Scone Cold Dead (18 page)

“Guess so. You understand that I'm only going so I can pick his brain about the case?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really.”

“You keep telling yourself that, chum.”

“Keep telling herself what?” Dan Ruskin asked as he came through the door.

Sherri glanced at her watch. “You're off early.”

“I never started. I had to babysit.”

“The company borrowed the dining room at The Spruces for a rehearsal hall,” Liss explained for Sherri's benefit, unaware that Beth had already given Sherri a full account of this development. Liss frowned at Dan. “I don't know why you and your father think they need watching every minute. They're all responsible adults.”

“Better safe than sorry. So, what are you supposed to keep telling yourself?”

“That she's only going out with Gordon Tandy tonight, to dinner at the Sinclair House, no less, because she wants information on his investigation.” Sherri watched Dan's face as she spoke, anticipating his reaction. She wasn't disappointed. It didn't reveal much, but there was a definite flicker of alarm in his light brown eyes and for just a second his whole body went rigid.

“What do you think you'll learn?” he asked. “As a general rule, I don't think cops talk about their active cases.”

“But this cop asked for my help. I'm not letting him take that back. And how can I help him if I don't know what he's thinking?” She carried the tray of jewelry from the sales counter to a display case and busied herself arranging the pieces on a length of red velvet.

“I bet I know what he's thinking.” Dan spoke too softly for Liss to hear, but Sherri was close enough to catch every word.

“I bet you'd be right,” she whispered back.

Liss closed the back of the display case and joined them. “Since you're here, Sherri, I think I'll take off early.”

“Fine by me. Go for it.”

“Great.” She grabbed her jacket and was at the door before either Sherri or Dan could say another word. “See you later.”

The shop bell jangled. The door slammed with a thud.

“Damn. She's going to go primp. She wants plenty of time to get ready for her
business meeting
with Gordon Tandy.”

“Maybe she just wants to make lists of questions to ask him. I'm sure she's more interested in pumping him for information than jumping his bones.”

“Oh, thanks so much for that image.” Dan looked as if he'd just bitten into a sour grape. “Damn it, Sherri, I've botched this up but good. I got jealous of Sandy, who turns out to be a great guy and no threat at all, and now I can't say a word about this dinner with Tandy because she'll think I don't trust her.”

“You don't,” Sherri pointed out. “Face it, Dan. You
are
jealous. You're also possessive and overprotective.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “I'm not saying those are entirely bad things, but try to see the situation from her point of view. She's been a free spirit for years. You can't expect her to change completely in a matter of months.”

“I thought she and I were headed somewhere permanent.”

“Did you talk to her about that?”

“No.”

“Then you're stuck. For now, anyway. Try not to snap at Liss, or at Gordon Tandy, either. Liss won't want anything to do with either of you if you and Gordon start snarling at each other like dogs fighting over a bone.” Then Sherri gave him the same advice she'd given Liss: “Just keep telling yourself it's not a date.”

Dan's glower was impressive. “The Sinclair House is a pretty damn romantic setting for a business meeting. It would be a hell of a lot easier to convince myself I don't have anything to worry about if they'd have supper at one of the fast food places in Fallstown.”

Chapter Thirteen

T
he Sinclair House had
posh
written all over it. Liss had been to functions there once or twice, but that had been years ago when she'd been a child. She hadn't appreciated the finer touches, like valet parking and the fact that no gentleman was admitted to the dining room without a jacket and tie. She was glad she'd taken the time to twist her hair into a sophisticated style and chosen to wear one of her more feminine outfits, a long tartan skirt and a gauzy white blouse with lots of lace.

They were seated at a cozy table in a window alcove. Their view of the floodlit, snow-covered grounds reminded Liss of a Currier and Ives print. “This is lovely, Gordon.”

“So are you.”

“For a suspect.”

“Former suspect.”

“So you say,” she teased him. “Maybe this is just a ploy to give me the third degree.”

“Trust me when I say that I don't want to spend the evening talking shop, but I do have the answer to a question you asked me earlier today. I know where Sarah Bartlett is.”

“Where?”

He shook his head. “You don't need specifics. Suffice it to say that I talked to her on the phone and confirmed that she's nowhere near Maine and could not have been here Saturday night to kill Victor Owens. She's out of the picture, and that pretty much eliminates your stage manager friend as a suspect, as well.”

Liss was glad to know Ray was off the hook, but that still left several other friends on it. “Who's your prime suspect?” she asked.

“You know I can't tell you that.” His voice was mild, but his eyes had gone as hard as the obsidian she'd decided they sometimes resembled.

With a sigh, Liss gave up. Pleading wouldn't do anything but ruin the evening. She took a sip of the wine Gordon had ordered to go with their meal. He had good taste. And when she looked into his eyes again, the darkness had eased. He'd abandoned all thought of Victor's murder. What she saw there now was warmth . . . and an invitation.

Hastily looking away, Liss fixed her attention on their surroundings. Anything to distract herself from thoughts that were far too confusing.

Like the rest of the Sinclair House, the dining room had been in use for well over a century. There were touches of the Gilded Age everywhere, carefully preserved—a crystal chandelier, flocked wallpaper—while at the same time every modern convenience was provided. Service was fast and efficient.

There weren't many guests at the moment. Perhaps half the seating was occupied, mostly by groups of four, although a stunning redhead sat alone at one table while a couple, obviously newlyweds, billed and cooed at one another.

Was this what The Spruces might become?

Liss turned back to Gordon, a new line of questioning in mind. “Tell me about Waycross Springs.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you still live here?”

He nodded. “I have a small house about a mile from here.”

“So you probably come here to the Sinclair House all the time.”

“I wouldn't say that, but the Tandys and the Sinclairs go back a long way. Why are you so interested in the hotel?”

“My aunt invested in The Spruces. You've seen the place. Do you think it has a chance of turning out this well?”

“Not my field of expertise. Is Ruskin—?”

Liss cut him off before he could complete the question. This was not the time to bring her relationship with Dan into the conversation, assuming that was what Gordon had intended to ask about. “I just wonder if this area can support two luxury hotels, even with all the tourists who come for the skiing.”

“Don't forget leaf-peeper season and summer. The only time we don't attract tourists is right about now—mud season.”

“You don't subscribe to the wisdom that says Maine only has two seasons?”

“That would be ‘winter' and ‘black fly'?”

They both smiled at the old joke.

An average-looking brunette in a bright fuchsia dress approached their table. “Gordon. How are you?”

“Liss, this is Corrie Sinclair. Corrie, Liss MacCrimmon. Corrie and her husband run this place. Lucas's family has owned the hotel for several generations. Liss was wondering what will happen when The Spruces opens,” he added. “Will having a similar hotel in Moosetookalook cut into Sinclair House business?”

“I doubt it,” Corrie Sinclair said. “There should be plenty to go around, what with both villages being close to good skiing.”

“What do you offer that the condos and motels right at the ski areas don't?”

“Luxury accommodations and free transportation,” came the prompt answer. “We run vans to Sugarloaf, Saddleback, and Sunday River and also make pickups at both Portland Jetport and Bangor International Airport. And we have our own cross-country trails.”

As Corrie enumerated other attractions of the Sinclair House, Liss found herself wishing Dan were with her tonight. Two or three of the things Corrie said sparked ideas that might help ensure the success of The Spruces, particularly what she told them about conferences.

“Small conventions, conferences, and conclaves all love places like this,” she explained. “Did you by chance attend our Burns Day Supper in January?”

“I'm not really a big fan of haggis.” The annual event, held on the birthday of Scottish poet Robert Burns, followed a set format and featured that Scottish delicacy as the main course. Liss treasured her heritage, but not to the extent of eating something made out of the intestines of a sheep.

“It was . . . interesting,” Corrie said with a laugh. “I'd love to host that group every January twenty-fifth but the organizers apparently prefer variety. They won't come back to the same hotel a second year. As soon as The Spruces opens, I expect they'll book the event there.”

After a bit more conversation, their meal arrived and Corrie excused herself to join her husband. Liss's jaw dropped when she got a good look at Lucas Sinclair. He was the personification of tall, dark, and handsome, except for the glasses perched on his long, straight nose. The man even had a dimple in his chiseled jaw.

“So,” Gordon said, “do you know the Ruskins well?”

“Dan bought the house I grew up in.” Liss adjusted her napkin and quickly changed the subject. “What's your next move?”

“I thought we'd finish eating before I made one.”

His dry humor made her smile. She picked up her fork and sampled the coquilles St. Jacques she'd ordered. “I meant in the investigation.”

He ate a bite of his prime rib and a few mouthfuls of mashed potatoes before he lost the battle to avoid talking about the case. “I have to go to Providence tomorrow to take a look at the apartment Victor Owens kept there.”

“What do you expect to find?”

“Nothing.” That was all he was prepared to tell her, too.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, in spite of the ongoing battle for control of the conversation. She wanted to know more about the case. He wanted to know more about her. Every once in a while, the two topics overlapped.

“Did you seriously consider taking over as manager of
Strathspey
?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, but not for long. Have you always wanted to be a cop?”

When Gordon relaxed and unbent far enough to tell her about some of the cases he'd worked on in the past, Liss resolved to stop plaguing him with questions about the current investigation. Besides, it had just occurred to her that if she were to pretend to the members of
Strathspey
that she was still interested in applying for Victor's job, she might be able to get a look at some of the company's records. She set that idea aside to think about later.

Although Gordon insisted that the majority of his work was mind-numbingly routine and boring, his stories held her interest. Time passed quickly and with a sense of surprise, she realized that only the two of them and the wait staff remained in the dining room.

“I should get home. I've got to open the Emporium bright and early tomorrow.”

He glanced out at the floodlit landscape. “It's started to spit snow out there. The roads will be slick.”

For a moment she thought he might suggest she spend the night at his place. Instead he insisted on following her home to make sure she got there safely. He paid no attention to the objection that he'd then have to drive all the way back to Waycross Springs.

“I'm used to being out on these roads in all kinds of weather. You're not.”

Liss thought he was being silly, but found his concern kind of sweet. As she drove slowly from Waycross Springs to Moosetookalook along winding, two-lane back roads—the only kind connecting the two places—she had to admit that she'd thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

Back at her house, Liss was set to say good night at curbside. Gordon had other ideas. He insisted on walking her to her front door. There was an awkward moment on the porch while she fumbled for her keys. He took them from her, unlocked the door, and returned them, keeping hold of the hand he placed them in.

The casual “thanks” she'd been about to utter died before it reached her lips. This close, he was a bit overwhelming.
Pheromones
, she told herself.
Stupid chemical reaction
. But darned if her skin wasn't tingling again, even through two layers of gloves.

He stepped back for a moment, and what she could see of his face in the porch light told her he was experiencing the same reaction she was. Approach/ avoidance—wasn't that what the shrinks called it?

Then he kissed her.

Gordon Tandy was a
great
kisser.

Liss needed considerable willpower to ease herself out of his embrace and say good night. She imagined she had a sappy smile on her face when she turned to watch him walk back to his car. It faded fast when she caught sight of Dan Ruskin on the sidewalk. From the glower on his face, he'd witnessed Gordon's fond farewell.

The night air was suddenly jam-packed with testosterone. An image of pit bulls flashed into Liss's mind. To her surprise, even though Gordon's body language was every bit as tense and bristly as Dan's, each of the two men simply growled an acknowledgment of the other's presence. They passed on her sidewalk without coming to blows. No barking. No biting.

“I just came by to make sure you got home safely,” Dan said as he reached the porch. He didn't climb the steps—wise of him. “Roads are getting slippery.”

“That's why Gordon followed me home.”

“Oh?” He packed a lot into the single syllable.

She put just as much of what she was feeling into a look. “It's late, it's been a long day, and I'm going to bed.” Turning her back on him, she slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind her. Once again she had to resist the urge to bang her forehead on the wood.

One jealous suitor was annoying. Two verged on the ridiculous.

Dan's sister, Mary, was the mother of a seven-month-old baby but still managed to have an active life outside the home. She volunteered at the local food bank and as a driver with the Meals-on-Wheels program, taking the baby with her in a car seat. She'd even found time to help Liss out with transportation for the dancers, until that conflicted with a prior commitment. Dan had to plan ahead to catch her at home on Thursday morning.

“What brings you to baby central?” Mary asked when he breezed through her back door.

“What, I can't stop by and say hi to the little rug rat?” He made faces at the baby, currently sitting in a high chair and creating chaos with unidentifiable bits of food.

“Sure you can. Anytime. But I talked to Sam last night and he filled me in on a few things.” She looked expectant.

Dan silently cursed his older brother, but the fat was in the fire now. He might as well go for broke. “Turns out I'm the jealous type,” he confessed. “Trouble is, that's a real turn-off for Liss.”

“So stop being jealous.”

“Yeah, right. How?”

“Do you have any
reason
to be jealous?”

“I don't know.”

“Ah. So you're just insecure. You don't have enough confidence in your appeal to the opposite sex.”

Dan frowned. Where was the sympathy a brother should expect from a sister? Liss found him plenty appealing. Or she had until Gordon Tandy came into the picture.

“What does Liss want?” Mary took note of his blank look and clarified the question. “What are her future plans? Do you have the sense that you're a part of them?” Each question was accompanied by the swipe of a cloth across the baby's food-smeared face. The little guy had been born two months premature, but he was making up for it now. If he kept eating the way he was, his mom would soon have to worry about him turning into a real porker.