Trick or Deceit (22 page)

Still Liv hesitated. She should call Bill. But she was still upset with him about Jon. It would better to take a look and then call in the police.

She followed Yolanda back to her store where Yolanda turned over the Closed sign, grabbed her purse from under the counter, and went through the store to the back door.

Her car, a late-model Honda, was parked in the alley.

Liv couldn't repress a smile.

“What?” Yolanda asked. “You were expecting maybe a broomstick?”

“Maybe.” Liv opened the back door and lifted Whiskey in. “Stay.” Then she got in the front.

Yolanda backed the Honda out, made a two-point turn, and soon they were driving east to the lake. At Lakeside Road, they drove south, past the inn, past the Cape Cods of downtown. Past the Gallantine House, where Henry lived, and where he allowed the town to conduct their Independence Day battle reenactment. Past the larger homes that followed the shoreline, and from where Ruth Benedict watched from her window.

As the road curved away from the lake, the land on the west side of the road turned to rolling hills. The land that hugged the lake became more wooded, only allowing glimpses of the lake through the final blaze of autumn.

Just before they got to the town limits, the road curved in again, running along the shoreline. They passed the old Marlton house that could just be seen through the trees. It stood at the top of a knoll and looked over a meadow and the lake . . . and farther along, the fish camp, though the trees probably hid it from view.

“Turn here,” Liv said. The sign was so faded that it would be easy to miss the fish camp if you didn't know where you were going. Liv had been fishing there the summer before.

Once had been enough. Fishing and the fish camp did not hold very fond memories for her.

Yolanda pulled in to the parking lot. The camp had been closed for the season. The wooden office and bait and tackle shop was boarded over. There were only a handful of fishing boats moored at the pier. Most would be in dry dock by now. Or in driveways or at larger landings where they could fish all year.

Yolanda turned down a narrow path that led to a dozen small cabins interspersed in the woods. Not a place where Liv would choose to go on retreat. Martinique came to mind, or a five-star hotel, but to each his own.

The witches were all standing outside the first cabin. They waited quietly until Yolanda came to a stop and Liv retrieved Whiskey from the backseat. As soon as he hit the ground, he took off.

“Whiskey, come back!”

He gave her a look, but good dog that he could sometimes be, he came back and began snuffling at the group of new friends and potential treat dispensers.

A woman came up to greet them, and Yolanda introduced her to Liv as Carol Sue. She was in her thirties, wearing jeans and a Greenpeace sweatshirt under her open down jacket.

“It's . . . It's just awful.”

“Maybe we should see,” Yolanda said.

Carol Sue nodded and went to the first cabin, opened the door, and stepped aside.

Liv and Yolanda peered in. Clothes had been tossed on the floor, bedding pulled from the bunk beds, the curtains slashed, lamps and books thrown to the floor. Food was tossed out of the coolers and ice was making puddles on the floor.

The vandal had taken the time to pull pages from the books and they littered the floor, some of them soaking up the melted ice.

“They're all like this?”

Carol Sue nodded.

“Is anything missing?”

“Yes, whatever cash or jewlery we left in the cabins. Stephanie's iPod. And that's not the worst.”

Liv braced herself. She felt Yolanda do the same.

“The lock to the ark was broken and everything was pulled out and either broken, torn, or dirtied. It looked like they stepped on everything.”

They followed her on a short walk through the woods to the second cabin. It was just as bad as the first one. Same for the third and fourth cabins. But it was when they came to the fifth cabin that Yolanda let out an earthy moan.

A wooden cask lay splintered on the floor. Glass vials had been smashed and the smell of exotic oils clung in the air. It stung Liv's eyes and clogged her nostrils.

The violence of it made Liv feel sick. She could only imagine what the others were feeling. Their possessions and living spaces had been defiled. Their religion literally stomped on. It was awful.

“Is this all of them?” Liv asked when they were back outside and breathing fresh air again.

“Yes,” Carol Sue said. “The others are empty this time of year, though . . .”

“Though what?” Liv encouraged.

“Several times one or the other of us has thought there was someone else staying here. In one of the other cabins.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.” Carol Sue turned to the women, who had followed them quietly from cabin to cabin. “Did any of you actually see anyone in any of the other cabins?”

None of them had.

“What about cars? Have any cars shown up while you've been here? I have to tell you that this place evidently has the reputation of being a trysting spot.”

“You mean like a cheap hotel?” asked one of the women.

Liv shrugged. “It's just a rumor I've heard.”

“No, but we weren't always here,” said Carol Sue. “We've been hiking and we go out to dinner at night. One night we even went to the movies,” she said guiltily. “Well, it's the only time most of us can get away. Most of our families don't know what the retreat is actually about.”

The other women nodded.

“My husband thinks it's a ladies thing. But it
is
a ladies thing.”

“Mine thinks I'm at the spa being pampered. Well, a person needs to pamper their spiritual side.”

“I had to take all my vacation time to get off from work.”

“And now it's ruined.”

“No, it isn't,” Yolanda said. “We will carry on. And with Liv's help maybe we can catch the culprit.”

“Who else knew you were staying out here?” Liv asked.

“Miriam and the women in the quilting group,” Yolanda sighed. “I guess that means just about everybody.”

“Possibly,” said Liv. “Let's start with our immediate surroundings. See if we can find evidence of your mystery visitor.”

They followed her to the first of the other cabins. Liv tried the lock, tested the closed shutters to see if she could see inside. They didn't budge. She walked around the entire cabin looking for any sign that someone had been there recently.

They did the same with the next cabin, and the next. Then at the cabin closest to the lake and deepest into the wood, they found a loose shutter. Liv tried the window. “Unlocked.”

She raised it and peered inside. It was too dark to see. She fished her cell phone out of her pocket, pressed the flashlight app, and climbed halfway inside to shine it around the small room.

“Eureka,” she whispered, and climbed all the way inside. Yolanda and several other faces appeared at the open window.

“Liv, be careful.”

Liv nodded. She didn't think anyone was still living here, but someone clearly had been. There were no clothes, and the trash basket was filled with fast-food bags, but nothing that qualified as a clue.

She got down on her hands and knees and looked beneath the two bunk beds. Nothing. Liv stood up, brushed off her hands.

Liv went into the tiny bathroom, nothing but a dried shriveled bar of soap. Whoever was squatting wasn't much into bathing. She looked for a trash can. There wasn't one, but in the corner of the old wooden floor was a stack of trifold pamphlets, presumably doing double duty as toilet paper.

She knelt down and focused the flashlight on them, trying to make out the writing. She didn't want to pick anything up in case it turned out to be useful to the police, but she managed to read the words, “End of the World.”

No wonder the police could never find the Doomsday Guy, aka Stanley Riggs. He wasn't hitchhiking in and out of town; he was lying low right under their noses.

Well, she would clue Bill in, but not quite yet.

She backed into the single room, took a last look around, and climbed back out the window.

“Did you find anything?” Yolanda asked.

“Some hamburger bags, and a stack of pamphlets that I'm thinking might lead to Stanley Riggs.”

“Who?”

“The guy standing on the corner screaming about devil worshipping.”

“Eww,” Carol Sue said and stamped her foot. “We should have finished him off the first time we encountered him.”

Liv's eyes bugged.

“She didn't mean that in the literal sense,” Yolanda assured her. “She meant in the spell sense.”

“Good to know,” Liv said. She stood in the clearing. “Where's Whiskey?”

Whiskey poked his head out of a bush.

“Come on, you. We don't want to have any close encounters with skunks or other beasties.”

He came out, looked at her, and trotted off down a path.

“Whiskey. Come. Where are you going? Come back here.”

“He probably smells our lunch. We've been picnicking in the meadow.”

“It was where we were going to celebrate Samhain,” one of the ladies said. “Now, what will we do?”

“We'll think of something,” Yolanda assured her.

But Liv wasn't really listening. As she started up the path after Whiskey, she realized it not only led to the meadow, but also gave her a clear view of the Marlton house.

The witches had crowded in behind her. “What if we have to pay damages?”

“I don't think Amanda will blame you,” Liv said.

“But that husband of hers wasn't very nice.”

“Because he already had closed up for the winter when she sprang this on him. He thought he was going to Miami instead of spending the fall in Celebration Bay. None of this is your fault. I doubt if he can exact forfeiture from you.”

“Besides,” Yolanda added. “Amanda would never let him.”

Liv walked up the path, thankful she'd worn sensible shoes. The leaves were matted and slick from last week's rain. And she had to be cautious to avoid slipping. She didn't stop when she reached the meadow, but kept walking until she could see the cars parked at Amanda's house.

The jeep and another four-door were parked slightly downhill from the house. Anyone—Stanley Riggs, for one—could have easily walked straight through the meadow to the cars and driven away.

Liv led the others back toward the camp. She knew she should call the sheriff. Even though she didn't want to, and she knew Yolanda really didn't want her to. She was afraid this would make things worse. But she couldn't knowingly hide evidence, and this seemed like evidence.

Ahead of them, Whiskey scampered from bush to bush, having a field day with his freedom. Liv made a mental note to take him out in nature more often . . . after winter was over.

He darted past her feet and came back, darted away and ran toward the camp. Stopped, and cautiously began sniffing the ground.

“Do not eat anything nasty!” Liv yelled.

Carol Sue laughed. “I have a Maltese and he's a real garbage mouth.”

Whiskey had stopped with his head down. Normally his play position, but today his hair was standing up along the ridge of his back, and a low growl rumbled from deep inside him.

“Whiskey come back here,” Liv said, imagining snakes and rabid raccoons.

He pounced forward, muzzled his way beneath the limbs of the shrub, and after a quick wrestle, dragged something out of the bushes.

“Drop it!” Liv yelled.

Whiskey obeyed, reacting to the shrill note in her voice.

He dropped it, but he stood guarding his prey. A brown pashmina shawl, with shots of gold thread.

Liv's world came crashing down. It had to be Lucille's scarf, but it didn't make sense. How did it get here? Had Lucille dropped it here? Or did someone hide it here?

Had she come to the camp to meet someone? Run into Riggs instead, and he killed her? Or someone killed her and Riggs found the scarf? Or he somehow lured her to the camp . . .

None of it was making sense. Anyone in town could have met her here and killed her.

Mechanically, she pulled the leash out of her jacket pocket and snapped it on Whiskey's collar.

“What is it?” Carol Sue asked.

“I'm pretty sure it's the shawl Lucille Foster was wearing when she was murdered last week.”

Carol Sue leaned in closer.

“Don't touch it,” Liv warned her. She turned to Yolanda. “We really need to call the sheriff now. He's old-fashioned but he's a good man.”

Yolanda nodded.

Liv called Bill.

By the time he arrived, Liv had moved everyone to a safe distance away, though they were all focused on the dirtied piece of fabric. It had been rained on and was caked with mud. It might be impossible to find any DNA evidence, but at least it could prove that Lucille had been here that night. And possibly killed here.

Liv looked up the path to the meadow and beyond to the house. Then back at the camp.

“Were any of you here last Friday night?”

The entire group jumped like they had been goosed.

Carol Sue answered. “No, we all met at my house outside Albany on Sunday and drove up the next morning. We'd just arrived when we saw you in town.”

“Think back,” Liv said. “Did any of the cabins that you are using look like someone had been staying there?” The women looked at each other. “Even for a short time? Say a couple of hours?”

The consensus was no.

“And the other cabins have all been locked the whole time we've been here,” Carol Sue said.

Liv was nodding but her mind wasn't concentrating on their answers. It was way down the road—or more to the point, across the meadow at the Marlton house.

Anyone down at the camp could see up to the house. Even in the dark; surely there would be some kind of security lights. Or else the killer knew there would be cars at the house because . . . they had seen it in the daylight or . . .
She didn't want to contemplate further than that.

What would a jet-lagged charitable foundation representative be doing meeting a woman he didn't know down at the rustic camp? Liv couldn't see Jon having a torrid encounter in a tiny cabin on mattresses that looked at least twenty years old.
Ugh.
She couldn't even see Rod stooping that low. Of course, the other cabins were locked. One of them could be fitted out like the Kasbah, for all she knew. She'd tell Bill to have them searched—

Liv stopped herself. Bill knew what to do. She had to stop organizing everyone's job and lives and stick to her own job and life. Two things that she wasn't doing so well with this week.

She saw a flash of white through the trees. “The sheriff's here,” she announced, and felt the entire group stiffen. She looked over the group. “Just be yourselves. He'll listen to you.”

He'd called for backup. Two county cars stopped at the car path that wound through the woods past the cabins.

Bill got out of the cruiser and slowly walked toward them.

“Sciatica,” Yolanda said. “I offered to give him a remedy, free of charge, when he investigated the rock-throwing incident, but he turned me down.”

“Well, he has been doing yoga.”

“Really?”

“So I figure there may be just a few short steps from yoga to spiritual oils.”

Yolanda. “I'll get him on a rainy cold day.”

Liv smiled in spite of herself.

“What do you have?” Bill asked Liv.

Officer Meese and another officer stood behind the sheriff, staring at the women. Liv wondered if Bill had told them about the witches. Were they disappointed that the women weren't dressed in black and wearing pointy hats?

“Where is it?”

“This way.” Liv handed Whiskey off to Carol Sue and walked Bill up the path to the bush that half hid the shawl.

“Well, I'll be.” Bill cautiously bent over the shawl. “You're sure this belonged to Lucille Foster?”

“Unless two women in town are missing the identical shawl. It's pretty expensive.”

Bill straightened. “Meese, cordon off the area and get some photos.”

Meese nodded and ran off to the patrol car.

“Not that I expect him to find anything,” Bill said. “I assume this area has been trampled over several times since last Friday night.”

Liv nodded. “The group arrived Monday morning, but they go on hikes and use the meadow for some of their activities.”

Bill raised both eyebrows.

Liv pursed her lips. “Keep an open mind. They seem very nice.”

“I always keep an open mind.”

Liv decided it would be better not to argue.

“So they've probably wrecked any additional evidence?”

“Worse.” She grimaced. “They've been vandalized.”

Bill looked around. “And I suppose they called you instead of the police.”

“They weren't sure you'd be sympathetic.”

“I investigated their window incident, didn't I?”

“Evidently you didn't showcase your Yankee charm.”

“Well, that woman is enough to . . .” He trailed off.

“Yolanda? I like her.”

“You would.” He looked over to where Meese was still taking photos and the other officer was holding a ruler for scale. Then he looked past them. His expression tightened. He turned to Liv.

Cutting him off before he spoke, she said, “It could be a coincidence. The murderer was looking for a handy way to move the body and chose the closest car. Mercedes are notoriously easy to hot-wire.”

Bill gave her a look that said she was trying his patience. “So you think someone killed Lucille, walked all the way up to the house, hot-wired the Mercedes, then drove it down here, threw her body in the trunk—”

“You found evidence in the trunk?”

His mouth hardened. “Yes.”

“So he put it—her—in the trunk and drove to town. That makes sense,” Liv said.

“Then dumps her body off in Barry's vacant lot, drops the shoes off at Ernie's, and for some unknown reason returns the Mercedes and goes on his merry way? We didn't find a thank-you note.”

“Don't be sarcastic, Bill. This is serious.”

“It is,” he agreed. “And you had better be careful not to obstruct justice.”

Liv stared at him, openmouthed. “You actually think—”

“No, not intentionally. But you do have an emotional stake in this case.”

Liv let out a controlled breath.

“Don't get huffy. Tell me about this vandalism.”

“I'll show you.”

Liv waited for Bill to order the women to stay put and stay out of the way, then she took him on a tour of the cabins.

When they were done, Bill called over to his officers. “Meese, if you two are finished there, come get some photos of these interiors.”

Meese and the other officer trotted over.

“Wow, looks like a tornado hit,” Meese said.

“It looks like an act of anger,” Bill said.

Liv nodded. “Yes, it does, and I think we might guess who did it.”

“You have a theory all ready?”

“Yes, actually. Come see.” She led him around to the boarded-up cabin with the broken window.

Bill stuck his head through the opening, pulled out again. “Looks like someone's being squatting here, alright.”

“I found a bunch of pamphlets in the bathroom. I bet they came from the doomsday guy's—Riggs—stash.”

“You think he was staying here?”

“No one ever caught him. Everyone assumed he'd made a run for the highway. But it's possible he came here. That's why he could keep popping up and disappearing again.”

“Hmm. I'll buy that. Unless it was some drifter that picked the pamphlets to use in the bathroom.”

“A good use for them.”

“So where is he now?”

“Are you asking me?” Liv said, bewildered.

“It was more rhetorical, but do you have any ideas?”

“Well, my guess is he's vandalized the two main entries in the contest—”

“And I got Ted to okay additional men from Bayside Security to watch on Miss Patty's.”

“Good. Then there was the rock throwing at the Mystic Eye.”

Bill rolled his eyes.

Liv ignored him. “And now this. It happened while they were out earlier this morning. He trashed the place and cleaned them out of all the money and valuables he could find. If I were him . . . I would get out of ‘Dodge' pronto.”

“I'll buy that, but it still doesn't explain what he had to do with Lucille, or what she was doing up here late Friday night.”

Liv huffed a sigh. “Well, the camp is known for its, um, dalliances. Maybe she was dallying someone.”

“Here?”

“We thought the same thing, but the four other cabins are locked and sealed up. Who knows what lies behind those doors?”

“Maybe I should ask Rod Crosby to open them.”

Liv looked beyond him to the house and drive. The jeep was gone, but a second later it pulled up beside the police cars. Rod Crosby jumped out.

“Damn,” Bill said. “I was hoping to keep this all quiet.”

“Just tell him about the vandalism. I'll go tell the ladies to keep mum about the shawl.” Liv ran off to warn the witches to let Bill do the talking.

“Got that, ladies?” Yolanda looked over the group. None of them said a thing, but Yolanda nodded as if they had. “We're a close-knit group and we keep to ourselves. No problem here.”

“Great.” Liv walked back to Bill just as Rod got there.

“What's up, Sheriff?”

“The cabins these ladies have been staying in have been vandalized,” Bill said. “They called it in.”

“Vandalized? Damn. Which ones?”

A look from Bill kept Liv in her place. Bill took Rod to see the cabins.

“Man. That sucks,” Rod said as they came out of the last one. “And I was already closed for the season. I knew we should have left it that way.” He lowered his voice. “If you ask me, they brought it on themselves.”

“How do you figure that?”

“They're witches, man. People are bound to get upset when they're around. You were there, Liv, when they came to town, and that nutcase on the corner yelled at them.”

Liv nodded.

“And Amanda and I heard someone threw a rock at the store window. They're just asking for trouble.” Ron hesitated. “Not that I have anything against them. They're Amanda's friends, so . . .” He shrugged in a what-can-you-do gesture.

Rod seemed a lot more laid-back today than when Liv had met him the other day. She wondered if that was because he was talking to the sheriff or because Amanda wasn't there. She wondered if they brought out the worst in each other. Liv imagined that the woman could be a little demanding; she could appear meek and still wear the pants at home. But after what Jon had told her about the conditions of the marriage, Liv wouldn't blame Amanda one bit if she put it to her husband.

“Do you have insurance?” Liv asked. “They're worried about having to pay damages.”

“Not up to me, but I doubt if Amanda will charge them.”

“Good,” Liv said. “Yolanda, why don't you have Rod drive you up to the house and ask Amanda what you should do? If it's okay with the sheriff, the group can clean up their possessions.” She looked at Bill.

He nodded, but looked annoyed.

“Good. And since they're going home tomorrow, perhaps they should stay at the inn tonight. I can call the Andersons and see if they have rooms.”

“Thank you,” Yolanda said. “They could stay with me, but my apartment is very small and I think they will be more comfortable at the inn.”

She went away with Rod, who was moving laconically and none too happily toward his jeep. They'd probably interrupted his plans for the afternoon. Well, tough.

The other ladies set about cleanup. Whiskey gladly accompanied them, probably in hopes of finding something yummy, or disgusting, to sniff.

Liv called the inn and reserved four rooms.

“I suppose there's a reason you got rid of everybody so expeditiously,” Bill said.

“I was afraid somebody would say something about finding the shawl, and if that got out . . .” She frowned.

“Uh-oh. Liv, what are you thinking?”

“Just that . . . you said to keep it secret, but what if it does leak out? A controlled leak. Not that the shawl's been found, but that we—I mean you, the police—think they know where to find it and are going to search for it at first light. Then whoever comes back to look for it will be the murderer. Is that entrapment?”

“Not if the police don't start the rumor.”

“I knew there was a reason Ruth Benedict was put on this earth. What would you say to me dropping a word in Ted's ear, then he can let it slip to Ida and Edna, who in turn will let it slip to Dolly and whoever else is in the bakery? And Dolly will tell Ruth Benedict and Ruth will tell everyone else. If we go back to the office now, that will give us all afternoon for the rumor to spread.”

“Then I'll post men to wait undercover until the killer takes the bait.”

“It's worth a try, isn't it?”

“I suppose as long as no one, including the Marlton-Crosbys, are in on the plan.”

“Not even the Marlton-Crosbys.”

“And if the killer turns out to be your friend Jon?”

“It won't,” Liv said firmly. She wouldn't believe it until she saw him searching for the shawl.

“We'll have to find a substitute scarf. I don't want to take the chance of messing up the chain of custody.”