by Dawn Eastman
He shuddered dramatically at the thought of grilled cheese. We waited for him to continue.
“I helped serve the meal, and then went down to the freezer to get the ice cream to go with the tarte tatin. I had just returned to the kitchen when the lights went out.”
“We have a witness who went looking for you during that time. She couldn’t find you and said that Emmett didn’t know where you were.”
René shrugged. “I don’t know why he would have said that. He knew where I went.”
“Did you see anyone while you were in the basement?” I asked.
René shook his head no. “I just went to get the ice cream and came back. I didn’t see anyone.”
“What did you do when the lights went out?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, it happens more than we would like so we have a protocol in place. Emmett and I checked the thermometers in the fridges and freezers and recorded it in the log. Sometimes it takes a little while to get the generator working so I keep track of the temp to be sure things aren’t defrosting and refreezing. Emmett grumbles, but I like to be safe. The health inspector is a stickler and having everything documented shows that I run a tight ship.” He sat back and his accent got a bit thicker. “Plus, I am attempting to have the restaurant rated by Michelin. I don’t want anything to interfere.”
“So you and Emmett were together the whole time that the lights were out?” Mac asked.
René nodded. “We were busy trying to stack dishes and get organized in the dark—we had a couple of portable lanterns. We heard noise in the hall and Wallace came to tell us about Clarissa—I went to find Jess and that’s when I met you in the hall.”
Mac reached out to shake his hand.
“Thanks for your time. Will you ask Emmett to come talk to us?”
After René had gone through the kitchen door, Mac said, “What do you think?”
“It seems reasonable, but he doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder. We’ll have to see what Emmett says about how long he was gone.”
Emmett greeted us with a wide smile and a wave from the door. He was tall and lanky with short brown hair. He also wore kitchen whites but had left the hat in the kitchen. He sat in the chair that had been vacated by René.
“René told me you’re talking to people about last night. I’m happy to help.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“As you probably know, we’re treating Clarissa’s death as suspicious. We’re just trying to get a picture of what happened,” Mac said. “Can you tell us what you were doing during dinner and after the power went out?”
Emmett sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “First, René and I served the dinner. It got pretty hectic since Wally was our substitute server and he had never been a waiter before.”
Mac and I grimaced.
“We hardly noticed,” Mac said.
Emmett chuckled and lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “He tried his best, but it’s not an easy job. Fortunately, he seems to have charmed all the knitters and no one complained.”
I waited for him to continue.
“Then, once everyone seemed settled out here I went back into the kitchen to start preparing the dessert. It was going to be tarte tatin and ice cream. René went downstairs to get the ice cream and then just as he got back, the power went out. He has a list of things we need to do in the kitchen if the power goes, so we turned on our lanterns and got to work.” He sat back and laced his fingers over his knee.
“Did you see anyone else in the halls or the kitchen?”
“One of the guests came through looking for René but I told her he was gone and she went out through the hallway door. I didn’t see her again until this morning at breakfast.”
“That must have been Mavis,” I said.
Emmett shrugged. “I don’t know her name, but it’s not unusual for us to have visitors wandering into the kitchen to talk to the chef.” He smiled. “Some of the guests act like he’s Wolfgang Puck or something.”
Emmett echoed René’s story about working in the kitchen until they heard noises in the hall. We thanked him and watched him lope back to the kitchen.
12
Mac limped slightly as we followed the signs to the front desk. He had suffered a shooting injury to his left leg a year ago while working narcotics in Saginaw. He almost never mentioned the event and only limped when he was stressed, tired, or both. I figured this morning it was both. I slipped my hand into his and felt his reassuring squeeze. We’d decided that even though Wally had been in the dining room with us during the pertinent time period, he would be a good source of information about the staff and the running of the hotel. He was nowhere to be found so we followed the hum of voices down the hall.
The knitters had commandeered the lounge and set up their equipment by the big bay windows, which gave plenty of light off the reflected snow. They all wore some variation of shawls, fingerless gloves, scarves, or sweaters. Someone had set up two silver samovars with Sterno burners underneath. Wally sat in the midst of the knitters holding a fuchsia skein of yarn around his hands and chatting with the ladies. He had a navy and gray houndstooth scarf thrown jauntily around his neck. Isabel turned a crank on a yarn winder while Wally fed the strand to her.
The lively conversation abruptly halted when they noticed us standing in the doorway.
Mavis hopped up and rushed toward us.
“Oh, Detective. We’re so glad you’re here with us this weekend. What would we have done if poor Clarissa had died and there was no one to take charge?” She lowered her voice. “I think Violet is under the impression that she is helping with the investigation. Certainly, you don’t need her help?” She clutched his arm and steered him toward the group. I followed.
“Mavis has been telling us that you’re questioning all the witnesses,” Vi said. “You didn’t question me. Maybe I saw something and don’t even realize it and then you will be able to figure out the whole mystery by my one comment.”
I dropped my head to cover my smile.
“You’re right, Ms. Greer,” Mac said and my head popped up. It wasn’t a sentence I expected to hear, ever. “We’ll want to talk to each one of you this morning.”
A babble of voices began and Mac held up his hands.
“It would be very helpful if you would refrain from discussing your theories. I need to speak to everyone and if you have already discussed it among yourselves, it could cloud your memories.”
“The horse is already out of the barn on that one, Phillip,” Lucille said as her needles bobbed rapidly.
“If you could all just stop talking about it now and wait until I have a chance to meet with everyone, that would be very helpful. We need to speak with anyone who left the dining room during dinner, or anyone who thinks they might have information about Clarissa’s death.”
Tina, of the tattoos and art awareness, said, “Aren’t you out of your jurisdiction? Why are you two questioning everyone?”
The room got quiet.
“If the Kalamazoo Police were available, I wouldn’t have to take charge, but they aren’t, so Clyde and I are the best chance we have of figuring out what happened to Clarissa.” He gave her one of his squinty-eyed stares and she looked away.
“What are you doing to protect the rest of us?” Selma asked. “There’s a murderer loose and we’re all stuck here!”
She wore beige again and I hadn’t noticed her until she spoke. She sat between Mavis, with her bright red lipstick, and Amy, with her pink hair, and seemed to fade into the couch.
Mavis shushed her and gave Mac an apologetic smile.
“It is a good question,” Amy said.
A few nervous nods made their way around the group.
Mac tightened his jaw. “I take it you all know Clarissa’s death was not an accident?”
More
nods.
He shifted his weight to his good leg.
“It’s extremely unlikely that anyone is in any danger,” Mac said. “The best way to keep everyone safe is for you to all cooperate while Clyde and I try to piece together what happened last night.”
Vi’s hand shot up. “I’ll go first! Where have you set up your headquarters?”
Mac passed a hand over his face and pulled his mouth into a frown.
“We don’t have a ‘headquarters,’ Ms. Greer.”
“We really need to speak to Wally first,” I said.
Vi slumped in her chair and sighed.
Wally stood importantly and smoothed his cardigan. He followed us back to the front desk.
“Your mom is going to read my cards later,” he said to me. He had that wild gleam I had seen in others before—he thought all his questions would be answered through the cards.
“That’s . . . nice,” I said. I never knew how to deal with the truly fervent fans of the tarot. I opted for politely noncommittal.
“Violet says she’s the best. She can tell my whole future.” He spread his hands wide and moved his arms in a semicircle as if envisioning his entire life.
Mac snorted and tried to make it sound like a cough.
Wally turned to him with a questioning expression.
“Wally,” I said, “we need you to help us figure out where everyone was supposed to be last night from the time Clarissa left the dining room until Mrs. Garrett found her.”
Wally put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. “I think Mrs. Garrett or Jessica would be better able to tell you that, but I’ll do my best.”
We sat in the room near the reception desk. It served as a smaller lounge and looked toward the front of the property. The blinding landscape made my eyes water. I had sensed an edgier note among the knitters today. Not just because one of them had questioned Mac, but it was starting to sink in to all of us that we were stranded here. And now they knew one of us was capable of murder. A worried group was more frightening than a single murderer.
Mac took out his notebook and gestured at Wally to begin.
“The kitchen staff obviously would have been in the kitchen or the dining room. The only ones who stayed yesterday were René and Emmett. We let all nonessential staff go home around three o’clock, when it was clear that the snow was starting to pile up.”
Mac and I nodded.
“Kirk Barstow, our maintenance guy, also stayed. You met him last night. He’s new and works with Gus, who has been here for years. I don’t know if Kirk’s ever worked on an old house like this before because he doesn’t seem to know how to fix anything. He mostly follows Gus around and assists. But Gus wanted to get home yesterday—his wife has been ill and he didn’t want to be stuck here. Once the phones are back on, maybe he can tell Kirk how to fix the generator.”
“The building doesn’t have a backup for the backup?” I asked. “If you lose power as often as you say, don’t you need to be extra careful?”
Wally tilted his head. “I don’t know much about that. Usually, it just kicks back on after a few minutes. You’ll have to talk to Kirk.”
“Who else was working last evening?” Mac readied his pen and notebook.
“Holly Raeburn. She’s in charge of the housekeeping department, which consists of her and two other women. I was surprised she decided to stay. I know she has a young daughter at home, but she said the daughter was staying with her grandmother and she let the other women go home.”
“All of the staff members are staying in the basement?” I asked.
“Yes. There are some small rooms down there that used to be servant quarters. Mrs. Garrett remodeled them a few years back after a blizzard that had the staff living four or five to a room and the guests doubling up during a three-day snow-in.”
Three days! I hoped we’d be done with this case and onto another hotel well before that.
“Other than you and the four staff members, it was just Linda and Jessica Garrett?” Mac asked. “Is that enough people to handle all these guests?”
“Jessica didn’t expect it to be very long. We didn’t anticipate the storm to be as bad as it’s been.” He gave a small shrug. “Plus there was Clarissa. She would have pitched in if we needed her. She’s only been here for about six months but she knows everyone’s job. She spent time with each department when she started so she could get a feel for how things worked.”
“Sounds like she was really dedicated to her job,” Mac said.
Wally snorted and then slapped his hand over his mouth. He stared at us with wide eyes.
Mac tilted his head and gave Wally an “out with it” look.
“Shortly after she finished ‘learning’ the departments”—he made quotation marks in the air and narrowed his eyes—“she cut staff by twenty-five percent. She said everyone could be much more efficient and we didn’t need so many people working here.”
Mac glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.
“That can’t have gone over very well with the staff,” I said.
Wally shook his head, and crossed his arms. “Mrs. Garrett was against it. She feels like the hotel is part of the community and didn’t want to let those people go. She knew that they all had families to support.” Wally’s voice got louder as he spoke. “But Ms. Carlisle inundated her with charts and numbers and told her the place couldn’t support such a large staff. She wanted to expand the spa services and thought the other departments needed to be more efficient.”
Wally glanced from Mac to me.
He lowered his voice. “I probably shouldn’t talk about this anymore. Mrs. Garrett knows a lot more about it. She can tell you what happened.”
“Anything you’ve seen or heard could help us, Wally,” I said.
“That’s it.” He held his hand up to ward off any more questions. “I don’t know anything else.” He sat back and glanced at his watch. “I should go see whether Kirk has made any progress on the generator.”
He hopped up and made a hasty exit.
“That was strange,” I said. “It’s like he suddenly realized what he was saying. It doesn’t sound like things were running smoothly here between Clarissa and her family.”
Mac shook his head. “I think we need to talk to the Garretts as well as the knitters.”
We found Jessica in the kitchen talking to René. The room was bright and clean with stainless steel appliances and white countertops. It looked more like a high-end New York kitchen than a Victorian castle kitchen. Their voices were low and urgent and stopped abruptly when we approached.
Jessica’s smile stopped short of her eyes. “I hear you’re looking for me.”
Mac glanced at me as if to say, “Wally was quick.”
“We’re talking to everyone who might have seen what happened last evening,” he said.
She nodded and gestured toward the dining room, which was empty.
I led them to a table away from the windows and we sat.
“You don’t think one of the knitters could have harmed her, do you?” Jessica said.
Mac took a deep breath. “Someone murdered your cousin, Ms. Garrett. If it wasn’t one of the knitters, it was one of your staff. Given the blizzard last night, we can hardly assume this was the work of a stranger.”
Jessica rubbed her arms and shivered. “I just . . . I can’t imagine any of the knitters doing this.”
“But you can imagine your staff doing this?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that the cable needle kind of points to a knitter, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe,” I said. “There must be a bunch of those needles lying around and the workshop room wasn’t locked.”
Jessica shook her head. “The needle was Isabel’s.”
“How could you tell?” Mac said.<
br />
“It’s one of the needles she had made for the class,” Jessica said. “It’s designed by a very exclusive knitting needle company. They use airplane-grade metals and hand-tool their needles. Isabel has raved about them on her review blog enough that they send her samples all the time.”
“You could tell just by looking at it that it’s one of hers?” I asked. I remembered her hesitation when I asked her about it the night before.
Jessica nodded. “She had them make purple ones and most people here have plastic cable needles that aren’t curved like that.”
“You said she had them made for the workshop?” Mac said. “So, does everyone have one?”
“No, she hasn’t passed them out yet. In fact, I don’t think anyone knows that there is more than one. She used it to demonstrate during class yesterday and she planned to give them all their own as part of the goody bag at the end of the workshop.”
“Why didn’t you say anything last night when you saw the needle?” I asked. “Do you think Isabel could have killed your cousin?”
Jessica was already shaking her head. “No, I don’t think that. That’s what I’m trying to say. But I was worried that it would look bad for Isabel.”
Jessica took a deep breath and looked at us.
“Clarissa was not a nice person,” she began. “Frankly, I couldn’t stand her. She spent most of our childhood trying to one-up me and criticized everything I did. By the time we got to high school, she was the classic mean girl with a posse of supporters.”
Jessica closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Isabel and I were good friends in high school. That’s why she has this workshop every year here. At first, we were doing her a favor, but now that she’s famous through her blog and her designs, she actually brings us business throughout the year.” She looked at the tablecloth and traced the pattern in the fabric. “She’s still one of my closest friends. She knew that Clarissa was back in town and we talked about canceling the workshop. Isabel and Clarissa never got along.”