs.
Rhonda would have a huge cleaning job to do when she got back. Not only had her menfolk left their dirty dishes lying around, but heating with wood was always messy. A trail of small bits of bark marked the path from the wood pile in the shed to the stove. No one had bothered to dig out a broom and dustpan and sweep them up.
“So, Liss,” Rodney said. “What brings you here?”
“I came to pick up a change of clothes for Rhonda and one for Dilys.”
Cracker’s brow furrowed. “Why the hell isn’t Rhonda home where she belongs? If she can send you—”
“There’s no way to get cars out of the hotel parking lot right now,” Liss said hastily, “not with all the trees that came down across the driveway and the road. I hiked out yesterday on snowshoes and I’ll be going back in the same way later this morning.”
“Rhonda coulda walked out.” He sounded more sulky than angry, for which Liss was grateful.
She considered telling him that his wife had indeed tried to get home the day before, but thought better of it. That would require far too much explaining. “Rhonda is needed at the hotel,” she said instead, “what with all the guests being stuck there, too. Think of all the overtime Joe Ruskin will have to pay her to stay on.”
“There is that.” Cracker Snipes immediately looked more cheerful.
“If you’re anxious to see Rhonda, I’m sure the three of you would be a welcome addition to the crew trying to clear the road. And the sooner the way is open, the sooner she can come home.”
None of them rushed right out to help. Cracker didn’t even escort Liss to the master bedroom to collect clothes for Rhonda. He just pointed the way. “Upstairs. First door on the left. And Dilys’s room is the second on the right.”
Liss was not surprised to discover an unmade bed and piles of dirty clothing on the floor of the room Rhonda and Cracker shared. She ignored the debris as she foraged for underwear, clean slacks, and a blouse and bundled them into one of the two plastic bags she’d brought with her.
The first door on the right obviously led to the room Rodney and Norman shared. It featured bunk beds, more piles of dirty clothes, and a stack of magazines of the sort that local stores sold only when their covers were concealed by plain brown paper wrappers. She wondered if there was anything more the Snipes family could do to become a veritable cliché among stereotypes.
Once inside Dilys’s room, Liss needed only a few minutes to gather up a change of clothing and stuff the items into the second plastic bag. Then she went back to the door to make sure that no one had followed her upstairs. As soon as she was certain that the coast was clear, she began to search the small bedroom. She told herself she was looking for the missing brooch, but after finding the link between Dilys and Phineas in her notes on SHAS, she also kept an eye peeled for anything that would link the housekeeper to the MacMillans.
It didn’t take long to go through Dilys’s belongings. The woman traveled light. She had no jewelry at all. Then, just as Liss was about to give up, she noticed the bookmark Dilys had used in the romance novel by Debbie Macomber that she’d left on the bedside table. It appeared to be a newspaper clipping, and so it proved when Liss cautiously opened the dog-eared paperback—stamped o
n the flyleaf with the name of a used book store in Portland—and examined it.
There was no date, but Liss knew the item had probably been published no more than a month or two earlier. It announced that the Scottish Heritage Appreciation Society had selected a newly opened hotel called The Spruces as the site for its next Burns Night Supper.
Taking the clipping with her, Liss went back downstairs. She considered a quick exit, slipping out before anyone noticed her, but she’d been brought up better than that. Besides, she had a question for Mr. Snipes.
With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and headed for the kitchen. She stopped short in the doorway. Cracker and his sons had been joined by two other men. Liss knew them only in passing, but that was sufficient to realize that they weren’t the most savory characters in town. All five were playing poker. They’d set up a card table next to the woodstove, where it was nice and hot, with the result that they were all in shirtsleeves or T-shirts except for Cracker, who had stripped down to a sleeveless undershirt. For someone Cracker’s size, it was a bad fashion choice.
“Uh, I’ll be going now,” Liss said. “Thanks for your help.”
“Yeah. Fine.” Cracker scowled at his cards. “I’m out.”
“Uh, Mr. Snipes?” She waited until he looked her way. “I’m just curious. How long has Dilys been living here?”
Cracker reached into the bucket full of snow he’d placed close to his chair and pulled out a can of beer. Apparently he could do more to make himself into a stereotype! It didn’t seem to matter to him that it was not yet ten o’clock in the morning. He popped the top and took a long swallow before he answered. “Two weeks, give or take.”
“Oh. Somehow I thought she’d been in town longer than that.”
He shrugged. “She’d been nagging Rhonda to help her get a job at the hotel for a couple of months. Can’t figure why she’d want to work there. She had a perfectly good job in Portland that musta paid a lot better.”
“Probably got laid off,” Norman suggested.
Rodney leered at Liss. “Probably just got—”
Before Rodney could complete that thought, a loud banging at the front door interrupted him. It was followed by Dan’s voice, shouting. “Liss? You in there?”
“Who’s that?” Cracker demanded.
Annoyance made her voice sharp. “It’s Dan Ruskin. I have to be going now. Thanks again for your help, Mr. Snipes.”
She managed to head Dan off before he could do something disgustingly macho like break down the door. It was not the first time he’d arbitrarily decided that she needed to be rescued. She brushed past him without speaking and stomped down the front steps and out into the street. When he caught up to her, she turned on him and glared.
“Do you really think so little of me that you believe I can’t look after myself? I went there to pick up a change of clothes for Rhonda and Dilys. It was not exactly a high-risk mission!”
“I’m not going to apologize,” Dan said. “Rodney Snipes has an unsavory reputation with women.” They headed for the work site, walking in silence for the first two blocks. Then Dan added, “I always wondered if it was because his mother named him after a character in Peyton Place. Norman, too.”
Liss caught herself smiling and hastily pursed her lips.
“Ever see the movie?” he asked. “It was shot here in Maine, you know. Camden, or maybe Rockland. Someplace on the coast. All those towns along U.S. Route 1 look the same to me.”
Liss glared at him. “Don’t try to distract me. You know I hate it when you get overprotective. You know that. I’ve looked out for myself for a long time.”
“And now you don’t have to. What’s so wrong about me not wanting anything bad to happen to you? It’s only natural to want to protect someone you love. It doesn’t mean you can’t take care of yourself, just that I want to…” As she stared at him in amazement, he searched for the right word. He grinned at her like a little kid who’d caught his first fish when he found it. “I want to be your backup.”
Frowning, Liss considered the idea. And the fact that he’d just said he loved her. Sort of. Then she noticed that he was holding his breath.
“Okay then.”
“Okay. Good.”
They continued on toward the work site, walking side by side.
Liss got the distinct impression that Dan would do exactly the same thing all over again in a similar situation, but somehow that no longer bothered her quite so much.
“Dan?” She waited until their eyes locked. “I’m glad you came after me. I was feeling just the teensiest bit uneasy about being in that kitchen with five beer-swilling, poker-playing lowlifes.”
Then she told him what she’d discovered about Dilys Marcotte.
Sherri clicked off her cell phone and smiled. During the last few hours, between the phone and the police radio, she’d been able to access a surprising amount of information. Things were finally beginning to come together.
Although she knew she should probably leave further investigation to the state police, the stolen brooch was her case. It wasn’t out of line for her to pursue it. And if it happened to overlap with solving a homicide, then that was just—what had her father called it when she was a kid? Oh, yes—the fickle finger of fate.
What Sherri had learned, among other things, was that Eunice MacMillan did stand to benefit financially from her husband’s death, but not in a way that was at all suspicious. The mortgage on her house would be paid off by the insurance policy banks always insisted upon taking out, and there might be other life insurance, but a great deal of money would not be forthcoming. As a likely motive for Eunice to dispose of her spouse, that one wouldn’t fly. There might, however, be another reason for her to want to get rid of him.
Tagging Pete for backup, she explained what she wanted to do and then went in search of the not-very-grief-stricken widow. They found her in the library, ensconced in a chair close to the warmth of the fireplace. Sherri snagged a straight-back chair and hauled it over to place next to Eunice. Pete followed suit.
“Ms. MacMillan—a word?”
Eunice glared at them. “I’d like a word with you, too, Officer. What is the holdup here? When can we leave? And why haven’t the state police arrived yet to conduct a proper investigation into my husband’s death?”
Pete fixed Eunice with a stern stare. “You don’t get to ask questions,” he said. “You answer them or you face charges of obstructing justice.”
“Please, Deputy Campbell, let’s not get off on the wrong foot.” Sherri used her most soothing tone of voice, good cop to his bad. “I’m sure Ms. MacMillan wants to cooperate. After all, it was her husband who was brutally murdered.”
If Eunice was at all intimidated by Pete’s bluster, it didn’t show. Eyes full of resentment, she folded her arms across her bosom, crossed her legs at the ankles, and braced her back against the plush upholstery of the chair. Defenses up, Sherri thought, and decided to take this as a sign of progress.
“Now, then,” she said, whipping out a pen and notebook—the batteries in her audio recorder had finally died—” would you like to tell us why your husband claimed a valuable brooch was stolen when he knew all along that it had not been?”
Surprise showed briefly in Eunice’s eyes, but she wasn’t about to admit to anything. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said in a huffy voice.
Sherri remembered how Eunice and Phil had seemed to be at odds when she and Pete first interviewed them about the theft of the brooch. That made sense to her now. Feigning astonishment, she drawled, “Do you mean to say that you weren’t aware that your husband was attempting to commit insurance fraud?” Sherri leaned closer to the other woman. “You see, according to my sources, a man fitting your husband’s description sold that particular piece of jewelry, that brooch he reported stolen, to a up-scale jewelry store in downtown Waterville just over three weeks ago.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sherri sprang to her feet when
Liss entered the conference room. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I think I know who killed Phil MacMillan!”
She clapped both hands over her mouth. So much for keeping civilians out of the loop! Well, she had tried to go by the book. These were extraordinary circumstances. And Liss wouldn’t rat her out to the state police. It might not be professional to be so pleased with her deductions, or to want to share them, but both reactions were perfectly natural.
Sherri couldn’t prove anything yet, but she was certain Eunice was guilty. Why else would the woman have stormed out of the library after answering only a few of Sherri’s questions? She’d even uttered that hackneyed phrase, “I’m not saying another word until I talk to my lawyer!”
Liss stared at her in amazement. “How on earth did you find out about Dilys?”
“Dilys?” Momentarily confused, Sherri blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust her thinking. “Dilys Marcotte? What does she have—?”
“She’s the murderer.”
“Dilys? No way.”
“Wait till you see.” Liss tried to take off her coat and get something out of the pocket of her jeans at the same time. With an inarticulate sound of frustration, she finally managed both. She was grinning from ear to ear when she thrust a piece of paper into Sherri’s hands.
It had been folded several times and there was something tucked inside—a newspaper clipping. Sherri scanned the page, a printout of something Liss had found online, then looked at her friend for an explanation.
“I had that in my folder on SHAS,” Liss said. “Don’t you think it’s highly suspicious that Dilys never mentioned that she knew either twin, let alone that she was once engaged to Phineas?”
The photograph showed a younger and much more slender Dilys Marcotte. She had been a blonde when the picture was taken, but when Sherri looked closely she could see that it was undeniably the same woman who now worked as a housekeeper at The Spruces.
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