The Corpse Wore Tartan by Kaitlyn Dunnett

Pete. “Go on.”
    â€œAs a rule, I don’t tell tales out of school, but it’s hardly a secret that Phil made some bad investments. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”
    â€œI see.” She smiled encouragingly. “What kind of investments?”
    â€œI don’t have many details.” His thin lips set in a prim, disapproving line. “And, as I say, I’m not inclined to spread stories. Idle gossip can be harmful, you know.”
    Sherri waited.
    â€œHe lost a bundle on the stock market. And I understand that the MacMillans now have their house on the market.” He lowered his voice. “Can’t meet the mortgage payments.”
    The MacMillans and a lot of other people, Sherri thought. “Well, again, thank you for your insights, Mr. MacHenry.”
    This time he accepted the dismissal. It took him two tries to get out of the chair, but once he was on his feet he was as spry as a man twenty years his junior. Moving at a good clip, he headed back to what had long since turned into the Maine equivalent of a “hurricane party.”
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    At just past two in the morning, Dan Ruskin shut down the portable bar he’d been operating. It looked as if the crowd was finally thinning out. More than half of the guests had retired for the night. Those who were still in the lobby, however, seemed reluctant to leave the warmth of the hearth for their chilly bedrooms.
    Bed sounded pretty darned good to Dan, especially if he could convince Liss to let him share hers. At the least, he hoped for a little quality time with her, snuggling together by the hearth. The fireplace in the tower suite was one of those approved for use. It wouldn’t take any time at all to get a cheerful blaze going.
    â€œToo late to get another drink?”
    Jerked out of a very pleasant daydream by Russ Tandy’s slightly slurred voice, Dan took in the other man’s bleary eyes and unsteady hands and decided that Russ had consumed more than enough alcohol for one evening. Good thing he wasn’t planning to drive home to Waycross Springs tonight.
    â€œSorry, Russ. We’re closed.”
    When Russ had returned to the lobby after his tour of the gift shop, Sherri had still been interviewing guests. Liss had persuaded him not to resume his impromptu concert. Instead, aside from a couple of trips to the john, Russ had spent the entire time since then slouched in the chair closest to Dan’s station and knocking back one Scotch after another.
    â€œâ€™S okay,” he said now, but in lieu of another glass of whiskey, he reached for his bagpipe.
    Before Dan could think of a way to stop him, a horrible screeching filled the air. This time no one intervened. Sherri had talked to everyone she wanted to and no longer required quiet. In fact, she and Pete looked as if they were actually enjoying the racket.
    Whether the piper was drunk or sober, the pipes well or badly played, Dan found the resulting noise both mind-numbing and deafening. It made him think of cats fighting. Or maybe just one big cat being strangled. He fled into the office area, but that didn’t provide enough distance. Not by half. He wished he’d thought to soundproof the conference room.
    Desperate to find a refuge, he backtracked. At first he thought he might cut through the dining room to the kitchen, maybe make himself a snack while he was at it. He changed his mind when he passed the door to the basement. It would be even quieter down there. And there was food in the staff break room.
    Just closing the stairwell door behind him muffled the sound of the bagpipe. Dan breathed a little easier, but his sense of relief was short-lived. Before he was halfway down the steps, he heard something that was even more distressing than the screeches produced by Russ Tandy’s playing.
    The high, eerie, keening, but clearly human cry came from the basement. Fearing that someone was hurt, Dan rushed headlong down the