The Scottie Barked At Midnight (19 page)

“Hey, you two,” Liss interrupted them, moving in close to Mo. “Congratulations on making the cut. May the best act win.”

“Best? Or cutest?” Mo sent a pointed look at the carriers, now less than a foot away from her.

“Ladies, please. We all know the score. That's no reason not to be agreeable to one another. Ah! Here's my lovely assistant. Ready to retire for the evening, my dear?”

Iris blossomed under his attentive gaze, becoming oblivious to the presence of anyone else. When they walked off together, arm in arm, Mo just shook her head.

“The blind leading the blind,” she remarked. “Neither one of them can see what the other is really like.”

“I'd say we're all putting up false fronts.” She waited a beat. “Your allergy seems to have cleared up.”

“I took an antihistamine. I got tired of sneezing every time I got within three feet of your furry little friends.”

Her explanation made sense. It might even be the truth. Liss decided not to cross Mo off her list of suspects quite yet, but she had hopes of eliminating someone else from the running. When Quarles returned to his suite, she once again left Dandy and Dondi with Valentine and went to beard the lion in his den.

“What do you want?” Quarles demanded when he opened his door to her knock.

“Charming as always. May I come in?”

He stepped back to let her pass, but the disgruntled expression on his face didn't fade. “I'm not going to offer you refreshments. Say what you've got to say and go.”

“Fine. I just have one question—what were you doing at the dump with Oscar Yates's magic cabinet?”

His mouth dropped open. Then he swore with a creativity that had Liss blushing. Oddly, she did not sense anger in him, only chagrin and a certain amount of embarrassment. She waited until he ran out of words.

“Valentine and I were there at the transfer station this morning. We saw you unload the bits and pieces that were left and we looked at the remains of the cabinet after you had gone. There's no doubt about what it was. What I don't know is how you got hold of it.”

His scowl deepened. For a moment, she didn't think he was going to answer her. Then all the hot air seemed to go out of him. He pulled out the desk chair and sat, gesturing for her to take the more comfortable well-padded armchair nearby.

“It was already in pieces when I found it.”

“Where?”

“Here. Can you believe it? Someone got into my suite and hid what was left of it behind the sofa.”

Liss glanced at that piece of furniture. “Not a very secure hiding place.”

“Well, duh! I was supposed to find it. Or someone was. To make me look guilty of all the nasty little tricks that have been played on the others, I assume. ‘It must have been Quarles all along,' they'd say. ‘How else could he hope to win? And besides, those tactics fit right in with his nasty personality.'”

“You aren't exactly the friendliest one in the group.”

“It's my
act!
I stay in character. Do you think I'm like that with my kids? My grandkids?”

“I didn't think you had any. I looked you up online.”

“And I suppose you believe this show is aired live, too.”

“Point taken. But you did try to get rid of the cabinet.”

“Well, of course I did. Do you think I wanted to be accused of being behind everything that's happened, up to and including Deidre Amendole's death?”

“You've thought all along that she was murdered?” Surprised, Liss blurted out the question before she could think better of it.

He stared at his hands, curled into fists in his lap. “It seemed the only reasonable explanation. There's money to be made gambling on who wins, you know. Those who have bets down have a reason to make sure the act they're betting on wins.” He glanced up. “You should see your face. Mouth hanging open. Eyes wide. You really are a little Pollyanna, aren't you?”

Aware that he was baiting her, falling back on the comfortable facade of an insult comic, Liss narrowed her eyes and closed her mouth with a snap, but still gave in to the urge to defend herself. “I'm not all that naive. You caught me off guard, that's all. Who is it that's betting?”

“Who isn't?”

“So the person behind all that's happened is someone who bet on him or herself? Or are you talking about some outside gambler?”

“I don't know and I don't want to know. Aside from trying to frame me, no one's done me any harm and I'd like to keep it that way. If you've got any sense, girlie, you'll stop asking questions. You might even consider dropping out of the competition, since it's been obvious since Dandy was stolen that your act can't be the one with the big money riding on it.”

“What act is? The Great Umberto? Mo?”

A look of confusion crossed his weathered face. “Doesn't make much sense, does it? But I've told you all I know.” He stood. “Time for you to leave. And do me a favor? Stay away from me. I don't want to be the innocent bystander who gets taken out when the shooting starts.”

She left, her mind abuzz with new and frightening possibilities. If Quarles was right, then anyone, even the hotel security guard or the concierge or a member of the housekeeping staff, could be the one behind the dirty tricks. A real-life gangster seemed a long shot, the breed being pretty rare in rural Maine, but Hal Quarles's theory hadn't ruled out anything.

She looked over her shoulder more than once on her way to collect the Scotties from Valentine.

 

Back in her room a half hour later, Liss tried again to contact Desdemona. This time no one answered the phone. It was supposed to be Desdemona's cell, Liss remembered, but the last time she'd tried the number, the housekeeper had answered. Did that mean Desdemona had forgotten her phone when she left Ohio? Or had she mistakenly given Liss the number for Deidre's landline? Tossing her own phone onto the sofa, Liss wondered if it mattered. She couldn't trust anything anyone told her, anyway.

Her attempt to get hold of Gordon Tandy a short time later was also frustrating. He was either very busy or ignoring her calls. She had to be satisfied, once again, with leaving him a voice mail. She didn't try to explain why she'd called him again. She wasn't certain why she felt such a sense of urgency herself.

“This is Liss,” she said after the beep. “Please call me. It's important.” She rattled off her cell-phone number and added the one for her suite at the hotel before she hung up.

Her next phone call, to her aunt, went much better. Margaret sounded cheerful and impatient to get back to work at The Spruces.

“I hate being fussed over,” she complained.

Liss sympathized and felt guilty all over again for not being the one there in her aunt's apartment in Moosetookalook to do the fussing. It wasn't as if she had accomplished much by staying in the competition. She had no more idea who was behind the dirty tricks than she had at the beginning. Staying alert for danger every minute, fearful that she or the dogs would fall victim to some new attempt, was wearing her down.

“How are those adorable doggies?” Margaret asked.

“Sleeping. They sleep almost as much as cats do.”

“I used to have a dog. Years ago. You probably don't remember.”

“Not really.” But Liss did remember that her aunt had not always lived in an apartment. At one time, when her husband and son were still living, she'd had a house with a yard—room for a dog. Did Margaret regret giving that up to live over the shop? Liss had never thought to ask.

They chatted a few minutes longer about inconsequential things. By the time she hung up, Liss was feeling restless. She'd expected Dan to turn up around suppertime to spend the night with her again. She'd been looking forward to being able to talk everything over with him. Valentine Veilleux made a good sounding board, and she'd often bounced ideas off Sherri in the past, but no one listened the way Dan did and no one understood her better. He was her closest friend as well as her husband. She took shameless advantage of his good nature.

Was that guilt she was feeling? Again?

“Just stop it,” she said aloud.

Disgusted with herself, she picked up the room-service menu and amused herself picking out entrees Dan would enjoy. She was about to reach for the phone and order when someone rapped on the door.

For once, Liss didn't bother to look through the peephole first. She was certain she knew who stood on the other side. “It's about time you got here,” she said, jerking open the door.

Only then did she remember that she'd given Dan his own key card. He'd have let himself in.

It was not her husband who stood in the doorway, glowering down at her. It was Gordon Tandy. And then, as if he'd realized that he was not the person she'd been expecting, his lips twitched with amusement. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” Liss stepped back, thankful Gordon at least had the good manners not to laugh outright.

The dogs, awakened by the sound of voices, came to investigate the newcomer. They seemed to recognize him, especially after Gordon held out both hands for them to sniff. He was rewarded by permission to stroke.

When they were seated, Dandy and Dondi on the floor, Gordon on the sofa, and Liss in the chair facing him, the state police detective took out his notebook and a pen, a sure signal that he'd come on serious business. The stone face was back in place, too, although it cracked for just a moment to allow for the appearance of a look Liss could only describe as rueful.

“It seems I'm in the awkward position of needing to ask for your help,” Gordon said. “I need an insider's view of what's been going on here.”

“A few years ago, I'd have been thrilled to hear you admit that. Now, not so much. I'd truly rather not be caught in the middle.”

“Why don't you tell me exactly what you're in the middle of, starting with how you came to witness an attempt on Troy Barrigan's life?”

“How is he?”

“Still alive, but in critical condition. He won't be answering any questions for a while, if ever.”

Shaken, even though she'd been expecting to hear something of the sort, Liss could no longer sit still. She went to the kitchenette for a glass of ice water, carrying it back to her seat and taking the first sip before she began her story.

Gordon stopped her often, asking for clarification. Once she'd recounted what happened after Barrigan plunged past the ballroom windows, she went back to the beginning—finding Dandy—and brought Gordon up to the present and Hal Quarles's pet theory. By then, Dandy was in her lap and Dondi had his head on Gordon's.

“Of course we don't know for certain that Deidre was murdered,” she added, glancing at him for confirmation and meeting only the same stoic countenance he always wore during interviews.

The soft snick of the door opening was barely audible, but Liss heard it and saw that Gordon had, too. He glanced that way, gave the smallest of nods to acknowledge Dan's arrival, and returned his full attention to her, sending her a considering look. The silence stretched out long enough for Dan to come up behind her and place one hand on her shoulder. If she'd been a suspect in this case, Liss thought, she'd be squirming in her chair by now.

“There's nothing conclusive on the cause of Mrs. Amendole's death,” Gordon said at last. “Not yet. As for Barrigan, unless he wakes up and can tell us who pushed him, we don't have much to go on.”

“Did he fall from the roof?” Liss's hand went up to entwine with Dan's. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Probably.”

“Why would he go up there?”

“I'm hoping he'll be able to tell us that, but so far he's been unconscious or in surgery or heavily sedated.”

“I assume you're talking about that TV newscaster who was injured here earlier today,” Dan said. “I heard about it on the news on my way here. They said he was in a coma.”

Liss snorted. It was a handy word for people to use but wasn't always accurate.

“He may be. Same result. No information from that source to help us discover what happened to him. He talked to Liss, right after it happened. He told her he was pushed.” Gordon gently displaced Dondi and rose. “He was working on a story about
Variety Live,
and it wasn't a fluff piece. His cameraman says he was planning an exposé. Legally, it doesn't sound as if what this production is doing is fraud, but telling the public how they've been deceived wouldn't do much for the show's ratings.”

“It was obvious to Barrigan that the show wasn't live.” Liss remained where she was, with Dan beside her. “He could have exploded that bombshell in his first report.”

“He was apparently holding off, gathering more information. The trouble is, he didn't share what he discovered.” Shrugging into the jacket he'd taken off when he first arrived, Gordon clearly intended to leave matters there, explaining no more than he already had.

“Did someone check the balconies overlooking the driveway?”

Gordon didn't answer. She couldn't tell if that meant they had or they hadn't. She didn't suppose there would have been much to find. To judge by her own balcony, the housekeeping staff swept them clear of snow and tidied them up on a regular basis. It would have been possible to push Barrigan over the low railing without leaving a trace.

“Oscar Yates has one of the rooms opening out onto a balcony on that side from this floor. Roy Eastmont has the other. Both were late getting to the ballroom and missed seeing Barrigan fall.”

Gordon didn't look surprised by this information and didn't bother taking his notebook back out to write it down. “Anything else you want to share?”