Scone Cold Dead (9 page)

The smell of frying onions drifted into the room and Dan heard the clank of spatula against pan. Maybe he would stick around for supper. See what he could find out about these people.

“How's
Strathspey
set up?” he asked Sandy. “You said something about backers?”

“Yeah. A group of self-styled patrons of the arts put up the seed money and act as a board of directors. First couple of years, they paid most of the expenses. Since then we've been self-supporting. No big profits, but holding our own.”

“You said you and Zara were looking for new jobs. Are there a lot of companies like yours?”

“Not really.
Riverdance
runs a couple of tours. Irish dancing and Scottish dancing aren't the same, but we could adapt.” His gaze was unfocused, as if he were trying to see into the future. After a moment he shook his head and shot a rueful look in Dan's direction. “Yeah. Okay. Pipe dream. Especially when there are two of us. But we had feelers out. Musical theater's a possibility. Summer stock. Lots of shows employ dancers of one sort or another.”

It didn't sound like they had much in the way of job security to Dan, and he knew from Liss's experience that the career of a professional dancer could be a short one. “How'd you get into this line of work, anyway?”

“Dancing? It's in my blood. My father was with a ballet company before he left Russia for this country. My mother, like Liss, competed in Scottish dancing from the time she was a kid. When they married they opened a dance school. Taught everything, in fashion or not. Ballet. Tap. Modern. Folk dances and Celtic dancing.”

“And Zara?”

“Victor found her at a Scottish festival two years ago, winning all the dance competitions. He recruited her for the company.”

“Victor, huh?”

“Victor Owens was hired as manager when
Strathspey
was organized. He was a dancer, too, at first. Better at running things. He had a good eye for talent and could pinch a penny till it squealed. Until recently, nobody had any real complaints about him, except a lady or two who also got pinched.”

“So Victor was with the company from the beginning, just as Liss was. Anyone else go back that far?”

“Four of us,” Sandy said. “Fiona, Ray, Stewart, and me.”

Chapter Five

F
allstown wasn't the sort of place that went in for disreputable bars. Instead it had a brew pub called the Meandering Moose that was half lounge and half restaurant. There was no smoking in either section, thanks to a strict state law, and the clientele was a mixture of couples, singles, and college seniors who were finally old enough to buy themselves a drink.

Liss and Sherri found Stewart in the lounge section, where he had commandeered a four-person booth. Only one beer bottle and one glass mug sat in front of him, but Liss was fairly certain he was well past his first drink of the day. His color was high and his watery blue eyes looked a trifle unfocused even after he recognized her.

“Ah, Liss!” Stewart grinned widely. “Who would have imagined that such a delightful establishment could exist in the back of beyond? Look—this is a place after my own heart. Will you join me in a lager?” He turned the longneck around so that she could read the label. The brew pub had named this particular beer Fallstown Logger.

Liss refused to dignify such a pitiful pun by acknowledging it. Instead she gestured toward Sherri. “You remember my friend Sherri Willett. I'm pretty sure I introduced you two at the reception last night.”

Stewart rose, bent over Sherri's hand, and kissed it. Sherri's brows lifted and she sent a questioning look in Liss's direction.

Liss shrugged. “Stewart was born in England. His accent becomes more pronounced after a few beers and the lord of the manor manners seem to increase along with it.”

“And I believe I'm in need of another. Ladies?”

“I wouldn't mind a beer,” Sherri said.

Liss asked for a ginger ale.

“Excellent, my dears. Oh, waiter!”

“So, what do you do with the company, Stewart?” Sherri asked when they had been served. Her first cold gulp of Snowe's Pale Ale, another local special, went down a treat.

“He plays the bagpipes when the show calls for live rather than taped music and he dances.” Even as she spoke, Liss realized that last night Stewart had
not
danced. “At least he usually does. Injury?”

“Victor,” Stewart growled. “I had a much bigger role in the show until he started making changes.”

“Why did he do that? I mean, why mess with what works?”

“Said I was unreliable. Ha! I'm as reliable as good clockworks. Just wind me up and I can do my stuff no matter how I spend my time off. Get it? Time?”

Liss and Sherri exchanged a glance. Liss put one hand over Stewart's on the table. “You've been . . . partying lately, haven't you? Staying out late? Showing up late? Missing the bus?” It was an old pattern with Stewart, but Liss had been under the impression that he'd licked it. They'd staged an intervention about three years ago, after which he'd cut way back on the drinking.

“Man's got a right to enjoy life,” Stewart grumbled.

Sensing that there was no point in being subtle with Stewart when he was half-plastered, Liss asked right out if he knew of anyone, besides himself, who had a bone to pick with Victor.

If Stewart knew about Sandy's quarrel with the company manager, he didn't mention it. Nor did he come up with any other useful suggestions.

“Okay, Stewart. I'll talk to you again when you're sober.” Liss stood and Sherri followed suit. On the way out, Liss asked the bartender to call a cab for Stewart when he was ready to leave.

“You don't want to give him a lift to the motel now?” Sherri asked.

“I know him too well. He'll just take off again on his own, end up in worse shape, and try walking back. I'd hate for him to get hit by a pulp truck.”

 

 

Four members of
Strathspey
had been booked into rooms in the Lonesome Stranger B&B, a charming old Victorian house decorated in the style of that period. Sherri was almost afraid to move for fear of breaking something. The rooms were stuffed with furniture and every level surface seemed to be littered with breakable knickknacks. Keeping a wary eye on her surroundings, she followed Liss upstairs.

There was no answer when Liss rapped on the first door they came to. She knocked again, then tried the knob, which turned easily in her hand. “Emily?”

She flipped the light switch, revealing a heavily carved bed, a massive dresser, and huge cabbage roses marching across what wallpaper could be seen around a profusion of framed sketches, portraits, and landscapes. Of Emily, however, there was no trace.

“I thought she might be lying down,” Liss explained, turning the light off again and backing out of the room. “Emily Townsend dances my old role in the show. Apparently she was romantically involved with Victor. His death must have been a terrible shock to her.”

“The blonde?”

“Yes.”

“Lot of help she was. I handed her my phone so I could start CPR. She turned it off and left it on the refreshment table.” Sherri hadn't seen her again.

“Unless you told her what to do with it, she probably didn't have a clue. Most civilians don't, you know.”

The next room along the upstairs corridor was occupied by a snub-nosed, sloe-eyed older woman Liss introduced as Winona West. She was in charge of costumes and props for the company. She was wearing what appeared to be a costume herself, a long flowing skirt of apricot-colored velvet and a military-style black velvet jacket.

Her room, like Emily's, was all lace and flowers and smelled faintly of potpourri. Only one lamp had been turned on. Since its glass shade, in the shape of an owl, was amber colored, the light it offered was feeble. Winona didn't seem to need more. She'd been playing solitaire on her laptop when they'd interrupted her.

Liss asked the usual questions, then added one. “Do you know where Emily is?”

“I haven't seen her all day.”

“Did you talk to her last night after the reception?” Sherri asked.

“Only to tell her how sorry I was.” She shifted her attention to Liss. “You heard she and Victor were an item, right?”

Liss nodded, frowning. “If they were so tight, why was she staying here instead of at the motel with him? I went by requests from individuals as to what type of lodging they preferred. If I'm not mistaken, Emily specifically asked for a B-and-B.”

“Asserting her independence? About time, if she was.” Idly, Winona resumed her virtual card game.

“Did anyone have a particular grudge against Victor, Winona?”

“Particular enough to make them kill him, you mean?” She didn't look away from the glowing screen. “That's what that cop wanted to know, too. I'll tell you the same thing I told him. Everybody cussed Victor out at one time or another, but it was just talk. You know us. We're just one big, happy family.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That's my story and I'm sticking to it.” She met Liss's eyes and grinned, then went back to her game.

Liss winced, but accepted the dismissal. “Well, thanks, Winona. I'm going to talk to Josie and Cal, then go out to the cabins. If Emily shows up, will you have her call me on my cell? I want to make certain she doesn't need anything.”

“Sure thing, sweetie.”

Liss headed for the door. Sherri scrambled off the high bed where she'd perched—she'd decided it was the place from which she could do the least damage to the overflowing clutch in the room—but she wasn't ready to leave just yet. “Do you know anything about a quarrel between Victor and Sandy?” she asked Winona.

The wardrobe mistress didn't answer right away. She seemed to be weighing the question. Or perhaps she was just involved in the card game. Finally, she shook her head. “Nope. Don't know a thing about it.”

“What about Stewart? It's pretty obvious he resented Victor for cutting his part in the show.”

Winona played one last card, gave up on winning, and closed the laptop. Setting it aside, she narrowed her dark, exotically slanted eyes at Sherri. “You've met Stewart, right?”

Sherri nodded.

“How likely is it that he'd have been able to plot a murder?”

“Good point,” Sherri conceded. Given the beer-soaked state of his brain, she doubted Stewart Graham could devise a complex plan to poison anyone, let alone carry it out.

Josie Malone, just across the hall, was even less help than Winona. She didn't seem to mind having an extra day off, though. She was already comfortably dressed in an old football jersey that came down to her knees and told them she intended to go to bed early and sleep late, an unheard-of luxury when they were on the road. The smell of onions and french fries had Sherri scanning the room—yet another tribute to the Victorian penchant for clutter—until she found the wastepaper basket. The distinctive bag, wadded up and tossed away, confirmed that Josie had bought her supper at a nearby fast food restaurant.

The last room was occupied by yet another dancer, Calvin MacBain. Liss introduced him as her erstwhile partner in the country dances.

“Does that mean you're paired with Emily now?” Cal's room was just as frilly as the others. A Victorian doll with a painted china head sat in a small wooden rocking chair in one corner.

“For my sins, yes, we're partners.” Cal had a smooth tenor voice and a friendly smile. There was a slight but distinct gap between his two top front teeth.

“Any idea where she is now?” Liss asked.

“In her room?”

“Guess again.”

“No idea. Haven't seen her since last night and she wasn't exactly in friendly mode then.”

Same questions. Same lack of answers. Once again, Sherri had to be the one to ask about Sandy and Victor's quarrel. She believed Cal when he said he didn't remember witnessing any such thing, or hearing about it from anyone else afterward.

“What about Victor harassing people, especially women?” she asked.

“Sexually, you mean?” Cal grinned. “In Victor's case, it would
only
be women. Back when he was dancing, he was petrified someone would think he was gay. He made a big point of always having a lady on his arm.”

“I'd forgotten you knew him when he was a dancer,” Liss said. “Victor managed and danced the first two years we were on the road,” she said in an aside to Sherri.

“So you two go way back,” Sherri said to Cal. And that meant Liss would have a blind spot where he was concerned, just as she seemed to about Sandy, Zara, and Stewart. Sherri wondered if that was another reason Liss had wanted her along—she needed a “bad cop” to her “good cop,” someone who wouldn't care about ruffling feathers or stomping on egos.

“I've been with
Strathspey
about six years,” Cal said.

“Were you two partners all that time? Till Liss left, I mean.”

It was Liss who answered. “Not until about three years ago when I took over the featured dancer's part in the country dances. There are twelve male and twelve female dancers in the company, so we can form three circles of four couples each. That's what looks best on a small stage.”

“What do you do if someone is sick?”

“It depends. In a pinch the singer and piper would fill in, just as a couple of the dancers could fill in for one of them if they had to. That's why Stewart ended up dancing on a regular basis until recently. If we couldn't manage that, we'd sometimes have to cut back to two circles.”

“So when you were injured, they had to find a replacement in a hurry.”

“Yes. Someone named Sarah.” Liss pinned Cal with a look. “And that brings me back to sex. I hear Sarah threatened to charge Victor with harassment. Know anything about it?”

“It wouldn't have held up in court. It was just a case of Victor being Victor. There was no harm in it. Anyway, Ray got her calmed down before she left.”

“Ray? What's Ray got to do with anything?”

“He's . . . how shall I put this? He's sweet on Sarah.”

 

 

The remaining members of
Strathspey
were lodged at Lakeside Cabins. Located a couple of miles outside Fallstown on the shores of Loon Lake, these small housekeeping cabins, each furnished with a wood stove for heat, rented at outrageous rates in the summer. Since it was March, the owners had offered six of them to Liss at bargain-basement prices.

Liss wondered what was going on as she drove past the first five cabins and saw no lights on in any of them. When she came to the sixth, a bit removed from the others and sheltered by spruce trees, she understood. The heavenly aroma of garlic-laced spaghetti sauce wafted out to them, along with the smell of an apple-wood fire.

“Fiona's cooking.”

In answer, Sherri's stomach growled.

“She'll have made plenty. Come on.”

Liss put off asking questions in favor of eating. The cabin was already crowded—everyone had brought chairs from their own cabins—but the dancers quickly found space for Liss and Sherri to sit on Fiona's bed and supplied them with heavy-duty paper plates loaded down with meatballs, sauce made with mushrooms and onions as well as tomatoes and garlic, and thick slices of store-bought Italian bread.

As she ate, Liss listened to the cheerful chatter around her. Except for Fiona, the others—Jean Ferguson, Anna Buchanan, Laura MacGowan, Serena Guthrie, and Denise Johnson—seemed very young to her, barely into their twenties. They talked about dancing, about clothes, and about television shows or movies they'd seen in hotel rooms all over the country during the tour. No one mentioned Victor.

That was Fiona's doing, Liss supposed. She was hardly ancient—only in her early forties—but she'd fallen early on into the role of mother hen. She was the one who took newcomers under her wing, the one who always seemed to have the knack of keeping morale high, even on the most discouraging days on tour.