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.
“Yes. There are some small rooms down there that used to be servant quarters. Mrs. Garrett remodeled them a few years back after a blizzard that had the staff living four or five to a room and the guests doubling up during a three-day snow-in.”
Three days! I hoped we’d be done with this case and onto another hotel well before that.