Trick or Deceit (4 page)

Several yards into the empty lot, the actors were gathered in a perfect semicircle, looking at something in the brush.

Marla Jean had stopped screeching and was sobbing into the sweatshirt of one of the male actors. He looked back at Henry, his face white as chalk.

“What a tableau,” Henry muttered.

Ted put out a hand. “Henry, I think you and Liv should stay here.” Henry nodded and Ted motioned Meese to follow him.

The two of them approached the group, then both knelt down, their heads disappearing from view, and Liv got a sudden sinking feeling that she knew what they were looking at.

“They seem to have found a live one,” Henry said, and shuddered dramatically.

The group parted.

“Perhaps, not exactly alive, but . . .” Henry turned away.

Not a mannequin in period costume, but a woman in an off-white trench coat.

Officer Meese reached for his cell phone. “Folks, if you'll just stand back, I think I'd better ask the sheriff to take over.”

“Who is it?” Henry asked.

Liv recognized the trench coat from the award ceremony, but she couldn't imagine why Lucille Foster would be lying dead among a field of dismantled dummies. If it was Lucille.

She moved closer and peered over the shoulder of one of the actors. She could just see the woman's face. It was Lucille, all right.

“Good heavens,” Henry said from behind her. Liv jumped; she hadn't realized he'd followed her. “Is that Lucille Foster?”

“Looks like it,” Liv managed.

“What happened?” Barry asked, coming closer. “What's she doing here?” His voice climbed an octave.

No one answered. Ted knelt down and stuck his fingers on Lucille's neck. Waited for a few seconds, stood up. Looked at Liv and shook his head.

“Shouldn't we at least try—”

Ted leaned close to her. “Already cold,” he whispered.

Liv shivered. She was feeling the cold herself. Her teeth began to chatter but she wasn't sure if it was from the weather or from shock. She wished the sheriff would hurry up. “Do you think she had a heart attack?”
Please say yes.

“There was a bruise on her neck. It's possible she was strangled,” Ted said. “Of course, that's just my unqualified opinion.”

“Strangled? But what was she even doing here? Why wasn't she at home. It doesn't make sense. Why would she vandalize the museum? She was one of the judges.”

“Liv, keep your voice down. Take a deep breath and regroup. I don't know any more than you do.”

“I know, sorry. It's just . . .”

Ted patted her shoulder. “I know.” He sighed. “And after such a peaceful Harvest Festival.”

Liv sighed, too. “I knew it was too good to last.”

“You think you're disappointed,” Henry said. “Imagine the poor victim.”

Liv didn't have to imagine. Lucille Foster was dead, possibly strangled. And only last night she'd been celebrating the winners of the contest and the success of the fund-raiser.

The actors stood close together, still holding mannequin parts. They didn't seem to realize what they were doing. Occasionally a sob would escape from Marla Jean, or a nervous laugh from one of the others, quickly cut off. It was a little surreal. Even with the gruesome reality just feet away from them—a real dead person—they looked like a crowd scene on
CSI
.

Barry just stood looking down at the body, wringing his hands, and mumbling, “I don't understand, I don't understand.”

Liv heard a car door slam. It was the sheriff, Bill Gunnison. At least he'd had the good sense not to use the siren. Not that the news would be kept secret for long. The main form of entertainment in Celebration Bay was Monday Night Football, arguing in the pub, and listening to the police band on ham radios. And not necessarily in that order.

Ted, Henry, and Liv turned to wait for Bill. Barry didn't wait but ran up to meet him and began gesticulating and pointing to the field, while the sheriff nodded and kept walking.

Bill Gunnison was in his fifties, tall and big boned, with grizzled graying hair and twinkling blue eyes, even when he was angry.

Normally this was the season for his sciatica to act up, but he'd signed up for a yoga class in September and it seemed to be doing a lot of good. He was barely limping. He'd received a lot of grief from Chaz and some of the other guys about what he looked like in yoga pants, even though he assured them he wore sweats. But he took all the ribbing in stride. He didn't excite easily, which made him a good sheriff. Henry Gallantine couldn't have cast him in a better role.

Liv shook her head. Her mind tended to wander when she was freaked out. Which she was now.

“Liv, Ted,” Bill said. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you both here.”

“I was just helping Henry out at the theater,” Ted told him.

“And I was jogging by,” Liv added. She sighed. “Except that I stopped to take a photo of this lot that was supposed to have been mowed—”

Bill held up his hand. “Just hold that thought until I can deal with the crime scene. Barry, I know you're upset, but these things take time. If you will please stand here with the others, I'll talk to you as soon as possible.”

Barry began to protest.

Ted placed a hand on his shoulder. “We'll get everything sorted out. Not to worry.”

“Don't worry? My museum has been destroyed, Lucille Foster is dead, this is a disaster. Just a disaster.”

He walked over to talk to Officer Meese. Whiskey attempted to follow him, but Liv made him sit.

“Just a few more minutes,” she said.
Maybe.

Bill and the young officer began moving people back to the parking lot, urging them to walk single file and keeping them a distance from the body. But Barry refused to move.

Finally Bill had to take his arm and steer him back to the parking lot. Ted, Liv, and Henry followed.

“If you will all stay right here for the moment, Officer Meese will take your statements.”

The actors added the last mannequin parts to the handcart and stayed there, striking another tableau, huddled together next to a pile of arms, legs, and torsos waiting to be carted away. It was a gruesome scene, something fit for the Museum of Yankee Horrors itself.

Liv tore her gaze and her thoughts away. She concentrated on watching Bill, who had returned to the overgrown lot and was peering into the grasses. She wondered what he was looking for. And if they had trampled any evidence the culprit might have left behind.

She shivered again and hugged herself. Under Armour was great as long as you kept moving, but between the shock and the morning chill, Liv was feeling extremely uncomfortable.

Liv pulled out her phone and checked the time: 9:20. All this had happened in a little over an hour. She should have been home, dressed, and on her way to work by now. Ted, too. She'd barely been aware of the passage of time. The sun hadn't come out. The day was raw and overcast. It looked like they were in for some weather. Hopefully no major storms that would destroy decorations or rain on their scheduled weekend activities.

Then Liv remembered that for one person there would be no activities ever again. She knelt down and scratched Whiskey's ears. He put his paws on her knee and licked her face. She nuzzled her face in his fur and felt a little better.

Whiskey had been content to sit at her feet for the first few minutes, but when Liv stood up he moved over to Ted and looked expectant.

“Sorry, fella, not the time or the place right now.” Ted held his hands open. “No song, no treat.”

Whiskey sat there a few seconds longer, then stood and shook himself. He'd been patient, but now he was ready to go home to his breakfast.

He barked once, to get her attention.

Liv let out his leash just enough to give him some wandering room without getting in the way of the investigation.

Whiskey trotted over to the group of actors, where he was an immediate hit. Marla Jean leaned over and hugged him. Two of the guys scratched his back and ears.

Therapy dog,
Liv thought, remembering how he'd helped calm more than one upset young person since they'd moved here. And from the way everyone was petting him and talking nonsense, he was working his magic on the dismayed actors.

The crime scene truck and ambulance arrived. Bill motioned them into the grass. There was a brief discussion, then they all began whatever it was they did.

“How did this happen?” she asked. “We saw her last night. Saw her go meet her husband. When did she come down here? And why? Surely she wasn't the one vandalizing the museum.”

“It doesn't seem likely,” Ted said. “Maybe she saw something, and stopped— But no. She would be too smart to try to stop them herself. She would have called the police and reported it.”

Liv huffed out a sigh. “One would think.”

Henry looked around, then leaned in to listen.

“But we saw her leave with her husband,” Liv said. “So where is he? You don't think that he could be—”

“I certainly hope not.” Ted's brow knitted. “I remember her saying, ‘There's Carson,' and leaving, but I didn't actually see him, did you?”

Liv thought back. “I . . . No, I guess I didn't. But why would she—”

“Aha, the plot thickens,” Henry said, sounding delighted.

Liv gritted her teeth. He couldn't help it, poor man. Everything in his life was a line to be delivered and a part to play. But sometimes it really got on her nerves.

Another squad car arrived and two more policemen got out. Right behind them, a black Humvee pulled into the lot.

A.K. Pierce's “stealth mobile,” as Chaz called it, came to a stop at the side of the official cars and A.K. got out.

A.K. Pierce was as powerful looking as his vehicle. Big, brawny, tough, with a shaved head and a steady eye that said take no prisoners. Though Liv had seen him almost smile on several occasions. He was thrilling, and a little scary. And totally intriguing.

He strode up to them. “Ms. Montgomery, Ted, Mr. Gallantine.” The men all looked suitably stoic and solemn.

“Did Bill call you?” Liv asked.

“Heard the dispatch. Thought you might need some crowd control. I stationed cars at each end of the block to discourage gawkers.”

Or attract them,
Liv thought. But she knew he'd done the right thing. By now a third of the town must know a body had been found. Soon half the town would know who it was.

They'd all come to depend on A.K. and Bayside Security for crowd control and extra security. It was his men who had skillfully disposed of the ranting soapbox speaker. He'd become Bill's unofficial right-hand man. Liv didn't know if that was totally legal.

The town usually depended on the county law enforcement. Celebration Bay being a rather small town—at least between holidays—didn't as yet warrant its own police force and relied on the county sheriff and his staff. But with the influx of tourists each holiday, they didn't always have enough men to cover the town's needs.

It meant Bill had to do a lot of running around, and the crime scene van and coroner weren't always readily available. Today they had come right away, for which Liv was grateful.

A.K. was used to being in charge, but he never seemed to mind playing backup to Bill's forward guard.

He shook out a black jacket that he'd carried from the car and draped it over Liv's shoulders. “Thought you might be cold, once you stopped running.”

“I was, thanks.”

Ted lifted his eyebrows.

Bill saw A.K. and motioned him over. A.K. nodded slightly to Liv, before striding across the tarmac. A man in control. One who didn't suffer from sciatica. And who probably looked darn good in yoga pants.

Liv shook herself. Her thoughts were ricocheting all over her brain. She needed to focus on the problem at hand. She needed to relive the past hour or so, go over her movements of the morning, not let random inappropriate thoughts bushwhack her when she should be concentrating on what was happening and planning triage.

Barry began to pace. Finally he wandered over to the carts and picked up a piece. It appeared to be an arm, with flowing material hanging from one end—the wrist, Liv guessed, though the hand was missing. Barry began to pull the material up the arm. It must have been a sleeve that got torn when the mannequins were wrenched apart.

As soon as Barry got one side up, and let go to bring the rest up, the first pieces fell down. Finally he gave up, tossed the arm back onto the pile, and stood staring across the weeds of the vacant lot.

Liv hurt for him. He'd spent so much time and effort on the mannequins, not to mention expense. And they'd been truly interesting. But she didn't see how he could ever get the displays back together in time for the grand opening, even if the police released them in time.

And that meant the prize money would go to the runner-up—Ernie Bolton. The same Ernie Bolton who might be angry enough to loot and destroy his competition. But would Ernie be desperate enough to commit murder? Liv just couldn't believe it.

She wanted to ask Ted's opinion, but Bill stepped out of the grasses and everyone turned their attention to him.

“When can we go, Sheriff?” one of the actors asked. “I have work in a couple of hours.”

“And my mom needs me to take her out to the mall. She'll have a fit when she finds out what's happened,” said another.

The others agreed and began talking at once.

Bill held up his hand. They kept talking.

“Quiet
en scene
!” Henry roared.

Immediate silence.

“Now, Sheriff, if you would continue.”

Bill blinked. “If you will proceed over to the theater, you can all give your statements to Officer Meese. We may need to talk to you again.” He looked around the group. “Which one of you found the body?”

No one spoke. Had it been a group sighting?

Finally a hand went up. “I did,” Marla Jean said. Her mouth twisted. “I thought it was a mannequin and I picked up her hand.” She finished the confession with a wail. Her friends surrounded her and tried to soothe her.

Beside Liv, Henry groaned and rubbed a hand across his face. “I've created a monster.”

“And what did you do next?”

Marla Jean stopped wailing. “I dropped it, of course, and screamed.”

Bill nodded.

“And everyone came to see what was the matter . . . and she was just lying there in the grass.”

The others nodded agreement.

“And after that?”

“Mr. Gallantine and the other two came to see. And he”—Marla Jean pointed to Meese—“called you.”

“And no one else touched the body?”

“I did,” Ted said. “Her neck. To determine if there was a pulse. When I didn't find one, I stepped away. And no one has touched her since.”