Kilt at the Highland Games (2 page)

“Thank God!” Liss's sense of relief was so intense that she threw her arms around Stu and hugged him. It was an awkward embrace. He was a good seven inches shorter than she was and as round as a pumpkin.

Squirming out of her grasp, Stu sputtered in protest. “You don't have to smother me!”

Liss straightened, unrepentant. Stu might be a curmudgeon on the surface, but she'd known him for years. A soft heart beat beneath all that crustiness. Why else would he have gone out of his way to reassure them that no one had been trapped in the Hogencamps' apartment?

Surreptitiously, she wiped the heel of her hand across her wet eyes. Although losing the bookstore was bad, it could be rebuilt. There was no bringing back lost lives.

Margaret's brows pinched together in confusion. “If they weren't there, then where are they? What if they tried to escape through the shop instead of taking the outside stairs?”

Stu ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair and looked surprised when they came away streaked with soot. “No need to borrow trouble,” he said in a gruff voice.

He was reluctant to contemplate new horrors, but Liss heard the worry beneath his words. They all knew that if Angie and her children had gone down into the bookstore, they might have been trapped inside the burning building.

Unbidden, memories of her own recent experience rushed back. Liss pushed the worst of them away, unwilling to relive the terror of those endless minutes when she'd thought they would never be able to escape.

A resounding crash made her jump and drew her attention back to the fire. The structure was now fully engulfed in flames. The streams of water volunteers were directing at the fast-burning blaze didn't appear to be doing any good at all.

Margaret slid one arm around Liss's waist. “I'm sure we'll find them safe and sound. You just wait and see. They'll have taken shelter in the town office or the police station. Or maybe they went to Patsy's.”

She gestured toward Patsy's Coffee House, located just beyond the far side of the municipal building. The interior lights were on. Patsy always got up well before daylight. She usually started her daily baking around three o'clock in the morning.

“We could go look,” Liss suggested.

Margaret agreed, but reaching the café was easier said than done. The town square was full of people who had come out to watch the fire, making it difficult to move. The crush only got worse when they were ordered to fall back to the other side of the monument to the Civil War dead.

Slowly, Liss and her aunt eased through the crowd, taking a circuitous route that would bring them out on Birch Street, right in front of Liss's house. Patsy's place faced Main Street, looking straight down Birch.

Almost everyone they encountered on their way was a friend, a neighbor, or a casual acquaintance. Liss noticed only two people who were complete strangers. One was a barrel-chested man with bulldog features, the other a tall, dignified-looking older gentleman who sported a neatly trimmed little beard and carried a walking stick.

“Guests at The Spruces?” she asked Margaret. The luxury hotel on the outskirts of Moosetookalook village was owned by Dan's father, Joe Ruskin.

“Probably.” Although Margaret was Joe's events coordinator, she didn't come in contact with everyone who booked a room.

Ghouls,
Liss thought. The local people were there out of concern for a neighbor and friend. The only reason for anyone else to be at the scene of a fire in the middle of the night was rude curiosity.

At last, they emerged on Birch Street. A sharp crack—far louder than the earlier crash—signaled the collapse of the roof beam. Liss couldn't stop herself from looking back. Sparks flew upward as the walls came down, destroying everything in their path.

After her own narrow escape, when they'd watched the house they'd been staying in burn to the ground, she had been overwhelmed by a sense of relief because she and Dan and Sherri had made it out alive. That had been all that mattered, since she'd had no emotional attachment to the place where they'd been staying. She had lost nothing more than a few insignificant personal possessions to the fire.

For Angie and her children, this would be a thousand times worse. To watch both home and business go up in flames would send anyone into a state of shock. They were probably sheltering somewhere, dazed and grief-stricken. The last thing on Angie's mind would be reassuring their neighbors that they were safe. It might not occur to her for hours yet that Liss and Margaret and other friends would be worried sick about her.

Liss dragged her gaze away from the fire scene. With Margaret beside her, she took to the middle of Birch Street to walk back to Main. Angie and the kids would be at Patsy's Coffee House, she told herself, but she was already close enough to see through the front windows of the café. There was no one visible, not even Patsy herself.

“Let's try the town office.” Margaret caught her arm to pull her in that direction. “There are lights on in there, too.”

Since the bay for the fire truck was on the far side of the main entrance to the municipal building, Liss and Margaret could enter without getting in the way of the firefighters. Liss was not unduly surprised to find Moosetookalook's longtime town clerk, Francine Noyes, at her usual post behind a wide wooden counter. Even though it was hours yet until the town office officially opened, she looked crisp and professional . . . and out of sorts.

The reason was obvious. Francine wasn't alone. Leaning across the counter in a manner that could only be characterized as aggressive, was Jason Graye, one of Liss's least favorite people. A few years earlier, shady real-estate dealings had cost him his seat as a town selectman, but he'd somehow managed to reclaim it in the last election.

Graye straightened at the sound of the door opening. His beak of a nose was perfect for looking down, and the thrust of his jaw marked him as pugnacious. Francine's relief at the interruption was obvious.

“Liss. Margaret. Something I can do for you?”

“We're hoping you know where Angie, Beth, and Bradley are,” Margaret said.

Francine's face fell. “I haven't heard where they went. Isn't it a shame? That was such a nice old building, and the bookstore was such an asset to the community.”

“And now it's just an eyesore,” Graye cut in. “I'm going to recommend that the town take the property by eminent domain. It will make a good location for a parking lot.”

Graye's callousness both angered and offended Liss. She glared at him. “You'd better watch that sentimental streak. Someone's liable to accuse you of having a heart.”

If her insults bothered him, it wasn't apparent. Ignoring her, he barked an order at Francine. “Send that notice out ASAP.” Then he brushed past Liss and Margaret and left the building.

Francine sent a mock salute after him. Under other circumstances, Liss would have laughed.

“Has anyone seen them?” she asked the town clerk. “Do we know for certain that they got out safely?”

“I'm so sorry,” Francine said. “All I know is that there was no one in the apartment. I just assumed . . .” Her voice trailed off in distress.

“I bet Patsy knows where they are,” Margaret said in an overly hearty voice. “She and Angie are good friends.”

Francine cheered up at her confident statement, but Liss's sense of foreboding only deepened. She dragged her feet, her heart heavy, as they walked the few dozen feet from the municipal building to the coffee shop.

The heavenly aromas of freshly brewed coffee and baking cinnamon buns rose up to greet Liss as soon as Margaret opened the door, almost canceling out the smell of smoke. Overhead, a bell tinkled, causing Patsy, the tall, cadaverously thin genius-in-the-kitchen who owned the place, to poke her head out from the back to see who had come in.

“Help yourself to coffee,” she hollered when she recognized them. She was already ducking back into the kitchen when Liss hailed her.

“Patsy, wait! Have you seen Angie since the fire broke out?”

“No.” The answer was short and short-tempered. “No reason I should have, and I haven't got time to chat. I'm busy.”

“She doesn't seem worried,” Margaret remarked.

Liss had to agree, but she wasn't sure that meant anything. She'd so hoped to find Angie and Beth and Bradley by now. The fact that she hadn't left her feeling frustrated and even more worried than she had been earlier. What if the firemen had missed seeing them? What if—?

“They'll turn up,” Margaret said, cutting short Liss's imaginings. She busied herself pouring coffee into two mugs and doctoring it the way they liked it. “They're somewhere safe,” she added as she carried their drinks to one of Patsy's small tables and sank gratefully into a chair. “I'm certain of it.”

“Of course they are.” Liss joined her aunt.

She lifted her mug to her lips and took a long, reviving sip of the fragrant brew. As she did so, she caught sight of her reflection in the window glass. Her hair stood out in all directions. She supposed she looked no more odd than most of the people in the town square. When the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night, good grooming was the least of anyone's worries. Margaret didn't seem at all bothered to still be in her nightclothes, her light gray hair uncombed and her face devoid of makeup.

Could that be why Angie was staying out of sight— good, old-fashioned embarrassment? If so, then she'd turn up as soon as she'd found something decent to wear.

Liss held to that belief until her mug was empty. Then she convinced herself that Angie just needed some time alone to process the scope of the disaster. That reasoning lasted until the fire had been reduced to a few smoldering hot spots.

She'd run out of excuses by the time the sun came up. The bright morning light revealed the full extent of the devastation. It also exposed the stark reality that Angie Hogencamp and her children were nowhere to be found.

Chapter Two

A
fter staring long and hard at the wreckage of what had once been a friendly, thriving business, Sherri Campbell averted her eyes. She wished she could avoid inhaling the stench that easily, but the smell of smoke hung heavily in the sultry morning air. At Sherri's side, Officer Mike Jennings wrapped up his report.

“This is
so
not good,” Sherri muttered.

“Someone from the fire marshal's office should be here soon.”

“I'm glad we're not responsible for that part of the investigation.”

Even the slight possibility of finding human remains in the ashes sent a shudder through Sherri's petite frame. She was usually the first to appreciate the dark sense of humor that kept cops from making themselves crazy in no-win situations, but today none of the old jokes about “crispy critters” seemed at all funny. At last report, no one had seen Angie, Beth, or Bradley Hogencamp since well before the fire.

Toughen up,
she told herself. How would it look if Moosetookalook's duly appointed chief of police tossed her cookies in public? Her looks were enough of a handicap. Even when she was in uniform and wearing a gun, some people still looked first at her blond hair and curves and had trouble taking her seriously as a law-enforcement professional. It didn't help that she barely topped five-foot-two and was the mother of three young children.

“Are you officially back at work?” Mike asked.

“Looks like it. My maternity leave would have run out on Monday anyhow.”

Sherri had been looking forward to spending one more obligation-free weekend with Pete and the kids. There was no way she could do that now. She was faced with what she hoped was a missing persons case—the alternative was too awful to contemplate. Add in possible—make that probable—arson and there was no way she could justify staying home while other officers did her job. Time to take charge.

“Can you put in another hour or two, Mike? Someone needs to keep an eye on the place to make sure no one goes in and starts poking around.”

“I'm good. I don't go on patrol again until tomorrow.”

Sherri studied his face for signs of fatigue. Throughout her maternity leave, Mike Jennings had worked a lot of extra hours for Moosetookalook while also holding down a full-time job with the Carrabassett County Sheriff's Department. Alert green eyes met her baby blues. His were bloodshot from all the smoke, but otherwise he looked no worse for wear. Satisfied, Sherri was prepared to trust her newest hire's word for it when he said that he knew his limits.

He'd been hired by the county on the strength of recommendations by Sherri and her husband, Pete, who was a deputy sheriff for the county. Helping Mike find a new job had only seemed fair, since Sherri had been responsible, albeit indirectly, for the loss of his previous post. She and Pete had also helped him find a place to live. In January, when he'd pulled up stakes and moved to Moosetookalook, he'd taken over the lease on their apartment above Carrabassett County Wood Crafts, Dan Ruskin's storefront on the town square.

“I'll leave you to it,” Sherri said, thinking that the fact that newcomers were so readily welcomed into their small, close-knit community made the possibility that the fire had been deliberately set all the more heinous.

She had already sent out a BOLO for Angie, Beth, and Bradley. Her next task was to start canvassing the area. With any luck, she'd find a witness who had seen what happened at Angie's Books right before the fire started. If she was really fortunate, the request to “be on the lookout” for the Hogencamps would also produce results.

They weren't wanted for any crime, but the alert would have fellow police officers keeping their eyes peeled for the three missing persons while they went about their normal day's work. Sherri had supplied detailed descriptions and photographs. She had every reason to be optimistic . . . except that she couldn't think of any good reason why Angie and her kids hadn't already turned up.

The bookstore had faced Main Street, looking out over one corner of the town square. By rights, it should have been located on the corner of Main and Ash, since Ash Street formed the western side of the square, but Moosetookalook had developed without the benefit of a preconceived street plan. Ash stopped where it met Main. Elm began a few yards to the west, just past Angie's Books.

Sherri had intended to start her quest for information by circling the town square, stopping at each of the buildings that faced it. She changed her mind when she took another look at the smoldering ruin.

The bookstore's nearest neighbor was a light yellow house on Elm Street. Built in the 1920s, it belonged to an elderly couple, the Permutters. Since Moosetookalook's population was just a bit more than a thousand souls, Sherri knew them, if only slightly. She was also well aware that both Kate and Alex Permutter were hard of hearing. Even so, they could scarcely have been unaware of the fire. As she approached the porch, Sherri saw that soot discolored a large section of one side of the house.

It was Kate who answered the door, after Sherri banged on it for several minutes with a knocker shaped like a rose. Once she'd gestured for Sherri to come into the foyer, she made the universal sign for “wait a minute” before disappearing down the hallway. From the living room, a TV blared, the volume turned up to screech.

“There,” Kate said as she returned, fluffing her hair. “Sorry for the delay, but I had to put my ears in.”

Belatedly, Sheri caught on. Kate meant her hearing aids.

Raising her voice as they entered the living room, Kate addressed her husband. “Alex! Turn that thing down!”

“What?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Stubborn old fool. He refuses to admit he's going deaf.”

While Sherri tried to hide a smile, Kate commandeered the clicker and turned off the television.

“Hey!” Alex yelped. He might have said more had he not caught sight of Sherri. Ever the gentleman, he lowered the footrest of his recliner and tried to stand. “Sorry. I didn't know we had company.”

“Please, don't get up. I just have a couple of questions to ask you.”

“Say again? You young people are always whispering. It's not natural.”

Sherri raised her voice until she was very nearly shouting. “I'd like to ask you some questions about last night.”

After that, the interview proceeded smoothly, although Sherri did have to repeat almost every question two or three times for Alex's benefit.

Midway through the interview, they were joined by an elderly striped cat. It ignored both Kate and Sherri and tottered straight to Alex. He picked it up, raised the footrest again, and deposited it in the feline-shaped dent between his knees.

“We were both sound asleep until the fire siren woke us,” Kate Permutter recalled. “I was terrified when we realized it was the bookstore that was burning. We were afraid sparks would set our house on fire, too.”

“Did you go out into the square?”

“Oh, no. We were too busy. We bundled Hector there into his cat carrier, grabbed a few irreplaceable photo albums and a cookie jar, and took refuge in the car, just in case we had to run for it.”

Sherri didn't bother to ask Kate why she had taken the cookie jar. It was a well-documented fact that people would try to save the most unlikely items during an emergency evacuation.

“Did you happen to notice when Angie and her children left? Your side windows had a good view of the back of her building.”

Kate looked surprised. “Do you mean to say they weren't at home when the fire started?”

“It doesn't appear so.”

“Well, imagine that! I don't know whether to be pleased or saddened. Do they even know about it?”

Sherri hesitated. “It doesn't appear so. Did you see them yesterday?”

Kate shook her head. “Not that I remember, but we wouldn't necessarily have noticed. The view from our kitchen windows is . . .
was
of the side of the garage. Once in a while I'd see one of the kids out in the yard, but it's a pretty small lot, and they never set up a grill or anything.”

Sherri had noticed the remains of the garage as she'd walked to the Permutters' house. If Angie's car had been inside, there should have been some sign of it. Metal burned, but not completely. She made a mental note to look up the make, model, and license plate and add that information to the BOLO.

“So,” she continued, getting ready to wrap up, “you don't know Angie all that well?”

“Not really,” Kate admitted. “The bookstore kept her pretty busy. Oh, she was friendly enough, but she didn't socialize with us. Well, that's only to be expected, really. We're a generation older than she is, and to her children we must seem like a couple of fossils.” She chuckled and sent her husband an affectionate look.

When Alex had confirmed everything his wife said, Sherri left, moving on to the next three houses along the east side of Elm Street. No one was home at any of them. That didn't surprise her. Despite all the tumult in the wee hours, this was still a Friday morning. Most people, unless they were retired like the Permutters or lived above their businesses, had jobs to go to elsewhere.

Crossing to the west side of Elm, Sherri didn't bother to stop at the Congregational church. Next in line as she walked back toward the town square were two newer, one-story buildings. The first was a dentist's office, and the second housed an eye doctor. Even during daylight hours, neither was open every day, and no one occupied either building at night.

Next door to the eye doctor was Ye Olde Hobbie Shoppe, which sold supplies for all kinds of hobbies and crafts. There Sherri did stop. The owner, Gloria Weir, lived upstairs. More importantly, from both her store and her apartment she'd have had an excellent view of Angie's garage.

“This whole place stinks of smoke,” Gloria complained the moment Sherri walked into the shop. The wide smile for which she was known was conspicuously absent in the wake of the fire. She looked downright woebegone.

Sherri took a look around. Gloria's stock included embroidery silks and fabrics. She supposed such things did hold onto smells, but surely they could be washed. She wasn't so sure that the paper materials used for scrapbooking could be salvaged.

“Did you see anything last night?” she asked the ginger-haired shopkeeper.

“Oh, gee. Let me think. How about a big honking fire?”

Sherri ignored the sarcasm. “I mean before the fire. Anything suspicious?”

“I was asleep.” Gloria's eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that fire was set?”

“It's too soon to tell, although naturally in a case like this the municipal fire inspector, as directed by the state's attorney general, notified the office of the state fire marshal. An investigator will be here soon to take a look at the scene and make the call.”

Gloria's already pale complexion went even whiter. “That's all we need—a firebug.”

Sherri tried to think what she could say to reassure Gloria. She wasn't used to seeing her like this. Most of the time, she was a self-assured go-getter, full of inventive ideas and active in the Moosetookalook Small Business Association.

“Chances are it will turn out to have been an accident.”

“What does Angie say happened?”

And there it was—the central problem. “We're not quite sure where she and the children are. When is the last time you saw them?”

Gloria's eyes widened. “They weren't . . . please tell me they—” She was visibly shaken by the possibility that her neighbors had perished in the fire.

“No bodies have been found.” Sherri refused to add “yet” to that statement. “So? Did you see Angie or Beth or Bradley yesterday?”

“I don't think so. It's been a couple of days at least. I can . . . I
could
see the side of Angie's building through my windows. Their garage faced this way, but most of the time they went in and out through the front of the shop.”

Sherri peered out through the windows Gloria indicated, trying to picture the building as it had been. Only a narrow strip of grass, now blackened by smoke and much trampled, flanked the sidewalk on Elm. Angie's driveway had extended for barely a car-length before it reached the overhead door of her garage.

“I wish I could be more help,” Gloria said, “but I didn't see all that much of Angie. I'm stuck here at the shop most of the time. She was stuck in the bookstore. Mostly I saw her at MSBA meetings. You know how it is with a one-person business. There's not a lot of time for visiting the neighbors.”

Sherri did know. After reminding Gloria to give her a call if she remembered anything that might help the investigation, she left Ye Olde Hobbie Shoppe and crossed Main Street, entering the museum by the side entrance. Once upon a time, when the large house had been a funeral parlor, bodies had been taken in and out through this door.

As she'd expected, no one had been around at three in the morning.

She left through the front door, noticing as she did so that an investigator from the fire marshal's office had arrived and was talking to Mike Jennings. She didn't imagine that they needed her input. If they did, she had her portable radio attached to her belt. Mike could give her a holler.

Three buildings faced the town square on each side. The one in the middle of the Ash Street block was the jewelry store owned by Fred and Nicole Lounsbury. Some years back, they'd retired after successful careers in the big city corporate world to move to Maine and open a small business. They specialized in jewelry made by local artisans from two Maine gemstones, tourmaline and garnet. More significant from Sherri's point of view was that they lived above their shop. She was still hoping to find someone who'd seen something in the wee hours.