Trick or Deceit

by Shelley Freydont

  “Huh, how about that.”

  “We’ll make a country girl of you yet.”

  They’d certainly made a holiday girl out of her. Today she was wearing black slacks and a black sweater and jacket and felt right at home. Of course she’d always worn black in the corporate event world; the difference now was the smiling jack-o’-lantern that took up most of the sweater front.

  “And for you, my favorite dog, a black cat doggie biscuit.”

  Whiskey barked. He recognized the word “cat;” he had an ongoing love-hate relationship with the cat from the bookstore, two doors down. All love on Whiskey’s part, all hate on Tinkerbelle’s, who wasn’t really friendly to anyone (which had earned her the nickname Tink the Stink).

  “Ever since you started baking your Dolly Doggie Treats, he’s on a new exercise regimen, too.”

  Dolly slipped it into the bag, then leaned over and made kissy noises to Whiskey. “Is Liv making you run, too, sweetie?”

  Whiskey cowered on the floor.

  “I swear he understands what we’re saying.”

  “He certainly knows a few words,” Liv agreed. “He’s also a sly manipulator. But we love you anyway, don’t we?” Liv rattled the bag at him and Whiskey immediately perked up.

  Liv thanked Dolly and was turning to go when the door opened and BeBe Ford ran through the door. BeBe was a lush thirtysomething, half country girl and half urban entrepreneur left over from her former life. She was Liv’s best friend in Celebration Bay. BeBe owned and ran the Buttercup Coffee Exchange, made a mean latte, had ridden shotgun on some of Liv’s wilder exploits, and was responsible for Liv and Ted’s caffeine well-being each morning.

  “Did you hear?” BeBe stopped mid-step. “Oh, hi, Liv. I wondered if something was wrong. I guess you heard about the contest-winning haunted house.”

  “She was there,” Dolly said.

  BeBe looked to the ceiling. “Of course you were. Spill.”

  Liv told her about Whiskey finding the arm, calling Barry, and discovering the house had been ransacked.

  “Were you still there when they found the body?”

  “What body?” Dolly asked and came around the counter. “There’s a body? Who was it?”

  Liv sighed. Looked around. All the customers had left. “Lucille Foster.”

  Dolly stared. “Was it an accident? What was she doing there?”

  Liv shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t know.”

  “Did Bill come?” BeBe asked.

  “Yes. But he said he’d talk to me and Ted later. So you probably know more than I do, since I went home to shower and come here.”

  “Well, it wasn’t a heart attack,” BeBe said. “At least that’s what I heard. They took photos and enclosed the area in crime scene tape.”

  “No-o-o,” Dolly said. “Really?”

  “There was a crime,” Liv said. “Someone threw all the mannequins in the vacant lot. Doesn’t mean it was . . .” Liv lowered her voice. “Murder.”

  “Or manslaughter,” BeBe said. “She might have been driving by and saw someone breaking in and tried to stop them.”

  “Maybe,” Liv said. Except she realized that there hadn’t been any cars parked in the lot or on the street, just the ones in the theater parking lot, which Liv assumed belonged to the actors. Besides, if Lucille had been trying to stop a burglary, why would she have gone down the street to park?

  “Liv? Did you think of something?”

  “No. I don’t know what she was doing there. Or why someone would want to kill her.”

  “Maybe we could pin this one on Janine,” BeBe said.

  Dolly pursed her lips. “That’s not funny. Janine is a pain in just about everybody’s patooty, especially Liv’s. But she wouldn’t murder Lucille just because of what Lucille did.”

  “I noticed last night that Janine and Lucille weren’t on friendly terms. What did she do?” Liv asked.

  “Well . . .” Dolly looked around the empty shop. She moved even closer. She smelled like pumpkin pie. Between that and the coffee aroma wafting from BeBe, the combination was enough to make Liv’s stomach growl. Which it did.

  “What did she do?” Liv urged.

  “Yes, please hurry up, Dolly,” BeBe said. “Before someone comes. I had a party of six waiting for my assistant to make their Monster Mocha Macchiatos. They’re on their way here next.”

  “Well,” Dolly continued. “Some people, not me mind you . . .”

  “Go on . . .”

  “Some people say that Lucille caused Janine’s divorce.”

  “Lucille Foster?” Liv asked. The woman hadn’t struck Liv as the town vixen.

  “No one would ever say anything. Carson is well respected in this town.” Dolly pursed her lips.

  BeBe snorted. “Plus he owns mortgages on everything that isn’t held by First Celebration Bank. Not to mention a bunch of money that he’s invested for anyone with two pennies to rub together.”

  “Wait,” Liv said. “How did his wife cause Janine’s divorce?”

  The front door opened; the little bell that welcomed newcomers made the three women jump apart. Like three co-conspirators. Or witches in a Shakespeare play.

  Dolly grimaced before moving behind the counter and smiling at the newcomers. “May I help you?”

  BeBe and Liv waved good-bye and walked next door to the Buttercup Coffee Exchange, passing six coffee-cup-wielding tourists on their way. The coffee bar was empty except for Quincy Hinks, owner of the Bookworm, taking his morning break. He was bent over a hardcover book, oblivious to the world and the grinning skeleton that was sharing his table.

  He didn’t even look up when Whiskey, recognizing his favorite cat’s roommate, trotted over and sniffed Quincy’s shoes.

  BeBe held up a finger to Penny Newland, who was working part time at the coffee bar, and pulled Liv around into the back room.

  “I heard that Janine’s husband and Lucille were having an affair, and Janine found out about it. Janine and Lucille evidently had been best friends before that. I don’t have any details. That’s just what I heard. I didn’t know them, but from what I’ve heard . . .” BeBe lowered her voice. “Well, Carson may be well respected as a man and an investor, but I heard he was a pretty boring husband. So Lucille looked elsewhere.” BeBe smothered a laugh.

  “That’s interesting, but I don’t see how it could have anything to do with the vandalism.”

  “Me, neither. Not exactly a killing offense.” BeBe frowned. “Plus it was years ago. Well, let’s get your order. I have to get back to work.”

  So did Liv. It had taken her a good twenty minutes to make the three-block walk from her house to the Buttercup, and she still had a whole block of shops to go.

  “I know Mocha Macchiato isn’t your thing,” BeBe said. “Want to give Witches Brew a try? Just a dash of licorice.”

  “BeBe,” Liv said.

  BeBe huffed. “I know, double-shot latte, no whip cream, no cinnamon. Don’t you ever want to expand you horizons?”

  “Yes, just not with coffee.”

  BeBe had just finished steaming the milk for Liv’s latte, when Dolly ran into the coffee bar. “Fred just called. The police picked up Ernie Bolton for questioning.”

  “It was inevitable,” Liv said, though she was surprised they’d moved this fast. “He seems the most probable culprit for the vandalism.”

  “But murder, Liv?”

  A cold shiver ran up Liv’s spine and she gripped Whiskey’s leash a little tighter. “Did Fred say they thought it was murder?”

  “No, but what else could it be?”

  “I think we should just wait and see. Now I have to run, Ted will be screaming for sustenance.” And she still had to make it down the rest of the block.

  She took the cardboard tray with Ted’s tea and her no-frills latte in
the other hand.

  BeBe ran to open the door. “Let us know the minute you learn anything.”

  “You, too.” Liv looked out the door. Coast clear. What were the chances she could make it to work without having to tell her story again?

  She made it past Bay-Berry Candles and was almost clear of A Stich in Time, but hesitated to admire the quilt that hung in the window. It wasn’t constructed in the usual orange and black colors of Halloween, no witches on broomsticks and black cats or the other decorations. This quilt was pieced with dark grays and greens, with a silver five-pointed star that covered most of the quilt and was surrounded by strange exotic symbols. Even looking at it through the window Liv could feel its power, same but different than the other Halloween quilts that shared the display.

  She’d have to ask Miriam about it later, when the news of Lucille’s death wasn’t heating up the rumor lines and Liv’s coffee wasn’t getting cold.

  “Liv! Did you hear?” Miriam Krause slipped out the door of the fabric and quilting shop and closed it behind her. “The quilting club is meeting and we’re all in shock. Lucille Foster was found dead this morning.”

  “I heard,” Liv said, drawing her attention from the quilt. “You know, that’s an amazing quilt. Did the club make it?”

  “Heavens no. It’s on loan from Yolanda Nestor.”

  “Yolanda Nestor? I don’t think I know her, but her name is familiar. Is she from around here?”

  “She just took over the space where the Pyne Bough used to be.”

  “Oh yes. Now I remember. At the end of the summer. I’ve been so busy I haven’t even been inside to welcome her.”

  “It’s an amazing shop. Takes a little getting used to, but she joined the quilting group. She’s here now, would you like to meet her?”

  “I would, Miriam, but I’m really late for work.”

  “I guess you already got all the details from Dolly and BeBe.”

  Liv nodded.

  “Sometimes I feel that I’m missing out being the farthest down the block.”

  Liv laughed. “Well, going the other way, you’re one of the first ones on the block.”

  “True,” Miriam said. “I’ll tell Yolanda you admired her quilt.”

  “Please do.”

  Liv was just thinking, Whew, almost home free, when a cry arose from the park across the street.

  “The end is near! Repent, you worshippers of the devil. Fall on your knees and repent your wicked ways. You sinners, you harlots, you forn—”

  “Okay, that does it.” Liv shoved her drinks and her carryall at Miriam.

  But before she even stepped off the curb, the door to A Stitch in Time flew open. A woman wearing black yoga pants and an oversized black sweater tunic swept out and onto the sidewalk. She didn’t slow down but strode straight across the street and stuck her open hand up to the man’s face.

  He ricocheted back, stumbled, and fell on his butt.

  “Oh dear,” Miriam said.

  “She didn’t even touch him,” Liv said. “If he thinks he’s going to sue, he’s got another think coming.”

  As she watched, he scrambled back, somehow managed to get to his feet, and ran.

  The woman watched him go, then turned and came back across the street. “How long has he been here?” she asked Miriam.

  “I don’t know. Liv?”

  “I saw him for the first time last night at the award ceremony.”

  “Well, I’m getting a little tired of the likes of him.”

  The woman turned slowly, and Liv got her first good look at her face. Late fifties, or maybe sixties, with black, black hair and even darker eyes in a roundish face. She wore a heavy silver necklace with a medallion that looked familiar. Liv looked from the woman to the quilt in the window and back to the necklace. The same five-pointed star.

  “Liv,” Miriam said. “I’d like you to meet Yolanda Nestor.”

  The woman stuck out her hand. “Proprietor of the Mystic Eye, and purveyor and practitioner of all things metaphysical.”

  Chapter Five

  “She’s a witch?” Liv asked incredulously.

  Ted looked up from where he was teaching Whiskey The Addams Family theme song. “Interesting woman. Watch this. Da do da do da dooo do.”

  “Ar roo Ar roo Ar roooo roo,” Whiskey repeated.

  Ted grinned and snapped his fingers twice.

  Whiskey bounced on his front paws.

  “Now he not only sings, he dances. We really need to take this on the road.”

  “Ted, you’ve already taught him a song for each season. Could you concentrate? We have vandalism, a death, possibly murder—”

  “Definitely murder.”

  Liv groaned. “Vandalism, murder, a hellfire guy warning everybody who’ll listen that the end is near. And a witch who owns a store in town held up her hand and made him fall down.” Liv slapped her hand on her forehead. “No. What am I saying? It wasn’t some kind of magic. She held up her hand, he stepped back and tripped and fell. And if he thinks he’s going to sue—”

  “Stop. Hand me the baked goods that must be in your carryall. I need my tea.”

  Liv handed him the tray of drinks and reached in her bag. The pastries were smushed.

  “Witch?” Liv reiterated. “Are you serious? We have a store run by a witch now?”

  “Yes but evidently a good witch.”

  “Ted, if you’re making this up . . .”

  “No, not at all, and she’ll be great for business.”

  “For Halloween maybe, but what about the rest of the year?”

  “Oh ye of little faith. There’s tarot, and Ouija boards, herbs, and oils and jewelry and—”

  “You’ve been to her store?”

  “Of course. Someone had to welcome her to the neighborhood.”

  “Where was I?”

  “In the big city begging for money for the community center.”

  “I wasn’t begging. Oh no, Jonathon Preston is coming next weekend to see our wholesome, friendly little town in need of big bucks for a community center. Jon loves a good spectacle as much as the next person, but I think he’ll draw the line at murder. Thank God he’s stuck in Bangkok for an extra week. Maybe Bill will have solved the case, brought the perpetrator to jail, the museum will open as intended, and . . . And that crazy man will be gone. Ugh.” She huffed out a sigh and walked into her office where she slumped down in her desk chair.

  “Where did I go wrong?” she asked to the empty room.

  “You’re doing everything right,” Ted said, carrying in two flattened orange rolls and their coffee and tea on a silver tray.

  Whiskey trotted behind him, growling and shaking the black cat biscuit in his mouth.

  “This may not bode well for the neighborhood felines,” Ted said as he put down the tray. “Whiskey took one look at that biscuit and I was afraid he was going to take my hand with it.”

  Liv looked up horrified. “Really?”

  Ted laughed. “No, but he definitely recognized it for what it was. His nemesis Tink the Stink.” He handed her a plate with a pastry on it. “Where shall we start?”

  Liv glanced at the stack of folders on her desk that hadn’t been there when they’d left the night before.

  “How did you beat me back to the office? I thought you were rehearsing.”

  “Meese took too long with his questioning. Poor man, he didn’t have a chance. He’s probably still there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re actors. They’re terribly detail oriented, they generally make good witnesses, but you can’t expect them to tell a story without a little blocking, a bit of elaboration and gesticulating, and pulling out every emotional stop. Meese may be there for a while.”

  “Did they say anything useful?”

  “Just w
hat we already know or saw. But you missed everyone’s interpretation of Marla Jean’s scream.”

  “Not funny.”

  “I know. But a little comic relief never hurts.”

  “Did they find her car?”

  “Who’s— Oh, Lucille’s.” He thought, shook his head. “Not before I left. I’m not sure they were even looking for it. What made you think about her car?”

  “When I was talking to BeBe. She thought that Lucille might have been driving by and saw the break in and tried to stop it.”

  “Seems unlikely. She would have driven to the corner and called the police from her cell. But why would she be driving along that street? They live on the opposite side of town.”

  Liv opened the tab on her latte cup. “No one would break in until the crowds were gone, and that would be pretty late, long after the ceremony was over. Why was Lucille out that late? And where was her husband?” She took a sip of coffee. “They didn’t find his body, did they?”

  Ted shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  “So why wasn’t he with her? And if he dropped her off somewhere, how did she end up there?”

  “And why?” Ted added.

  “And what are we going to do about it?”

  Ted stared at her. “Are you actually suggesting that we investigate?”

  “What? No! I mean the other stuff. Like what do we do about the haunted house situation? According to the rules, if the winner is unable to fulfill his obligation, the prize and the title go to the runner-up. Do you think Barry can get his exhibits back up and running? Should we tell Ernie to stand by?” She stopped. “Fred called Dolly to say that the police picked Ernie up for questioning.”

  Ted put down the pastry he’d just picked up. “Aah, the Celebration Bay gossip hotline.”

  “Well?”

  “Hmm. Ernie might be angry enough to indulge in a bit of vandalism. But murder? I don’t know.”

  “Why would he do something like vandalize Barry’s museum? He has to live in this town. Did he think no one would find out?”

  “I don’t know, Liv. He’s always been a straight-up guy. Rented his machine shop to Pastor Schorr for the community center fairly cheap. But he has to sell. He has to pay back taxes or face jail. He’s between a rock and a hard place. Maybe losing to Barry just pushed him over the brink. But . . . we don’t know that he did any of it.”