Chapter Twelve
D
an Ruskin's plan was to stop off at his house just long enough to grab a shower and then spend the evening, and hopefully the night, at Liss's house. He'd heard something about reporters being turned away from the hotel, but with the state police still there in force, he hadn't actually encountered any. He hadn't had to field phone calls, either. Joe had taken over at the front desk soon after Liss and Sherri headed for town. Dan had spent the rest of his shift in the hotel office doing assorted bookkeeping chores. He'd foolishly assumed that the “unfortunate accidents” story had been accepted by the press, until he turned on the six o'clock edition of the evening news, hoping to catch the weather report.
Even while he was still watching Yvonne Quinlan's tearful performance and listening to the news anchor's snide speculations, Dan tried Liss's number. It just kept ringing. Either she was ignoring it, or she'd unplugged the phone. He slammed the receiver back into its cradle.
From his bedroom window, he could see her house, and there was Margaret, just leaving.
As he hunted for clean socks, he tried her cell from his and was sent straight to voice mail. He supposed he wasn't really surprised. With newshounds on the scene, he'd be avoiding phone calls, too.
He was halfway down the stairs when the landline in the living room rang. He hesitated, glaring at the jangling phone on the end table. He didn't want to talk to the press any more than Liss did, or to some gossipy neighbor. On the other hand, the person on the other end of the line might be Liss herself. She'd probably noticed his truck in the driveway.
He answered on the third ring.
The voice in his ear was a MacCrimmon of the female persuasion, but it wasn't Liss. It was her mother.
“Vi, I'm just on my way out. Can Iâ”
“What's going on there, Dan?” Violet MacCrimmon interrupted him. “Dolores Mayfield phoned us here in Arizona to say it was all over the news that there'd been two more murders at the hotel.”
“And Liss isn't answering her phone,” Donald MacCrimmon put in from the extension.
Good old Dolores, Dan thought.
“Dan?” Vi sounded impatient.
“I don't know what to tell you, except that Liss and I are fine and only peripherally involved.” It was a lie, but only a white one. Liss had better not be planning to embroil herself in more trouble.
“What does that mean?” MacCrimmon sounded suspicious.
“There was an unfortunate accident at Lover's Leap. It had nothing to do with the hotel or with your daughter.” He hoped.
An ominous silence answered this second foray into telling half truths.
Dan didn't say anything more, either. He didn't want them to worry. What was the point? They were too far away to be of any help. For that matter, they wouldn't be much use even if they lived right next door. Look how little impact his presence was having!
“Will you be seeing Liss this evening?” Vi asked.
“I was just heading over to her place when you called.” That, at least, was the truth.
“Well, then, give her a message from us, will you?”
“Of course.”
“Tell her we're changing our travel plans. We have no real reason to wait until next month to close up the house here and head for Moosetookalook. We're going to load up the car tonight and start your way first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Wait! Vi, that's not necessary. Iâ”
“We were already thinking about an earlier departure before this happened,” she interrupted. “We just can't wait to see you and Liss again. And to be on the spot to help my daughter with all the last-minute wedding details.”
Phone still to his ear, Dan rested his forehead against the wall. This wasn't a disaster, he told himself. Liss's parents were a nice couple, people he'd known all his life, and they were going to be his in-laws soon. But now that Violet MacCrimmon had abandoned the subject of murder, Dan knew what was coming next.
“Have you ordered your kilt yet?” Vi asked.
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After Margaret left, Liss hurried upstairs to change into something suitable for a banquet. It wasn't earmarked as a super-dressy affair, but she felt grubby in the clothes she'd been wearing all day. She slipped into a sleek silk dress that made her feel ultra feminine and took the time to freshen her hair and makeup. She heard the sound of Margaret's car as her aunt headed back to the hotel, but felt no need to rush. She'd be a little late, no matter what.
She'd just come back downstairs when Dan let himself into the house with the key she'd given him. He gave a low whistle of approval when he got a load of her outfit. Liss turned in a circle so he could admire it from all sides. The dress had a demure neckline, but it was red and clingy and he clearly liked what he saw.
“I have to get back to the hotel,” she said when she faced him again. “There's a banquet tonight.”
Dan frowned. “Can't you give it a pass?”
“I don't want to. After the meal, there's a program. A couple of awards, I think. And a bit of entertainment. There will probably be a tribute to Nola, too. Poor woman. She worked so hard to make this event a reality.”
His frown deepened. He wasn't buying her cheerfully given explanation.
“Okay. I confess. I'm not going for the food or entertainment, but I haven't got any plans anyoneânot you, or Gordon, or Sherriâcould possibly object to. I just want to observe people's reactions. I imagine everyone knows by now that she's not just unable to be there.” Phoebe Lewis's attempt to keep the news of Nola's death under wraps had been doomed from the start. “I'll be like a fly on the wall, and I promise I'll tell Gordon right away if I notice anything peculiar.”
“No, you'll tell me, or Sherri, and one of us will tell the super trooper.”
Liss knew she ought to resent his bossiness, but she found herself smiling instead. “Fine with me,” she said. “I'd just as soon not talk to Gordon again.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss Dan on the mouth. “So, are you giving me a lift out to The Spruces or am I driving myself?”
“I'll drive,” he said. “And I'm sticking with you for the evening. Come back to the house with me while I change clothes.” He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, hardly banquet attire.
A few minutes later, Liss was sitting on the bed in Dan's room while he burrowed in the closet for dress pants and a good shirt. It was not the first time she'd been there, but it always seemed a little strange to her. Dan hadn't always owned this house. He'd only bought it a few years back. Long ago, when Liss had been growing up in Moosetookalook, this had been her family's home. Dan's bedroom had been the one her parents slept in.
“I wonder if I should give Mom and Dad a call. They both knew Nola when they were young, although Dad was older and Mom was a couple of classes behind her.”
Dan turned, his selections in hand and a peculiar expression on his face. “Uh, no need. They already know what's going on.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Come again?”
After he'd filled her in on his conversation with her parents, Liss couldn't decide which news bothered her moreâthat Dolores Mayfield had phoned her parents or that they'd changed their plans and would be arriving in Moosetookalook ahead of schedule.
“I know it's awful of me, but I don't think I can cope with my mother right now.”
“Cheer up,” Dan said. “It will take them the best part of a week to drive here.”
“Still too soon.” She loved her parents, but she'd inherited her tendency to meddle from her mother. Long distance, she could tolerate all those helpful suggestions. Dealing with Violet MacCrimmon in person was an entirely different matter.
“At the moment,” Dan said, “I'm not particularly interested in what your folks have planned. I'm more concerned about what you're up to. You may say you're just going to observe, but I know you, Liss.” Dressed for the evening, even to a necktie, he sat down next to her on the bed. “What are you really hoping to accomplish by going to this banquet?”
Liss sighed and leaned against him. She didn't want to lie to the man she was going to marry. Reluctantly, knowing full well how he'd react, she gave him the same abridged account she'd shared first with Sherri and then with MargaretâGordon's confidences; her own rationale for rejecting the murder/suicide theory; her recent discoveries about Nola; and the conclusions she'd drawn from those.
Dan put one hand on each of her shoulders and turned her so that they were facing one another. “Let me see if I've got this straight. You think that because Nola was a ghostwriter for Yvonne, something you can't prove, that Yvonne, or maybe her manager, or maybe both of them acting together, killed Jane Nedlinger, then Nola, to keep them from telling anyone? What kind of sense does that make, especially for killing Nola? If you're right, Yvonne needed her to write more books.”
“That's what Sherri said, too, but what if Nola found out they'd killed Jane? What if she threatened to tell the authorities?” When another possibility suddenly occurred to her, Liss felt her eyes go wide. “Or maybe Nola was the one who told Jane about the ghostwriting in the first place.”
Dan gave her a hard look. “Nope. She appears to be sane. Must be something contagious about the mystery conference. Is there a prize for coming up with the wildest scenario?”
“I'm serious, Dan.” He couldn't doubt that she was in earnest, but he might indeed be questioning her sanity. She didn't let that stop her from expanding on her newest theory. “Nola knew what Jane's blog was like, but she sent her information about the First Annual Maine-ly Cozy Con anyway. And a copy of Yvonne's latest book.”
“Don't you mean Nola's latest book?”
Liss ignored the sarcasm. “Who's to say Nola didn't do more? It makes a terrible kind of sense. Nola must have been sick and tired of always staying behind the scenes while Yvonne was in the spotlight, praised for her writing and raking in both royalties and honors. It's a really big deal to make the
New York Times
bestseller list. Maybe that was the final straw. Nola must haveâ”
Dan shut her up by the simple expedient of kissing her. Hard.
“What was that for?” Not that she minded. Not really. Dan was a heck of a good kisser.
“It was either kiss you or tie you up and gag you. How about we skip the banquet and spend the evening right here?”
“Nice try, but no.” She squirmed out of his embrace and stood. “And now I have a secondary reason for sticking to my plansâI want to impress on a certain stubborn man that he can't run my life for me, even if I do love him to distraction. I have the right to make my own decisions. And my own mistakes. You should be happy I chose to confide in you instead of keeping everything to myself!”
She had to give Dan credit. He did not take the opening to remind her of just where some of her past mistakes had led her. In her heart, she knew he was right to worry about her. She had a history of not leaving things well enough alone. Still, it galled her to do nothing when she genuinely thought she might be able to help. And she would go straight to Gordon with anything she stumbled across. Or, at the very least, she'd ask Sherri to pass the information along.
“If we're going to do this,” Dan said, “then let's do it.” He heaved himself off the bed but took the time to look pointedly at his watch. “Are you sure there's any point in going to the banquet? It must be half over with by now.”
“I told Margaret I'd meet her there.”
Dan drove her to The Spruces, mostly in silence. He was right on her heels when she reached the ballroom. She entered on a wave of laughter. Apparently the toast-chick had just said something uproariously funny.
Liss located Margaret without difficulty, seated at a table near the middle of the room. She'd saved a chair for Liss, but Dan was out of luck. The round table had places for ten, and the rest of them were occupied by conference attendees.
“You don't have a banquet ticket,” she whispered. “You can't stay.”
He scanned the immediate area, but there wasn't an empty chair to be seen. “I'll be back,” he promised and stalked away.
Liss wondered if she'd find him waiting in the corridor for her at the end of the banquet.
Her first quick visual survey of the ballroom located both Yvonne and Bill. She was onstage with the other luminaries. He occupied a table near the front of the room. Relieved that neither of her suspects had flown the coop, Liss allowed herself to relax and enjoy what was left of the event. She'd missed the meal, but not the entertainment.
Betty Jean Neal, the fan guest of honor, had taken the podium. “I've met a lot of mystery writers,” she began, “mostly because I've been high bidder at charity auctions at other conferences. So far, I've won the right to name characters in four books, and one of my best friends is up to three. This friend, who wants to remain anonymous, doesn't always choose her own name. One time she asked the author to name a character after her mother-in-law. Unfortunately, Ms. Mother-in-Law ended up as a hooker and was killed off on page three. You got your money's worth out of that one, didn't you, Susie?” Betty Jean winked at a woman wearing a yellow name tag and seated at the table closest to the stage. “How long was it before she spoke to you again?”