Scotched (14 page)

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Authors: Kaitlyn Dunnett

BOOK: Scotched
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“I need to tell my father what's going on,” Dan said. “Will you be okay alone for a little bit?”
“Go ahead,” Liss said, and flipped the corner of the afghan up over her face, blocking out the light from the desk lamp he'd turned on.
She heard the door close softly behind him and then, remarkably, felt herself slide into an exhausted sleep.
 
Liss had no idea how much time passed before someone awakened her by gripping her shoulder and giving her a shake. Groggily, she sat up and opened her eyes to find Gordon Tandy's gaze boring into her.
Gordon's eyes were a dark, deep brown. If it hadn't been for a scattering of light golden flecks, they would have looked black. She'd always found them fascinating.
He stepped back, bringing the rest of his face into focus. He wore his thick, reddish brown hair close-cropped. That hadn't changed since she'd last seen him. But the set of his jaw had. His lips were pursed in a thin, hard line. He looked almost angry with her.
Abruptly, the reason Gordon Tandy was at The Spruces, looming over her and scowling, came back to Liss in a rush. Once again she saw Nola Ventress at the bottom of the cliff, blood pooled beneath her head, neck twisted at an impossible angle. She tasted bile and swallowed convulsively.
“I don't suppose—” Her words came out as a hoarse croak and she had to stop and clear her throat before she could finish the sentence. “I don't suppose finding Nola was just a nightmare?”
“Not hardly,” Gordon said.
He still looked formidable, six-foot-plus of solid muscle and bone, but there was a little more warmth in his expression. They'd had a good relationship once. They'd liked each other. But up there at Lover's Leap had been the first time she'd seen him since she'd accepted Dan's marriage proposal. She let Gordon's brother break the news to him while Gordon had been out of state taking some sort of special law-enforcement training. Ever since he'd come back to Maine, he'd avoided her. Now that he had to deal with her on official business, neither of them knew quite how to handle the situation.
Liss scrubbed at her face with her hands, then ran her fingers through her hair, trying to restore some semblance of order. Aunt Margaret had a small refrigerator tucked in behind her desk. Liss crossed the room to forage for cold caffeine. The only soda she found was of the diet and decaffeinated persuasion. She snagged a bottle of Poland Spring water instead.
Gordon waited patiently, leaning against the front of Margaret's desk. He'd fished a notebook and pen out of his pocket and flipped to a blank page.
Liss sighed as she reclaimed the love seat. “Let the interrogation begin.”
“This is no joke, Liss.”
She twisted the cap off her water bottle with more force than was strictly necessary. “I know that, Gordon. I was the one who found her. Remember?”
“A fact impossible to forget. Why were you out there?”
“Margaret asked me to look for Nola. Fran Pertwee from the gift shop said she'd bought a flower arrangement. One of the guests saw her heading for the cliff path. I assumed that the flowers were a memorial for Jane Nedlinger, although why Nola would bother with a tribute to that woman is beyond me. She didn't much like her when she was alive.”
“So I'm told.”
Something in Gordon's voice made Liss think he'd already been filled in on the trouble Jane Nedlinger had intended to make for the town and on her activities at the opening reception, as well. She sighed again.
“So,” Gordon said, head bent over his notes, “you decided that Nola Ventress went out to Lover's Leap to make a memorial for Jane Nedlinger?”
As Liss had long since learned was the norm in a criminal investigation, the police asked the same damned questions multiple times. “It looked that way to me,” she replied, “and you must have seen the flowers on the rock for yourself.”
At the asperity in her voice, Gordon cocked an eyebrow. “I did. Clearly, she climbed over the fence to leave them there.”
“You can't think she fell? Two identical accidents in less than two days?” There was no way anyone, let alone a trained detective, would buy that explanation.
Gordon hesitated. “There are three choices, Liss. She fell. She was pushed. Or she jumped.”
Before she could respond, he asked another question, this one about the MSBA meeting. As the interrogation continued, she gave him the names of everyone who had been at her house on Thursday night and also those of the conference attendees who'd been harassed by Jane Nedlinger, including Eleanor Ogilvie.
“But Nola Ventress was the one who seemed most upset by her encounter with Ms. Nedlinger?” Gordon asked.
“Yes. And by her death, too.” Liss described Nola's behavior in the dealers' room and later, when Liss had tried to talk to her in her hotel room.
“So you spent time with Nola, both before and after Jane Nedlinger died?”
“A little. Aunt Margaret was with her more than I was.”
“Can you think of anyone who'd want to murder her?”
“No, I can't.
Was
she murdered?”
He shrugged. “Pushing someone off a cliff is an awfully chancy way to kill. In a fall like that, Nola could have been horribly injured but still able to tell the authorities who pushed her.”
Although Liss knew this was a nonanswer, she badly wanted to believe that both Nola and Jane could have fallen by accident. Unfortunately, that solution wouldn't fly. “Coincidences happen,” she said, “but an accidental fall doesn't make sense if the medical examiner is right about Jane's death taking place
before
dawn.”
Gordon's already somber expression turned positively grim. The hard glint in his eyes promised retribution to someone. “And how,” he said in a much-too-soft voice, “do you know that?”
“I ... uh ... overheard Sherri's side of a phone conversation.”
Too late, it dawned on her that the M.E. had dealt only with Sherri. He didn't know that a visit from Liss and Dan had prompted the Moosetookalook police officer's request for more information. And Sherri, good friend that she was, would have soft-pedaled the role they'd played in her decision to follow up on the circumstances of Jane Nedlinger's death.
Gordon snapped his notebook closed. “I'll want to talk to you again later, after I've had a chance to investigate further.”
“I'm not planning to leave town.”
Her sarcasm did not go over well.
“Make no mistake, Liss. I won't stand for civilians meddling in police business.” With that warning, Gordon abruptly left the office.
It was almost, Liss thought, as if he was afraid he'd lose the tight control he always kept on his temper if he stayed in her presence a moment longer. She didn't know whether to be chagrined or relieved.
 
Although she had been up late the night before and did not sleep well, Liss was wide awake at a little after six on Saturday morning. She left Dan snoring softly to get up, feed the cats, and start the coffee. A few minutes later, she heard light footsteps on her back stoop. She was not at all surprised to look through the glass panel of the door and see Margaret lifting her hand to knock.
Keeping an eye on Lumpkin, who'd been known to make a dash for freedom, she opened the door. Glenora was attracted by what lay beyond the house, too, but she was easier to recapture. On the rare occasions when she did escape, she headed straight for a small patch of grass at the corner of the back porch and settled in to graze.
“Is Dan still here?” Margaret asked in a whisper. “I saw him bring you home last night but I didn't see him leave.”
“He's sound asleep. An earthquake wouldn't wake him, and I could use some company.” She waved Margaret over to the table and reached for another coffee mug.
“Must be nice, being able to sleep soundly.”
Liss chuckled. “There are times I outright resent his ability to fall asleep so easily. He never tosses and turns the way I do when I have something preying on my mind.”
“I didn't sleep well last night, either.” Margaret settled into one of Liss's kitchen chairs and accepted with equanimity the addition of a small black cat to her lap. She began to stroke Glenora's soft fur. Lumpkin, having been foiled at the door, had returned to his food bowl to console himself with kibble.
“Every time I talked myself out of worrying about one thing, another would crop up,” Liss admitted.
“I wonder if there will be reporters in town today,” Margaret said. “Even if the press hasn't yet twigged to the news value of our two unattended deaths”—she put air quotes around the last two words—“they may show up for Yvonne Quinlan's book signing.”
“She brought her manager with her,” Liss said slowly, putting the pieces together. “Bill Stotz came along to make sure she gets as much publicity out of this gig as possible.”
“That's my theory,” Margaret said, accepting the steaming mug Liss handed her. “A few days ago, I was all for it.”
“Maybe only a reporter or two will show up. They'll talk to Yvonne and leave before they hear rumors about Lover's Leap.”
“Don't count on it.” Margaret sipped and gave a sigh of pleasure before she turned serious once again. “I took a look at that woman's blog—
The Nedlinger Report
? There's a place for readers to post their comments. There are already dozens of queries asking where she is and why she hasn't blogged since Thursday morning. The consensus seems to be that she's ill, but it won't take long before some enterprising soul discovers that she's dead.”
“And news of the suspicious circumstances surrounding her death won't be far behind.” Liss all but inhaled her first cup of coffee. Her brain slowly began to defog, but she couldn't for the life of her think what they could do to keep things quiet.
“It would be nice if both deaths could be ruled accidental,” Margaret mused, “but we'll still have to deal with the press. And someone will be sure to bring up last January's murder, if not the ones before.”
Liss wrapped both hands around her ceramic mug, needing the warmth and comfort nearly as much as she did the caffeine. “And if it was murder? Who would want Nola dead? I can see someone killing Jane, but Nola seemed to be a nice enough woman.”
“She'd still be alive if I hadn't convinced her to hold her conference at The Spruces,” Margaret whispered. Her face worked, and for a moment Liss thought her aunt was going to cry. She regained control of herself at the last second and took another healthy swig of coffee instead.
Liss sat opposite her at the small table and reached across to touch Margaret's hand. “Nothing that happened was your fault.”
“But none of it would have happened,” Margaret said with a tremor in her voice, “if Nola had gone somewhere else. She didn't want to come here, you know. When she left Moosetookalook, more than thirty years ago, she swore she'd never come back.”
Liss frowned. A bit of mental arithmetic had her wondering if she was missing something. She'd been thinking that Nola had left town right after high school, but if Nola and her aunt had been in the same class, that would make it a little more than forty years back, not thirty. Nola had remained in Moosetookalook for the best part of another decade.
“You aren't to blame,” she said aloud, hoping repetition would eventually convince Margaret to stop beating herself up over events that had been well beyond her control.
“I should have expected trouble,” Margaret insisted, “especially when I went and involved Stu in the conference. But he's so good at running auctions. He was a logical choice.”
“What does Stu have to do with anything?” Liss asked. “He's too young to have been in your class at school.”
“Yes. He's a few years younger than we are. Your mother and Dan's mother were a bit younger, too. And your father and my late husband and Moose Mayfield, they were all a few years older.”
That Margaret hadn't answered her question disturbed Liss. What was her aunt hiding? Clearly something was preying on her mind. Something from the past.
“Who was in
your
class?” she asked. Who, she wondered, had Nola wanted to avoid?
“Joe Ruskin. Dolores Mayfield. Ernie Willett.”
Ernie was Sherri's father and Margaret's beau, so that news didn't surprise Liss.
“Doug graduated the year before we did,” Margaret added. She slumped dispiritedly in the chair, a shadow of her usual cheerful self.
Liss sipped coffee and studied her aunt. “Don't you think it's about time you spilled the beans?” she asked. “It's only a matter of time before the press is involved. When everything comes out, I'd just as soon not have some reporter know more about the situation than I do. What's the connection? Why did Nola behave so peculiarly around both Stu and Doug at the MSBA meeting? Why did you want those two, in particular, to be informed of her death last night?”

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