Cold Turkey

by Shelley Freydont

Ted took his jacket down from the coatrack and put it on. Held the door until Liv had no choice but to walk through it. She hadn’t bothered to take off her coat, so she followed him down the hall.

  He didn’t elucidate, and she knew better than to ask. Ted was a consummate storyteller and he knew how to build the suspense before spilling the beans.

  When they were standing outside, Liv stopped him. “You’re not leaving until you tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  Liv crossed her arms and shifted onto one hip.

  Ted grinned. “On your information, they tracked the four men to the Lakeside Inn. Corinne Anderson confirmed they were staying there. Evidently she wished they weren’t. I could hear her in the background while Bill was on the phone. Seems they closed down the bar last night, and Max, the no longer, started a fight with one of the locals and had to be restrained by his friends.”

  “With a local? Did she say who?”

  “No. But I don’t think it was a cause for murder. You tend to forget that most of the populace still settle their differences the old-fashioned way.”

  “There’s a huge difference between a few punches and a hole blasted in someone’s chest.”

  “True. Bill will figure it out.”

  “I hope so. At least there’s no big event tomorrow. Maybe they’ll leave town and forget about us.”

  “I don’t think anyone will be leaving town until Bill gets to the bottom of who killed Max Bonhoff.”

  Liv glanced sharply at him.

  “They searched his room and found his passport.”

  “Passport?”

  “He’s from Toronto.”

  “And the others?”

  “Don’t know. Corinne is supposed to call Bill when they return to the Inn.”

  Liv turned down a ride offer and started off across the green toward home . . . again.

  The wind had kicked up and the temperature was dropping. And Liv was more than willing to accept the cup of tea the sisters offered her when she went to pick up Whiskey.

  “Come in, come in,” Miss Edna said. “We’re just steeping a pot of Constant Comment.” She hustled Liv inside as Whiskey came charging down the hall from the kitchen.

  “Hey, buddy,” Liv said, leaning over to give him a good scratch.

  “Go on in the parlor and make yourself at home. I’ll just tell Ida to bring another cup.”

  Liv shrugged out of her coat. She was still wearing her running gear and sweatpants. Not exactly teatime attire. She sat gingerly on the edge of her chair, worried that she might be tracking leaves and dirt and who knew what else into their immaculate Victorian home.

  Whiskey immediately rested his paws on her knees. Liv stifled a yawn. Now that she was sitting down, exhaustion overcame her. She was nearly nodding off when Ida and Edna came into the room with a tray containing a teapot, cups and saucers, and a platter of warm scones.

  “Here we are,” Miss Ida said, putting down the plate of scones. “Now, you just help yourself. I bet you didn’t even stop for lunch today, did you?”

  Liv shook her head. Between the race, the murder, and the development plans, she’d been pretty busy.

  Miss Edna poured tea and handed Liv a cup. “I don’t suppose you know what all the fuss was about this morning during the race?”

  “Was there a fuss?” Liv asked, wondering if something else had happened while she was out in the woods looking at a body.

  Miss Ida pursed her lips and gave her an understanding look. “Mum’s the word. Did Bill tell you not to discuss it?”

  Edna frowned at her sister. “Ida, don’t bother Liv. Can’t you see she’s tired?”

  Liv’s tired brain clicked into normal time. “What did you hear?”

  “Well,” Miss Ida said, handing Liv a plate and conveniently ignoring her sister. “We heard a man died in the woods this morning and Bill arrested Henny Higgins for killing him.”

  Liv nearly dropped her plate. How did people learn these things so fast? Especially Miss Edna and Miss Ida, who spent most of their time at home—listening to their police scanner, Liv reminded herself. She was probably the only person in town who didn’t own one.

  “That Henny,” Miss Edna said. “It was just a matter of time before he hurt somebody. He gets more ornery every year.”

  “He said he didn’t do it.”

  “Hmmph. If it was a hunter, it’s not someone from around here. They know better than to trespass on Henny’s property.”

  “Well,” Ida said, “I was on the phone today with Corinne Anderson over at the Inn confirming our reservation for the Presbyterian Ladies Christmas Bazaar Committee. We have our kickoff breakfast there every year.”

  “Sister,” Edna said, “get to the point.”

  “Well, she was very upset. Seems Bill Gunnison had been there looking for four of her guests. She wasn’t exactly surprised. I guess they were rather boisterous at the bar last night.”

  “That’s what you have to contend with when you run accommodations for the public,” said the practical Edna.

  “Well, I know. And so does Corinne, but she usually has a family-oriented clientele. It says right on her website, ‘Come spend a quiet, comfortable holiday at the Inn.’ Doesn’t say anything about drinking too much and causing a scene.”

  “What kind of scene?” Liv asked.

  “One of them got in a scuffle with one of the local boys.”

  “Did she say which one?”

  Ida shook her head.

  “It seems odd,” Edna added. “Most of the locals don’t come to the Inn to drink. They go to McCready’s or one of the places out on the highway. The Inn attracts an older, more sedate crowd. I wonder what the ‘scuffle’ was about?”

  So did Liv, and whether it had anything to do with Max’s death. “I’m sure Bill asked. He might want to question whoever it was about his whereabouts.”

  “You mean Henny didn’t kill him?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that I’m sure Bill will do a thorough investigation.”

  “Hmmph.” Edna wiped her mouth with a napkin decorated with an embroidered turkey in the corner. “He generally does, but he takes his own good time about it. Corinne won’t be happy if she has to put them up until he finishes with whatever he’s looking for. Her rooms are reserved through New Year’s and beyond.”

  “Then let’s hope things are wrapped up quickly.”

  “I don’t know what this town’s coming to.” Ida leaned over and patted Liv’s knee. “Not that it has anything to do with you.”

  “Of course not,” Edna said. “Once you start things in motion like becoming a successful tourist town, you can’t stop it. And the bigger you get, the bigger the problems. Next thing you know, we’ll be having to get our own police department.”

  “Perish the thought,” Ida said. “Bill Gunnison is good enough for us.”

  “But he has to take care of the whole county.”

  “I’m working on hiring an outside security team,” Liv said.

  “That will be good,” said Miss Ida. “Oh, before I forget. I told Corinne if she had any more trouble to call you.”

  Chapter 5

  “Me?” Liv said so loudly that Whiskey jumped up from where he was lying on the floor and came to stand beside her.

  “Well, not for legal things, but for suggestions on how to handle unruly guests.”

  “Um . . .”

  “Because you have experience with people getting out of line and acting out,” Edna interjected. “I believe that’s what Ida meant.”

  “I’m always glad to help, but I think she would be better off calling the sheriff’s department.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Edna said. “Now, you don’t give it another thought. I think we’ve bothered you enough. You just go get a good night’s sleep and don’t worry about a thing.”

  “I think I will. It’s been a busy day.” Liv put her cup down and stood. Whiskey headed for the door. He had been perfe
ctly behaved during tea, no begging, no pitiful looks—at least none that Liv had noticed. But he was ready for his dinner. And Liv was ready for bed.

  As soon as they were outside, Whiskey headed for a pile of leaves that covered the curb, waiting to be picked up and composted by the town. He burrowed through until all Liv could see was a volcano of dried leaves and a wagging white tail. He came out the other end covered with twigs and leaves, shook violently, and trotted up the driveway to their rented carriage house.

  Liv followed more slowly, already stiff from the race and her jog to the cannery. Which reminded her of the importance of stretching and warming up—though really, she didn’t go chasing developers every day.

  A hot bath was in order, then supper and bed. It was already getting dark, though it was still late afternoon. That didn’t matter; early to bed, early to rise, and she had a feeling she’d need all her energy and brainpower in the next few days.

  • • •

  It was eight o’clock when she pulled the covers up and settled down for a long sleep. It was eight twenty-five when her cell phone rang.

  “No-o-o-o,” she cried and put the pillow over her head. Took it off. She’d just look. It might be an emergency. If she didn’t recognize the number she would let it go to voice mail.

  Caller ID read Lakeside Inn.

  Liv bolted upright and grabbed her phone. “Hello?”

  “Liv, is that you? It’s Corrine Anderson over at the Inn. Miss Ida said it would be okay if I called you if I needed help. But I think there’s something you should know.”

  “I’m listening, Corrine. What is it?”

  “They’re in the bar, the three of them. Bill just left after telling them the news. They got really mad. Said they were going to sue the town and the Events Office.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what they’re saying. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I do.”

  “They look like they’ve settled in for the night. If you just happened to come over for dinner, you could learn something.”

  “Not a bad idea.” They didn’t know she was the event coordinator. She might pick up on something that would help the town or Bill.

  “And they reserved a room for the wife of the dead man. Mrs. . . . Bonhoff. She’s coming in tonight. Oh, Liv, this is just a mess. What should I say to her? What if she blames us all for her husband’s death?”

  Liv was out of bed. “Save me a table. I’m on my way.” She hit speed dial.

  “Buttercup Coffee Exchange.”

  “BeBe, it’s Liv. I need you to have dinner with me at the Inn.”

  “When.”

  “Now.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It is, kind of. Can you close early? We need to do some spying.”

  “I’m turning off the steamer now. Pick me up in ten. I’ll be waiting out front.”

  Liv hung up, threw off the covers. Whiskey looked up from his doggie bed, started to get to his feet. “At ease, troops. I have to go out, but you can sleep. Lucky dog.”

  She pulled on jeans and a hand-knit sweater and stuffed her tired feet into clogs. When she pulled up outside the Coffee Exchange, the Closed sign was on the door and BeBe was already outside.

  BeBe was all curves, thirtysomething, half country girl and half urban entrepreneur, and Liv’s best friend in town. She was always ready for fun or adventure. She jumped in and Liv took off.

  “Okay, bring me up to speed.”

  In the five minutes it took to drive to the Inn, BeBe went from openmouthed astonishment, to sympathy, to outrage. “They can’t sue Celebration Bay. I’ve never heard of anything so absurd. Ooh. That makes me fighting mad.”

  “No fighting,” Liv said. “Act nonchalant. We’re just two girls out for a burger.”

  “And if they happen to want to buy us a drink . . .” BeBe smiled broadly and shrugged.

  “We’ll be very careful not to tip our hand.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Liv pulled into an empty parking space near the entrance and they went inside. Then Inn not only had a three-star restaurant but a bar that served the best burgers in town.

  As soon as they stepped into the softly lit lobby, they were greeted by Corinne Anderson, who owned the Lakeside Inn with her husband, Walter. She was fashion-model thin, dressed in a twin set and tweed skirt, and wore sensible shoes as befitted the hostess of a country inn. Her hair was pulled back in a neat twist, though a few stray strands flew around her face as she hurried to greet Liv and BeBe.

  “Thank goodness you came.” She motioned them to the back of the lobby. “I put them in a booth halfway down the room and saved you a table close by where you could hear what they’re saying without them seeing you.”

  Liv didn’t try to dissuade her from thinking that they were here to spy on the three remaining partners. Liv was curious, yes, and she might be able to overhear something that they wouldn’t tell Bill, but she was purely on a fact-finding mission. She needed to keep tabs on what was happening and how it impacted the town and its festivals.

  If Max Bonhoff’s death really led to a lawsuit, she wanted to be prepared.

  “They don’t even seem sad about his death,” Corinne continued. “They’re so busy talking about what they can get out of it. At the town’s expense. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t kill the man themselves, the way they’re carrying on.”

  Raucous laughter erupted from the bar, punctuating her statement.

  Liv hadn’t even thought about the motives the partners might have for wanting Max out of the picture. He was obviously a gambler and unreliable. What had Pudge said? Liability. If Max was really the weak link, they might have wanted to get rid of him, though murder seemed a bit extreme. On the other hand, who else would be able to lure him into the woods?

  Liv took a calming breath. She didn’t know why she was nervous. She’d stood behind many a door or potted palm while clients talked about things they shouldn’t talk about even in front of the help. It was all in a day’s work for a successful event planner.

  Trying to trap a killer wasn’t that far from running an event when you thought about it. Only this event had already occurred; now it was time to go after payment.

  She turned to BeBe. “Ready?”

  BeBe’s eyes were bright with anticipation. She nodded vigorously. “This is so exciting.”

  Liv smiled through gritted teeth. “This is just a fact-finding dinner. Do not engage.”

  BeBe looked mildly disappointed. “Okay.”

  “Good luck.” Corinne led them through a door on the left of the entrance and into the dark wainscoted bar.

  Corinne led them to a table close to the booth where the three men sat, Joe and Eric on one side, Pudge on the other. Joe was slouched in the corner, either extremely relaxed or a bit drunk. “Yeah, but what’s in it for us?”

  Eric was sitting bolt upright. “We can’t do anything until Eileen gets here.”

  Corinne set two menus on a table close to but mostly out of sight of the men in the booth. She pulled out a seat facing the men and motioned Liv to sit down.

  Liv smiled reassuringly and sat. Liv had easily heard Eric’s statement about Eileen, who Liv surmised was Max’s wife, now widow.

  They had just ordered two pinot noirs when Eric called out, “Hey, miss, three more of the same over here.”

  Corinne jumped. “I can’t wait until they’re out of here,” she whispered. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order,” Corinne said stiffly and hurried over to replenish the men’s order.

  BeBe leaned across the table. “She sure seems upset.”

  Liv nodded. She would be too if she had to put up with those three. The only thing that could be worse was having to put up with Max, too, and now his wife. She changed the subject. “So how was work today?”

  BeBe looked confused for a second, then dawning awareness took over. She winked. “Oh, you know, about the usual. Well, there was this on
e lady who wanted . . .” She started on a convoluted story while Liv checked out the other patrons.

  There were a few occupied tables and booths, though most of the Inn diners would be in the main dining room. Several young couples sat at one end of the long wooden bar that ran parallel to the booths. Two men sat with a bar stool between them, talking with the bartender.

  At the far end one man sat alone, staring at the bottles lined up against the wall behind the bar. Liv stopped. Squinted in the low light. Groaned inwardly.

  “What’s he doing here?” She lifted her chin to the far end of the bar.

  “Who?” BeBe turned around in her chair. Her head swiveled back and forth, then landed on the last person Liv wanted to see here or anywhere.

  BeBe snapped back around in her seat. “Chaz Bristow. Do you think he’s on a case?”

  “A case of beer, maybe,” Liv said. Surely it was a coincidence that he was here at the same time as the developers. He ate here often. Liv knew this because he’d brought her to the bar for dinner once. All the waitresses and barmaids knew him—and made it clear they were glad to see him. He was probably just having dinner tonight. But what rotten luck.

  “I wonder if he gets bored running a local paper.”

  “I don’t think he can stay awake long enough to get bored.”

  BeBe frowned. “I think he’s smarter than you give him credit for.”

  “Oh, I think he’s brilliant, just lazy.”

  As Liv finished her statement, which she hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard beyond the table, Chaz slowly turned his head, zeroed in on her, sighed in slow motion, and even more slowly raised his eyes toward the ceiling in his version of exasperation.

  “What?” BeBe turned to look.

  Chaz’s mouth lifted in a predatory smile and BeBe whipped back around.

  “Yikes. He saw us.”

  Chaz turned back to the bar and continued his vigil of the wall. Liv looked more closely. Not the wall. A mirror. It ran the length of the bar.

  A waitress brought their wine. BeBe raised her glass. “Here’s to success.”

  “Absolutely,” Liv said and clinked glasses.

  “Absolutely not,” Pudge echoed from the booth.