Trick or Deceit (10 page)

An accident waiting to happen.
The second woman was already in the yard shaking a plastic drop cloth, attempting to open it up. Liv grabbed the other end and they covered most of the gravestones, Ernie must have cut some corners toward the end, because while the majority of the stones were made from polyresin, a few were nothing more than foam board and had already begun to disintegrate.

When they had covered everything in the yard, Liv and the other woman joined BeBe and a frowning Mrs. Bolton back on the porch.

“I think it's salvageable,” Liv said optimistically.

“Don't matter. But thank you for coming. I don't know what we're gonna do now. They took my Ernie away, saying he killed that Foster woman. But Ernie's not like that. And he didn't wreck Barry's house, neither. Guess we'll have to pack it in and go stay with my mother 'til they let Ernie go. If they don't get him on back taxes. Then we will be in a fix.”

Beside her the other woman let out a wail.

“Hush up, girl,” Mrs. Bolton said.

Liv recognized that screech. “Marla Jean?”

The woman looked up, and sure enough, it was Marla Jean Higgins. Liv could see a Greek toga beneath her transparent rain coat.

“You know my daughter?”

“Your daughter?” Liv tried to smile. “We met briefly yesterday. I'm Liv Montgomery. I'm the town's event coordinator.”

“I'm Ernie's wife, Harriett. Glad to meet ya. Though I know who you are. Just never had call to say hello before now.”

“Well, I'm sorry it isn't under happier circumstances.”

“I am, too. Especially now that Marla's back at home.”

Marla turned and fled inside.

“She always had self-esteem problems,” Harriett confessed. “Then she just up and married that Eddie Higgins, and wouldn't you know it, he took off less than a year later . . .” She sighed heavily. “You want to come in for some coffee or something? That's about the best I can do.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bolton,” BeBe said, “but we have dinner plans.”

Harriett Bolton nodded, like it was inevitable that they would have dinner plans.

“I'll try to get by tomorrow and see what we can do to help you get this back up and running,” Liv said.

Mrs. Bolton nodded again.

Liv and BeBe got back in the car and drove away.

“That was depressing,” BeBe said as soon as the house was out of sight.

“No kidding. And no wonder Ernie was so desperate to win that money.”

“Desperate enough to destroy Barry's entry?”

“I don't know, but it is kind of weird that Marla Jean was at the play rehearsal yesterday morning and helped collect the damaged parts and clean up the mess. Barry was blaming Ernie at the top of his lungs and she didn't say a word.” Liv paused. “Actually, she was the one who found the body.”

“Yikes, that must have been horrible.”

“Yes,” Liv said. “Horrible, very loud, and—coincidental?”

•   •   •

BeBe cut into her Buddy's Place homemade meat loaf. “You think maybe Marla knew the body was going to be there? That's psycho. Though she is a little weird.”

“She's definitely into costumes. Saturday morning she was wearing a fifties cocktail dress and tonight a toga.”

“A lot of people in town are into costumes.” BeBe smiled at their waitress, who was wearing a cat ears headband and painted whiskers. “There's a long way between being a little weird and being willing to kill.”

“True,” Liv said.

Buddy's was a diner luncheonette crossover eating experience. Home cooking with a wine and beer license. Genny Parsons—proprietress, hostess, sometimes waitress, and self-professed chief cook and bottle washer—set down her mug of coffee and slipped into the booth beside Liv.

“Just sent the other two waitresses home.” She reached for the sugar packets. “The rain is keeping everybody away. It's like that TV show about fashion designing. One day you're covered in customers, the next . . .” She looked around.

There were two guys sitting at the counter and an older couple sharing a piece of lemon meringue pie.

“You have us,” BeBe said.

“And I love you both for it. But you didn't get this wet running from your car to the diner. What have you two been up to?”

“We went to check on Ernie's Monster Mansion.”

“Terrible news. You don't think he did it, do you?”

Liv shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“So what happened over there?”

“Harriett Bolton and her daughter, Marla Jean, were trying to cover up everything. We stopped to help.”

“It was Liv's idea.”

“Why am I not surprised. Just like Liv to mix doing a good deed with a little light sleuthing.”

“No,” Liv protested. “It was purely selfish, in case we need Ernie's haunted house as backup. I had no intention of sleuthing. Though I was sort of surprised to find Marla Jean there. I had no idea she was Ernie's daughter.”

“I went to school with her,” Genny said. “We were in the same chemistry class. But we were never friends. Had an odd kick in her gallop.”

“Still does,” BeBe said.

Genny snorted a laugh. “Liv, you're looking shocked. Is that because I look young for my age?”

“You do,” Liv said. “I just . . . Mrs. Bolton said Marla Jean had just gotten out of a marriage.”

“Now that's a story. And I hate to talk out of school, but Eddie Higgins was a flimflam man. We used to call him Fast Eddie when we were in high school. He could con the socks off you without you even taking off your shoes. I don't know how Marla caught him even for a couple of months.”

“So what did he con Marla Jean out of? Certainly not her looks or her youth. She's got to be forty if she's a day.”

“Forty-mmmph-mmmph,” Genny said, mumbling the last number so that it was unrecognizable.

“Let's just say early forties,” BeBe said.

“Anyway, Fast Eddie made her life a misery for a few months, and when she finally got that he didn't really love her, she hauled her butt back home. That was a couple of years ago. They say Ernie's fortunes began to go the way of all flesh after that.”

“Why? Did he have to pay Eddie off?”

“Eddie conned him into giving him a little strip of land that belonged to Ernie's mother, rest her soul.” Genny paused to drink some coffee.

“And?” Liv coaxed.

“And it was right near the highway. Ernie had been holding on to it for years in case the highway department ever decided to widen the road. Wasn't worth two nickels. He thought he was getting off easy to get rid of that parasite. Of course what Ernie didn't know was that some folks were interested in building some condos nearby and they
were
going to have to widen the road that ran right past Ernie's property.”

“So Fast Eddie turned around and sold it,” Liv said.

“Yes, he did, to Carson Foster. And he made a pretty penny off it. Dumb skunk. If Eddie had held on to it for a few months longer, he could have sold it for a lot more. Now, Carson,
he
made a fortune off it.”

“What happened to Fast Eddie?”

Genny shrugged. “Nobody's seen him since.”

Liv didn't see how the cheating and absconding of Fast Eddie Higgins could have anything to do with the current vandalism and murder. It was just one of those strange phenomena of small towns that she was still trying to understand and get used to.

Sometimes it seemed like everyone knew everyone else, and most of them seemed to be kin to each other. Thousands of tourists came through their town each year and yet Celebration Bay was still the quintessential small town.

Liv liked it but she wasn't always comfortable with it. And Monday morning was no different.

She'd left Whiskey with Ida and Edna that morning. She was sure there was going to be fallout from Lucille Foster's murder, starting with the mayor. Liv didn't understand why he hadn't already made an appearance or at least phoned.

She picked up her usual pastries and drinks but didn't stop to talk to Dolly or BeBe. She hurried past the other stores on the block, though she did make a mental note to stop around the corner to the new occult store and say hello. Made a second note to get rid of the soapbox spouter who had moved across the street to place himself in front of the Corner Café and next to the alley that abutted Yolanda Nestor's new store.

She handed Ted their morning tea, coffee, and pumpkin sunflower seed muffins and went straight to her office.

“What's the rush?” he called after her. “It's not even ten o'clock.”

“I'm calling downstairs to Permits and Licenses to find out if that nutcase in the park has a permit to . . . to . . . rant.”

She picked up the phone.

Ted came in a minute later, bearing a silver tray with their muffins on little china plates. The tea and coffee he always left in cardboard in case of a sudden emergency. Emergencies generally required on-site caffeine.

Their office of two ran on enthusiasm, energy, and copious amounts of coffee and tea.

“I already called. They said they hadn't been sure what to do and asked the mayor. He said to give the guy a permit to set up in the park.”

Liv drummed her fingers. “But he's moved to the sidewalk across the street.”

“You don't think he adds a little drama to the occasion?”

“I think he's bound to cause trouble.”

“True. I'll go down and see exactly what his parameters are. Maybe we can get him on a technicality. But more importantly, I was hoping you would bring Whiskey to work today. I was going to ask you if he could be in the zombie parade with me.”

Liv stared at Ted. “Why am I always surprised? The candy cane socks and red bow tie I can live with, I even got used to the green striped vest with the cloverleaf tie, but somehow the image of you painted gray and dressed in rags as you stumble down Main Street is going to be a little difficult.”

“I'm going to be a sophisticated zombie. And I need a dapper dog.” He set one of the plates in front of Liv along with a napkin and fork. “The muffins are a little delicate.”

He sat down on the other side of her desk. The office did seem quiet without Whiskey, not that he ever barked or bothered them. He was just good company.

She sighed. “Well, if we don't get—”

The phone rang. Ted stood. “I'll get it. You drink your latte before it gets cold.”

“Thanks.” She flipped the tab off her cup and sipped. Exhaled as she fell into her morning routine. Pinched off a corner of her muffin. Dolly never let them down. Everything she made was delicious, and the reason Liv was having to exercise more than she usually did.

She took another bite out of the muffin. She could hear Ted on the phone in the outer office. She wondered who was calling this early and hoped to heaven it wasn't more trouble.

He came back in and sat down. Picked up his tea. “That was your VanderHauw Foundation rep on the phone.”

“Jon Preston? What did he say? Is he back from Thailand? He isn't cancelling, is he?”

“Not only is he back, but he's here.”

“What? He's here in Celebration Bay?” Liv looked down at her everyday work clothes.

When she looked up again, Ted was grinning at her.

“And he's hoping you'll have time to have lunch with him today at the inn. I graciously accepted for you.”

“Look how I'm dressed.”

“You look like you do every day. Absolutely superb.”

“Thanks, but Jon might be expecting something a little more . . .”

“Sexy?”

She glowered at him. “Businesslike.”

“You look fine. Now drink your coffee.”

“But he wasn't coming in until Thursday. Do you think this is a good sign?” Liv slumped. “Or do you think he's heard about Lucille's murder and is going to wig out? How did he sound?”

Liv knew that was a stupid question. She hadn't lived and worked with the movers and shakers without knowing and learning not to ever give anything away—including opinions—until it was necessary.

“Only lunch will tell. Now, where were we?”

Liv thought back. “I was about to say we need to get rid of the doomsday prophet and figure out this murder before the zombie parade. I was hoping it would all be cleared up before Jon's arrival. Mayor Worley will have a coronary. And where is he? I thought he'd be here wringing his hands first thing.”

The outer door opened and closed.

“Perfect timing,” Ted said, and took a bite of the moist muffin. “DHL should model their delivery drones after him.”

Gilbert Worley whisked through the door and into Liv's office without slowing down.

Liv braced herself.

Ted said, “Good morning, Gilbert.”

“Good? You call a murder of one of our finest citizens good?”

“You'll be happy to know our taxpayers' dollars are at work, and Bill has already taken Ernie Bolton in for questioning,” Liv assured him.

“Ernie?” Gilbert's black brows snapped together. “Ridiculous. Ernie is no murderer. Has Bill Gunnison lost his mind?”

“Ernie had reason to vandalize Barry Lindquist's Museum of Yankee Horrors. Lucille's body was found with the other . . . um . . . bodies.”

The mayor pulled up a chair, collapsed into it, and began kneading his hands. “This job is making me old before my time.”

Liv and Ted exchanged looks. Middle age had come and was quickly exiting; politics could do that to a person. He had worry lines, his jowls were beginning to sag, and the Grecian Formula that kept his brilliantined hair black could not stop it from receding from his forehead.

His job did make for a lot of pressure, even though as mayor he mainly ran meetings, voted on tied ballots from the board of trustees, and spent most of his energy getting reelected.

He was an alarmist and dramatic, but was loyal to his town.

“What are you going to do about it?” The mayor eyed their pastries.

“Care for a bite?” Ted asked innocently.

“No, and I don't see how the two of you can sit there eating when a murder has been committed and the winning entry of Amanda Marlton-Crosby's generous donation is in shambles.

“She'll be appalled. What if she withdraws her offer? And what about that fellow from that grant organization? How do you expect us to qualify for grants if we keep killing people off?

“I want this solved before he shows up. Understand?”

Liv and Ted traded looks.

“Gilbert, calm down.” Ted turned in his chair to face the mayor, who was rapidly turning purple. “How many reports from Bayside Security have you sat through? We have one of the lowest incidences of crime of any destination town this size.”

“But other people don't know that.”

“I'll have Chaz run an article showing the statistics,” Liv said. “Will that set your mind at ease?”

“You have to do something!”

Neither Liv nor Ted pointed out that murder investigation was not their responsibility. It would be a hopeless argument. The event office organized most of the town's business lives, brokered deals, arbitrated arguments, and kept the town running smoothly as its numbers swelled and abated with each passing holiday.

The mayor heaved out of the chair. “Well, I can't wait around for Bill Gunnison to do his job. I'm calling an emergency meeting—”

“No!” Liv and Ted said simultaneously.

“The last thing we—you—need is a horde of people with little information and lots of questions at a town meeting,” Liv said. “Give Bill a chance to get to the bottom of things.”

“It will be too late by then.”

Too late for what?
Liv wondered. Gilbert Worley was a master of stirring up a tempest in a teapot, and though Liv took murder very seriously, she didn't think histrionics would do any good.

“I'll have to call the judging committee at least. I want you two there, too, and we'll have to insist that Chaz do his duty.”

“Chaz wasn't on the committee,” Ted pointed out.

“Only because he refused to do it. His father was the same way. Didn't give a hoot about his civic duty, just spent his time stirring up trouble.”

“Yes, and printing the truth,” Ted added.

Liv sat quietly and waited for them to finish. They had been fighting this battle long before she arrived in town. She groaned inwardly. An emergency meeting of the judges, one of whom was Janine, Liv's nemesis. And possibly Lucille's.

Maybe this could be an interesting meeting after all.

“And I want to be kept abreast of everything that is happening from now on.” The mayor turned on his heel and strode out the door, nearly knocking over the two people who had just entered.

The mayor stumbled back and stammered. “Amanda, what brings you here this fine morning?”

Liv didn't hear her answer because she had just seen Mrs. Marlton-Crosby's escort: Jonathon Preston. Handsome, intelligent, dressed like he'd just stepped off Fifth Avenue.

Liv's breath escaped in a whoosh and she stood, smiling and looking gracious as she walked around her desk while fervently hoping that she didn't have crumbs on her sweater.

“We heard the news about the museum being vandalized,” Amanda said. “So we came right down to see what the situation is.”

The mayor gulped audibly. “Yes, yes, very unfortunate. These things happen—but uh, not here in Celebration Bay. They happen in other places, but here we have very strict security, hire our own company to interface with the police and—”

“Amanda,” Ted said, coming forward and cutting the mayor off. “So good to see you. We didn't get a chance to talk, Friday. You know Liv Montgomery, our events co-coordinator?”

“Of course.” Amanda Marlton-Crosby offered her hand.

Liv shook it.

“And we're old friends,” said her companion. “How are you, Liv?” Jon took her by the arms and kissed both cheeks.

“Jon, what a surprise. I wasn't expecting you until the weekend.”

“I know, but I returned to New York early and came up right away. Thought I'd take a couple of days to catch up on my reports. If I stayed in the city, they'd have me working nonstop on the next project. Besides, Amanda's family and mine go way back, so I came to say hello before you and I got hot and heavy into the grant proposal. Should I go away until Friday?” His eyes twinkled.

He was like a burst of intense vibrant air. A shot of adrenaline. He was
on
. You always had to be on in Manhattan. Liv was afraid she might have lost some of her cutting edge.

She took his arm. “I'm delighted that you're here. This is my assistant, Ted Driscoll.”

Ted nodded formally as the men shook hands. But Liv didn't miss the assessing look he gave the newcomer. “And I don't know if you've met Mayor Worley? Jonathon Preston.”

“Haven't had the pleasure until now.” Jonathon shook hands with the mayor.

“Ah,” the mayor said, galvanized into speech. “Be sure Liv shows you all our lovely sights. We have an annual influx of tourist numbering—”

“Yes, your portfolio was very precise and very informative.” Jon glanced at the mayor, but he was smiling at Liv. They both knew whose work the portfolio was.

“Ah, well, yes.”

“Actually, we came into town for Amanda to say hello to an old schoolmate of hers. She's just opened a store in town.”

“Yes,” Amanda said. “Yolanda Nestor. Have you met her?”

“We met briefly the other day over one of her beautiful quilts. I've been meaning to visit her store.”

The outside office door opened again and A.K. Pierce, head of Bayside Security, strode in, but stopped in the outer office.

He nodded abruptly, then stepped back out of the way, and stood feet parted, hands behind his back, in what Liv had come to recognize as his relaxed stance.

“Excuse us.” Ted took the mayor's arm and trundled him out the door, closing it behind him.

“Will you sit down?” Liv asked, gesturing to the two chairs while trying to stand in front of their breakfast remains.

Amanda smiled graciously. “Thank you, but we just came to get an update on this terrible news. Poor Lucille. Do they have any idea what she was doing there?”

So much for keeping the story under wraps. “I'm afraid not,” Liv said. “But Bill Gunnison has his men working overtime on it, and the gentleman who just came in is the head of our security team.”

“He looks very formidable,” Jonathon said, still with that twinkle in his eye and a characteristic half smile on his face.

“He is, and he runs a very tight and efficient team.”

“Will Barry Lindquist be able to restore his entry in time for it to open next weekend?” Amanda asked.

“We have every hope,” Liv told her. “A group of volunteers have been repairing and restaging the displays.”

“Already? That's wonderful. Oh, Jon, I hope you get to see it. So clever.”

He smiled at her, a smile tender enough to have Liv wondering what their relationship was. Then she remembered Amanda was married. Not that that seemed to stop some people in town.