Trick or Deceit (15 page)

The floorboard above her head creaked.

Liv froze. Waited. Another creak, and another. Someone was walking across the floor above her. Down the hall probably. “Marla Jean are you upstairs?”

One more creak.

Cat and mouse. “I know you're upstairs. I'll come up if you don't want to come down.”

Liv felt her way across the wide, empty space. Her eyes were more accustomed to the dark now and she could make out shapes. The stairs were straight ahead.

She stepped forward.

The space in front of her wavered, creating a distorted image. She tried to move past it but it moved with her. Then she got it: carnival mirrors. And the moving image was herself. She felt her way past the mirrors, came to a heavy black curtain.

“Marla Jean, are you in there?”

Liv pushed the curtain aside, but there was nothing behind it but wall.

She found the stairs by stubbing her toe on the bottom tread. She groped for the banister and a strobe light began to pulse as horror masks appeared and disappeared, the strobe making them look as if they were moving closer.

If she hadn't seen them before, during the preview, she would probably have run for her life. Even so, it was pretty scary. And fun if you liked that kind of thing.

But she needed to talk to Marla Jean.

Liv started up the stairs. It was lighter on the second floor, which hadn't been converted to the haunted house and looked stark and empty in contrast.

“Marla Jean?” Liv said more quietly.

She heard a
whoosh
. The door to her right opened, and Ernie Bolton stepped out of the bathroom.

Liv screamed.

Ernie let out an expletive. But he recovered first.

“What the heck are you doing up here? The museum is closed. And anyway, the upstairs is off limits.”

“Sorry. I didn't know you were here. I saw Marla Jean on the porch and came over to talk to her. She came inside. I called and called but she didn't answer.”

“Maybe she didn't want to talk to you.”

“Ernie, I know you're upset.”

“Upset? Bill Gunnison threw me in jail like a common criminal.”

She couldn't argue with him there. Except maybe he
was
a common criminal. “I'm sure he didn't want to, but you did seem the obvious choice.”

Ernie stepped toward her. “I might have been mad about losing. It's always the same with the rich people in this town. They just get more and more and the little guy gets less and less.”

“Barry isn't rich, is he?”

“Barry? Nah, but he has Lucille's ear. Her husband cheated Barry good but he knows where the bodies are buried. He probably blackmailed her into voting for him.”

“There were five judges, Ernie.”

“All of them with an agenda.” He walked past her and started down the stairs.

Liv hurried to keep up. “What kind of agenda?”

“You should know, you're one of them.”

“What? I wasn't a judge. I'm not one of anybody. I'm just the new person who everyone blames when something goes wrong.”

Ernie hesitated, looked back at her. “Well, I guess that's true. Still doesn't give you a right to come in here.”

“The door was open. Do you know where Marla Jean is?”

“Down here somewhere. All dolled up in one of her costumes. Sometimes I think that girl doesn't have a lick of sense. She lives in a dream world. Bad enough before Fast Eddie Higgins got to her. Then he turned out to be the skunk we all knew he was, and now she's worse than ever. And I'm out of a good parcel of land just to get rid of him.”

“Did that have something to do with Lucille's husband, Carson?” Liv was fishing and she knew she was taking a chance. Never ask a question you don't know the answer to. Though if the gossip was true, she did know the answer.

“Carson bought it, didn't he? As soon as I turned it over to Higgins, he turned around and sold it to Foster for twice what it was worth.”

“Didn't you ever try to sell it to Foster?”

“None of your business. But, what the heck. No, I didn't want to sell it at all. I don't want to sell any of my property. But I can't pay the dang taxes 'cause I don't have enough income. Now, with Marla Jean back and living with us . . .” He sighed heavily. “Don't know why I'm telling you all this.”

“I won't gossip.”

“Don't matter. But just so's you know. I didn't vandalize Ernie's house and I didn't kill Lucille, not that anyone believes me.”

Liv didn't answer. She didn't want to agree with him. But it was sort of the truth.

They'd reached the kitchen and Ernie turned on the faucet and filled a glass of water. Guzzled it down. Yelled, “Marla Jean, you got company!”

He walked to the door to the hallway. “Marla Jean, get yourself out here right now.”

And Liv suddenly realized what a precarious position she'd gotten herself into. She'd meant to confront Marla Jean. But with her father suspected of murder and standing here four feet away from Liv and his daughter wearing the victim's shoes, Liv could be in a heap of trouble.

The door to the pantry opened and Marla Jean stepped out. She was still wearing her dress and socks. No shoes.

“What the hell are you doing in the dang pantry, girl?”

Marla Jean hung her head. “Looking for . . . some . . . cookies.” She looked up, wary.

Liv knew she had to act fast.

“That's a nice dress, Marla Jean.”

Marla Jean avoided looking at her, shrugged.

“Where are the shoes that go with it?”

She shrugged again.

Ernie looked from Liv to his daughter. “What's this all about? You came in here uninvited just to talk about shoes?”

“Actually, yes. Marla Jean, can I see the shoes you were wearing just a minute ago on the porch?”

Marla Jean looked at her, then looked toward the door as if she might bolt. Then something in her changed. Her lips tightened and she stepped back, barring the pantry. “No. You can't. They're mine.”

Ernie shrugged. “She don't want to show you her shoes. Crazy females.”

“I'm sorry, I can't leave until I see them.”

Ernie's gaze slid to Marla Jean's socks. “We don't have any shoes here for you to see.” He took a step toward Liv but she held her ground. As a threat, it fell wide of the mark. “You better leave now or—”

“Or we'll kill you,” said Marla Jean.

Liv swallowed. Wished she had thought first and leapt later, but she'd been afraid Marla Jean would be able to get rid of the shoes if she waited for Bill. She should have waited, because along with the ghoulish laughter, the moaning cries, and bloodcurdling screams, there was not one sound of a siren coming to her rescue.

Ernie stared at his daughter. “Marla Jean. You're talking crazy. Nobody's going to kill anybody. What's the matter with you, girl? Where's your mother?”

“Don't know.”

“Well, go turn off that infernal noise. You trying to get the cops to come after us?”

Marla Jean shook her head.

Liv was thinking,
Yes, please come. And hurry.

“Can't move.”

“Why not?”

Marla Jean scrunched up her face. “'Cause.”

“'Cause why?”

She twisted her face the other way. “I just can't.”

For the first time, Liv seriously wondered if Marla Jean could have killed Lucille. Threw her in the vacant lot with the dummy parts and stole her shoes—and scarf? It sounded plain crazy. But then Marla Jean seemed a little . . . well, she didn't exactly seem to be living in this world.

Ernie huffed out a sigh. “I never know why women are always carrying on about shoes.”

Liv stepped toward Marla Jean.

Marla Jean shook her head violently.

“Just give her the gol-darned shoes, Marla Jean. You got plenty.”

“But these are special. And I didn't know. They were so pretty and somebody had just thrown them away.”

Ernie's face and voice softened.

“Well, it was probably just a misunderstanding, Marla Jean. You found them and thought they didn't belong to anybody. But if they're Liv's shoes, you have to return them. That's only right.”

“They're not Liv's.”

“Then whose are they?”

Marla Jean frowned at Liv, belligerent—and afraid, Liv realized. Not for herself, but because the shoes implicated Marla Jean's father for the murder. How dense could she have been not to see that until she was confronting the possible murderer and accomplice after the fact?

“Just stay there. Both of you,” Ernie said, and left the room. A minute later the moans and screams and laughter ceased. Ernie came back. “A man can't hear himself think with that racket. Now Marla Jean, if Liv says those aren't your shoes, then you need to give them back. You can buy new shoes.”

“Not like these.”

“Marla Jean. Get the shoes.”

Marla Jean shook her head, more like a recalcitrant two-year-old than the fortysomething woman she was.

“Dad . . .”

“Get them.”

Marla Jean reluctantly went back into the pantry.

“I don't know what she's so stubborn about. She hasn't been the same since she married that deadbeat Eddie Higgins.”

Liv suddenly hoped Marla Jean would take her time. Things might get dicey once she actually turned over the shoes. And there still was no sign of Bill.

Marla Jean returned with the shoes clasped to her chest. So much for trying to lift prints from them. Though perhaps it wasn't too late. Liv held out her hands to take them.

Marla Jean hesitated. Looked at her father, then handed them over.

Liv took them gingerly, balancing the back of the heels on her fingers.

They were Lucille Foster's shoes, all right. From the front they looked like a simple black shoe, studs covering the back of the heel. But it was impossible to miss the distinctive feature of the shoes: the red soles. Liv had seen them from across the street. Impossible not to recognize.

“Is there a place we can talk?” she asked.

Ernie frowned but pulled a chair from the kitchen table for Liv to sit.

She placed the shoes in front of her, vaguely remembering an old saying about shoes on a table bringing bad luck. But there was really no other place to put them. The superstition probably held for countertops, too. It was a good thing she didn't believe in superstitions. Not even at Halloween.

Marla Jean sat down to Liv's right, keeping her eyes on the shoes.

Ernie sat across from Marla.

Still no Bill.

“Well,” Ernie said, “I don't mean to be impolite, but what do you want to talk about? I have work to do. And if you think Marla stole those shoes—”

“I don't,” Liv said.

“I didn't,” Marla said simultaneously.

“Then what's the fuss? Return them to whoever owns them with our apologies.”

“I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple,” Liv said.

“I didn't steal them,” Marla cried. “I found them. I didn't know. Why don't you leave us alone?”

“Because,” Liv said, choosing her words carefully. “They're important—”

Ernie shifted in his chair. “Didn't know what, Marla Jean?”

Marla Jean shook her head.

“Tell me, girl. Ms. Montgomery and I don't have all day.”

“They're the dead lady's shoes.” Marla Jean began to cry, accompanied by big gulping sobs and sniffs.

“Good Lord.” Ernie stared at his daughter as if he were in a trance, then he snapped his head toward Liv. “I didn't kill Lucille and neither did Marla Jean, if that's what you're thinking. So just take your shoes and get out.”

“Ernie . . .”

“Now!” He stood abruptly, sending his chair skittering along the old linoleum. He took a menacing step forward.

The doorbell rang. Liv breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been able to get out of the chair, much less grab the shoes and run.

A knock on the back door. Liv saw one of Bill's young officers through the window.

Ernie must have seen him, too, because he swerved around, started for the hallway door, then swung back to the kitchen when the officer yelled, “Open up, in the name of the law!”

Liv cringed, but the young police officer was alert and insistent. She just hoped he wasn't trigger happy.

“You better open the door, Ernie.”

Ernie took a swift look at his daughter, whose head was buried in her folded arms, and went to let the policeman in.

Liv recognized him but couldn't remember his name. “No cause for alarm,” she told him.
Yet,
she added to herself. “Is the sheriff with you?”

“Yes, ma'am. He's at the front.”

“Why don't you go let him in?”

He stood his ground, unhooked his walkie-talkie, and told Bill he'd was holding the suspects in the kitchen.

Liv shot Ernie an apologetic look.

Ernie wasn't having any of it. He stood braced on both feet, his fists opening and closing at his sides.

“It's all right, Ernie,” Liv said.

“The heck it is. Me and my family had nothing to do with all that stuff over at Barry's poor excuse for a museum. And if he says different, he's a liar. And I didn't kill nobody, and neither did Marla Jean. I'm not going to jail for something I didn't do.” He glanced toward the back door.

The officer reached for his pistol. Fortunately Bill came through the back door. He was moving slow, but not bent over in pain like he had been the first time Liv had encountered him. Bless those yoga classes. They seemed to be working. At least he was mobile.

“Ernie, Liv, Marla Jean.” Bill nodded to them, then nodded to his officer, who took a protective stance by the door. Liv could see A.K.'s influence. Until Bayside Security began working for the event office, Bill's patrol had been much less intimidating. They must have been watching and learning.

Bill glanced at the shoes on the table, then to Liv.

She nodded.

“Have a seat, Ernie, and let's talk a bit.” Bill pulled up the fourth chair and sat down at the table across from Liv. “Now, someone tell me what you're doing with these shoes.”

“I found them,” Marla Jean wailed.

“Fine, good, Marla Jean. Can you tell me where you found them?”

She shook her head.

Liv wondered why she was so loath to tell. She glanced at Ernie, who was looking confused and scared.

“Marla Jean,” Bill said a little more harshly.

“Outside.”

“Where outside?”

She hung her head and mumbled something.

“Just tell the sheriff the truth, Marla Jean,” Ernie said, though his eyes were flitting around the room as if he were already looking for a means to escape.

Marla Jean took a shuddering breath. “In the yard.”

Liv heard Ernie gasp, but her attention was trained on Marla Jean.

“This yard?” Bill asked.

Marla Jean nodded. “Yes, sir, in the front yard. One was just lying next to the bottom step.” She glanced at her father. “And the other one was in the bushes next to it.”

Bill nodded. Looked at Ernie. “And do either of you know how the shoes got there?”

Marla Jean shook her head, but couldn't resist a glance at her father. Which just made him look guiltier than he already looked.

Bill turned to Ernie, but before he could ask, Ernie blurted out, “I don't know how they got there. I never saw them before. How do you even know they belonged to Lucille?”

“I recognize them,” Liv said. “They're very distinctive. They have to be hers. I doubt if there are more than one pair of these in Celebration Bay. They cost upward of eight hundred dollars.”

Bill whistled. Ernie stared. Marla's mouth dropped open and even the young officer craned his neck to get a better look.

“My daughter already said she didn't steal them, and I didn't even know about them until Ms. Montgomery came trespassing and demanding to see them.”

Liv shrugged. She could tell Bill the whole story when he was finished with Ernie and Marla Jean.

Bill was silent for a minute. He was slow and methodical but he always got the job done. “So, Marla Jean. When did you find these shoes in the front yard?”

“Saturday morning.”

“Before you went to play rehearsal?” Liv asked.

Bill cut her a look.

“Sorry.”

“Before play practice?”

Marla Jean nodded.

“And you were there at Barry's Museum of Yankee Horrors when they discovered the body?”

“You know I was. I was the one who discovered the body.” Marla's lower lip trembled, but she had managed to stop the sobbing. It was so odd, Bill in uniform questioning Sleeping Beauty—or maybe it was Snow White—around a kitchen table in upstate New York.

“And when Ms. Montgomery told everyone to look for the shoes, you didn't come forward to say that you had already found them?”

“I didn't know these was the ones they were looking for. What were they doing—” She broke off, but they all knew what she'd been about to say.
Why were the shoes in her front yard when the body was found at Barry's?

“But you must have guessed that they were the same. Not many shoes have these red soles.”

“I just wanted them. It's not like Mrs. Foster needed them anymore.”

“Well, I'm afraid the police need them for the investigation.”

Marla Jean looked longingly at the shoes, close enough for her to touch, but she didn't try. Just sighed unhappily. “I didn't think I did anything wrong.”

“I know,” Bill said sympathetically. “Ernie, do you know anything about how these shoes got in your front yard?”

“I didn't put them there, if that's what you mean. I told you I didn't have anything to do with breaking into Barry's or killing Lucille Foster, not that I expect you to believe me.”

“Why is that?” Bill asked calmly and slowly.

“You already took me in once for no reason. Just a bunch of gossip and speculation. I've never said two words to that woman. Yeah, I was pissed that Barry won. Everybody knows I needed that prize money. As it is, I'm going to have to give this place over to the bank anyways. Don't want to. It belongs to Harriett's mother. Had to put her in a home. Kinda lost her marbles, ya know? Harriett wants to keep it in case she comes home. But she's ain't ever coming back. Still and all, there's always hope.”

Dementia or Alzheimer's,
Liv thought. That probably cost Ernie plenty. No wonder the man was having trouble paying his taxes. And still clinging to hope.

“And you don't know anything else about the shoes or what Lucille was doing over there in the middle of the night?”

“I already told you,” Ernie said, his voice tight with exasperation. “And if you think my Marla Jean had anything to do with it, you're as bonkers as my mother-in-law.”

Bill didn't even flinch. “Marla Jean?”

“I just found them. I knew I probably should've turned them in. But they were in our yard. Somebody put them there, to make it look bad for my dad. I knew you'd make me tell where I found them and then you'd arrest Dad again.” Marla looked longingly at the shoes. “They were so pretty. What harm did it do?”

“It interfered with a murder investigation,” Bill said. “If you know anything more—anything at all—I suggest you tell me now.”

Marl Jean shook her head.

Bill looked at Ernie.

Ernie slowly shook his head, an echo of his daughter's gesture.

Liv wondered if Marla Jean was telling the whole truth.

Bill motioned to the officer by the door. “Dawson, see if you can find a large evidence bag in the trunk of my cruiser.”

The officer nodded sharply and went out the back door. No one spoke while he was gone. As soon as he returned, Bill dropped the shoes in a paper evidence bag and sealed it, before handing it back to Dawson.

“Now, Marla Jean, if you'll accompany me to the front yard, you can show me exactly where you found these shoes.”

Marla led them back through the dark house where odd shapes and figures languished in the corners.

Once they were all on the porch, Bill stopped.

“Everybody, stay on the porch or the walk, please,” he said. “Marla?”