Scone Cold Dead (11 page)

“Haven't the police already talked to all of those people?” Sandy asked.

“How would I know?” She realized she'd snapped at him and sent him a quick look of apology along with an explanation: “I haven't heard a peep out of Gordon Tandy.”

Instead of backing off, Sandy leaned toward her, elbows on the table. “Look, Liss, maybe you shouldn't get any more involved in this. You ask the wrong person questions and you could get hurt. Dan told us how close—”

She didn't let him finish. “I can take care of myself.”

“At least let us ride shotgun.”

The image would have amused her if she hadn't been so irritated. “This is not the Wild West. I'm in no danger of being bushwhacked. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a woman to see about a scone.”

 

 

The Scone Lady was not at home.

One more setback in a day already overloaded with frustration! Liss returned to her car and sat there with the heater on, trying to decide what to do next.

She glanced at her watch and saw that it was just past two in the afternoon. She'd wasted a good deal of time in Fallstown, trying to track down the people who'd worked in the kitchen Saturday night. Those few she had located either claimed they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary or refused to talk to her. She could hardly compel them to answer her questions. She had no official standing in the case.

So—wait and hope Mrs. Eccles returned soon? Head home? Neither choice appealed.

Like Moosetookalook, Waycross Springs had a pretty little town square. Liss was parked in front of Janice Eccles's house and there, just across the snow-covered green, was Tandy's Music and Gifts. Without giving herself the chance to think better of it, Liss was out of the car and walking briskly toward the shop.

A cheerful little bell jangled to announce her entrance. She recognized Russ Tandy behind the sales counter even though she hadn't seen him in years. Russ had more gray in his hair than Gordon did and wore it longer, and he was taller and leaner than his brother, but the resemblance was unmistakable. They had the same dark brown eyes. Good genes obviously ran in the Tandy family.

Liss knew Gordon's grandfather had founded the business and passed it on to his son, but Russ had run it as long as she could remember. There was some overlap between Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium and Tandy's Music and Gifts in that the Tandys carried a few Scottish-themed items, but the main thrust of the Waycross Springs store was music. Russ not only sold a wide variety of instruments—everything from flutes to tubas—he also taught his customers how to play them.

He glanced at Liss without recognizing her, giving her a professional shopkeeper's smile before he went back to ringing up a sale for a woman in a bright pink parka. Liss took the opportunity to wander the aisles, comparing Russ's merchandise to the items she and her aunt stocked.

A wide selection of CDs took up about a third of the floor space. Another third was devoted to gift items. Those on display had a musical theme. Liss picked up a figurine of a dancing dog playing a drum, amused by the comical expression on its face.

Assorted musical instruments composed the remaining stock and along the back wall, arranged against paneling that showed them off to advantage, were two sets of bagpipes, one on either side of a tall, narrow window. A glance through the glass revealed that Tandy's Music and Gifts overlooked Waycross Stream . . . literally. If the bank hadn't been shored up to keep it from eroding, the entire building would have been in imminent danger of sliding into the water.

To Liss's right, a shelf contained stacked boxes labeled
PRACTICE CHANTERS.
The remaining section of paneling was the background for a display of awards won at piping competitions by members of the Tandy family—trophies, plaques, and ribbons of all sorts. Russ Tandy's name was well represented, as was that of his daughter, Amanda. Liss remembered her slightly. She'd be in her late teens or early twenties by now.

On the far side were several awards with Gordon's name on them. Not one of them was dated more recently than ten years back. Liss wondered if he still played the bagpipes or if he had given them up altogether after he'd gone to work for the state police. It was not an easy instrument to master, and if a piper did not stay in practice, his skills soon grew rusty.

There was no more grating sound than that of a bagpipe badly played.

When the bell over the door sounded, Liss ignored it. A small charcoal drawing of a piper playing for a dancer had caught her eye. It was beautifully executed and she wondered if the artist was someone local. If so, it might be possible to commission similar pieces for the Emporium.

She jumped at the sound of Gordon Tandy's deep voice. “Small world,” he remarked.

He was standing right behind her, back stiff as a soldier at attention, expression carved in granite. She had a feeling he was hiding his reaction to finding her here, but she couldn't begin to guess if the emotion he was being so careful to repress was anger or something else. He looked very . . . official.

Liss cleared her throat, feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Isn't it just,” she murmured.

Gordon might not have called her, but neither had she tried to reach him. She hadn't told him that she'd talked to the others in the company after he had. She hadn't consulted him about her decision to question the kitchen staff or visit the Scone Lady. It was a good bet he was going to think she'd been meddling . . . and he'd be right.

“So, what brings you to Waycross Springs?” he asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” The best defense, she'd once heard, was a good offense. Or was that the other way around?

“I'm here to talk to Mrs. Eccles again.”

“What a coincidence. So am I. I just stopped by her house, to thank her for all her hard work providing food for the reception. She wasn't home.”

“She was hired to make scones. I'm not sure I understand why that rates a special trip to Waycross Springs.”

“First of all, Janice Eccles and I are friends. Second, she made
cocktail
scones.” At his blank look, she explained. “A regular scone, at least the way folks around here make them, is usually this big.” She held her hands about four inches apart. “The cocktail scones Janice and I came up with for the reception were smaller.” She moved her hands so that they were closer by half the distance. “We experimented with some that were bite-size, but those were too hard to make with any kind of filling.”

“Might have been the better choice.” He held up a hand when she glared at him. “I know. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

“Actually I was going to say something about Monday morning quarterbacking, but the point's the same.”

He brought the conversation quickly back to business. “So, you're telling me that the scones at the reception were distinctly smaller than regular scones?”

“Yes. I thought you knew that.” As they talked, they moved toward the front of the shop and Liss was aware that Russ Tandy was watching them with unconcealed interest.

“I didn't, no.” Gordon paused to run his hand over a saxophone on an elbow-high shelf. Liss wondered if he could play that instrument as well as the bagpipe. Probably. He was a Tandy, after all. “Whoever brought the mushroom scones must have known what size to make. They looked just the same on the outside as the others. Who knew they should be smaller, Liss, besides you and Mrs. Eccles?”

Liss opened her mouth and shut it again. She shook her head, but the answer stayed the same. “I mentioned the size in e-mails to friends in
Strathspey
.” She dared a glance at his face and winced at the open speculation she saw there. “I even gave them the recipe. I was so pleased with the results, you see. I . . . I was bragging.”

“Which friends?” There was a distinct chill in his voice.

Liss didn't want to answer but she knew he could easily find out on his own. “Sandy and Zara. Stewart. Cal. Fiona. Not everyone in
Strathspey
has a laptop but they all have e-mail addresses. And traveling together on the bus the way they do, they naturally talk to each other. I wouldn't be surprised if everybody in the company knew about the cocktail scones.”

“Great. Just great.”

Liss drew in a deep breath. “I, uh, talked to a few people yesterday. That is, Sherri Willett and I went by the places they're staying . . . to make sure no one needed anything. I . . .” Her words trailed off when she caught sight of Gordon's smirk. “You already knew that!”

“Yup.” He took Liss's arm. “Come on. We need to talk and this isn't the place for it.” He acknowledged his brother's questioning look with a “later” gesture and a wave, and whisked Liss out the door. “Have you ever been to Glendorra's? No gourmet coffees, just plain old regular.”

In the western Maine mountains, as well as in some other areas of the state, “regular” meant that the coffee came already doctored with cream and two heaping sugars. Fifteen minutes later, after a brisk walk, Liss sat opposite Gordon in a small booth. She took a cautious sip of the hot, sweet brew, then set it aside. She was too jittery already.

“So, this is Glendorra's,” she said.

She'd heard about the place, but seeing it was something else. The seats were upholstered in bright red leather, cracked and worn in places. The tabletop was Formica. The decor in general didn't look as if it had changed in half a century. There was even an old-fashioned jukebox in one corner. Liss wondered where they found the records—those little 45s—to play on it. No one had manufactured them in ages.

Gordon Tandy was an even greater mystery. She couldn't read him at all, couldn't tell if he was amused by her snooping or ticked off at her.

“I was just trying to help,” she said, and could have kicked herself when she heard how apologetic the words sounded.

“Okay, Nancy Drew. Let's hear what you found out.” He didn't
sound
angry, but Liss suspected he wasn't much pleased with her.

“Not much,” she admitted. “The only really peculiar thing is that Emily Townsend isn't anywhere to be found. Did you talk to her yesterday?”

“The girlfriend? Yeah, I did. She was first on the list after I left your place.”

“And?”

“And she was upset, since she'd watched him die. She was in the ladies' room when he ate the scone. She came back in time to see him fall to the floor.”

“That's it?”

“That's all I'm prepared to share.”

“About Emily? Or at all?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Was there a supply of epinephrine in Victor's room?”

“Yes.” A flicker of... something crossed his face.

“What?”

“There should have been other prescription drugs there, too. I can't give you details—I shouldn't even be telling you this much—but the autopsy revealed that he had a serious medical condition. If he wasn't being treated for it, then he must have been in considerable pain, but we didn't find so much as an aspirin in his belongings.”

Liss was silent for a moment, considering. “I wonder if that's why he was so hard to get along with the last few months.”

“Could be.”

“But it was the allergy to mushrooms that killed him, right?”

“Pretty much. In addition to the other problem, he was overweight. Doc said his arteries were so clogged up it would take Drano to open them. The allergic reaction sent him into shock and triggered a heart attack. It's a toss-up which actually finished him off.”

Liss almost wished he'd stuck to not giving details. She drew in a shuddering breath and asked, “Did Emily know he was ill?”

Gordon declined to answer.

“You're being a tad inconsistent. If you remember,
you
asked
me
for help.”

“I didn't ask you to question all the suspects on your own.”

“But you want to know if I learned anything, don't you?”

She knew she should tell him about the quarrel between Sandy and Victor, but she wasn't going to. Unfortunately, that meant she couldn't ask if he already knew about it, either. It seemed crystal clear he wasn't inclined to volunteer much in the way of
useful
information.

Liss toyed with the salt and pepper shakers on the table until Gordon caught her hands in his. Startled, she looked up, straight into his dark eyes. There were lighter flecks in the deep brown depths. She stared, fascinated, until he spoke and broke the spell.

“Tell me about Stewart Graham.”

“What about him?”

“Alcoholic?” Gordon released her hands and she pulled back, putting as much distance between them as she could within the confines of the intimate, two-person booth.

“Maybe.”

“Mad at Victor Owens?”

“I doubt he denied it if you asked him. I also doubt he could have managed to bake scones in the short time between arriving in Fallstown and the start of the show, let alone smuggle them into the Student Center afterward. In fact, I don't see how anyone in the company could have.”

Gordon sipped coffee, regarding her intently over the rim of the cup. “What I'm about to tell you goes no further.”

After a moment's hesitation, Liss nodded. She took refuge behind her own coffee cup, although it was really too sweet for her taste.

“One of the unoccupied units at Lakeside Cabins was broken into. The oven was used—the owner always leaves the racks out and they were in—and there were pans in the dish drainer.”