The Scottie Barked At Midnight (13 page)

“Easy to run you down, too.” Dan was serious once more. “And for God's sake, if you see someone coming toward you with a pipe or a baseball bat aimed at your knees, run.”

A snorted laugh escaped before she could stop it, not that the reference was at all funny. It had been years since ice skater Nancy Kerrigan had been attacked by thugs trying to assure that one of her rivals would have a better chance at a gold medal, but the story was revived every time the Winter Olympics rolled around. Kerrigan had been lucky. She'd escaped with a few bruises when the blow could as easily have broken her kneecap.

“And on that cheery note,” she said aloud, “I should get back to work. I plan to order supper from room service and spend the rest of the evening rehearsing. Oh, and watching the news, in case they run a piece on Eudora. Someone gave Troy Barrigan a tip. He was there with a cameraman when the authorities tried to take the snake away from Elise.”

“I'll be sure to watch,” Dan promised. “Liss? I could drive up there. Stay over.”

It warmed her to hear him offer, but she didn't want him making a fuss. Besides, she'd never be able to concentrate on the dance routines if he was with her. “I'd love the company, but someone has to stay home to feed the cats and clean the litter box.”

She waited. Her argument didn't hold water when Moosetookalook was only half an hour's drive away. Dan could easily commute, both to work and to look after Lumpkin and Glenora.

“I guess I'm staying put.” The reluctance in his voice was palpable. “Listen, here's a thought. Would you consider deliberately throwing a performance? That way, you'd be sure to be eliminated in the next round. You could be home by this time tomorrow.”

“Not my style,” Liss insisted, but the suggestion stuck with her after she ended the call.

Deliberately perform poorly? The idea went against the grain, and yet if the reason for the dognapping had been to eliminate Deidre and her Dancing Doggies from the competition, losing might be the smart thing to do, a way to keep the Scotties safe.

How hard could it be to perform badly? To make mistakes in the routine would be believable after the way that first rehearsal had gone. The judges would have to give the act low scores, and that would be that. They'd be off the show. No one would have any further reason to harm them.

Tempting,
she thought.
Very tempting.

There was only one problem. Chances were good that no matter what she did, she would not be able to maneuver the judges into booting the act off the show. She'd just embarrass herself if she made a poor showing. Roy Eastmont would simply claim that the viewers at home had voted to keep Deidre and her Dancing Doggies in the running despite a less-than-stellar performance.

Better to figure out who was behind the dirty tricks, she decided, and put a stop to them.

She ordered a light supper from room service and turned on the television with the sound low. She selected Troy Barrigan's station. The first of three nightly half-hour news segments was already over, but the scroll across the bottom of the screen told her that a story titled
PYTHON FALSELY ACCUSED
had yet to run.

 

Room service had delivered her meal and Liss had eaten it. She was still waiting for Troy Barrigan's report on
Variety Live.
The last half-hour segment led with a car-truck accident that had snarled traffic on I-95. Liss tuned out and retrieved the notes she'd made when she watched her competitors perform in the season premiere. She scrawled one word across the top:
Suspects
.

Someone had been responsible for three dirty tricks: the dognapping, the destruction of Mo's equipment, and the anonymous tip about Eudora the python. After the names of the five contestants, she added three more: Iris Jansen, Valentine Veilleux, and Roy Eastmont.

Could she cross anyone off?

Her pen hovered over Mo's name. She could be lying about the dog harness.

She started to scratch out Elise Isley. Once again she hesitated. A ball python could not be as easily replaced as Mylar devil sticks, silicone balls, or multicolored beanbags. The old expression “cut off your nose to spite your face” came to mind, and Liss could not think of a single reason why Elise would be that foolish. She wanted to win. She wanted, if Mo was to be believed, to host her own competition. But Eudora had
not
been confiscated. If Elise had set the whole thing up, she'd have known that the authorities would soon learn that there was no Augustus Brown. Instead of running a line through the exotic dancer's name, Liss put a question mark next to it.

Oscar Yates came next. Liss grimaced. He was charming—a little too charming. He was—she searched for the right word and came up with
flamboyant.
In an accountant or a physician or even a custom woodworker, his behavior would be considered outrageous, but Yates was a stage magician. He was supposed to come across as bigger than life. She couldn't eliminate him as a suspect, but she had no particular reason to think he was the culprit, either.

Hal Quarles was a nasty piece of work, but that was his stock-in-trade. Beneath the facade he could well be a charming bon vivant. Mo had said he was a recovering alcoholic. That might account for his sour disposition, but it didn't make him a villain. For all she knew, he had a loving wife and eight kids at home.

And why, she wondered, hadn't she checked into that?

Carrying her list with her, Liss left the table and retrieved her iPad. She'd brought it along as a reader, but the hotel had a Wi-Fi connection. Within minutes, she'd called up all sorts of information on the personal life of the insult comic. The wife and kids she hypothesized did not exist, although there were two ex-wives. Quarles had been around for a while, working mostly in comedy clubs, never hitting the big time until he won his season of
Variety Live.
And after that? Nothing again. No guest appearances on late-night television. No contract with some big hotel in Las Vegas.

She supposed Quarles had reason to be bitter, but that didn't necessarily translate into using dirty tricks to win the champion of champions title. What good would that do him, especially if it was obvious he'd only won because everyone else had been obliged to drop out?

Now that her mind was running along that track, Liss wondered if any of the winners had reaped significant professional benefits from their victories. Willetta had said she hoped for an offer from an opera company, but she'd already won one season of the show without attracting that sort of attention. The recording contract she'd gotten had expired.

Fingers flying, Liss searched “Willetta Farwell” and came up with plenty of hits, but most just repeated the same information, a vita that sounded like it came directly out of a
Variety Live
press release. Liss had been impressed by her voice, and her YouTube videos had lots of likes, but it didn't look as if anyone in the star-making business had been interested in promoting her career. Her performance credits were mostly local—she hailed from Norfolk, Virginia. The closest she'd come to singing in an opera company had been the role of Little Buttercup in a Savoyards' production of
HMS Pinafore.

Liss was debating which name to type into the search engine next when she glanced at the television screen. The scroll told her
PYTHON FALSELY ACCUSED
was up next.

A moment later, Roy Eastmont's familiar face appeared, standing next to Troy Barrigan and smiling into the camera. Liss wasn't surprised that Eastmont was a practiced liar, but she'd been under the impression that the TV newsman was smart enough to dig out the truth. Either he was dumber than he looked or he'd succumbed to a bribe because the story was as much a plug to watch
Variety Live
as a piece on the dirty trick someone had played on Elise and her snake.

While a series of clips ran, obviously provided by Eastmont and even including a bit of Liss's dress rehearsal, the show's MC explained that there would be no episode shown that evening, in the program's regular Monday night slot, because of a long-scheduled awards show. He skimmed over Deidre's death with appropriate expressions of sorrow and had Liss wincing when he referred to her as “a prominent local dancer who stepped in to fill the void.” She doubted that he'd abandoned the “old friend of the family” angle. He was just taking advantage of the fact that she lived in Maine to give the story greater appeal in that market.

She had to admire the way Eastmont managed not to dwell on the “tragic loss” while at the same time giving the impression that what the reporter had seen that day was just a rehearsal for the show that would be recorded—live, of course!—in a week's time. As for Eudora's confiscation, that was explained away as a silly practical joke—“You know these show business people!”—already “well on its way to being resolved.”

The footage of Elise, Eudora, the warden, and the animal-control officer, which Liss had expected would be the focus of the news story, lasted about three seconds. The piece ended with Eastmont once again smiling into the camera.

Liss was frowning when she clicked off the TV. She looked down at Roy Eastmont's name on her list of suspects.
Variety Live
was his baby. He was good at spinning unfortunate events into good publicity. But what if he was also very good at creating unfortunate events?

She grabbed her iPad, and this time went straight to IMDb, the movie and TV database that contained just about everything anyone ever wanted to know about actors, directors, and the others who worked in those fields.
Variety Live
had an entry. Two more clicks brought up Roy Eastmont's filmography. As Liss already knew, he was more than just the show's master of ceremonies. He was also listed as director and as an executive producer, and the entry hinted that he also owned a large chunk of the show. If ratings had been falling in recent seasons, as the “comments” section indicated, Liss could see how Eastmont might be getting desperate enough to call attention to the current competition in any way he could.

On the other hand, he had a lot to lose if certain aspects of the way the show was produced became public. In addition, he seemed to want Deidre and her Dancing Doggies to win. Liss underlined his name. Twice. She didn't know what to think about Roy Eastmont, but he would bear watching right along with the other suspects on her list.

The hotel phone rang before she could move on to Iris and Valentine. Liss sent it a wary look. She'd been expecting this. Way too many people she knew would have seen that news story, and at least three of them—Sherri, Aunt Margaret, and Dan—knew where to reach her. Others could find out easily enough, and she had no doubt that someone in Moosetookalook had already sent an e-mail to Arizona, where Liss's parents lived, alerting them to the fact that their daughter was going to appear on national TV next week in a skintight gold lamé bodysuit.

She reached for the phone, tempted to answer with “The costume wasn't my idea.”

Before she could say anything, Dan spoke. “It's Margaret, Liss. She's in the hospital in a coma.”

Chapter Eight

L
iss burst into the house in Moosetookalook. “What happened?”

Dan had been watching for her and was already shrugging into his coat. “I'll tell you what I know in the car. She's not in Fallstown Community Hospital. She's at CMMC. Do you want me to drive the rest of the way?”

“Yes. No. I don't know. I can't think straight.”

In the half hour it had taken Liss to get home, her imagination had run wild. Guilt had plagued her, too. She'd thought something was wrong with her aunt the last time she'd seen her. She should have pressed Margaret for answers.

“I just talked to the hospital a few minutes ago.” Bundled up against the cold, Dan checked to be sure he had his keys and his wallet. “They wouldn't tell me much. Damned privacy laws!”

Lumpkin butted Liss's leg, and she automatically reached down to rub the big Maine Coon cat on the top of his head. Glenora, curled up on a chair, opened one eye but didn't bother to get up and greet her.

Dan was still talking. “Dad's there.”

It took Liss a moment to absorb this information. Joe Ruskin was at Central Maine Medical Center? “Why? I mean, what happened? Was there an accident at the hotel?” Her voice rose with each question.

“Whoa. Calm down.” Dan enveloped her in a hug. After a moment he stepped back. “Here's the plan. I filled a thermos with coffee for the trip.” He picked up the tote bag he'd left by the door. “I'll drive. Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?”

It was a welcome gift to have someone else making the decisions. Liss couldn't seem to get her head wrapped around what was happening. She felt as if she'd stepped into another dimension.

“Give me five minutes.”

She was back in six, having taken time to slosh cold water onto her face. She delayed another minute to make sure the cats had food and water. Then she and Dan were on their way south.

“What
do
you know?” she asked as they drove out of town. It would be over an hour before they reached the hospital. “You said she was in a coma. Was she in a car accident?”

“No. From what Dad was able to find out, she checked into the hospital this morning for surgery.”

“Surgery?” The word came out as a squeak. “What kind of surgery?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer, her mind leaping wildly from cancer to appendicitis to open heart and back again to cancer. There were so many forms of cancer, and most of them were deadly.

“Eye.”

“What?” Disbelief had her turning in her seat to stare at him.

“Eye,” he repeated, keeping his own on the road ahead. “Dad found out that much after he got to CMMC. Margaret went in for some kind of elective eye surgery. Rather than worry her friends and family, she kept it to herself. If all had gone as planned, she'd have been back home tomorrow with no one the wiser.”

“What went wrong?”

“It sounds like she had a bad reaction to the anesthesia.”

“Oh, God.” People could die from that. “And she's in a coma?”

“That's what Dad said, but I doubt anyone would tell him much, either. They'll have to talk to you, though. You're a blood relative. And you're the one she named in her living will.”

They lapsed into silence. Liss couldn't remember when she'd been this frightened or felt so helpless. She'd seen that living will. Margaret had forbidden the use of any “extraordinary means” to keep her alive if doctors deemed there had been irreparable brain damage. Up until that point, if Margaret wasn't capable of doing so herself, Liss was the one who would have to make medical decisions. Just the thought of assuming so much responsibility sent Liss into a panic.

Dan gripped her hand, giving it a hard squeeze. “We'll be there soon.”

He didn't try to tell her everything would be okay. She wouldn't have believed him if he had.

Joe Ruskin was waiting for them at the hospital entrance. He was an older, more grizzled version of his son. Liss rushed toward him, a dozen questions ready to tumble out, but her first glimpse of his face did more to ease her mind than any verbal answer. He was smiling.

“Is she—?”

“She's going to be fine, Liss. I'm so sorry I worried you. She regained consciousness about fifteen minutes ago. She was still woozy, but she was coherent enough to be seriously ticked off at me for contacting Dan. I told her it was her own fault for listing my extension at The Spruces as the first number to call in an emergency.”

A few minutes later, Liss was able to see for herself that Margaret was on the mend. She'd already been moved from the intensive care unit to a regular room.

“Do you have any idea the scare you gave us?” Hands on her hips, her cheeks tear streaked, Liss glared at the woman lying in the hospital bed. Her heart wasn't in it. She was too relieved. “I thought you were going to go and die on me!”

“Sorry. That was not my plan.”

“Your
plan
was lousy.” Liss perched on the end of the bed. “Don't you ever do something this stupid again, okay?”

Margaret lifted her hand far enough to make the “okay” sign.

She looked pale, and one eye had clearly been operated on. “I should go. You need rest.” But she didn't get up.

“I've been resting. You're here. Stay a little longer. Cheer me up.”

Liss didn't argue. She was badly in need of cheering up herself. She also needed reassurance that Margaret was really out of danger. That Liss's family was so small made the possibility of losing one of them all the more wrenching.

“Are the doctors sure you're okay now? What went wrong? Joe said you had a bad reaction to the anesthesia and were in a coma.”

“I was
not
in a coma. It just took me a little longer than most people to wake up after the surgery.”

Temper,
Liss thought. Always a positive sign. Slowly, the knot of tension inside her began to loosen. She dared believe that the crisis was past and that Margaret was on the road to recovery.

“How was I supposed to know I was sensitive to some chemical I've never even heard of? It's not like I've had a lot of operations over the years.”

Liss couldn't remember that she'd had any. “So. Elective eye surgery. Are you supposed to keep your head still? Lie flat for a couple of days or something?”

“I did
not
have a detached retina.”

Liss waited. Margaret seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

“What I had,” Margaret said in an exasperated voice, “is the stupidest-sounding ailment I've ever heard of. It's called a macular pucker.” She waited a beat. “My optometrist called it a wrinkle on the retina, which sounds even sillier. It's apparently not uncommon in someone my age, and not terribly serious, either, although it does eventually cause wonky vision.”

“Anything that affects eyesight is serious. I'm glad you got it fixed, but why on earth didn't you want to tell me beforehand? I already knew you'd been having trouble with your vision.”

Margaret bristled. “Because, in case you've forgotten, you have other responsibilities this week.”

Knowing the way hospitals worked these days, Liss suspected her aunt would be released as soon as was humanly possible. Too soon, probably. She'd need someone to take care of her once she got home, if only to keep her from doing too much too soon. The obvious solution was for Liss to move in with her for a few days. She'd stayed in Margaret's apartment before, when she'd first come back to Moosetookalook after her years on the road.

“When they let you out,” she said aloud, “I'll bunk in your spare bedroom for a few days, just to make sure you don't try to do more than you should.”

“I don't need a babysitter. And you made a commitment to
Variety Live.
You can't break a promise. Besides, I expect they had you sign a contract.”

“You're more important than some stupid variety show.”

“And nothing will do more for me than seeing you perform. What have you done with those adorable little dogs? Don't tell me you left them alone in a hotel room!”

“They're being looked after by a woman named Valentine Veilleux.”

“Ah! The photographer.”

“Yes, but how did you—?”

“I've seen some of her calendars. In fact, I've been considering hiring her to do one for The Spruces. Twelve scenic views of our historic hotel. We could sell the calendars in the gift shop. I think they would do quite well.”

“I'm sure they would, and that she'd do a wonderful job, but I'm not going back to Five Mountains when you need—”

“Amaryllis Rosalie MacCrimmon Ruskin!”

Uh-oh. Whenever her aunt, or her mother, pulled out Liss's full name, she knew she was in trouble. Although she no longer instantly reverted to shy adolescence, it was an incantation that still had the power to make her cringe.

“You agreed to be on the show in Deidre Amendole's place.”

That Aunt Margaret sounded more like her old self with every word gladdened Liss's heart, even at the expense of being lectured on her responsibilities. “Yes, but—”

“And you promised her daughter you'd see the competition through. Now I want you to promise me the same thing. I will not be able to relax and recover from this little setback if I feel guilty about taking you away from a chance to dance on live TV.”

Liss bit her tongue. Trying to correct her aunt at this stage would take too long, and it didn't matter, anyway. Put to her that way, what choice did she have? She gave her word.

The nurse kicked her out a few minutes later. Joe had already gone home, but Dan was waiting in the parking lot.

She said nothing for most of the drive, sitting slumped in the passenger seat, lost in thought. It was only when they approached Moosetookalook that she roused herself, surprised to see by the dashboard clock that it still lacked a few minutes until midnight.

“I need to go back to Five Mountains.”

“We'll stop at the house first. I need to pick up my truck.”

She turned her head to stare at him. “You're going to follow me back to the resort and stay over?”

“I thought I would. Do you object?” His hands gripped the wheel with unusual force. Tension radiated from the set of his shoulders, as if he expected an argument.

Liss liked to think of herself as self-reliant and resourceful, but sometimes even the most independent woman needed her man's arms around her through the night. “Not a chance!”

 

The next morning, Liss hated to see Dan leave. They lingered over their good-byes in the hallway by the elevators, and she cooperated fully when he claimed one last heart-stopping kiss. They separated when a faint ding indicated one of the elevator doors was about to open.

“Love you,” he said, stepping inside and pushing the button for the lobby.

“Right back at you.” She waggled her fingers at him in a little wave as the door slid shut again. A small sigh escaped her when she heard the elevator start to descend.

“Dreamy. Is he yours?”

Iris's voice caught Liss off guard. She turned so quickly that her elbow slammed into the wall, cracking the funny bone. “Ow. Damn!”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Come in here. Let's get some ice on that.”

“That's okay.” Liss tried to move past Iris's door and around the corner to her own suite, but the other woman caught her undamaged arm and hauled her inside. She was stronger than she looked.

The interior of Iris's suite was a duplicate of Liss's, except that Iris had littered every surface with her personal effects. Earrings were scattered hither and yon, singly and in pairs. Hearts. Hoops. Gemstones. Plain gold. To Liss, who had never had her ears pierced, the variety was a revelation. Bemused, she watched Iris dump the ice in the tray in the room's tiny refrigerator into a towel and bring it like an offering to where Liss was perched on the arm of a chair.

“It's fine. Really.”

“And ice will make it better.” Without a by-your-leave, she grabbed Liss's wrist, adjusted the angle of her arm, and applied the cold compress to her elbow. “Put your other hand over it and hold it there.”

Liss did as she was told.

Iris plopped herself down on the sofa. Her rosy cheeks glowed with good health, and her smile was that of child anticipating a treat. “Tell me everything. Who was that delicious hunk I just saw you kissing?”

Voice dry, Liss said, “That was no hunk. That was my husband.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Iris pretended to fan herself. “Well, I guess I don't have to worry about
you
then.”

Liss adjusted the makeshift ice pack. “
Worry
about me?”

“Worry that you're after Oscar. I wondered, you know, when I saw you together the other day. You're quite attractive.” Unsaid were the words
“for someone your age.”

“Ah.” Liss had known Iris was the jealous, possessive type and had already concluded that she wasn't above spying on the Great Umberto. “Does he know how you feel about him?”

The smile vanished. Iris's eyes filled with unshed tears. “He doesn't know I'm alive, not as a woman. I'm just another prop to use in his magic act.”

“I'm sure it's not as bad as all that. Perhaps he just thinks you're still a little . . . young for him.”

“Maybe,” she said in a small voice. “It doesn't matter. I won't give up. Someday he'll notice that I'm all grown up. How's the elbow?”