“Not my type,” Melissa said with a grin. “But there’s nothing wrong with window shopping. Besides, it’s a nice change to talk with someone who knows very little and cares even less about the barred and spotted owls.”
“I hear you.”
She looked away from the snowy window and stared for a few minutes at the roaring fire that filled the hearth. She shivered slightly.
“Warmer near the fire,” I said.
“I’m not really cold,” she said. “Just a little creeped out. I’ve never seen someone die before. Dead bodies at funerals, yeah, but not someone actually dying. And I wish they’d figure out who did it. I was really enjoying the conference until Frogmore bought it. Now, every time I talk to someone, I can’t help but wonder if he did it. Especially—”
She stopped herself and stared back out at the snow again.
I got the feeling she needed to talk, so I just stared out at the snow with her.
“I’ve been wondering if I should tell the chief something.” She stopped and looked down at her feet.
“Something you saw?” I asked, finally.
“Something I overheard.” She looked up, seemed to come to a decision, and words began tumbling out. “I was sitting in the conference office yesterday afternoon and I overheard Dr. Green talking to Dr. Lindquist. He was really mad—Dr. Lindquist, I mean—and Dr. Green was trying to calm him down.”
“Mad about what?”
“Dr. Frogmore. He was really going on about it. What a buffoon he was, how badly he treated anyone he didn’t think was important enough to suck up to, how incompetent he was. How he was making the whole barred owl issue a laughingstock, no matter which side you were on. And he kept saying…” She paused and took a deep breath before going on. “He kept saying they had to get him. Dr. Frogmore. ‘We’ve got to get him,’ he said. ‘No matter what it takes. We can’t let him go on like this. We’ve got to get him.’”
“That’s kind of creepy,” I said. “He wasn’t more specific—about how they were going to get him?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “At the time, I thought they meant—you know, professionally. I mean, most people have figured out that Frogmore isn’t—wasn’t—the Einstein of ornithology or anything. He had a lot of power, for some reason, but he hadn’t really done that much in the field. I thought Dr. Lindquist was talking about showing him up. Like … I don’t know. Taking some of this papers apart and demonstrating how useless or even downright wrong they were. That kind of thing. But now…”
Her voice trailed off, and she stared out at the snow again.
What she said didn’t clash with what Dr. Lindquist had told Horace and the chief. Or what he’d said to me. Maybe he had been talking about exposing Frogmore. Discrediting him. But what if that wasn’t all he and Dr. Green had been talking about?
“Are you thinking now that maybe he decided to knock Frogmore off?”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” she protested. “And what I overheard—I got the idea he was really angry at something Dr. Frogmore had just done. Maybe he was just blowing off steam. Making empty threats. Dr. Green’s pretty good at calming people down.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But what if they weren’t empty threats, and what if even Dr. Green couldn’t calm him down this time?”
“You think I should tell the police, then?”
I nodded.
“Even if it gets Dr. Lindquist in trouble? And maybe even Dr. Green for not reporting it already?”
“How do you know Dr. Green didn’t?” I asked. “He seems like the kind of earnest guy who would. For that matter, I bet he confessed any hostile, negative thoughts he’d had himself about Frogmore.”
“That sounds just like him.” She giggled slightly. “Yeah. They’ll keep it secret, won’t they? The police, I mean. That I’m the one who reported the conversation?”
“If you ask them to, they will for the time being,” I said. “If it goes to trial and what you overheard turns out to be an important part of the case, they’ll need you to testify.”
“But they’d need to have a lot more evidence for that, right? Because, damn it, I like Dr. Lindquist. And he’s kind of a bigwig. If it turns out it’s not him after all—”
“I like him, too, and I hope it turns out to be someone else,” I said. “And remember, if they arrest everyone who’s ever said a bad word about Dr. Frogmore, we’ll all find it very crowded in the jail.”
She smiled briefly and sat for a few moments, nodding. Then she stood up rather abruptly.
“I should get it over with.” She squared her shoulders and marched toward the Command Post.
Chapter 23
I watched as Melissa knocked and was admitted to Horace’s lair. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that I was sending another potentially useful bit of evidence his way or depressed that the evidence seemed to implicate one of the nicer scientists.
Just then I became conscious of something my subconscious had been trying to get me to notice for a while now. The music had changed. Oh, it was still Christmas music. But someone had added new material to the playlist. It took me a few seconds to realize that the speakers were now playing a lush orchestral version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” I had to chuckle. And then the next number began, and I muttered “Yes!” under my breath. One of my favorites—Wendy and Carnie Wilson’s version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” I closed my eyes and listened, appreciating anew the close harmony and the slow, stately arrangement. I needed to find out who had been tinkering with the Inn’s Christmas music playlists. Later. For now, I just needed to listen.
“Meg?”
I waved whoever it was into silence until the last strains of the carol had died out. Then I opened my eyes to find Dad standing in front of me, a slightly worried frown on his face.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I was listening to the carol—it’s one of my favorites, you know. What’s up?”
“Good catch on the bug spray!” He sat in the chair Melissa had just vacated. “Of course it’s unlikely to have anything to do with Frogmore’s death.”
“But not impossible?”
“All of the sprays Ekaterina is using are composed chiefly of essential oils,” Dad said. “Which contain chemicals that are either harmless or actually beneficial to humans but that repel or even kill bugs. Cinnamon oil, tea tree oil, lavender, orange, peppermint—things like that. They’ll mess with a bug’s neural system, but ours works differently.”
“And while I’ve heard a lot of insults aimed at Dr. Frogmore, I don’t recall anyone accusing him of being an invertebrate.”
“Precisely. So good thinking!” Dad beamed at me. “Of course, we’ll have to test the contents of all those bottles to make sure no one doctored them. And we need to do some research on whether any of the sprays’ ingredients have shown toxic properties, either if used to excess or in combination with any other substances Dr. Frogmore has been exposed to. Lanville’s going to start working on that until I have access to my library and the Internet.” Dad looked a little disappointed at not being able to start the quest himself.
“Don’t fret,” I said. “The snow’s almost stopped. The county can start digging out—in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Randall has gotten them started already.” Of course, it could still be days before the digging reached the Inn, but seeing how his face lit up, I decided not to mention that.
“Really?” Dad glanced at the wall of glass, which still looked pretty solid white. But now you could see the mounds of snow-covered trees and shrubs, not falling flakes. “Fabulous! I’ve got to run. Conference call with Lanville.”
He raced off, although he stopped to say hello to Mrs. Voss, who appeared to be looking for a quiet corner. She headed my way.
“Mind if I take this chair?” She gestured to the chair Dad had just vacated.
“As long as you don’t feel insulted by the fact that I’m going to race off in a minute or so,” I sa
id. “I’m just waiting for someone.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I have plenty to keep me busy.”
She unfurled her crewelwork owl, and I leaned over to see it.
“Looks as if you’re almost finished,” I said. “Of course, I realize it’s incredibly meticulous work, so I suppose ‘almost finished’ to me could mean you have another year or two ahead of you.”
“Nothing like that.” She laughed, and stretched her neck as if easing out a bit of stiffness. “A few more hours to go. And my husband’s champing at the bit. Can’t wait for me to finish.”
“Wait—I thought your husband hated your owl for not being accurate.”
“Oh, he does. But a few minutes ago—you see, he drew Dr. Czerny in the Secret Santa. He’s been driving me crazy all day, badgering me to help him think of a suitable present. I finally suggested giving Czerny this.” She held up the canvas. “Kills two birds with one stone. George doesn’t have to look at my horribly inaccurate owl—and he gives Dr. Czerny what looks like a thoughtful and appropriate present.”
“Only the inaccuracy will actually drive Dr. Czerny crazy.”
“You know, we’re not sure,” she said. “The inaccuracy might bother him, but I don’t think he’d ever be so rude as to say so. Not to the wife of someone important enough to help him out as he scrambles to rebuild his career. Not that George has any use for him, but Dr. Czerny probably doesn’t realize that. No, if he notices, he’ll probably hang it up anyway and brag about how kind it was of the Vosses to give it to him—a piece of Mrs. Voss’s own handiwork! And if he doesn’t notice, I’m sure someone will be rude enough to point it out sooner or later. Probably at the most inopportune moment. You know, I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor man.”
“Dr. Czerny?” I hoped I didn’t sound too surprised.
“Yes. Whoever killed Dr. Frogmore might as well have put Dr. Czerny out of his misery at the same time. It would have been the humane thing to do. You know, I wonder if the police have thought of that.”
“Euthanizing Dr. Czerny? Probably not legal.”
“Alas, no.” She paused and I looked away—strange how it bothered me to see her needle inserted in the embroidered owl’s left eye. “What I mean is—they’re busy figuring out who disliked Dr. Frogmore. And yes, that’s a long list. But I wonder if they’ve given any thought to who has it in for Dr. Czerny. Because if you wanted to hurt Dr. Czerny, I can’t think of a better way than to take away his lifeline. Maybe you’ll think it’s a silly idea.”
I turned the idea around in my mind. It wasn’t a bad idea at all. And Mrs. Voss knew the people involved rather better than I did. Did she have something here?
“Nothing silly about it,” I said. “I’ll mention it to Horace. He might want to talk to you about it.”
“He’s welcome to, as long as he doesn’t make me put down my needle on the home stretch.”
“I’ll warn him. And there he is now—I should run; I want to catch him.”
Melissa was leaving the Command Post, looking a lot less worried than when she’d gone in. And Horace followed her out and strolled over to where Sami was standing behind the reception desk.
“It’s all Melissa’s doing,” Sami was saying as I drew near enough to hear what they were saying.
“Really?”
“What’s all Melissa’s doing?” I tried not to sound suspicious.
“The new music,” Sami said. “Maybe our pretty limited Christmas playlist doesn’t bother the guests.”
“Yes, it does,” Horace and I said in unison.
“Melissa brought in a flash drive with a whole bunch of new Christmas music and figured out how to load it into the system. I like carols as much as the next guy, but if I had to listen one more time to Mannheim Steamroller doing ‘Deck the Halls’—”
“I kind of like that one,” Horace said.
“So did I three weeks ago,” Sami countered.
“Ah,” Horace said. “Anyway, I have good news. I think.” He didn’t actually sound like someone delivering good news. “Judge Jane finally signed the search warrant.” He opened up his notebook. “For Lindquist, Green, Craine, McKendrick, Czerny, Smith, Belasco, Whitmore, and Blake.”
“Oh, you’re doing Grandfather?” I said. “Dad will be overcome with jealousy.”
“Well, the judge said it was also okay to search anyone else who actually volunteered for it, so we can search your dad if he really wants us to,” Horace said. “But he got so little sleep that maybe he’ll be just as happy to skip it this time, and I can’t imagine that anyone else would really want me poking through all their stuff.”
“You never know,” I said. “Some people might want to be searched so they can prove their innocence.”
“Searching won’t do that,” Horace grumbled. “If we do find something, that will be useful, but not finding anything could just mean that they were smart enough to figure out how to get rid of anything incriminating while we were twiddling our thumbs waiting for the search warrant. Anyway—you seen Ekaterina? I need her to open up the rooms for me.”
“I’ll page her.” Sami picked up his walkie-talkie and took a few steps away, no doubt to avoid interrupting Horace.
“By the way,” I said. “Mrs. Voss—the lady over there embroidering—wonders if you’ve considered that whoever killed Frogmore might have had it in for Dr. Czerny.”
“And administered the poison to Frogmore by mistake?”
“And killed Frogmore because without him Czerny probably has no career. Czerny said as much to me, but I just assumed he was panicking. If Mrs. Voss, who seems like a very sensible woman, says the same thing…”
“Duly noted.” He pulled out his notebook and scribbled in it. “Not that we need more complications, mind you.”
“Incidentally, why is Dad so short on sleep?” I asked. “I could have sworn I sent him back to the cottage before midnight.”
“He borrowed your grandfather’s satellite phone and spent a couple of hours talking to that doctor in Oregon.”
“Dr. Lanville?”
“That’s the one. Apparently Lanville’s an insomniac, so he loved having someone to talk to in the middle of the night. Not sure if he’s a mystery buff like your dad or if he’s just taking it really personally that someone knocked off one of his patients, but he’s fired up do any legwork your dad wants to suggest.”
“So when do you start? The search, I mean.” I came close to asking “when do we start?” but changed it at the last minute. Horace wasn’t as touchy as the chief would be about my kibitzing on his investigation, but even he had his limits.
“Soon, I hope.”
“You hope? If you have the search warrants, what are you waiting for?”
“This.” A broad smile lit Horace’s face and he strode toward the front door, where two well-bundled, snow-covered figures were just coming through, giving the impression that two yetis had stumbled into the Inn. “Chief’s here!” he called back over his shoulder. “Randall brought him on the snowmobile.”
Chapter 24
Sami rushed over, and he and Horace began helping the new arrivals with their wraps. Several layers of wraps. They were both so bundled up that you couldn’t have told them apart if not for their dramatically different shapes. The tall lanky yeti had to be Randall—Shiffleys were almost invariably gifted not only with height but also the enviable ability to eat anything they wanted and still resemble beanpoles. The shorter, rounder yeti would be the chief.
“That was quite possibly the most miserable trip I’ve ever taken in this county,” the chief said, when he’d removed two scarves, a pair of goggles, a thick woolly ski mask, and a down coat. “No offense, Randall; I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you bringing me out here, but good Lord, what a journey!”
“What’re you complaining about?” Randall said, with a laugh. “Some people fly to resorts and pay good money to run around on snowmobiles.”
“Welcome, Chief. An
d Mr. Mayor.” Ekaterina arrived, carrying two hot coffees and followed by several staff members who took over the complicated process of extricating the travelers from their remaining wraps, and then hauled all the wet clothes off to be dried.
“Don’t take mine too far,” Randall called after them. “I’m only staying to thaw out a bit,” he went on, turning back to us. “Then I need to get back to town. Now that the snow’s finally ending, we’re organizing a shovel brigade. Got a lot to do. First we dig out the snowplows, then while Osgood and Beau get to work, we’re going to start digging our way to people’s houses that might need checking on. And then there’s the hospital parking lot, and rounding up a chainsaw crew for all the fallen trees. Chief, if you finish up here and decide you need to come back to town, just radio me.”
“Thanks,” the chief said. “I’ll do just that. Depends on how things go here. Horace, where are we?”
“I was just about to notify the folks whose rooms we’re going to search,” Horace said. “Meg, can you help me track them all down?”
I pulled out my phone and checked the time.
“They should all be going to lunch in a couple of minutes,” I said. “I’ll lead the way. Randall, why don’t you stay long enough to have a hot meal before you head back.”
“I won’t say no,” Randall said. Few people ever did to a meal at the Inn.
“And we need to rekey those rooms now,” the chief said. “Before anyone hears that we’re searching their rooms. Not that they haven’t had plenty of time to dispose of anything incriminating in the last twelve hours, but you never know.”
“If you give me a list of the rooms concerned, I will run new keys for them now and send a staff member around to activate them,” Sami said. “And then I can hold the new keys and release them to the occupants only when you give the okay.”
“Perfect,” the chief said.
“Shall we go find your suspects?” I asked.
“Persons of interest,” he corrected. “Yes, please.”
We made quite an impression when we entered, since the chief’s arrival doubled the number of uniformed law enforcement officers on site. And Randall’s bearing, along with the fact that he’d walked in shoulder to shoulder with the chief, would probably give rise to rumors that he was with the FBI or something. I sent Randall through the buffet line while I scouted out where the various persons of interest were sitting.
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