A Wee Homicide in the Hotel

by Fran Stewart

  Scamp, who had appeared next to us, let out a happy whiffle, as if he agreed with my thought. What a silly idea, I told myself. Dogs can’t read minds. He shook himself and headed toward his ottoman in the front window.

  “I’m really glad you brought Scamp into the ScotShop, Gilda. He makes a marvelous store mascot, and I think he must be good luck.”

  She nodded again, but still looked a bit suspicious of my scrutiny.

  8

  If circumstances lead me, I will find where truth is hid.

  ACT 2, SCENE 2

  Harper listened at the door before he knocked. Bowman had to be there. The plastic sign hanging from the doorknob read Do Not Disturb. Harper weighed the instructions—he wasn’t completely sure Bowman was the suspect. But if Bowman was planning to take a shot at the president, Harper couldn’t take that chance. He could always take Bowman in for questioning. If he didn’t want to go quietly, Harper was prepared to deal with that possibility.

  He knocked. Softly at first and then once more with a resounding thump. Even if Bowman were napping, surely he’d hear the door. Of course, he might be in the bathroom. Harper waited a moment before he ducked out the back entrance, propping the door open behind him, and tried to look in Bowman’s window—not easy to do inconspicuously, since sunlight bounced off the large windows. A cloud moved in front of the sun momentarily, though, and Harper could see an empty room. It was almost painfully tidy, as if the person staying there hadn’t even opened a suitcase yet. He could see the suitcase, a compact carry-on size, sitting on the luggage rack. There was no other indication of habitation. Except a bright blue dog bed with thick, padded sides. And a bagpipe lying across the bed, its drones carefully splayed out, the decorative cords between the drones stretched tight.

  A louvered closet door was closed. What Harper assumed was the door to the bathroom was closed as well. The small entryway appeared empty, what he could see of it. Lamps beside the bed were turned off.

  The sun reappeared, but Harper had seen enough. The screened lower half of the window was pushed open. Harper liked open windows, too. He never could understand people who shut themselves inside with no fresh air. Just to be sure, he went back inside, closing the outside door behind him. He ignored the Do Not Disturb sign once more and knocked on the door yet again. No response. Harper waited a few minutes; the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that Bowman could be in the bathroom, but if that was the case, why wasn’t the dog out in the room? Even if the dog were in the bathroom with Bowman, wouldn’t the dog have barked?

  He headed for the lobby.

  * * *

  Mac motioned to everyone to be quiet, without noticing that they already were. He was real happy that Fenton had followed his lead when he said he could take them around the back of the old dump. Now, his heart pounded so hard he could almost feel it in his throat. Fenton had already decided that the men who had slipped into position to cover the other three sides of the building would stay in place and stop anyone from leaving. They’d surrounded the house, but they still had to get inside without shooting one another. And without letting the perps get away. Mac loved that word.

  His leg ached, kneeling like this in the long grass, but he ignored it.

  Beside him, Fenton fingered his earpiece. “Keating? Location?” He listened for a moment and explained to Mac. “They’re still checking out the top floor of a big old house with a sight line to the speaker’s platform. Doubt they could get here in time.”

  Mac whispered back, “We have enough men. There’re only two doors.”

  “And about a dozen big windows on the ground floor.”

  Oh. Mac hadn’t thought about that.

  Beside him, Fenton conferred briefly. Three of the agents stood and sprinted toward the house, zigzagging as they went. Another trio followed closely behind them. They disappeared inside the house. Mac started to haul himself to his feet, but Fenton reached out a restraining arm. “They have their orders.”

  A minute or so later, Fairing crept up beside them, and introduced herself to Fenton. “You made it inside okay?”

  Fenton nodded. “Six men.”

  Fairing nodded. “Should be enough.”

  It seemed to take forever, but they finally heard a shout from inside, and Mac waited for gunfire. This was exciting. Of course, they could have caught the guys faster if Mac had been in the lead.

  * * *

  Scamp woofed from the front window, and of course everyone in the shop turned to look. I glanced outside. “Just a passing dog,” I said. There were a few scattered comments, but fortunately all of it sounded good-natured. I wouldn’t want Scamp to disturb their shopping.

  Big Willie and Silla were on the other side of the street, passing in front of Sweetie’s Jellybean Emporium. Silla’s tongue hung from the side of her mouth, and Big Willie stomped along as if his feet hurt.

  He’d mentioned an afternoon walk. If so, they hadn’t been gone for very long. I hoped he’d gotten somewhere with all that thinking he referred to. I watched them until they turned into the alley beside the hotel. They obviously planned to go in through the back entrance.

  * * *

  Harper reached the hotel lobby just as a group of men pushed their way through the big double doors. The central figure, whom Harper recognized from numerous news reports, was overpowered by a bright red kilt. Leave it to Leonzini to go for a royal plaid, like he dreams of being a king someday.

  “My secretary called yesterday for a reservation,” the congressman said.

  Harper knew darn well these rooms booked up a year in advance for the week of the Games. But then, too, he knew a hotel had to keep bigwigs happy, whether they deserved it or not.

  “Certainly, Congressman.” The young man at the desk fiddled with his computer for a moment. “We’re happy to welcome you to the Hamelin Hotel.”

  Harper wondered briefly where the four aides were staying. Sleeping on the floor outside Leonzini’s door perhaps? He waited until a bellhop appeared and led the men away. “One question, please.”

  “Yes, sir. What can I do for you? Did you reach Mr. Bowman?”

  “There was no answer, but I noticed he has a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on his door.”

  “Ayuh. When he checked in, he said he didn’t want any housekeeping personnel in his room. I told him to hang the sign on the knob and nobody would go in whether he was there or not. I also sent notice to our housekeeping staff that room 124 was to be left untouched.”

  “No sheet changes?”

  “No nothing. He said he didn’t want any of that.” The clerk scratched his head, then seemed to remember that he was supposed to act dignified all the time, and dropped his hand precipitately. “I wondered at the time if he was going to be leaving the dog in the room and was afraid somebody might let it out by mistake.”

  “Did he mention leaving the dog?”

  “No. In fact, each time I’ve seen him leave, he’s had the dog with him—although I think they usually go out the back entrance. He can get back in through the rear door with his key card.”

  “Why do you have all those big brass key rings on the wall?”

  “They’re just for show. People used to leave their keys here whenever they went out. Not anymore.”

  Harper nodded. He knew just what the fellow meant.

  * * *

  Once Big Willie and Silla disappeared into the alley, I knew I should stop staring out the window. I had customers to serve, people to keep an eye on, merchandise to tidy up. But I stood there at the window a bit longer, gazing over Scamp’s ottoman between two kilt-clad mannequins, thinking about how much I enjoyed living in Hamelin. Sure, there were occasional problems, and a few people in town weren’t easy to get along with—Shay came to mind—but for the most part, this was an idyllic place.

  So why on earth did I feel like something was ready to explode? For
a moment I imagined a Godzilla-like monster rising from the depths of nearby Lake Ness.

  But then Scamp knocked his Loch Ness Monster pillow to the floor, and the spell was broken. I had way too vivid an imagination, obviously fueled by Scamp’s stuffed toy. I glanced across the street and saw Harper striding past Sweetie’s. I found myself touching my cheek, where he’d kissed me that one time. But he obviously wasn’t interested. Nothing had happened since then.

  I pushed my shoulders back and headed for the other side of the shop. I needed to straighten something or sell something or . . . or something. At the scarf display I saw that Gilda had sold the last green paisley. I spread out the blues a bit to fill in the hole and went on to the clan badges hanging on a rotating rack. Thank goodness we had plenty of those.

  * * *

  Mac couldn’t believe it. All six agents strolled out of the house like they were on a beach or something. Two more agents came right behind them. They all looked alike to Mac. Dark suits, white shirts, dark ties, short hair.

  He stood. “You lost the perps.” He didn’t even try to disguise his disgust.

  The closest agent scowled. “Those perps, as you call them, were Keating and Parks, checking out the place, the way Fenton told them to do. This has been a major waste of time.”

  Fairing pulled out a copy of the mug shot. “You said to find a guy who matched the mug shot.” She pointed to one of the agents. “Well, that’s what I did.”

  The scowling agent leaned closer and did a double take. “She’s right, Keating. Maybe you’re the one we should be taking in for questioning.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you out back and shut your mouth.”

  Scowl Face gestured to the abandoned house. “We’re already out back.”

  “Shut up, fellas,” Fenton said amiably. “This was as much my mistake as anyone’s. If I’d asked where the Sutherland place was on the map—before we stormed out of the station—I would have seen it was the same building.” He turned back to Parks. “Did you find anything?”

  Parks shook his head. “Place is clean. Doesn’t mean he won’t show up later.”

  “Back to the station to regroup. Parks, go tell Eggles and Davis to keep an eye open in case anyone comes back.”

  “There’re four sides to the house,” Mac said. “Don’t you need to leave four agents?” Even a ten-year-old could’ve figured that out. What’s my tax money paying for anyway?

  Fenton’s hand did a funny little jiggle as he waved Parks away. “Eggles is off the front corner in the woods over there where he can see the front and that side.” He gestured with his head and then readjusted the gadget in his ear. “And Davis just situated himself off the opposite back corner so he can see the rear of the house and the other side. Does that make sense?”

  Mac led the way back to the cars, but somehow he didn’t feel good about it. It was all Fairing’s fault. He never should have hired a female.

  * * *

  Fairing caught up with Keating. “Did you check the attic? There’s a secret door; it’s hard to—”

  “Yeah”—he cut her off—“we found it. All clear.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, as if he thought she was a little old lady. “We checked everything.”

  “That’s quite an accomplishment. It’s hidden really well.”

  “We’re trained to search thoroughly.”

  Fairing listened for sarcasm, but all she heard was pride in a job well-done. “Good for you.” She quickened her pace. “I’ll head back to the meadow. The guy might show up yet.”

  By the time she crossed paths with Murphy, she’d gotten over her chagrin at having collared a Secret Service agent as a possible assassin. Murphy was okay to tell. He’d razz her about it for months to come, but that just proved she was one of the guys.

  * * *

  Harper reached the station just as the whole group of agents arrived. After some minor jostling at the door, mostly caused by Mac, who too obviously insisted on being the first to enter, they sorted themselves out.

  “What did I miss?”

  There were general guffaws all around, more in keeping with a high school locker room than with a meeting of Secret Service agents and local law enforcement, or so Harper thought. He decided he was going to have to wait a bit to get the full story.

  Mac stomped off to his office, citing a boatload of paperwork. Harper knew the chief kept a stash of candy in his desk, and wondered if that was the sort of paperwork Mac had in mind. When Mac closed his door, Harper was sure of it. Either that or he was going to sneak a quick smoke. The windows of Mac’s office had a faint yellowish tinge from years of nicotine buildup. And did he really think nobody had ever noticed the smell? He caught the look on Murphy’s face and nodded. He wondered if they should clue in Fairing—or did she already know Mac’s secret? Probably all three of them knew.

  Over in the corner, Moira rolled her eyes. Make that four.

  9

  Speak to you like an honest man.

  ACT 2, SCENE 2

  A little after four, my friend Karaline Logg stopped by the ScotShop, and I saw Dirk head her way. He liked Karaline. Her restaurant, the Logg Cabin, served breakfast and lunch and closed at three, even during the Games. She’d steadfastly resisted all requests to serve more or remain open longer. “I have a winning formula,” she’d told me recently. “Why should I change it?”

  Of course, the fact that she’d had a ruptured appendix last summer and a gunshot wound this past winter might have had something to do with her decision to maintain the status quo. Why take on more work if it wasn’t necessary?

  Speaking of which, during the rest of the year I closed the ScotShop at five, but during the Games business was always brisk, so I stayed open later. It meant paying overtime to my employees and the temps, but the sales volume more than made up for the added expense.

  I was at the cash register, and a line of people waited in front of me, but Karaline topped six feet and was easy to spot. She’d never bothered with the Scottish-themed clothing the rest of us wore during the Games. Karaline favored the most outlandish caftans. If I wore bright orange and black like that, I’d look like a squashed monarch, but on Karaline the color fairly sang. I nodded and went on ringing up sales.

  Karaline bent, and I could tell she was scratching Scamp under the chin. She rose and wandered around the store, straightening the displays here and there, waiting until I had a moment free. I could see her trying to disguise her mouth movements as she chatted in a whisper with Dirk. Gilda relieved me a few minutes later, and, once I was sure there weren’t any customers who needed help, I joined Karaline by the poet shirts.

  “We never decided on when to head down for the opening ceremonies,” she said.

  “I know. I’d like to keep the store open as long as I possibly can.”

  “How about if I come back about six fifteen? You know there won’t be any customers around that late tonight.” Tonight being the opening ceremonies. That’s what she meant. She spread her arms, and the caftan wings billowed. “I need to change into something warmer than this.”

  “Your dress is bonny indeed, but ye maun be chilled if ye wear it in the nicht.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? That caftan was a silky material that wouldn’t keep a flea warm, much less a willowy woman like Karaline. Although the early August days were balmy and inviting, the nights—nichts, as Dirk would say—had already begun their inexorable creep toward winter. I wore my heaviest wool arisaidh. At six, the top length of plaid would stay tucked into my belt, but by seven or eight, I’d have it wrapped around me. If worse came to worst, I could always ask Dirk for my shawl back. He carried it when we left the house, so he could stray farther than a couple of yards from me, but he was never stingy about sharing it. Ghosts never got cold.

  The bell over the front door did its jingle-jangle
, and I looked up to see two familiar faces. The woman who seemed entranced with our jewelry counter. Her husband shadowed her footsteps, just as he had this morning. I stepped behind the jewelry case, and sure enough she stopped on the other side of it.

  I smiled at her. “Didn’t I see you here this morning?”

  She nodded. “I can’t make up my mind.”

  “Did you want to try on the necklace again?”

  She nodded once more and lifted her long ponytail off her shoulder so it hung down the middle of her back. I unlocked the case and pulled out the black stand. I wasn’t sure why I even kept that piece in my inventory. I’d never paid it much attention, because I knew it couldn’t be very valuable. I’d bought it for mere pennies at a flea market soon after I opened the ScotShop. And it certainly wasn’t particularly Scottish—not a thistle anywhere. Just fat, round, dull dark gray beads strung between some rather dingy plastic leaves. They might have been glass; it was hard to tell. Even though it screamed cheap, there was something about it that had made me want it to begin with, and it looked like this woman had the same weird taste as I did. I kept promising myself I’d clean it up, but I continually put that chore at the bottom of my to-do list, afraid that if I did clean it, the whole thing would fall apart. The metallic finish on the beads would certainly flake off. No hurry to clean anything. As it was, it made the other jewelry in the case look much nicer by comparison. Gilda had mentioned cleaning it several times, but I’d always told her not to. There were so many other more important chores.

  How could I encourage this woman to buy it, though? Luckily the color of the thing was neutral enough that it would go with just about anything, even the distinctive copper brown plaid skirt she’d obviously changed into for the opening ceremonies. I was pretty sure we had at least one skirt like that in our inventory. She and her husband weren’t color-coordinated. His kilt was sort of a dull bluish gray.