The Scottie Barked At Midnight (9 page)

“Is that how he developed those magnificent buns?” The voice was female, sultry, and amused.

“Could be.” Liss turned her head, expecting to see either Elise Isley or Mo Heedles . . . and came face-to-face with the curious gaze of an enormous snake. She took an involuntary step backward. “Yikes!”

She was proud of herself. She didn't turn and run, and she didn't scream. She'd have been entitled to do both. Even though she'd been forewarned about Eudora the Mighty Python and had even seen her performance on the TV screen, Liss was not prepared for the reality. Eudora looked a lot larger in person, especially when she was draped over the shoulders of a woman who could not be more than five-foot-two. Elise's stare was less curious and more suspicious than that of her pet.

Trying to ignore the fact that a four-foot-long reptile was close enough to touch, Liss addressed the small human beneath the big snake. “Hi. I'm Liss Ruskin. You must be Elise Isley.”

The exotic dancer wore such heavy makeup that it was hard to guess her age, but she had sharp facial features and masses of dark red hair artfully arranged to veil the front of her body and play peekaboo with ample breasts. Elise fit the stereotypical image of a stripper—stacked, with shapely legs and toned arms. Both arms and legs were bare, showing skin of a shade somewhere between Willetta's dark chocolate and Oscar Yates's olive.

“I hear you're a pro,” Elise said. “Ballroom?”

“Scottish. I'm also retired.”

“This is Eudora.” Elise reached up to stroke the snake looped around her neck. “You can pet her if you like.”

“Thanks anyway. My hands are full.” Thank goodness! The last thing Liss wanted to do was extend a hand in Eudora's direction. “Um, isn't it dangerous to carry her that way?” Pythons, Liss recalled, tended to squeeze the life out of their prey before they made a meal of it.

“Not at all,” Elise said.

The booming voice of Roy Eastmont, sounding cheerful and well rested, distracted her from whatever she'd been about to add. “Morning, everyone. Ready to rehearse?”

Elise sidled up to the MC as he reached for a bear claw. Whatever she whispered into his ear made his hand clench on the pastry. The smile Liss had begun to think was permanently affixed on his face wavered and, for a split second, completely disappeared.

“Elise is lobbying to get her own show.” The comment came from Mo Heedles, the only one of the remaining contestants Liss hadn't yet met. She had circled the table and now stood beside her. Like Elise, she was not very tall and had red hair, but there the similarities ended. No one would ever call Mo voluptuous. She was a ginger-haired elf of a woman, probably somewhere in her late twenties.

“Stripping for fun and profit?” Liss doctored her coffee and took a swallow to the sound of Mo's chuckle. The magician had been right. Why did hotels always seem to make their coffee so strong and bitter? She added another packet of sweetener.

“Be careful Elise doesn't hear you call her a stripper,” the other woman warned her as they started to walk toward Area Three together. “We must all use the politically correct term
exotic dancer.
As for the show she wants, it's to be a competition something like this one, only with poles.”

“What's next? Mud wrestling?”

Mo's answer was a thunderous sneeze. She managed to turn her head aside and get her arm up in time to protect both Liss and her food, but from the look of her scrunched-up face, more explosions were imminent. “Sorry,” she got out before the second one hit.

Turning back to the buffet tables, Liss abandoned her plate and cup and grabbed up a handful of napkins.

“Thanks.” Mo sneezed again. “You must have dog hairs on your clothing. I'm allergic.” The fourth sneeze was even more violent than the first three.

“I'm so sorry.” Liss backed up, retrieved her food, and kept several feet of space between them.

“Not your fault.” Mo fumbled in the sleeve of her sweater to pull out a man's white handkerchief. “Happens all the time.” She dabbed at her nose. “I don't usually sneeze so much. I just get really stuffed up.”

Willetta hovered nearby, finishing off a croissant. Liss expected the singer to offer Mo one of her honey-lemon cough drops, but if the thought occurred to her, she didn't have time to act on it. Mo took off, eyes streaming, heading for her allotted rehearsal space. It was located as far away from Area Three as it was possible to get and still be in the ballroom. Someone on the production staff, Liss thought, deserved a gold star.

In the suite, Liss had run through the routine Deidre had devised for this week's show a half dozen times. She'd committed both the steps and the hand signals to memory. The dogs had cooperated beautifully. Rehearsing in the ballroom was a different story. Not only was it more open, it was noisy and full of distractions. Most disconcerting of all, Liss could swear she felt unfriendly eyes boring into her as she opened the two carriers and gave each Scottie an affectionate cuddle.

In her previous career, Liss had been part of a troupe of dancers. Even when she'd had a solo bit, she'd been surrounded by the rest of the company. She wasn't sure she liked being the center of attention. The “live” performance was sure to be even worse. When she and the dogs danced before the cameras, she'd be wearing a skimpy costume. She hadn't tried it on yet, hadn't even seen it, but she had gotten a phone call just before she left the suite for the ballroom. She was to report for a fitting after the lunch break.

Suck it up,
she told herself.
You're a pro.
Makeup would probably hide the ugly scar left by her knee-replacement surgery.

According to the schedule, dress rehearsal was twenty-four hours away. The show would be recorded a few hours later, at two o'clock the next afternoon. Liss frowned and took another look around the ballroom. Where were they going to put the audience? There was a stage at one end of the room, but she saw no tiers of seating. Of course, there were no cameras yet, either. Perhaps it was just too early for both.

She fished an MP3 player loaded with Deidre's music and a set of earbuds out of her tote bag. Tomorrow, a professional sound system would be in place to blare out the tune. For now, she'd have to move to sounds audible only to her. Fortunately, the dogs responded to visual cues.

“Okay, guys,” she whispered, “time to strut our stuff.”

The number started well enough. Dandy and Dondi loved to do tricks. But Deidre had taught them more than one dance, and Liss was still a novice at giving hand signals to her two canine partners. She finished a second pirouette only to discover that the dogs had broken formation completely. They were supposed to be standing on their hind legs with Dandy's front paws resting lightly on Dondi's back. Instead, both sat on their rumps, their big, expressive brown eyes following her movements as if they were spectators instead of part of the act.

Liss couldn't bring herself to scold them. She knelt down, murmured a few words of encouragement, and began the routine a second time. On the reboot, the two Scotties made it to the halfway point before they began to improvise.

Liss sensed someone standing behind her a moment before Elise Isley made a tut-tut sound and added a critique: “Pitiful.”

The stripper and her snake watched from just outside the blue tape that marked off Area Three. The woman's lips were twisted into a look of disdain. The python expressed her opinion by flicking her tongue in Liss's direction. Was that a show of contempt, Liss wondered, or of hunger?

She tried ignoring her unwelcome audience, but once Dandy and Dondi became aware of Eudora, they lost interest in dancing. Fascinated, they wanted to investigate up close and personal. Liss had to haul them back by their collars. She was still holding on to them when Hal Quarles joined the party.

Careful to keep his distance from Eudora, he ignored Liss and addressed Elise. “No need to worry about this act anymore.”

“I'd like to see you do better with only one day's practice,” Liss muttered under her breath.

Quarles laughed and directed his trademark sneer at her. “Do try not to embarrass yourself. From the looks of that performance, you'll be out of the running after the next show.”

“She might get the sympathy vote from the judges.” Elise looked down her sharp little nose at the dogs. Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Poor orphaned puppies and all.”

“They're not good for anything without Deidre.” Quarles rubbed his bony hands together and an evil glint came into his eyes. “Elise, my dear, why don't you make Deidre's daughter an offer? Once the dogs are eliminated from the competition, I'm sure she'll be happy to sell them to you. After all those live chickens you've been feeding her, Eudora must be longing for a change of diet.”

Chapter Five

B
ack in her suite a few hours later, Liss was still fuming over Hal Quarles's sadistic comment. She told herself she was being paranoid to feel threatened by it, but the fact remained that
someone
had dognapped Dandy.

A glance at her watch told Liss she still had forty-five minutes before she was due for her fitting. Valentine Veilleux had agreed to look after the dogs for the hour or so it would take, and Valentine, Liss realized, was the only one associated with
Variety Live
she was sure she could trust. If the show's photographer had wanted to harm the two Scotties, she could have done so on Saturday when Desdemona left them in her care.

“Walkies!” That single word, combined with jingling the leashes Liss retrieved from the end table, was enough to have Dandy and Dondi prancing in a circle around her, eager for their next adventure.

She clipped the leashes to their collars and set out. If she arrived at Valentine's RV a little early, she'd have time to ask a few pertinent questions before her appointment with the wardrobe mistress.

Ten minutes later, Liss was seated in the motor home's comfortable lounge area, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. Valentine had set Dandy and Dondi loose to sniff the more interesting corners of the RV, tossed their leashes onto a pullout countertop extension in the midcoach galley, and joined Liss on the sofa.

“This is some rig,” Liss said.

“I like it. Plenty of cupboards, closets, and other storage space. Adequate bathroom. Big bed.” Valentine shoved her glasses back into place a millisecond before they slipped off the end of her nose. “The only tricky part is finding parking. With the slide-out sections I expand to use nearly three times as much space.”

Liss gestured toward the computer workstation that was hardly standard equipment for RVs. It had been built into the space where a U-shaped dinette would normally be located. “What, exactly, is it that you do?”

Valentine chuckled. “I travel around the country taking pictures and creating specialty calendars for groups, especially those used for fund-raisers.”

“And you can make a living at that?”

“I can, although I wouldn't say it was a
good
living.”

Good enough, Liss thought. From the entrance she'd been able to see the length of the vehicle, clear into a master bedroom dominated by what looked like a queen-size bed. Valentine's home also boasted a combination convection oven and microwave in the galley, blackout roller shades on all the windows, and at least two TVs. At a guess, this rig had cost her upwards of $250,000—more than most Maine people paid for a house.

Dondi trotted up to them and put one paw on Valentine's knee. She laughed and scooped him into her arms. “How's my favorite boy today?”

Dondi licked her face. Dandy hopped up onto the sofa beside them.

Liss turned so she could see Valentine's face, tucking one leg beneath herself. “Deidre believed a competitor spirited Dandy away.”

The hand stroking Dondi's back stilled. “Yes, she did.”

“Any idea which one she suspected?”

“I wish I did.”

“Do you know if any of the other contestants have had any trouble?”

For a long moment, Valentine was silent. Then she set Dondi aside and moved from the couch to the chair in front of her computer. A few clicks brought up a photograph.

Liss rose and went to stand behind her. The picture on the monitor showed a jumble of objects inside a closet. “What is all this stuff?”

“Mo Heedles's equipment. The props she juggles in her act. Or rather, this is what was left of them after somebody got into her suite and wrecked them.”

“When did this happen?”

“Thursday. Mo was out all day. She decided to take advantage of our location and go skiing. When she came back and opened the closet where she had everything neatly stored, she found this mess.” Valentine depressed another key to start the slide-show function, and similar images appeared, one after another, on the computer screen. “She didn't want to call the police. I don't think she even reported it to hotel security. But she wanted a record of what had been done to her.”

“For an insurance claim?”

“I doubt she has insurance. All I can tell you for certain is that she asked me to take these pictures before she cleaned up the pieces.”

Image after image of broken and battered objects flowed past. What had once been colorful silicone balls looked as if they'd been stomped on. Wooden clubs had been reduced to splinters. “What did this guy use, a chain saw?”

“I was thinking an ax, but you may be right. Look at the edges.” Valentine hit the key to pause the image on the monitor, then enlarged a section of it.

Liss leaned closer, shaking her head. “This isn't just random vandalism. There's real viciousness behind it.”

“I agree.”

“That's not all that's strange. What sense does it make to wreck props? Take Dandy out of the act, and Deidre and her Dancing Doggies couldn't continue to compete, but equipment isn't irreplaceable. Mo obviously got hold of more balls and hoops and fire torches. She was able to rehearse her act this morning in the ballroom.”

On the screen, the slide slow resumed. More shots of the damage scrolled by, all much the same . . . except for one.

Liss blinked. “Stop.”

“What do you see?” Valentine hit the pause key just a second too late.

“Go back one. Yes. Now, can you zoom in on the upper right-hand corner?”

“Well, I'll be darned,” Valentine murmured, staring at the screen. “That's not a belt, is it?”

“It looks to me like part of a harness, one that would fit a small dog, say the size of a Scottish terrier. In fact, there's one just like it in the doggie paraphernalia Desdemona left with me.” It hadn't occurred to Liss until that moment that there should have been two harnesses.

“You think Mo was the one who took Dandy?” Valentine shook her head. “No. I don't buy it. For one thing, she's allergic to dogs.”

Liss stood up, easing the kink in her back from leaning over Valentine's shoulder for so long. Dandy and Dondi sat beside the photographer's chair, looking for all the world as if they, too, had been studying the pictures on the screen. “Too bad Dandy can't talk. She must have known the person who took her. How else could the dognapper have gotten her out of the condo without her raising a ruckus?”

“According to Desdemona, her mother was deeply asleep at the time.”

“Had she taken sleeping pills?” Liss remembered Desdemona saying that her mother had traveled with a pharmacy.

“Probably. She didn't hear a thing. I know that much.”

“I wonder if Deidre suspected Mo. Maybe she's the one who—” Liss broke off, assembling the timeline in her head. “Dandy was taken on Monday afternoon and I returned her on Tuesday. Deidre died the next day, on Wednesday, but the vandalism to Mo's props occurred on Thursday.”

“Right,” Valentine said. “So unless Deidre came back as a ghost to wreak vengeance on Dandy's abductor, she wasn't the one responsible for wrecking Mo's equipment.”

“And we're back to square one.”

Valentine sighed and left her computer workstation to reheat her hot chocolate in the microwave. She rummaged in one of the cabinets and produced a package of gingersnaps. Liss checked her watch, saw that she still had time, and once again settled in on the cushy sofa, this time noticing that it had a multiposition feature and pullout ottoman.

“You do live in the lap of luxury.”

“I figure I deserve my creature comforts. You want yours hotted up?” Valentine asked as she removed her mug from the microwave.

“I'm good.”

“It isn't as if I have anyplace else to go home to,” she added, and smiled at Liss's look of surprise. “I told you, I
live
in my RV—all the time, not just to travel around the country and take photographs.” Leaning back against the counter, she sipped thoughtfully, then turned the conversation back to Mo Heedles. “It's not just her allergy that makes her an unlikely dognapper. She was a victim, too.”

“I suppose it's possible that whoever destroyed her props also planted the harness there to cast suspicion on her. I'd like to eliminate Mo as a suspect in Dandy's dognapping. But if I were the one who'd caused all that trouble, I'd make sure it looked as if I'd had some myself. Wouldn't you?”

“I would,” Valentine agreed, “although I wouldn't have planted a dog harness on myself and then asked a third party to take pictures of it.”

Dandy, sitting on the floor next to Liss, nuzzled her hand until she responded with long, firm strokes down the Scottie's back. She'd already caught on to the fact that this was the method of petting both dogs preferred over pats on the head. “If Mo didn't say a word about what happened to her to anyone but you, maybe she's not the only one keeping mum.”

“I haven't heard of any other dirty tricks, but you could be right. There's no particular reason why any of them should confide in me.”

“You've been with the show all season.”

“That doesn't mean I've gotten close to the competitors. To tell you the truth, I've tried to stay well away from them. I don't enjoy a constant diet of backbiting and petty jealousies.”

Dondi went up on his hind legs, put his front paws against Valentine's thigh, and did his best to look both adorable and hungry. The photographer fed him a tiny bit of the cookie in her hand. After offering Liss a second gingersnap, she moved the bag farther out of canine reach.

“If this is about eliminating the competition,” Valentine mused, “I can understand why Dandy was targeted. Everyone knew going in that Deidre's act was the one to beat. But why play such a dirty trick on Mo? After Deidre, it's always been Willetta who was the most likely contestant to take home the prize.”

Liss polished off the last of her lukewarm hot chocolate and stood. If she didn't get going, she'd be late for her fitting. “I have no answers,” she admitted, “just a bit of advice found in almost every mystery novel I've ever read: suspect everyone.”

Valentine grinned at her. “By that token, Liss, you shouldn't be one hundred percent sure you can trust me, either.”

 

A hotel room had been designated as the show's costume shop and wardrobe storage area. At first, Liss didn't think anyone was there. Huge racks, thickly hung with colorful, glittery costumes, seemed to take up every inch of available floor space, blocking her view.

She cleared her throat and ventured a tentative, “Hello?”

An arm, bare but heavily tattooed, shot up at the back of the room. “With you in a minute.”

“No rush.” Reluctantly fascinated, Liss examined a few of the costumes nearest her. Elise Isley must feel right at home on this show . . . except for the fact that most of the clothes wouldn't leave her anything to take off during her performance.

A woman in her midthirties wearing a tank top, jeans, and more tattoos than Liss had ever seen on one person before, wormed her way through the narrow space between two racks. “Liss Ruskin, right?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Just call me Mel. For my sins, I'm costume designer on this train wreck. And wardrobe mistress. Hell, I'm the whole damn costume department!” With a practiced, professional eye, she made a preliminary evaluation of Liss's appearance. She couldn't tell much. Liss still had on the coat, hat, and gloves she'd worn to take the dogs to the RV. Mel gestured back the way she'd come. “Believe it or not, there's an open space through there. Let's get you stripped down and see what I've got to work with. You got any ideas yourself?”

“A muumuu would be nice.”

She'd never minded wearing costumes onstage, but since
Strathspey
had been structured around Scottish history, that had meant skirts no shorter than knee-length. Most of the outfits she'd worn to dance in had been even longer, covering her nearly to the ankles and matching that look on top with high necklines and three-quarter-length sleeves. Even a peasant blouse would have been considered too revealing for their target audience, unless there was a shawl draped over it. On tour, they'd most often performed for the middle- and high-school crowd.

“In your dreams,” Mel said with a laugh.

An old hand at costume fittings, Liss had worn an easy-to-slip-in-and-out-of sweatshirt and jeans beneath her outerwear. When she was down to bra and panties—and woolly socks, since floors were apt to be cold—Mel took measurements. As Liss expected, the other woman noticed the scar.

“Knee replacement?”

“Partial. Maybe a caftan?”

“It's not that bad. A little makeup, a little fancy camerawork, and you'll be all set. The scratch on your arm will be more of a challenge to hide. Cat?”

“Yes, but about the knee—the Scotties will be dancing at that level.”

“Not to worry. Leave everything to me.” She disappeared into the forest of fabric and glitter. “Pity you can't just wear Deidre's costumes,” her disembodied voice continued, “ but your body shapes are way different. I'll make some new things for you to wear the rest of the week. Not much I can do in time for the first show, though.”

Liss had a feeling budget considerations played into that decision, too. “So, you'll do what? Try to squeeze me into something you have available?”

“Give the lady a prize.” Mel emerged with a single garment draped over one arm. “Slip into this.”