Chapter
Four
Liss and Dan stepped into a window alcove, out of
the flow of traffic. The recess gave the illusion of privacy even
in a crowded room. “What did she say to you?” Liss
asked.
“She wanted to know if I thought
Moosetookalook was the murder capital of Maine.” Dan kept his voice
low but it throbbed with irritation.
“And, of course, you corrected her.
That honor belongs to Cabot Cove.”
Dan looked blank.
“Cabot Cove, Maine? Home of Jessica
Fletcher? Murder, She Wrote?”
“Oh. The old television show? I never
watched it. I heard they got a lot of stuff about Maine dead
wrong.”
“Well, yes, but ... oh, never mind!
What else did she say to you?”
“She told me that this story may be
bigger than she first thought. She’s thinking of devoting an entire
week to Moosetookalook and all the murders you’ve been involved
in.”
“They didn’t all
take place in Moosetookalook.”
“That’s not the point.”
“And there haven’t been that many.”
Annoyance sharpened Liss’s voice. “A week implies seven. There have
only been—”
“Liss! You’re not seeing the big
picture here. If she posts these blogs, they will generate very bad
publicity for this town in general and this hotel in particular,
not to mention for you personally. And she seems determined about
it. She doesn’t even want to do an interview with you
anymore.”
For just a moment, Liss felt annoyed.
When it had been only her reputation on the line, it had been:
“Don’t worry, Liss. Go ahead and talk to her.” But now that it was
the hotel—She broke off in mid-thought,
appalled by her reaction. Of course they should be concerned about
The Spruces, and about Moosetookalook. What Jane Nedlinger wrote
could harm everyone who lived here.
All the local residents would be
affected by the situation. That meant there was no good reason not
to solicit help in deciding how to blunt the impact of The Nedlinger Report. She glanced at her
watch.
“It’s barely eight. If we activate the
phone tree, we could convene a meeting of the MSBA at my house in
an hour.”
The membership of the Moosetookalook
Small Business Association included all the merchants on the town
square and most of the other businesspeople in the village,
too.
Dan hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll alert
Dad. You phone Patsy.” He headed for the lobby.
Liss made her call from the window
alcove, where the cell phone reception was better. She was about to
leave the meeting room when she caught sight of Nola. One look at
the other woman’s face told her that Nola was not a happy camper.
Liss changed course to intercept her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Do you really need to ask? That woman
is impossible.” Nola’s face was flushed and her small hands had
curled into tight fists.
“Jane Nedlinger?” Liss
asked.
“Who else?”
“Come with me.” Liss took Nola’s arm
and tugged her toward the nearest exit. “We’re going to put our
heads together and figure out how to deal with her
threats.”
Liss shivered when they stepped
outside. Although the sun had only just set, the temperature was
already plunging. She glanced up at the overcast sky. It looked,
and smelled, as if they would have some rain tonight.
“You, too?” Nola asked. “I’ve always
hated the great outdoors, especially after dark.”
Liss wanted to protest that she was
just chilled, but Nola was still talking.
“My parents used to insist on going
camping every summer. I loathed every minute we spent in the woods.
I don’t like having too many trees around even now.” She gave a
theatrical shudder. “My friends kid me about my phobia, but I won’t
even visit the local Christmas tree farm at the holidays. I have a
nice plastic spruce that suits me just fine.”
“How do you feel about apple orchards?”
Liss asked.
Nola laughed.
During the short drive into
Moosetookalook, Nola supplied details of various posts Jane had
written, and Liss began to understand why she was so upset. If Jane
chose to pan the First Annual Maine-ly Cozy Con, its attending
authors, and Nola herself, it would be very difficult to organize a
second annual gathering. According to what Aunt Margaret had told
Liss when Nola first booked the conference into the hotel, this
conclave of mystery fans had been Nola’s brainchild. She had almost
single-handedly organized and produced the event, spending almost a
year on the planning. She’d used her own savings to bankroll the
project, which meant that she had a lot riding on its
success.
Liss and Nola entered Liss’s house
through the kitchen. Nola dragged her feet all the way from the
car. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” she
protested.
“Do you have a better one?” Liss asked.
She flicked on the light and waved the other women
inside.
Lumpkin, Liss’s big yellow Maine Coon
cat, chose that moment to leap from the refrigerator to the nearest
kitchen countertop. Nola gave a shriek and threw her arms over her
head. Then, cautiously, she peeked out through her
fingers.
“Oh,” she said, sounding sheepish. “A
cat.”
“Hang on a minute,” Liss said. “Let me
feed him and his little buddy and then I’ll lock them in the
basement. They’ll only be underfoot at the meeting
anyway.”
Lumpkin and the half-grown black cat
Liss had named Glenora appreciated the food but protested loudly at
being banished.
Members of the MSBA started to arrive a
few minutes later, and at nine o’clock sharp, Dan banged his
gavel—a wooden spoon—on the coffee table in Liss’s living room.
“Meeting will come to order!”
Liss doubted he could be heard above
the babble of voices. She quickly suppressed the cowardly thought
that it might be better if he wasn’t. They’d called this emergency
meeting of the Moosetookalook Small Business Association for a good
reason. This was no time for second thoughts. If they had overreacted, they’d just have to take their
lumps.
A glance at Nola’s face told Liss that
Nola, too, sensed the potential for disaster. It occurred to her
that Nola hadn’t told her exactly what Jane Nedlinger had said to
her. Whatever it was, it had made the poor woman
miserable.
“You okay?” Liss
whispered.
“No,” Nola said. “I shouldn’t have come
here. You don’t need my input.” She darted nervous glances this way
and that, as if she expected something else besides an oversized
cat to jump out at her.
“You’re the best person to explain who
Jane Nedlinger is and how influential what she writes will be.”
Liss used her most soothing tone of voice. “And your presence will
emphasize that an annual Maine-ly Cozy Con will bring business to
this town. Trust me when I say that money talks.”
Nola managed a faint smile, but she did
not look entirely convinced.
Her nervousness was contagious. The
greater Nola’s anxiety, the more Liss worried about what Jane might
write.
Dan banged the spoon again, with the
same results.
Liss stood. “Everybody? Quiet,
please!”
She projected her voice so that it
reached every corner of the room, a trick she’d learned while on
tour. True, she’d been a dancer, not an actress, but she’d had a
few lines to say and she’d learned how to make herself heard from
the second balcony.
“We’ve got a meeting to start here,
folks!” she added. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Stu Burroughs slanted an
irritated look in her direction. It turned decidedly unfriendly and
suspicious when his gaze moved on to Nola. She made a soft sound of
distress and refused to meet his eyes.
Seeing that he’d successfully cowed
their guest, Stu gave a “whatever” shrug and plunked himself down
on Liss’s sofa, bouncing a little when he connected with the
cushion.
Stu was short and chunky and fond of
bright colors. His shirt was a deep maroon and royal blue
suspenders held up his well-worn jeans. It was only recently that
he’d stopped dyeing his hair black. Liss privately thought that had
been a wise decision on his part. The flat, lifeless color had not
suited his deeply lined face. The salt-and-pepper locks he now
sported looked far more natural. Liss had no idea how old Stu was,
but he’d owned and operated Stu’s Ski Shop for as long as she could
remember.
Betsy Twining, proprietor of the Clip
and Curl, settled in next to Stu. The owner of Patsy’s Coffee
House, Patsy herself, squeezed in beside her. Betsy was slender.
Patsy was almost cadaverously thin, in spite of the delicious
homemade pastries she turned out on a daily basis. Patsy was a
genius in the kitchen. She was also profoundly unhappy about being
up this late. She kept glancing at her watch, a clear indication
that she was anxious to get home and go to bed. Liss knew that
Patsy would have to be up at three the next morning to start baking
and didn’t want her to wake up cranky, not when Patsy was the one
who had been hired to supply pastries for tomorrow’s author
breakfast.
They’d been able to round up quite a
few members of the MSBA on short notice. The others found seats,
filling all the extra chairs Liss had brought in from the kitchen.
The room was packed. Aunt Margaret was there, and Angie Hogencamp,
and Joe Ruskin. Liss recognized the retired couple who had just
taken over the old Toy Box building to turn it into a jewelry
store. She fingered her tourmaline engagement ring. It was one of
their creations. Even before they’d opened their business on the
town square, they’d had items for sale in the hotel gift shop at
The Spruces.
A bouncy young woman with
ginger-colored hair and a wide smile rushed in, out of breath. She
was another newcomer, the owner of a hobby shop located where,
until a few months earlier, there had been an insurance
office.
Dan once again tried to call the
meeting to order.
“We aren’t all here yet,” Stu objected.
He smirked at Liss and Nola. “We need to wait for our friendly
local undertaker.”
Nola gave a start, causing the Canadian
rocker in which she sat to squeak loudly. The sound grated on
Liss’s nerves. She clenched her teeth. The sooner they got this
meeting started, the better.
“Doug’s running a little late,” Patsy
piped up. “He said we should go ahead without him.”
“Good enough.” Dan banged the spoon one
last time. “We’re officially in session. Liss?”
Every eye turned in her direction. In
her peripheral vision, she saw Nola shrink back, as if she were
trying to make herself invisible.
“Evening, all,” Liss began. “I
apologize in advance if I’ve gone off half-cocked. If that turns
out to be the case, you can all feel free to laugh me out of the
room. But when Dan and I talked this over at the hotel, it seemed
logical to call in reinforcements. All of us have a vested interest
in protecting the good name of our hometown.”
She recounted her brief conversation
with Jane Nedlinger, then gave them a few of the details she’d
learned about The Nedlinger Report from
talking to Nola.
“This blog is very popular, and the
woman who writes it is renowned for her scathing remarks. She’d far
rather trash a book in a review than praise it. As for her accounts
of true crimes, she gravitates toward salacious details, and if
there aren’t enough of those, she’s been known to drop hints about
others—just shy of saying enough to provoke a
lawsuit.”
“But surely only people interested in
crimes and criminals read something like that,” Betsy said, making
a little sound of disgust. “We wouldn’t want that sort of person
coming to Moosetookalook anyway.”
“You’d be surprised the people who like
to wallow in scandal,” Angie cut in. “I’ve got standing orders for
stuff so lurid it would curl your hair.”
“How is being featured in this blog any
worse than Moosetookalook showing up in a story in one of the
supermarket tabloids?” Stu Burroughs asked. “Seems to me that it’s
all free publicity. And you know what they say about any publicity
being good publicity.”
“I hate that old saw,” Liss muttered.
“It’s just plain wrong. Studies show that people tend to pass on
negative comments far more often than they repeat positive ones.”
She was pretty sure she’d said the same thing the last time someone
had played the “any publicity” card.
“That’s just human nature,” Aunt
Margaret agreed. She sent a worried look Nola’s way, then glared at
Stu.
“In any case,” Dan said, “it seemed
best that we warn all of you about this woman and her blog. It’s
likely that we’re soon going to have a serious public relations
problem on our hands.” He recapped what Jane Nedlinger had said to
him, reinforcing what Liss had already told the group.
“And yet,” Angie said, “Liss told me
earlier today that this conference came to The Spruces because there had been a murder at the
hotel.”
“That’s true,” Liss admitted. She
turned to her guest. “This is Nola Ventress. She’s the organizer of
the conference currently being held at The Spruces. Jane
Nedlinger’s presence here is a threat to her, too.”
Nola nervously cleared her throat. She
was still avoiding eye contact, not just with Stu but with
everyone. Her voice was barely audible, a far cry from the
self-confident woman Liss had seen earlier on the podium. Two or
three people had to lean forward in order to catch what Nola said.
One of the jewelry store owners surreptitiously turned up the
volume on her hearing aid.
“Jane Nedlinger can put such a negative
spin on what she writes that no one will ever want to come here
again,” Nola said. “She’s petty and vindictive and she positively
enjoys ruining people’s careers.” She
twisted her fingers in the bottom of her T-shirt, then looked up at
last. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about it. I don’t think she
ever has a good word to say about anything.”
She was such a study in misery that
Liss could only assume she was blaming herself for bringing both
the conference and Moosetookalook to Jane Nedlinger’s
attention.
“Then why do people read her blog?” Joe
Ruskin sounded confused.
He was an older version of his son,
with a distinguished hint of gray at the temples. Liss hated to see
him looking so worried. He’d had to weather far too many ups and
downs since the hotel opened. She realized, with a painful lurch of
her heart, that he seemed to have aged ten years in the last ten
months.
Bitterness made Nola’s voice stronger.
“For the same reason some people watch reality shows. They like to
feel superior. And Jane’s clever with words. I’ll give her that
much. Some people find her kind of venom entertaining. I did myself
until she turned it on me.”
“The biggest problem is that blogs
reach everywhere,” Liss said. “This won’t be just a local
story.”
“Still sounds like a tempest in a
teapot to me,” Betsy Twining cut in. “It’s only been, what? Three
hours since you first met this woman? Don’t you think you could
have slept on the problem before going to Code Red?” Like Patsy,
Betsy had to be up at the crack of dawn.
“She threatened to link Liss and, by
extension, all of Moosetookalook to a series of four murders over
the last two years,” Dan pointed out. “That’s a threat that’s hard
to take lightly.”
“Are you sure
she has all that much influence?” Patsy fought a yawn, lost, and
apologized for being so sleepy. “Past my bedtime,” she
mumbled.
“I’ve never even heard of her,” Angie
chimed in.
There was an immediate chorus of “me
neithers.”
“Maybe we
haven’t, but folks from away, the ones we want to attract here as
tourists, apparently do read her
blog.”
“If you’re right about that,” Stu said,
looking morose, “then we’re already dead.”
“Who’s dead?” a new voice asked. “Does
someone need my services?”
Stu gave a derisive snort. “Like
Preston’s Mortuary is hurting for business!”
“Join the party, Doug,” Liss invited as
the newcomer stepped into her living room. In addition to being the
local mortician, he was also one of the village selectman. Even
though he was often prickly to deal with, Liss was glad he’d been
able to attend the meeting.
The term “gentleman” might have been
invented just for Doug. Liss didn’t think she’d ever seen him
wearing anything less formal than a suit and tie. He had an upright
carriage and a refined manner that came very close to straying over
the line into supercilious. How he’d produced a son like young
Frank, best described as careless and slovenly, was a mystery no
one in Moosetookalook had been able to solve.
Doug was yet another of the longtime
village residents who had seemed so ancient to Liss when she was
growing up. She’d been surprised to realize, when she returned to
the village as an adult, that he was the same age as Aunt Margaret.
They’d gone to high school together. The fact that he’d married a
woman more than twenty years his junior, back when Liss herself had
been in junior high, had once struck her as creepy. Now she
supposed, when she thought about it at all, that Doug would have
considerable appeal to women who liked the suave, reserved
type.
Doug glanced around the room, looking
for an empty chair. He froze when he caught sight of Nola. “Well,
as I live and breathe. Nola Ventress.”
“Hello, Doug.” Nola was back to
whispering.
Liss frowned. Was it her imagination,
or had there been a distinct rise in tension in the air? Nola was
actually trembling. While Dan recapped the situation for Doug’s
benefit, Liss studied the faces of those gathered in her living
room. Two of them seemed more alert. Stu had an anticipatory gleam
in his eyes. Aunt Margaret looked more worried than
ever.
“What does this woman look like?” Doug
asked.
Liss described Jane, emphasizing her
size and her all-gray ensemble. She’d have stood out in downtown
Moosetookalook, and Liss wasn’t surprised when Betsy spoke
up.
“I think I saw her late this morning,”
the beautician said. “She was going into the library just as I was
coming out.”
Doing her research, Liss thought. And
soaking up gossip. Dolores Mayfield, the town librarian, would have
been happy to dish the dirt, even with a stranger.
“Sounds to me as if you and Nola have
an irrational fear of this Nedlinger woman’s power, Liss,” Doug
said. He’d dragged the combination stool and stepladder that Dan
had custom-built for Liss out of the kitchen to perch on. “I’m sure
there’s no cause for alarm.”
“I disagree,” Stu said. “She’s a real
threat. One we need to deal with. Let’s face it, Moosetookalook
doesn’t need any more bad publicity.”
Liss wished she could take more
satisfaction from Stu’s change of heart, but she suspected he’d
come down on the opposite side from Doug just to spite the other
man. They’d never gotten along all that well.
“And exactly how do you propose that we
do that?” Doug sounded bored.
“We’ll think of something.” Stu
swiveled on the sofa so that he could look at each of the other
MSBA members in turn, but no one had any solution to
suggest.
Patsy produced a jaw-popping yawn.
“Maybe we should sleep on it.”
“Maybe we should stay right here and
brainstorm until we come up with a workable solution,” Stu shot
back. “Plug away at it all night if we have to. Unless this town
doesn’t mean as much to the rest of you as it does to
me.”
Doug produced a clean white
handkerchief from his breast pocket, took off his glasses, polished
them, and replaced the handkerchief before he responded to Stu’s
taunt. “I, for one, can’t think of any way to stop the woman from
posting to her blog. If she does, we’ll just have to live with the
fallout.”
“We could threaten to sue her if she
writes about us,” Stu shot back.
“What good will a threat do?” The
normally amiable Angie sounded irritated. “It won’t stop her. And
once the damage is done, there’s no point in taking her to court.
The burden of proof is on us. By the time we collect any solid
figures, we’ll already be hurting financially. We won’t have the
spare cash to shell out for a lawyer.”
“So we just give up and let her write
any damned thing she wants?” Stu was no longer just yanking Doug’s
chain. Genuine outrage turned his face an ugly red. “No
way!”
They debated the issue for another
hour. Everyone was in agreement that they hoped to profit from the
mystery conference and others like it. There was a general
consensus that if Jane Nedlinger could be persuaded not to write a
blog post that mentioned Liss, murder, and Moosetookalook in the
same piece, she should be. But no one had a workable plan to
convince the blogger to alter her plans.
Individual MSBA members gave up one by
one and drifted away, heading home to their beds. Finally only Stu,
Doug, Nola, Dan, and Liss remained. Nothing had been
resolved.
Liss sighed and turned to Nola. “Give
me a minute to let the cats up from the cellar and I’ll drive you
back to the hotel.”
“No need for you to bother, Liss,” Stu
Burroughs cut in. “I can take her.”
Nola’s cheeks flared pink. “I don’t
think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, come on, Nola. I promise not to
try to lure you into the woods to have my wicked way with you.” He
made obnoxious little kissing noises at her, causing her color to
deepen into red.
“Leave her alone, Stu,” Doug
interrupted. “You always did have a sick sense of humor.” He took
Nola’s hand. She tried to pull free, but his grip was too tight.
“You must allow me to see you back to The Spruces. I’m headed that
way anyhow.”
“You’re offering the lady a ride in the
hearse?” Stu gave a bleat of laughter.
“I’ll be driving my personal vehicle,”
Doug said in a voice as cold as embalming fluid. “That’s a
Porsche,” he added for Nola’s benefit.
If he expected her to be impressed, he
was doomed to disappointment. She just looked more rattled. “I
don’t think that’s a good idea, either.” She sent a desperate look
Liss’s way.
“Back off, both of you,” Liss told
them.
But Doug did not release his grip on
Nola’s hand. If anything, he tightened his hold, making her wince.
“I was so looking forward to reminiscing,” he said, “and to telling
Nola all about my lovely wife and our fine, upstanding
son.”
Liss was sorely tempted to tell Doug,
then and there, just how carelessly young Frank had handled Lenny
Peet’s body, but she knew this was not the right moment. “It’s up
to you, Nola,” she said instead.
To Liss’s surprise, Nola pulled herself
together. She tugged her hand free and poked one finger into Doug’s
chest. “Since you say you’re going my way anyhow, I’ll accept a
lift from you, but I refuse to look at baby pictures.”
Then, while Doug pulled on the thin
leather driving gloves he wore year-round, claiming his hands were
always cold, Nola turned on Stu.
“As for you, Stu Burroughs, since
you’ve agreed to call the charity auction, I will talk to you
tomorrow afternoon. Until then, I’ve no interest in your company.
You’ll have to excuse both of them,” she added to Liss, sending an
apologetic look her way. “They always did snap at each other like a
couple of pit bulls.”
Wearing a disgruntled expression on his
face, Stu watched Nola and Doug leave together. When he glanced
Liss’s way again, he had the grace to look embarrassed. “I guess I
got a little out of line. Sorry.”
She patted him on the shoulder,
grinning. “No more than usual, Stu.”
He chuckled, but sobered again
instantly. “About this Nedlinger woman—don’t you worry your pretty
little head about her. We’ll figure something out. Stands to reason
there’s some way to scotch her story.”