Trick or Deceit (19 page)

“What's going on?” she asked Liv.

“They think someone might have stolen Jon's car, you know, for a joyride or something.”

“Oh, that's too bad. Not from our parking lot?” Corinne looked worried.

“No, while I was staying at friends on the outskirts of town.”

Liv shot a glance at Jon. So he had been in town for the weekend.

“Oh, that's just awful. We do have a few kids hot-wiring cars for joyriding.”

“Hmm,” Jon said. He was watching Bill walk back toward the porch. He didn't look happy.

“Is there someplace we could talk, Mr. Preston?” Bill said. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

“You can use my office,” Corinne said.

“Thanks.” Bill gestured Jon toward the office. Liv glared at Bill and linked her arm in Jon's. She heard Bill's sigh as he followed them into the inn's office.

Bill sat at Corinne's desk with Jon and Liv on a settee across from him.

“I'd just like to ask you a few questions.”

Jon nodded.

Liv couldn't believe how calm Jon was. She knew where this was heading and she bet Jon did, too. He would never forgive her for getting him in this mess. And she knew already that they could kiss the grant money good-bye. And all because of that busybody Ruth Benedict.

“How long have you been in Celebration Bay?”

“Well, I checked into the inn last night.”

“And before that?”

Jon cast a quick look at Liv. “I was staying with friends nearby.”

“And the names of these friends?”

“Amanda Marlton.” He hesitated. “And her husband, Rod Crosby.”

“For how long?”

“Since last Thursday night.”

The brandy began to burn in Liv's stomach.

“Now, sir, can you tell me your whereabouts on Friday night?”

“As I said, I was staying with friends.”

“And these friends are able to vouch for you?”

“Yes. Am I being charged with something?”

“No, but a car matching your description was seen parked at the site where the body of Lucille Foster was found.”

“I see.”

“Did you use your car on Friday night?”

“The night of your award ceremony?”

Bill nodded.

“Actually, I did.” Jon shot an apologetic look at Liv. “I picked Amanda up when it was over. I drove her back to her house, where we stayed for the remainder of the night.”

Liv stared at her hands while a hundred questions raced through her mind. Why hadn't he told her he was in town? Why hadn't he come to the ceremony if he was in town? And what was his relationship with Amanda Marlton-Crosby?

“Is it possible that someone else used your car?”

“Someone must have, if it was seen, since I didn't.”

“So you didn't leave the house after that. About what time was that?”

“Probably seven thirty. I picked Amanda up from the award ceremony; her husband stayed in town. We went back to the house, had a glass of wine, and talked for a bit until I fell asleep in the chair. I'd just returned from Bangkok and was seriously jet-lagged. Later, when I woke up, I went upstairs to bed.”

“And did you notice whether your car was still outside?”

“No. It didn't occur to me that someone might have taken it. You can't even see the house from the road. And you can't see the cars from the house, they're parked on a lower level.”

“But would it be possible?”

“Sure. Mercedes are a favorite among thieves. Though they don't generally bring them back.”

“True.” Bill scratched his head. “I'm afraid we need to impound your car.”

“For what?”

“For further investigation. We'll be as quick as we can.” He heaved himself out of the chair. Winced.

Liv felt no sympathy.

“And Mr. Preston, please don't leave town.”

Jon lifted an eyebrow. “How can I? You have my car.”

Bill nodded and left the room. Liv held up a finger for Jon to wait, then she hurried after Bill.

He hadn't made it far. She caught up to him before he got to the front door.

“Bill!”

Bill stopped, slowly turned around. Waited for Liv to get closer. “Liv, you know—”

“No. You listen. I've known Jon for years, he's here to evaluate the community center for a huge grant. Anyone could have taken his car. You and the three stooges out there are going to blow this for us all.”

“It's the law, Liv.”

“Yeah? Well, you know what Dickens said about the law.”

“No, what?”

“You don't want to know.” Liv turned on her heel—her very high heels—and stormed back into the inn and right into Jon.

“Well, this is a first. So I guess your colleagues weren't here to protect your virtue but to make sure I didn't escape?”

“That's not funny.”

“I'm not laughing.”

“It's that stupid Ruth Benedict. She saw your car going back and forth from Amanda's house on Friday. She's the worst gossip in town. I know she turned you in. Then someone else said they saw a car like yours at the museum the night of the murder. It's Celebration Bay; gossip runs unrestrained here.

“I told them it wasn't yours, but I guess I was wrong. Why didn't you tell me you got here so much earlier?”

“Do you have time for a nightcap? I could use one at this point. And I'll explain.”

“Can I take off my shoes?”

Jon smiled. “Absolutely.”

Liv glanced out the window. She could see Bill and the stooges standing in the parking lot. “How about we have that nightcap in your room?”

Jon barked out a laugh. “Are you propositioning me?

“No, but they won't know that.”

“The city and I have missed you and your convoluted mind. If your sheriff hadn't just accused me of murdering some poor woman I've never set eyes on, I'd be enjoying myself immensely. But Liv, what possessed you to move to someplace like Celebration Bay?”

Jon asked Corinne to send coffee and a bottle of Courvoisier up to his room. “You do have to drive home tonight,” he reminded Liv as they walked up the stairs. “Unless . . .”

“Since when did you start mixing business with pleasure?” Liv asked.

“I haven't . . . yet. Have you?”

Liv shook her head.

“Alas, for us. Here we are.” He unlocked the door and ushered her into a large sitting room. A chintz love seat and chair in a striped and floral pattern were positioned in front of a small painted fireplace. A double window was flanked by cream-colored draperies. Liv crossed to the window and looked out. It was pretty dark, but she could make out the lake in the spill of the parking lot lights off to the left. But she couldn't tell the true colors or makes of the cars parked there.

She wondered if Bill and the stooges were still standing out there confabbing. What a nasty thing for them to do. It made her look ridiculous, had to be embarrassing for Jon, and probably put paid to any chance of him recommending them for the grant money.

“Have a seat, Liv. Take off those killer shoes and relax.”

Liv sat on the couch and pushed her feet out of her shoes. Got a flash of Lucille. Is that what she'd done? Purposely took off her shoes so that she could . . . what? Run after the vandal, run away from her killer? Or had she already taken them off and didn't have time to put them back on?

The knock at the door made her jump.

Jon went to answer it and stood aside while a waiter deposited a tray on the table. When he was gone, Jon poured a cup for Liv.

“How do you take you your coffee? I'm afraid I can't make you a latte.”

“Black is fine.”

He handed her a cup, poured a Courvoisier for himself, and sat in the chair facing the couch.

“I'm really sorry about all this, Jon.”

“Not your fault. But it is weird.”

Liv put her cup on the coffee table in front of her. “Now tell me. Why didn't you let me know you'd been here since Thursday?”

“I didn't want you to think I sneaked in to spy on you.”

“But that's what you did.”

“No, it isn't. It's a long story.”

“There's a whole pot of coffee. Unless it isn't my business, though since you suddenly seem to be the prime suspect for murder, it might be to your advantage to tell me.”

Jon leaned back and let out a sigh. “I wasn't spying on you. I was spying on Amanda and Rod.” He paused. “I don't have to tell you that this isn't the kind of information the Marltons would like to get out. I can just imagine what your Ruth Benedict could do with this.”

“It doesn't have anything to do with the murder, does it?”

“No, of course not. We go way back, Amanda and I. We were, uh, close for a while when we were much younger. The families had great expectations, Amanda's father and my father, you know, the old boy's club. Just didn't happen for either of us. She couldn't settle down. Or maybe she was too settled. I moved on and she ended up running off with Rod Crosby.

“Things went well in Bangkok and I returned earlier than I expected. Amanda's father asked me to come check on her. Lately, he's been hearing rumblings about erratic behavior, huge credit card bills, strange investments. Evidently she lost a bundle in a bad investment. Very unlike Amanda. He's afraid that her husband is playing fast and loose with her money. That he's the one racking up the bills and making bad investments.”

“Did you ask Amanda about it?”

“Not outright. Her father did, before I came, and she told him that it was none of his business and accused him of spying on her.”

“So instead you came to spy on her?”

Jon shrugged. “She's my friend. I want to help her out of a bad situation if I can.

“It's always been oil and water with her father and her. Since she ran off with Rod, it's gotten worse. It's clear she's unhappy, but she won't do anything to fix it. Marltons are known for being stubborn. Amanda is no exception.

“That's why I came up early. To try to convince Amanda to come home, not to kill some total stranger.”

“And did you find out anything more? Because Lucille Foster's husband is the big investment banker around here.”

“Who's Lucille Foster?”

“The woman who was murdered.”

“I see.”

“Hmm,” Liv said, crossing her arms and leaning back on the couch. “What do you know about Yolanda?”

“The witch? She's a school friend of Amanda's, I met her a couple of times when they were in college. Marched to a different drummer. Why?”

“She's also worried about Amanda. Someone busted a window in her shop last night. I went over to see and got an earful. She doesn't like Rod at all.”

“I don't like the guy, either. I never did. He's a user and I'm sure he married Amanda for her money. Which would be fine if she was getting something in return. But I don't think she is. So that's why I was here early and why I didn't let you know. I don't want this whole thing to get out. I don't want Amanda to be hurt any more than necessary. It will be humiliating enough without it going public. The gossip rags will have a field day.”

Liv shook her head. “So you come to do a good deed—”

“And now I'm apparently suspected of murder.”

Liv stood, walked to the window and back. “So if your car was used in the murder—which seems unlikely, but just saying it was—who would have most likely taken it? No one knew you were here except Amanda and Rod, right?”

“Right.” Jon frowned. “And I've hardly gotten to talk to Amanda alone. Rod seems to know what I'm up here for and he sticks to her like a cocklebur.”

“Except,” Liv added, “on Friday night, when he stayed in town after the ceremony to drink with his friends.”

“That's right, but how did you know that?”

“We were walking past and saw him put Amanda in what turns out to be your car. You must have been driving.”

“I was. What a coincidence.”

“True, but I wonder where Rod went after that.”

“Out drinking, he said. Why?”

“What time did he get home?”

“No idea. I didn't hear him come in.”

“And you didn't hear Amanda go out?”

“Amanda? What are you getting at?”

“Seems like one of them had easiest access to your car. Or both . . .”

Jon popped out of his chair. “That's crazy. Amanda?”

“Bill said Lucille was hit on the head, then strangled. It wouldn't take that much strength to strangle an unconscious woman.”

“No way.”

“I'm not saying that's what happened. Just that maybe you should be a little careful if you go back out to their house.”

Liv glanced at her watch and slipped her heels back on. “It's after eleven. I'd better get home. I want to look my best for the zombie parade.” She'd need her energy if she were going to clear Jon's name, catch a killer,
and
herd a bunch of zombies to the band shell.

Jon walked her back to the lobby where Corinne Anderson was still sitting behind the counter, waiting to see if Liv came downstairs again?

Liv hesitated at the door.

Jon peered outside. “Shall I see if the coast is clear?”

“No,” Liv said. “If they're still out there, I'll kill them.”

Jon took her elbow. “I'll walk you to your car.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, though I will call my lawyer first thing in the morning.”

“Jon, I'm so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He waited for her to get in her car, then leaned in and kissed her briefly on the mouth. “Drive safely.”

She nodded and drove away without looking back.

The warm buzz from Jon's kiss lasted about a block. Then it turned to anger. How dare someone in town point to Jon as the murderer? Was this town just so addicted to gossip that they were willing to give false tips to the police? Or had someone really driven Jon's car to murder Lucille Foster?

She didn't see any cars following her, so she decided the guys had given up their vigil, which just made her angrier. Jon had been right, she realized. They weren't jealous or concerned for her safety. They wanted to make sure Jon couldn't get away before Bill impounded his car.

They'd wrecked the chance of the community center getting the grant—or any other grant. The foundation community was very insular. Get a bad name, you kept a bad name, and Celebration Bay would be the newest bad risk. And they'd probably wrecked her relationship with Jon.

She could kill them.

Whiskey was waiting for her just inside her door. He must have sensed her mood, because he didn't jump or race down the hall to the kitchen for a treat, but followed her into the living room, where she threw herself on the couch.

He moved away and then ran and took a flying leap onto the couch, something he'd learned in the last few months. He snuggled up against her and she put her arm around him.

“You're the only man I'm not angry at right now.”

Whiskey whined and rolled over to lick her face.

“Thanks,” she said, and held him closer.

•   •   •

Liv didn't sleep much during the night. Her mind cata
pulted from lost hope to anger to trying to figure out a way to limit the damage. By five o'clock she fell into a fitful sleep. At seven the alarm went off. She got up, reached for her phone, and called the office. Ted wouldn't be in yet, but he checked messages first thing.

She waited for the beep. “This is Liv. I'll be working away from the office this morning.” She hung up. So what if it sounded like she was pouting; she was pissed.

She fell back to sleep.

Her cell rang at nine. It was Ted. She knew it would be. She let it ring until it went to voice mail.

But she couldn't get back to sleep. All her anger at their thoughtlessness rolled back on her. She got up, made coffee. And sat at the kitchen table, wondering how long she could hold out.

It wasn't just because she wanted to punish them. She knew they cared about her. But they had to learn that she could take care of herself. And she certainly didn't want them getting into her personal life. Once she got one. If she ever got one. Which so far was looking questionable.

For a split second Liv imagined what life back in Manhattan would be like now that she'd tasted the country waters. She dismissed it. Usually she was happy here, she had friends here.

Her cell rang. She glance at caller ID. BeBe.
Wondering where I am?

Liv picked up. “Hello.”

“You're not going to work?”

“I'm working at home, then I'm going over to the zombie parade.”

“Ted wants you to call him.”

“He'll have to learn to take the consequences of poor decision making.”

“You sound like someone's mother. He told me what happened. He says he only went along because he couldn't talk the other two out of going.”

“Hmm,” Liv said.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

“It's just because they care about you.”

“It's just because they're buttinskies. And they've wrecked my chances with Jon.”

“Is that Jon the man or Jon—”

“The grant person. Wrecked our chances of getting the grant.”

“Are you going to call him?”

“Only if there is an emergency.”

“Are you coming in for coffee?”

“Probably.”

“When?”

“See you later, BeBe.” Liv hung up.

She checked her email, already feeling edgy because she was away from her office computer and the office phone and . . . and the office. But they needed to learn a lesson.

She showered and dressed and let Whiskey out for a quick trip around the shrubbery. She hadn't planned to take him with her today, since the zombie parade would be crazy. She'd meant to leave him with the Zimmermans, but now she was afraid Ted had called them, too, and she didn't want to have to explain.

She left one unhappy dog behind the door and set off on her own for the Museum of Yankee Horrors.

Miss Ida was sweeping leaves off the sidewalk out front.

“Morning, Liv. Where's Whiskey?”

“In the carriage house.”

“Liv, before you go . . .” She hesitated.

“What? Did Ted call you, too?”

“Well, yes he did. He feels very sorry about what they did.”

“Well, he should.”

“Yes, well. You should accept his apology.”

“I might, when I'm not so mad at him. Now, I really have to go.”

“We'll take care of Whiskey.”

“Thanks. I'll see you later.”

“Liv, angry people are not always wise.”

Liv nodded and kept walking.

When she reached the museum, she stopped to catch her breath.
Angry people don't remember to breathe,
she thought, paraphrasing Ida's aphorism.

She walked up the steps to the porch. A new sign hung over the entranceway. A good omen. She knocked, then stepped inside.

The place was already busy. She wandered through, taking it all in, thankful for Amanda Marlton-Crosby's donation and hoping she wouldn't rescind it in a fit of pique.

The actors were back, along with half the quilting club and a few others Liv recognized from around town. Barry was rushing from one room to the other, but he stopped when he saw Liv.

“Almost there,” he said. There were bags under his eyes and his face looked thinner.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” she asked.

Barry waved the question away. “I can sleep in November.”

She laughed. She would be getting ready for the Pilgrim Dinner for Thanksgiving, the scene of way too many people last year. They'd had to move it to the basement of two downtown churches. Then there was Christmas . . .