Trick or Deceit

by Shelley Freydont

  Liv thought back. “I . . . No, I guess I didn’t. But why would she—”

  “Aha, the plot thickens,” Henry said, sounding delighted.

  Liv gritted her teeth. He couldn’t help it, poor man. Everything in his life was a line to be delivered and a part to play. But sometimes it really got on her nerves.

  Another squad car arrived and two more policemen got out. Right behind them, a black Humvee pulled into the lot.

  A.K. Pierce’s “stealth mobile,” as Chaz called it, came to a stop at the side of the official cars and A.K. got out.

  A.K. Pierce was as powerful looking as his vehicle. Big, brawny, tough, with a shaved head and a steady eye that said take no prisoners. Though Liv had seen him almost smile on several occasions. He was thrilling, and a little scary. And totally intriguing.

  He strode up to them. “Ms. Montgomery, Ted, Mr. Gallantine.” The men all looked suitably stoic and solemn.

  “Did Bill call you?” Liv asked.

  “Heard the dispatch. Thought you might need some crowd control. I stationed cars at each end of the block to discourage gawkers.”

  Or attract them, Liv thought. But she knew he’d done the right thing. By now a third of the town must know a body had been found. Soon half the town would know who it was.

  They’d all come to depend on A.K. and Bayside Security for crowd control and extra security. It was his men who had skillfully disposed of the ranting soapbox speaker. He’d become Bill’s unofficial right-hand man. Liv didn’t know if that was totally legal.

  The town usually depended on the county law enforcement. Celebration Bay being a rather small town—at least between holidays—didn’t as yet warrant its own police force and relied on the county sheriff and his staff. But with the influx of tourists each holiday, they didn’t always have enough men to cover the town’s needs.

  It meant Bill had to do a lot of running around, and the crime scene van and coroner weren’t always readily available. Today they had come right away, for which Liv was grateful.

  A.K. was used to being in charge, but he never seemed to mind playing backup to Bill’s forward guard.

  He shook out a black jacket that he’d carried from the car and draped it over Liv’s shoulders. “Thought you might be cold, once you stopped running.”

  “I was, thanks.”

  Ted lifted his eyebrows.

  Bill saw A.K. and motioned him over. A.K. nodded slightly to Liv, before striding across the tarmac. A man in control. One who didn’t suffer from sciatica. And who probably looked darn good in yoga pants.

  Liv shook herself. Her thoughts were ricocheting all over her brain. She needed to focus on the problem at hand. She needed to relive the past hour or so, go over her movements of the morning, not let random inappropriate thoughts bushwhack her when she should be concentrating on what was happening and planning triage.

  Barry began to pace. Finally he wandered over to the carts and picked up a piece. It appeared to be an arm, with flowing material hanging from one end—the wrist, Liv guessed, though the hand was missing. Barry began to pull the material up the arm. It must have been a sleeve that got torn when the mannequins were wrenched apart.

  As soon as Barry got one side up, and let go to bring the rest up, the first pieces fell down. Finally he gave up, tossed the arm back onto the pile, and stood staring across the weeds of the vacant lot.

  Liv hurt for him. He’d spent so much time and effort on the mannequins, not to mention expense. And they’d been truly interesting. But she didn’t see how he could ever get the displays back together in time for the grand opening, even if the police released them in time.

  And that meant the prize money would go to the runner-up—Ernie Bolton. The same Ernie Bolton who might be angry enough to loot and destroy his competition. But would Ernie be desperate enough to commit murder? Liv just couldn’t believe it.

  She wanted to ask Ted’s opinion, but Bill stepped out of the grasses and everyone turned their attention to him.

  “When can we go, Sheriff?” one of the actors asked. “I have work in a couple of hours.”

  “And my mom needs me to take her out to the mall. She’ll have a fit when she finds out what’s happened,” said another.

  The others agreed and began talking at once.

  Bill held up his hand. They kept talking.

  “Quiet en scene!” Henry roared.

  Immediate silence.

  “Now, Sheriff, if you would continue.”

  Bill blinked. “If you will proceed over to the theater, you can all give your statements to Officer Meese. We may need to talk to you again.” He looked around the group. “Which one of you found the body?”

  No one spoke. Had it been a group sighting?

  Finally a hand went up. “I did,” Marla Jean said. Her mouth twisted. “I thought it was a mannequin and I picked up her hand.” She finished the confession with a wail. Her friends surrounded her and tried to soothe her.

  Beside Liv, Henry groaned and rubbed a hand across his face. “I’ve created a monster.”

  “And what did you do next?”

  Marla Jean stopped wailing. “I dropped it, of course, and screamed.”

  Bill nodded.

  “And everyone came to see what was the matter . . . and she was just lying there in the grass.”

  The others nodded agreement.

  “And after that?”

  “Mr. Gallantine and the other two came to see. And he”—Marla Jean pointed to Meese—“called you.”

  “And no one else touched the body?”

  “I did,” Ted said. “Her neck. To determine if there was a pulse. When I didn’t find one, I stepped away. And no one has touched her since.”

  “I see. Meese, take these folks across the street to the theater. There’s probably some coffee or hot chocolate in the green room you can make, right, Henry?”

  Henry nodded and tossed Meese a key ring. “The one with the green plastic edge.”

  Meese nodded, looked back at his gaggle of actors, and herded them away.

  Whiskey came back to sit beside Liv.

  “It looks a little like the reign of terror over there,” Ted said under his breath.

  Liv nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. The bodies piled on carts to be taken away.” Especially with Barry standing guard over the cart of mannequins like a modern-day sansculotte.

  “I’ll be here a while longer,” Bill said. “If there are no more details you can point out, I’ll see you at your office later. Unless you have something to add, Henry, you can return to the theater and give your statement to Officer Meese, too.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” Henry started to leave, then changed his mind and went over to Barry. “Now, Barry,” Henry said in his best stage voice. “I know things look bleak now, but if you decide you want to remount your museum, my small band of players is at your disposal. And we have a costume room and several sewing machines. Just give the word. We’ll be yours to command.”

  Barry just stared at him, and finally managed, “Thanks,” and with a half bow, Henry strode through the parking lot and down the street.

  Bill slowly looked back to Ted and Liv. Opened his mouth and shut it. Closed his eyes, opened them. Said, “I’ll see you two later,” and without a look, went back into the now not-so-empty lot.

  “Well, I guess I’ll drop by the theater,” Ted said. “See if we can at least get the rehearsal started, then let’s meet at the office for a little damage control. You want to pick up coffee?”

  “Sure. I’ll just run home and get changed. See you in a few.” A few if she got home, showered, changed, and managed to get past her inquisitive landladies, the bakery, and the coffee shop before news got out about the murder.

  Not a chance.

  Chapter Four

  Liv made it back to her
carriage house unseen. She fed Whiskey and let him out while she showered and dressed.

  Less than half an hour later, they left for work—and had almost made it to the sidewalk when someone called, “Good morning, Liv.”

  Whiskey barked a greeting and dragged Liv over to Ida Zimmerman, one of Liv’s landladies. Miss Ida was holding a broom, but that didn’t fool Liv. She was out for information.

  “Morning, Miss Ida.” Both Ida and her sister, Edna, had been schoolteachers in town before retiring, and everyone called them “Miss.” They didn’t look at all alike: Miss Ida was small boned, demurely spoken, and tended to twinsets and sensible shoes. Miss Edna was tall and bigger boned, spoke her mind freely, and had hung up her twinsets the day she retired, changed into slacks and pullovers, and had never looked back.

  They were both dears and they’d taken a shine to Whiskey and, by association, Liv. They, like most local residents, listened to the police band for their entertainment, enjoyed a little gossip, and were always ready to help with an “investigation.”

  The fact that Liv was an event planner and not a detective made absolutely no difference to them—or to anyone else in town. They expected her to do her part in bringing justice, and were more than willing to do their own parts to help.

  “I heard there’s a commotion over at Barry Lindquist’s new museum. Nothing was damaged, was it?”

  Liv was tempted to say she didn’t know anything about it. But that would be useless. Everyone would know all the details before Liv had paid for her coffee, and the sisters’ feelings would be hurt if she didn’t tell them first.

  “Well . . .”

  “Wait for me, you two.” Miss Edna came barreling through the front door and down the front steps. “I just heard on the police band that the coroner was summoned,” she said. “Just what happened over there, Liv?”

  Liv gave up her last shred of hope that she would get away without revealing the whole story.

  “Whiskey and I were out running . . .”

  “And you found a body?”

  “No, Whiskey found the arm of a mannequin in the weeds.”

  “You clever little man,” Ida said. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a biscuit, which she gave to Whiskey.

  “Barry’s museum had been vandalized and there were mannequins all over that vacant lot next door.”

  “We’ve been telling the trustees to have somebody clean up that lot for months now,” Edna said.

  “I called Barry, who came over, and sure enough, the place was wrecked.” Liv went through the morning, organizing facts as she spoke. She knew she’d be telling the story again. By the time she made it through town and to work, she’d have it down pat.

  Of course she could drive to work, but she walked to work every day, and everyone would know she had driven just so she wouldn’t have to talk to them. And, like the sisters, their feelings would be hurt.

  “Who died?”

  “Lucille Foster.”

  “Lucille?” Ida echoed. “Edna and I were just talking about her yesterday”

  Edna shook her head. “And the whole town will be talking about her today. What a shame.”

  “What on earth was she doing over there?” Ida asked.

  It was exactly what Liv had been wondering.

  “Well,” Edna said. “It wasn’t to see Barry Lindquist. Of that we can be sure.”

  “They don’t like each other?” Liv asked.

  “I have no idea,” Edna said. “But we heard tell he lost a bundle of money in a hedge fund that Lucille’s husband, Carson, talked him into getting involved in.”

  “You don’t think she saw someone vandalizing the museum and had a heart attack?” Ida looked concerned.

  “Ida, I don’t think it was natural causes. Did the sheriff say?” Edna looked expectantly at Liv.

  “He didn’t say. It was all so weird and horrible. Some poor girl in Henry’s play found the—found her. Thought she was a mannequin and tried to pick her up.”

  Edna cracked a laugh. “Sorry, but what a ridiculous situation.”

  “It was pretty macabre and one of the actresses let out a scream to end all screams.”

  “Were there any signs of foul play?” Ida asked.

  “I confess I was so stupefied that I wasn’t thinking much of anything. I’d already called the police over the break-in. So Officer Meese was there when they found the—Lucille. Now, I had really better get to work.”

  “I expect you’ll have to move to Plan B,” Edna said and shook her head. “Everyone said Barry’s exhibit was so professional looking and the mannequins looked real.”

  “And taught a little history, too,” Ida added.

  Liv didn’t burst Ida’s teacherly bubble by telling her that Barry had played fast and loose with history in the typical, time-honored Celebration Bay way.

  “I’m sure you both will know more than I will by the end of day.”

  “Drop by and we’ll compare notes,” Ida said. “Do you want to leave Whiskey with us today?”

  “Thanks, but I’m hoping I won’t be long.”

  “Well, you have a nice day,” Ida said.

  “And keep your ears open,” Edna added.

  “Will do,” Liv said, and she and Whiskey headed to the town square for coffee and pastries and a little gossip.

  The sun made a brief appearance. And if Liv hadn’t been concerned about murder and how the vandalism would affect the rest of the festival, she would have enjoyed the crisp fall day. The leaves that hadn’t fallen were brilliant red and yellow. There was an icy chill in the air; seriously cold weather would be sweeping in on them soon. And then the snow.

  But before Liv had gone two blocks, the sun had vanished and she began making contingency plans. She would have to talk to the mayor first thing about what, if anything, to do with the prize money. It would be a diplomatic nightmare. She didn’t see how Barry could get his museum back up in time for the official opening at the end of the week. How long would they wait to transfer the prize to the runner-up?

  And if Ernie Bolton had vandalized Barry’s exhibit, would he still be given the first-place prize money and official recognition for his haunted house? If that failed, it would have to go to Miss Patty for her friendly ghost house. A worthy effort on Miss Patty’s part, but not Liv’s idea of an official site.

  She would have to check with the mayor about that, not a duty she was looking forward to. Gilbert always got hysterical when things hit a bump.

  A bump? Liv just hoped Ted had been wrong and Lucille’s death was natural, though for the life of her, Liv couldn’t come up with a scenario that placed Lucille Foster at the scene other than ones involving foul play.

  Her first stop was the Apple of My Eye Bakery, owned and run by Dolly Hunnicutt. Her husband, Fred, ran the business end of the bakery and was permanent traffic committee chair for all the festivals and events.

  The bakery, like all the stores on the square, was decorated for Halloween. A witch’s hat sat atop the pink cupcake wall clock. There were pumpkin and black cat centerpieces at the three tables the bakery kept inside.

  Dolly, like her husband, was stocky and good humored, generous and totally serious about holidays. Today she was wearing an orange and black polka-dot apron detailed in orange rickrack and an orange mobcap. Beneath it Dolly’s rosy pink complexion looked a little out of place.

  There were a couple of people ahead of her, but Dolly saw Liv and gave her a knowing look. She’d already heard, which meant that Liv would be stopped by questions and speculations down the entire block to town hall, where the event office was located.

  As soon as Liv reached the front of the line, Dolly said, “Did you hear about the break-in?”

  Liv nodded.

  “You were there?”

  “I was just running by and Whiskey discovered one of
the mannequins.”

  “Oh dear. Is it an awful mess?”

  “I’m afraid so. The mannequins were all dismantled and thrown out into the vacant lot next door.”

  “What will happen now? Do you think Barry can put it back together?”

  “It looks like a major undertaking, though Henry Gallantine offered the cast of Little Shop of Horrors to help reconstruct the scenes.”

  “That was sweet of Henry. Ever since he started that theater group, he’s stopped being such a recluse. He’s like a changed man.”

  Liv nodded, though if you asked her, Henry was more in his element than he’d ever been. Back in the theatrical saddle again.

  “Do they know who did it? Everyone in this morning said that Ernie was really unhappy about losing. So unlike him.”

  “He was pretty upset,” Liv agreed. “But so far the police haven’t considered the possible suspects. At least as far as I know.”

  “Well, Bill certainly can’t think Patty Wainwright would do such a thing,” Dolly said. “She’s the sweetest soul.”

  Liv thought that was what neighbors always said about serial killers—“he was always such a nice quiet boy”—but in this case she had to agree with Dolly. The preschool teacher and caregiver would hardly break into a house and destroy the competition. Besides, the panel had chosen her in order to have a child-friendly haunted house in town.

  “I’m sure Bill will get to the bottom of this,” Liv said.

  Dolly nodded. “I’m sure he will. Now, what would you like? I have orange breakfast rolls this morning.”

  “Those rolls on the tray oozing frosting?”

  “The very ones.”

  “I shouldn’t, but I will.”

  “Ted shouldn’t either, but he loves them.”

  Liv laughed. “We both love everything you bake. I’ve had to start running twice as far just to keep from gaining weight. And Ted? I think he must have a hollow leg.”

  “Why, listen to you, Liv Montgomery. I bet you never talked about hollow legs in the corporate event world.”