Cold Turkey

by Shelley Freydont

  Liv and BeBe both froze.

  “All that will do is spread ill will. We want people to like us, trust us, invest in the club.”

  Of course he hadn’t overheard them. Another coincidence. BeBe and Liv both relaxed with sighs of relief. They were so not cut out for detecting.

  Pudge’s voice dropped. BeBe leaned back in her chair so far trying to hear that Liv was afraid it might tip over. Liv leaned toward her. She had no doubt they looked ridiculous. Fortunately no one in the booth could see them, unless Eric was looking across the room and into the mirror. But Liv didn’t think he was that smart.

  “But, Pudge,” Joe said, “we hit them with a suit. Settle out of court. Make a bit on the side.”

  “And piss them off,” Pudge said. “Not smart, Joe.”

  Eric sat up. “You better wait until Eileen gets here before you make any decisions. She’ll own Max’s shares now. And she’ll have Max’s vote.”

  The couples at the bar took this moment to leave, and amidst talking and laughing and gathering of coats and bags, they drowned out any conversation from the three men.

  “I hope they’re not driving home,” BeBe said as the group wove en masse to the door.

  “They’re not,” the waitress said as she placed their burgers on the table. “Corinne called them a cab. Will there be anything else?”

  “No thanks,” Liv said, momentarily distracted by the aroma of fire-grilled burger. “This looks delicious.” Her stomach growled as she brought the burger to her mouth and took a large bite.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Chaz stand up and toss a few bills on the bar.

  Oh great, Chaz was headed their way and Liv had a mouth full of hamburger.

  Chapter 6

  Chaz moved laconically toward them. Liv chewed and swallowed and quickly wiped her mouth, desperately preparing for whatever caustic remark he was about to make and hoping that she would have a fitting comeback.

  Damn the man, he was always catching her off guard.

  BeBe screwed up her face, her meaning clear: Now what do we do?

  Liv smiled back at her. “She really did that? That is so funny.”

  “Huh?” BeBe looked blank. Then she caught on. “She really did.”

  They needn’t have bothered.

  Instead of continuing to their table, Chaz angled off and stopped at the developers’ booth.

  Liv leaned forward until her sweater brushed her burger.

  Chaz caught her eye for the briefest second before he stuck out his hand to Pudge. “Hear you fellas are looking for investors.”

  Liv’s mouth dropped. Investors? How had Chaz learned this? And what was he up to?

  She was so shocked that she almost missed Pudge’s answer.

  “Well, we’re pretty much funded, but we left some stock open to give the local populace a chance to make some real money. You know you only get out of a community what you put into it.

  “I like your attitude. And it’s about time someone started thinking big about this town. Lot of potential here.”

  “Why, that no good skunk,” BeBe said.

  Liv brushed her aside as she watched Chaz shake hands with Pudge, then shake hands with Joe. He nodded to Eric, who didn’t seem to want to shake hands. Maybe he thought Chaz was horning in where he didn’t belong.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat down.

  “What’s he doing?” BeBe mouthed.

  Liv shrugged. She didn’t have a clue. Chaz was adamant about keeping things in Celebration Bay quiet. He detested tourism, or anything else that interfered with his quiet lifestyle of fishing, sleeping, and occasionally putting out a newspaper.

  But she recognized that “good old boy” persona. He used it on her whenever he wanted to irritate her or get her to do something. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like maybe Chaz Bristow was finally coming to the party. Not to invest, but to investigate.

  It had to be that. The man was actually investigating.

  But why? He’d sworn off real reporting when he’d left L.A., and now he just concentrated on local and fishing news. No one knew why and he didn’t say. He’d refused to get involved when Liv had asked him to help find the truth about a murder just a few months before. He turned her down and yet he couldn’t stay away. And when Liv had asked him why, he said it was like a compulsion, the need to get to the truth. He didn’t want to, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself.

  That was okay with Liv. She wondered what truth he was looking for tonight.

  “Eat up,” she told BeBe. “We might have to make a quick exit.”

  While BeBe ate, Liv strained her ears to hear what the men were talking about. But their voices had become so low and intense, she could only grasp snatches of conversation. She’d have to find out from Chaz later, not that she expected him to willingly share. She’d have to badger it out of him.

  A few minutes later Chaz stood. There was handshaking all around except for Eric, who seemed to be sulking. Chaz handed Pudge his business card.

  He had a business card? Surely it didn’t say investigative reporter. And surely not Chaz Bristow, fishing guide—not if he expected them to believe he was an investor. Liv herself didn’t believe it for a second. He was the least likely person in town to want development, other than possibly Henny Higgins.

  He nodded to the men and strode toward the exit, not slowing down or even acknowledging Liv’s presence as he passed their table.

  BeBe widened her eyes at Liv. “Is he really—?”

  “No,” Liv whispered. “He’s up to something.” In a louder voice, she said, “I have to go to the powder room.” She cut her eyes toward the developers’ table.

  BeBe nodded; she’d keep tabs on them while Liv was gone.

  “I’ll be right back.” Liv put her napkin neatly on the table and, willing herself not to run out of the room, walked slowly and deliberately toward the exit.

  She stepped into the brighter lights of the lobby and saw Chaz leaning against the registration desk.

  “Not too obvious,” he said drily.

  “I don’t know what you mean. I’m going to powder my nose.”

  He guffawed. A classic sound right out of a cartoon.

  Liv saw red. She stormed over to him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was having a beer. What are you doing here?”

  “Having a hamburger.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean it, Chaz, what are you doing?”

  Chaz looked past her toward the entrance to the bar.

  Liv couldn’t help herself: She looked over her shoulder. No one was coming out of the bar. Of course they weren’t.

  When she turned back to Chaz, he was grinning at her.

  “Grr.”

  “Cute. Where is your little dog tonight?”

  “At home. And he may be little but he knows how to ferret out a rat.”

  Chaz laughed. “Okay, cease-fire. Just stay out of this. Though I don’t know why I bother. You never listen to good advice.”

  “I do too. I just came because Corinne called and said they were making threats about suing the Events Office. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “Yeah right, but if you ask me—”

  She didn’t have time to ask anything, because the door to the parking lot opened and a tall blond woman swept in wearing an expensive—a really expensive—fur coat. A coat to rival some of Liv’s richest Manhattan clients.

  She blew past Liv and Chaz without a look, though Chaz was doing enough looking for everybody.

  She slammed a perfectly manicured hand down on the bell. “Concierge. Concierge!” she called.

  The young man who was manning the desk came out of the back office, rapidly wiping his hands on a paper napkin.

  He swallowed his dinner in one large gulp. “Yes, ma’am. Good evening. How may I help you?”

  “I have a reservation.” She fumbled in
what looked like a Chloé satchel purse and brought out an unused Kleenex. She dabbed her eyes. “Mrs. . . . Mrs. . . .” She ended in a sob.

  The concierge turned pale. “Mrs. Bonhoff?” he guessed in a quiet voice.

  She sniffed and nodded from behind her tissue.

  Liv was unmoved. She’d seen this scene played out in the ballrooms of Manhattan. She could spot a fake from down the hall. Chaz, however, was enthralled. Any minute he’d be throwing his tattered army jacket on the floor for her to walk across.

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  He tried not to smile, but whether because he’d been caught ogling the widow or because the widow was now looking at him, Liv couldn’t tell.

  The concierge handed her a key. “Can I help you with your luggage?” he said apologetically. Then as an afterthought he said, “Sorry for your loss, ma’am.” Which set her off in a paroxysm of grief.

  “How did this happen? How can a man be shot running a race to support the poor?”

  A table of diners exited the restaurant just as she wailed, “What kind of town is this?”

  “It’s a nice town, I assure you,” the young concierge said, looking around desperately. “I’ll get Mrs. Anderson.” He practically flew from behind the registration desk and rushed the bar entrance.

  Corinne appeared seconds later, holding out both hands to the distracted widow. “Mrs. Bonhoff, I am so sorry for your loss. We will do everything we can to make this sad visit as comfortable as possible. Anything—anything that you need . . .”

  “I need a drink.”

  “Of course. Would you like for me to send it to your room? Or I believe your husband’s associates are in the bar.”

  The Kleenex disappeared. “I’ll join them. The comfort of friends . . . their advice . . . I’m sure they’ve already started reckless endangerment proceedings.”

  Liv started.

  Chaz quelled her with a look.

  Corinne cast an anxious look at Liv, then solicitously ushered the widow through the door.

  “Amazing how some people can cry without their eyes getting red and puffy or their makeup smearing or their skin turning all blotchy,” Liv said under her breath.

  “Isn’t it?” Chaz said. And put on his jacket.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “Home. Where you should be.”

  “Don’t you want to know what happens in there?”

  “Nope. G’night.” He started toward the door.

  Liv ran after him. “I don’t get you.”

  He stopped. Gave her his smarmiest expression. “But I’m so easy. Try a little flirtation.” And he was gone.

  “Grr,” she said to the closing door and stormed back toward the bar.

  BeBe was beside herself by the time Liv sauntered through the room toward their table. The men had all stepped out of their booth and the widow flung herself at the closest one. Eric winced and staggered back. The woman was a force to be reckoned with. They all stood while she clung to Eric, crying her little crocodile heart out. Though as Liv started to sit down she saw the widow glance quickly at Pudge before starting a new round of tears.

  Pudge’s back was to Liv so she couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t have to. The widow wore the same satisfied expression Liv had seen a society matron give her husband at their daughter’s wedding, just as the unsuspecting groom said, “I do.”

  “OMG,” BeBe mouthed as soon as Liv was seated again. “I paid the bill,” she whispered.

  “Thanks, my treat next time.”

  “Now what?”

  Liv shrugged. Eric, who had been holding the widow up in an awkward one-arm hug, finally deposited her in the booth and went to the bar to get her a drink. There was low talking coming from the booth but Liv couldn’t hear individual words. They might sit here all night and not learn another thing.

  One thing she did know. The talk about suing continued; the partners seemed split on their opinion about what to do. The widow, however, was adamant that the town would pay. Hopefully, the others could talk her out of it. If not, then at least Liv knew what to expect and would figure out how to deflect the suit if it came to that.

  But something else had entered her brain. It had been floating around all night but suddenly morphed into an idea the minute she saw that look pass between Pudge and the widow. What if Max hadn’t been killed by a misanthropic Henny, or a nearsighted hunter? What if there had been a falling-out among developers? Which still didn’t explain why Max was out in the woods when he should have been finishing up the race.

  But he had been there, which meant someone else had been there too. Pudge, Joe, Eric? Was it possible there was a meeting, maybe to cut out the others? The killer would have had to plan it in advance. Hide the shotgun before the race. But what had happened to it? As far as she knew, Bill’s men hadn’t found it. But it wasn’t exactly something a man dressed in a running outfit could carry out of the woods without attracting attention. It must still be there, unless the killer had gone back for it later.

  Of course, they could have left the way the EMTs came in, by the road that led to the county road. Had Bill widened his search that far?

  Liv hadn’t seen the men at the award ceremony. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen any of them since Pudge and Joe cut off to the 2K course. Could all of them have been in on it? But why?

  And what about the wife? How did she fit into all of this?

  Liv didn’t know where to begin, but she knew who would. And she’d badger him into helping her come up with a theory if it took all night.

  “Let’s go, BeBe. I think it’s time to call it a night.” Liv had a date with a certain recalcitrant newspaper editor that she couldn’t put off a minute longer.

  Chapter 7

  Liv dropped BeBe off in the parking lot behind the Buttercup, waited while she started up her Subaru, then followed her out. BeBe turned right out of the parking lot, Liv went left, but instead of going home she looped around to the far side of the green and drove to the Clarion office.

  The building was really a clapboard Craftsman-style house that had been converted into office space and a living space for Chaz—not that Liv had ever seen it, or intended to. But she knew he slept there, so he would be there, even if she had to wake him up.

  The lights were dark in the front of the house. Undeterred, Liv drove past the house and made a U-turn in the street. It was late, the stores were closed, the streets were empty, and she didn’t think anyone would fault her for hanging a little U-ey.

  Light shone from a window toward the back of the house—Chaz’s office, for lack of a better word, though “pigsty” did come to mind.

  Liv pulled to the curb and turned off the engine. She considered calling to let him know she was here, then decided surprise was the best tactic. As she thought it, the light in the house went out. Not so much of a surprise after all.

  She locked her car and hurried to the front door. Finding the door locked, she knocked. Loudly. Several times. Got no response. Tried again. When it was clear he either didn’t hear her or heard her and had chosen to ignore her, she walked around the side of the house.

  The window was too high to reach and it was too dark to find a stone to throw, so she reached into her bag and rummaged around until she found some change that somehow always managed to find its way to the bottom of her purse.

  She threw a penny at the window. It made a nice loud ping.

  But Chaz didn’t appear.

  She threw another penny. Harder this time.

  Nothing.

  She looked for a quarter, that should do it. She hauled back and let it rip just as the window opened. The quarter sailed inside and hit Chaz on the chest before falling to the floor.

  He broke into a slow grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever had women throw money at me before.”

  Liv scowled at him. “Probably goes the other way around.”

  “Is there something you want?”

  “Yes. Let me in.�
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  Chaz cocked his head. “Is this in the way of something we’ll both enjoy?”

  “In your dreams. It’s something we both need to do. Something I suspect you’re already doing in there.”

  “This sounds promising.”

  “I have a theory.”

  Chaz’s head fell back and he looked at the ceiling. “A theory. Great. Just what I need.”

  “Are you going to let me in or do I crawl through the window?”

  “It’s tempting but I’ll meet you in front.” The window slid down. Followed by the shade.

  So help me, she thought. If you try to stand me up.

  But he was waiting at the front door and she stepped inside. It was toasty warm, for which she was grateful.

  He turned and headed to the back of the house, leaving her standing just inside the door.

  Since an invitation didn’t seem imminent, she followed him.

  His desktop computer was booted up, as was his laptop. He sat down in front of them. Liv looked over his shoulder. He was playing solitaire.

  “So what’s this theory you think you have?”

  “Are you really sitting here playing solitaire?”

  “You first.”

  She pushed a pile of papers and fast food bags off a chair and sat. “After you left, the widow—”

  “Eileen Bonhoff.”

  Liv raised her eyebrows. “Eileen went into the bar, threw herself at Eric, and threatened to sue the town.”

  “Oh, that’s why you were throwing money at me.”

  “Okay, just listen. She was hanging on Eric—”

  “Eric Sattler.”

  “Do you know all their names?”

  He nodded.

  “How?”

  “Looked in Corinne’s registration book. The beauty of old-fashioned inns.”

  “Sneaky.”

  “So she was hanging on Eric and . . .”

  “But she was looking over his shoulder and she gave Pudge such a look.”

  Chaz stopped moving the cards around the screen. “What kind of look?”

  “Not angry, not sad, I didn’t see his reaction, but there was definitely a look of understanding.”

  “And you’re basing your theory on the way somebody looked at somebody?”