Foul Play at the Fair
Read Foul Play at the Fair Online
Authors: Shelley Freydont
“Celebrate Shelley Freydont’s new mystery series in Celebration Bay, a city of festivals where the event coordinator plans everything. Except solving murders.”
—Janet Bolin, author of the Threadville Mysteries
“
Foul Play at the Fair
is a fun romp of a story about Liv Montgomery, who gives up her irritating life of handling bridezillas and finds the perfect job in Celebration Bay, New York, with her Westie, Whiskey. A delicious read filled with interesting characters and good times.”
—Joyce Lavene, coauthor of the Missing Pieces Mysteries
“Event coordinator Liv Montgomery is doing her best to squash any obstacles to a successful Celebration Bay Harvest Festival, and when a body crops up, she’s not going to let her plans be plowed under.”
—Sheila Connolly, national bestselling author of the Orchard Mysteries
Foul Play
at the Fair
Shelley Freydont
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
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FOUL PLAY AT THE FAIR
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Shelley Freydont.
Cover illustration by Griesbach/Martucci.
Cover design by George Long.
Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-58954-0
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®
PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is
stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the
author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
For Judi McCoy, writer and friend,
who loved dogs and left us far too soon
Chapter One
Liv Montgomery wiggled her toes in her new Sperry Top-Siders and breathed in the fresh country air. The day was crisp, the sun was shining, and Liv felt great. It was hard to believe that only a month ago she’d been standing in the Plaza ballroom, sleep deprived and patience hanging by a thread, while the bridezilla from hell ranted at her because the oysters they were serving at the reception were Atlantic, not Pacific.
Even after Liv showed her the order sheet where she had signed off on Atlantic oysters, the woman continued to yell. Liv had gritted her teeth and wondered how soon she could get out of her four-inch heels from hell.
The bride, now the wife of some poor soul who had disappeared into the men’s room right after the first dance, made one final dramatic gesture, throwing both arms wide and taking out a waiter and two thousand dollars’ worth of Dom Pérignon.
And something in Liv snapped. She’d had enough. She was sick of bitchy bridezillas, desperate housewives,
anything-but-sweet sixteens. She wanted a job with normal hours, where she made nice people happy, where she could get out of those damn heels.
She packed up her clothes and her dog and headed north.
Now she was the official event coordinator of Celebration Bay, New York, a town that took its name seriously, where she could wear Top-Siders and take her dog to work.
“Pretty nice place to live, huh?” she said, looking down at her Westie terrier, Whiskey.
Whiskey pulled at his leash and, after snuffling through a patch of grass, claimed the base of a nearby parking meter.
Celebration Bay was an idyllic village on a lake that, as the locals told her, wasn’t big enough to be “great,” but was big enough for them. It was big enough for Liv, too.
It was the last week in September, and the monthlong Harvest by the Bay Festival was culminating in a weekend fair. Up and down Main Street, gaily painted shops sold food, knitted goods, coffee, and souvenirs. The surrounding trees were turning golden and red, and the breeze off the lake carried the aroma of baking down the street.
The sound of hammering rang in the air, and Liv stopped to look across the parklike village green where the setup committee was constructing booths for the one hundred vendors and entertainers who would line the sidewalks that weekend. A bright, multicolored tent had been erected at the far end for music, skits, and magic shows.
Nearby, a children’s area would feature bobbing for apples, pumpkin painting, and a go-fishing booth. There would be a farmers’ market, hayrides, three-legged races, and cider pressing exhibitions. The surrounding stores and restaurants would open early and close late.
Liv let out a satisfied sigh. Her new life, her new job. It was just perfect.
As she stepped off the curb, Janine Tudor’s cream-colored Cadillac sped by, barely missing Liv’s new shoes. Liv jumped back to the sidewalk.
Almost perfect.
She waited until she was sure Janine was not going to repeat the drive-by, then hurried across the street. Recognizing the bakery, Whiskey pulled her along the sidewalk past the dainty tables and chairs outside the Apple of My Eye Bakery and through the open door.
“Morning, Liv,” said Dolly Hunnicutt from behind the counter. She was wearing a pink gingham dress with puff sleeves and a white ruffled apron tied around her ample waist. Her honey-colored hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Some of the residents took their reputation as the soon-to-be-most-popular festival destination in New York State more seriously than others.
“And don’t you look festive today,” Dolly added.
“Is that a good thing?” Liv asked, wondering if she’d gone overboard with her forest green corduroys and autumn plaid jacket. Whiskey had refused to participate in her new wardrobe madness, even though in an aberrant moment, she’d ordered him two scotch plaid winter sweaters from an online doggie catalogue.
“Why, of course it is. You’re wearing harvest colors. Those trousers bring out the green in your eyes, and your hair shines like burnt sugar.”
Liv wasn’t sure what burnt sugar was, but it didn’t sound too appetizing. She’d always thought her hair was dark brown.
“I have some nice lemon scones this morning. Lord knows we’ll all be sick of apples before we switch over to pumpkin season after this weekend.”
In the last two weeks, Liv had eaten apple pie, apple turnovers, applesauce, apple butter, and something called apple pandowdy. “Lemon scones sound delicious. I’ll take two, though I can’t keep this up. I’ve already had to increase my daily run from three miles to four.”
“Pooh. The way you run around, you’ll work it off in no time. But if you keep feeding Ted…” She clucked her tongue.
“I always treat my assistants well. The secret of my success.”
“Well, bless you. Janine used to run him ragged. But don’t you go overboard and spoil him.”
“I won’t.” Liv glanced up at the pink cupcake-shaped wall clock. “Gotta run.” She took the bag of scones.
Whiskey, who had been sitting patiently at her feet, his face upturned to the counter, barked.
