Emmett greeted us with a wide smile and a wave from the door. He was tall and lanky with short brown hair. He also wore kitchen whites but had left the hat in the kitchen. He sat in the chair that had been vacated by René.
“René told me you’re talking to people about last night. I’m happy to help.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“As you probably know, we’re treating Clarissa’s death as suspicious. We’re just trying to get a picture of what happened,” Mac said. “Can you tell us what you were doing during dinner and after the power went out?”
Emmett sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “First, René and I served the dinner. It got pretty hectic since Wally was our substitute server and he had never been a waiter before.”
Mac and I grimaced.
“We hardly noticed,” Mac said.
Emmett chuckled and lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “He tried his best, but it’s not an easy job. Fortunately, he seems to have charmed all the knitters and no one complained.”
I waited for him to continue.
“Then, once everyone seemed settled out here I went back into the kitchen to start preparing the dessert. It was going to be tarte tatin and ice cream. René went downstairs to get the ice cream and then just as he got back, the power went out. He has a list of things we need to do in the kitchen if the power goes, so we turned on our lanterns and got to work.” He sat back and laced his fingers over his knee.
“Did you see anyone else in the halls or the kitchen?”
“One of the guests came through looking for René but I told her he was gone and she went out through the hallway door. I didn’t see her again until this morning at breakfast.”
“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?”