“That must have been Mavis,” I said.

Emmett shrugged. “I don’t know her name, but it’s not unusual for us to have visitors wandering into the kitchen to talk to the chef.” He smiled. “Some of the guests act like he’s Wolfgang Puck or something.”

Emmett echoed René’s story about working in the kitchen until they heard noises in the hall. We thanked him and watched him lope back to the kitchen.

12

Mac limped slightly as we followed the signs to the front desk. He had suffered a shooting injury to his left leg a year ago while working narcotics in Saginaw. He almost never mentioned the event and only limped when he was stressed, tired, or both. I figured this morning it was both. I slipped my hand into his and felt his reassuring squeeze. We’d decided that even though Wally had been in the dining room with us during the pertinent time period, he would be a good source of information about the staff and the running of the hotel. He was nowhere to be found so we followed the hum of voices down the hall.

The knitters had commandeered the lounge and set up their equipment by the big bay windows, which gave plenty of light off the reflected snow. They all wore some variation of shawls, fingerless gloves, scarves, or sweaters. Someone had set up two silver samovars with Sterno burners underneath. Wally sat in the midst of the knitters holding a fuchsia skein of yarn around his hands and chatting with the ladies. He had a navy and gray houndstooth scarf thrown jauntily around his neck. Isabel turned a crank on a yarn winder while Wally fed the strand to her.

The lively conversation abruptly halted when they noticed us standing in the doorway.

Mavis hopped up and rushed toward us.

“Oh, Detective. We’re so glad you’re here with us this weekend. What would we have done if poor Clarissa had died and there was no one to take charge?” She lowered her voice. “I think Violet is under the impression that she is helping with the investigation. Certainly, you don’t need her help?” She clutched his arm and steered him toward the group. I followed.

“Mavis has been telling us that you’re questioning all the witnesses,” Vi said. “You didn’t question me. Maybe I saw something and don’t even realize it and then you will be able to figure out the whole mystery by my one comment.”

I dropped my head to cover my smile.

“You’re right, Ms. Greer,” Mac said and my head popped up. It wasn’t a sentence I expected to hear, ever. “We’ll want to talk to each one of you this morning.”

A babble of voices began and Mac held up his hands.

“It would be very helpful if you would refrain from discussing your theories. I need to speak to everyone and if you have already discussed it among yourselves, it could cloud your memories.”

“The horse is already out of the barn on that one, Phillip,” Lucille said as her needles bobbed rapidly.

“If you could all just stop talking about it now and wait until I have a chance to meet with everyone, that would be very helpful. We need to speak with anyone who left the dining room during dinner, or anyone who thinks they might have information about Clarissa’s death.”

Tina, of the tattoos and art awareness, said, “Aren’t you out of your jurisdiction? Why are you two questioning everyone?”

The room got quiet.

“If the Kalamazoo Police were available, I wouldn’t have to take charge, but they aren’t, so Clyde and I are the best chance we have of figuring out what happened to Clarissa.” He gave her one of his squinty-eyed stares and she looked away.

“What are you doing to protect the rest of us?” Selma asked. “There’s a murderer loose and we’re all stuck here!”

She wore beige again and I hadn’t noticed her until she spoke. She sat between Mavis, with her bright red lipstick, and Amy, with her pink hair, and seemed to fade into the couch.

Mavis shushed her and gave Mac an apologetic smile.

“It is a good question,” Amy said.

A few nervous nods made their way around the group.

Mac tightened his jaw. “I take it you all know Clarissa’s death was not an accident?”

More nods.

He shifted his weight to his good leg.

“It’s extremely unlikely that anyone is in any danger,” Mac said. “The best way to keep everyone safe is for you to all cooperate while Clyde and I try to piece together what happened last night.”

Vi’s hand shot up. “I’ll go first! Where have you set up your headquarters?”

Mac passed a hand over his face and pulled his mouth into a frown.

“We don’t have a ‘headquarters,’ Ms. Greer.”

“We really need to speak to Wally first,” I said.

Vi slumped in her chair and sighed.

Wally stood importantly and smoothed his cardigan. He followed us back to the front desk.

“Your mom is going to read my cards later,” he said to me. He had that wild gleam I had seen in others before—he thought all his questions would be answered through the cards.

“That’s . . . nice,” I said. I never knew how to deal with the truly fervent fans of the tarot. I opted for politely noncommittal.

“Violet says she’s the best. She can tell my whole future.” He spread his hands wide and moved his arms in a semicircle as if envisioning his entire life.

Mac snorted and tried to make it sound like a cough.

Wally turned to him with a questioning expression.

“Wally,” I said, “we need you to help us figure out where everyone was supposed to be last night from the time Clarissa left the dining room until Mrs. Garrett found her.”

Wally put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. “I think Mrs. Garrett or Jessica would be better able to tell you that, but I’ll do my best.”

We sat in the room near the reception desk. It served as a smaller lounge and looked toward the front of the property. The blinding landscape made my eyes water. I had sensed an edgier note among the knitters today. Not just because one of them had questioned Mac, but it was starting to sink in to all of us that we were stranded here. And now they knew one of us was capable of murder. A worried group was more frightening than a single murderer.

Mac took out his notebook and gestured at Wally to begin.

“The kitchen staff obviously would have been in the kitchen or the dining room. The only ones who stayed yesterday were René and Emmett. We let all nonessential staff go home around three o’clock, when it was clear that the snow was starting to pile up.”

Mac and I nodded.

“Kirk Barstow, our maintenance guy, also stayed. You met him last night. He’s new and works with Gus, who has been here for years. I don’t know if Kirk’s ever worked on an old house like this before because he doesn’t seem to know how to fix anything. He mostly follows Gus around and assists. But Gus wanted to get home yesterday—his wife has been ill and he didn’t want to be stuck here. Once the phones are back on, maybe he can tell Kirk how to fix the generator.”

“The building doesn’t have a backup for the backup?” I asked. “If you lose power as often as you say, don’t you need to be extra careful?”

Wally tilted his head. “I don’t know much about that. Usually, it just kicks back on after a few minutes. You’ll have to talk to Kirk.”

“Who else was working last evening?” Mac readied his pen and notebook.

“Holly Raeburn. She’s in charge of the housekeeping department, which consists of her and two other women. I was surprised she decided to stay. I know she has a young daughter at home, but she said the daughter was staying with her grandmother and she let the other women go home.”

“All of the staff members are staying in the basement?” I asked.