Kilt at the Highland Games (5 page)

“Damn. That's a little extreme. Surely we can find a new route.”

“I need you to come to this work session with me. Help me convince them that it isn't necessary to throw in the towel.”

“Moosetookalook isn't all that big,” Liss said, beginning to have doubts of her own. “Most of it is pretty ordinary-looking.” The stores a block away were typical—a laundromat, Graziano's Pizza, High Street Market, and, in back of that, a hardware store. “But I suppose the parade could finish up at the athletic field at the school instead of in the town square.”

“I knew you'd think of something.”

“They may not go for the idea,” Liss warned her.

Margaret was undaunted. “We have nearly a week to figure something out. The important thing is to stop them from canceling the parade.”

“I'll back you up,” Liss promised, “but you may have to pinch me to keep me awake. I can't remember the last time I felt this bushed.”

“You'll be fine.” Margaret patted her hand. Then she sighed. “Now if I could just figure out what to do about Boxer.”

Liss sat up straighter, appalled to realize that she hadn't given a thought to how upset her young cousin must be. Boxer, whose real name was Edward, had been friends with Beth Hogencamp for years, and at some point during the last six months the relationship had blossomed into romance.

“You know where he lives, out on Owl Road. That's beyond the range of the siren. He didn't even hear about the fire until after he got to work this morning at that big box store down to Fallstown. I managed to calm him down when he phoned me, and convinced him to stay on the job until his regular quitting time, but he's terribly worried about Beth.”

“He doesn't have any idea where she is?”

“He says he doesn't. You know my grandson—he may be seventeen, but he's not one of those kids who has to be texting and sending selfies every five minutes. It's not unusual for the two of them to be out of touch with one another for a day or two at a time.”

Liss did know Boxer. Her cousin was mature for his age, even if he was something of a wiseass. “Did he come by to see you at the hotel after he got off work?”

Margaret shook her head. “That's what worries me. I don't know where he's gotten to. His mother hasn't seen him, either. I called her again just before I came here.”

“Maybe we should hope he
does
know where to look for Beth. Even now, he could be bringing the whole family back to Moosetookalook.”

“From your mouth to God's ear.” Margaret glanced at the wall clock and sighed. “I'd better get a move on. I don't want to face the board of selectmen on an empty stomach. I'll collect you on my way there. According to Francine, they plan to meet in the municipal building at seven.”

* * *

Sherri Campbell jumped when someone banged on the locked outer door of Moosetookalook's police station. Officially, she wasn't on duty. The officer who was had been sent to stand guard over the scene of the fire. In an emergency, he'd be the obvious choice to approach. As for Sherri, she'd only stayed late to catch up on paperwork. She'd been about to call it a day.

Two battered, army-surplus-style desks, two swivel chairs, an antiquated metal file cabinet, a side table holding a coffeepot and all the fixings, and a couple of plastic chairs for visitors had been crammed into the tiny office. Weaving her way through this obstacle course, she passed the door to the closet-sized holding cell, currently unoccupied, moved at a more rapid pace through what passed for a waiting area, and unlocked the door.

Liss MacCrimmon's cousin Boxer stood in the hallway on the other side, his fist raised to pound again. “Where is she?” he demanded. “Where's Beth?”

Hearing the anguish in his voice, Sherri took his arm and pulled him inside. Poor kid. At his age, every little setback was a crisis. When a real disaster came along, it must seem like the end of the world.

“No one was caught in the fire.” She eased him into one of the red plastic chairs in the outer room and swung a second one around so she could sit facing him. “Wherever Beth is, she's safe.”

He turned his head away from her, raking one hand through a mop of unruly reddish brown hair. His choked voice hinted at barely repressed tears. “You can't be sure of that.”

Sherri's heart went out to him. She had to fight an urge to take him in her arms and give him a comforting hug. That would have been a bad idea even if he was still the skinny preteen he'd been when she first met him. Back then he'd been all awkward angles and seething rebellion. These days he was a good eight or nine inches taller than she was. His summer job as a stock boy had honed ropey muscles and given him a new maturity. There might even be the tiniest hint of a mustache on his upper lip.

“Boxer, when did you last see Beth?”

Again he raked his fingers through his hair. His plain, square face was a mask of misery. “We went to a movie the middle of last week on my day off. Then Sunday we sat together in church and hung out afterward.”

“Not since then?”

He shook his head. “I know Fallstown is only a twenty-minute drive, but I'm usually pretty beat by the time I get home, and Beth works hard, too.”

“In the bookstore?”

He nodded. “For her mother. We don't often have the same days off, and both of us work a lot of weekends.”

“So you haven't crossed paths since Sunday?”

He shook his head.

“What about talking on the phone? Do you e-mail or text each other?”

Boxer didn't answer at once. His emotions were so raw that it hurt Sherri to watch him. Even the simplest, most routine question was a painful reminder that Beth had vanished into thin air.

“Phone?” she prompted. “I thought most young people your age were glued to their smartphones?”

“All I have is a ‘stupid' phone. It's good for calling for help in an emergency and not much else.”

“Liss said you were saving for college.” Since Boxer would have to pay most of his own bills, he was pinching every penny.

“I called Beth on my mom's landline on Wednesday. She didn't say anything about going away.” Boxer leaned toward her. “What do
you
know?”

“Not much,” Sherri admitted. “Only that no one has seen Beth or her mother or her brother since well before the fire. Is it possible they were called out of town and don't yet know they've been burned out?”

“That doesn't make any sense.” Frustration had Boxer clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where would they go? And why wouldn't Beth tell me they were leaving? And even if they did go somewhere, how could they not hear about the fire and come back?”

That was exactly what Sherri wanted to know. She tried a different tack. “Has anything been worrying Beth lately?”

Boxer shook his head. “I don't think so. She's not crazy about me commuting to Fallstown when I could have worked at The Spruces, but it's not like I took a job on the coast for the summer.”

Sherri placed one hand on his forearm and gave it a squeeze. “We'll find them.”

“How?”

“Well, for one thing, you probably know more about Beth than you think you do. Can you give me a list of her closest friends?”

For the first time, she saw a glimmer of hope in his dark brown eyes. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”

“What about Beth's father? Is he still alive?” No one Sherri had spoken to seemed to know anything about Angie Hogencamp's husband.

Boxer looked blank. “She's never mentioned him. I guess he must be dead. I never gave it much thought. I mean, I don't have a father either.”

Margaret Boyd's son, Ned, had died several years earlier. Since he'd never bothered to marry Boxer's mother, Sherri could understand why the subject of fathers hadn't come up.

After Boxer wrote down the names of a half dozen of Beth's friends and promised to contact the police department if he heard from her or thought of anything that might help, Sherri sent him on his way. It took her only a few more minutes to put away the paperwork scattered across her desk. More than ready to head home, she stepped out into the hall.

The parking lot where she'd left her car was just through the door to her immediate right. She'd almost made good on her escape when the sound of loud, angry voices stopped her in her tracks. Tempting as it was to ignore the ruckus taking place in the suite of rooms that comprised Moosetookalook's town office, Sherri's sense of duty wouldn't let her leave without investigating.

Heaving a resigned sigh, she headed for the front of the municipal building.

Chapter Four

S
electman Jason Graye stopped in mid-bellow when the door to the meeting room opened and Sherri Campbell walked in. At the sight of her uniform, his eyes lit up. “Chief Campbell, your timing is impeccable. Please remove these unauthorized persons from the premises at once!”

“I have a right to be here,” Margaret insisted. “By law, selectmen's meetings must be open to the public.”

“This is a work session. It is closed to the public.”

“Don't play games with me. Not when it was the hard work done by my committee that brought the Highland Games back to Moosetookalook in the first place.”

Liss said nothing. It wouldn't bother her to be thrown out of the municipal building. She and Margaret hadn't accomplished anything by coming here. The moment they'd shown up, Graye had started shouting at them to get out. Margaret, most uncharacteristically, had lost her temper and yelled back at him.

The other two members of the board of selectmen had kept their mouths shut. It was Sherri's arrival that prompted one of them, Thea Campbell, to break her silence. Pete's mother, and therefore Sherri's mother-in-law, was a woman known for her forceful personality. Tact was not one of her strong suits.

“We've already decided to cancel the parade and the opening ceremonies, Margaret. Treating visitors to the sight of a burned-out shell would not be in keeping with our claim to be a scenic Maine village.”

Hands on her hips, Margaret turned her back on Jason Graye in order to face this new opposition. “Then demolish it. Bring in a bulldozer to fill in the cellar hole. We have until Friday. Let's make the best possible use of the next few days.”

Three voices spoke at once.

Sherri said, “The arson investigation isn't complete.”

“It would cost a fortune!” Graye's objection came out as a bleat of protest.

Thea's was the voice of reason. “The town can't do a thing until Angie Hogencamp shows up. It's her property. Much as we might like to, we can't just rush in and take the land by eminent domain, not without jumping through all kinds of legal hoops. And that, Margaret, takes much more time than we have.”

“Then erect a tent over the site.” Margaret's voice rose along with her desperation. “Build a fence around it. Anything is better at this late date than ruining all our plans.”

“I'm sorry, Margaret,” Thea said. “We've made the decision to cut our losses.”

Tired as she was, longing for home and her bed, Liss felt obliged to offer the suggestion Margaret had intended to make to the board of selectmen. “What about an alternate parade route, one that avoids the town square?”

“What would be the point?” Thea asked. “The businesses that anticipated making a profit from the spectators would still be bypassed.”

“They could set up under awnings along the new parade route,” Margaret shot back.

“Why be fancy? Just have them sell out of the back of their trucks.” Graye's sarcasm went over like a lead balloon.

Thea sent a narrow-eyed look in his direction, but she didn't change her mind. “If they want to take their stock to the crowd, then they can set up booths at the Highland Games. That would be much more appropriate anyway.”

Margaret was shaking her head even before Thea finished speaking. “I can't add vendors to the games. The organizers control that. The Spruces just provides the venue.”

“Then have our people hawk their wares in the lobby.” Graye made a production of dusting his hands together. “There. Problem solved. You two can leave now.”

Sputtering with indignation, Margaret clearly had more to say, but Liss knew when they were licked. She slung an arm around her aunt's shoulders and steered her toward the exit.

“I'll walk you out,” Sherri said. Suiting action to words, she left last and closed the door behind her.

The three women passed in somber silence through the darkened section of the town office where, in daylight hours, Francine Noyes held sway. By the time they stepped outside, into a mild July evening, Margaret's shoulders slumped and her head drooped.

Liss hated seeing her aunt so dispirited. “We still have the fireworks.”

“Things will look brighter in the morning,” Sherri added.

When Margaret made no response to either comment, Sherri's worried gaze momentarily locked with Liss's. There was nothing more she could say. With a shrug and a wave, she left them, following the walkway between the municipal building and Patsy's Coffee House that led to the parking lot.

“Do you want to come in?” Liss asked her aunt when they reached the sidewalk that led up to Liss's front porch.

Margaret glanced at the house and frowned, as if she didn't quite know how she'd gotten there. Then she literally shook herself, dislodging Liss's arm as she squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “We're not dead yet,” she announced, misquoting one of Dan's favorite lines from
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
.

Liss felt a grin spread across her face. Margaret had recovered her fighting spirit.

“I've been events coordinator at The Spruces long enough to have plenty of tricks up my sleeve,” the older woman announced. “The original plan was to kick off the Highland Games with a parade, an opening ceremony in the town square, and fireworks that would be set off on that hill behind the hotel. We'll just have to have a procession around the hotel grounds instead. The opening ceremonies can take place in one of the fields where the competitions will be held. Thank goodness Joe bought that adjoining land two years ago. We have plenty of room.”

“What about the town square merchants?” Liss asked. “I'm okay, since I already have a booth at the Highland Games, but what you told Thea is true. The organizers won't allow you to add vendors. Could her suggestion about the lobby work?”

Margaret shook her head. “I can offer limited display space in the hotel gift shop, but even that would take some doing.” Her expression turned rueful. “I'm in for a busy couple of days!”

“I'll help all I can.”

“I know you will, dear. We'll talk more tomorrow.” With that, she walked on toward her apartment.

Liss sighed. Her impulsive offer to help was likely to come back and bite her in the butt. By morning, Margaret would have produced a to-do list that was the proverbial mile long, one that would have them both running right out straight until the Highland Games opened.

Liss let herself into the house, scooping up the black cat waiting just inside the door. At least there would be one bright side to staying so busy. Juggling a thousand and one details would distract her from constant worry about Angie and the kids. As it was, questions about what had happened to them crept into her thoughts at every opportunity. Despite her exhaustion, sleep that night was a long time coming.

* * *

Two hours after Liss opened Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium on Saturday morning, Sherri turned up wearing her uniform and a worried frown. Liss froze in the act of cleaning a shelf full of china figurines—pipers, dancers, drummers, and a few Scottish lions.

“Any news?”

Sherri glanced around, as if to make certain they were alone before she said anything.

“Relax. Business has slowed to its normal crawl. You want coffee?”

“No time.”

“If it's bad news, just spit it out.”

“Not bad. Not anything. That's the problem. If there weren't children involved, we wouldn't even be able to call Angie a missing person yet. Not officially. It's been less than forty-eight hours since the fire.”

Liss made a spiraling motion with one hand, urging her friend to get to the point.

“Okay, here's the thing. A logical step in the attempt to locate Angie and the kids was to look into Angie's background.” Sherri didn't seem to be able to stand still. She prowled toward the area of the shop where a set of bagpipes (not for sale), drumsticks, penny whistles, and practice chanters were displayed on a wall.

“Makes sense.” Liss abandoned her can of lemon-scented furniture polish and dust rag to trail after her friend. When Sherri made an abrupt about-face, it caught her by surprise. The two women came within an inch of colliding.

“Sorry.”

“Why don't you sit down and tell me what this is all about?” Liss headed for the cozy corner.

Grumbling under her breath, Sherri threw herself into a chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. “I am
so
frustrated!”

“Welcome to the club. Now tell me what in particular has you so het up.”

“Angie Hogencamp doesn't exist.”

Liss sat up straighter in her armchair and stared at her friend. “How is that possible?”

“I have no idea, but as far as anyone has been able to discover, there is no record of her before she arrived in Moosetookalook.”

“You're saying there are no records of anyone by that name?”

“Not exactly.” Sherri shifted into a more upright position. “There are a couple of Angie Hogencamps around. One of them is even kind of famous in a weird sort of way. She attends a lot of those mystery fan conventions, like the First Annual Maine-ly Cozy Con that met at The Spruces that one year. It seems that most of them hold charity auctions where they sell mystery-related items. This real Angie Hogencamp likes to bid on the right to have a character named after herself in an author's next mystery novel. Her name has ended up in at least a half dozen of them over the years.”

Liss was only half listening. “Angie
has
to exist,” she insisted. “We've known her for ages.”

“Not very well, apparently.” Sherri let that sink in before she continued. “Neither of us had yet returned to Moosetookalook to live when she appeared out of the blue and opened the bookstore. That was twelve years ago. Everyone took her at face value and assumed she was either widowed or divorced, since there was no Mr. Hogencamp in the picture.”

“What about the children? Wouldn't they know if they had another name before they came here? That would be a pretty big secret to keep, and Beth has always been an outgoing girl.”

“Think about it. Twelve years ago, Beth would have been about four years old. Bradley is twelve now, so he was only an infant, maybe even a newborn.”

Liss had a hard time accepting what Sherri was saying. Angie was as honest as the day was long . . . wasn't she? “Maybe she just decided to change her name. People do. And you can call yourself anything you like. Plenty of people use pseudonyms.”

“Angie is a bookseller, not an author. Besides, this isn't just a case of calling herself something else part of the time. She created an identity for herself under what has to be an assumed name. If she changed it legally, there would be a record somewhere. So far, nothing has turned up. I hate to say it, Liss, but this development makes both the fire and Angie's disappearance look very suspicious.”

Liss leaned back, feeling gobsmacked. She didn't like any of the possibilities that sprang to mind. Picking the least alarming of the lot, she said, “Maybe she's in the witness protection program.”

“Maybe.” Sherri looked doubtful. “But I think information can be shared with local law enforcement in a case like this one where the fire is likely to have been set.”

“Even if the arson is somehow connected to Angie's past and she and the kids have already been given a new set of identities?”

“It's not like they'd have to tell me where they are.”

Liss sent her a skeptical look. She'd never had the impression that federal agencies played well with others.

“It's not a subject I know a lot about,” Sherri admitted, “and there are other, more likely possibilities. What if Angie changed her name to hide a criminal background? Or she could be running away from an abusive husband.”

Liss frowned. “She mentioned a sister-in-law once.”

Sherri went on alert, reaching for the small spiral notebook and pen she kept in her breast pocket. “Did she give you a name?”

“I don't think so.” Liss racked her brain, trying to remember exactly what Angie had said. It had been a casual remark made several years earlier. “Angie just said her sister-in-law was taking care of the shop and babysitting Bradley so Angie wouldn't have to be in two places at once. It was the weekend of that mystery convention you just mentioned. Angie was at the hotel, set up to sell books in the dealer room. The Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium's tables were right next to hers, and we were spelling each other for bathroom breaks. She took over so I could attend a couple of the panels, too, and I held the fort while she went back to the bookstore to host a signing by the guest of honor.”

“You never met the sister-in-law?”

Liss shook her head. “Never even caught a glimpse of her, but someone must have been working at Angie's Books that weekend, as well as keeping an eye on young Bradley.”

“I'll check into it, but knowing what we do now, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that Angie invented her.”

“What would be the point of leading me to believe she had family?”

“What was the point in creating a new identity for herself?”

“I suppose,” Liss mused, “that the bookstore might have been closed. I'd have had no way of knowing, since I was at The Spruces. But someone still had to look after Angie's son.”

“Beth?”

“Beth was in the dealer room with us, helping her mother.”

“Bradley could have been at a friend's house,” Sherri suggested. “Maybe Angie asked Patsy to look after him. Or Gloria Weir. I'll ask around.”