Foul Play at the Fair (5 page)

At the fork in the sidewalk, the Zoldosky brothers had set up a colorful plywood proscenium. The brother with the disfigured face sat off to the side blowing up balloons from an air canister. Anton was tossing bowling pins to one of the other brothers. They were both dressed like Heidi’s grandfather, complete with Tyrolean hats. Anton finished by throwing the pins high in the air and catching them one by one.

They bowed to the smattering of applause and the third brother, dressed in a clown’s outfit, a white face, and a pointed red hat, replaced the other two and began juggling three brightly colored scarves. Though his face was painted, Liv recognized him right away. It was the same juggling Zoldosky who had somersaulted out of the trailer and scared the crap out of her. And those had to be the same scarves he’d been juggling as he watched her drive away from the Miller farm. He caught Liv’s eye and winked as he snatched the pink, orange, and green scarves from the air and tossed them up again.

Liv gave him a perfunctory smile and started to move on, but Ted was staring as if it were the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen. The juggler turned his back and, still juggling, walked behind the flats while Anton once again took the stage.

“Ready to go?”

Ted shook himself. “What? Oh, yeah. I think we should
get by the farmers’ market. There was a little bickering about sites this morning, though I’m sure Fred took care of it.”

“Still, I should check it out. You can stay and watch the jugglers if you’d rather,” she teased.

“No. I thought…No. I’m done.”

But as they reached the street, Ted stopped. “Do you mind going by yourself? I just remembered something I should take care of.”

“No problem. I’ll catch you later.” Liv started across the street, then realized Ted still had her clipboard.

She turned to stop him, but he was already gone. Then she caught sight of him backtracking his way across the green.

“Ted,” she called, but he didn’t hear her. She sprinted after him.

She was only a few yards behind him and was about to call out again, when he ducked behind the Zoldoskys’ stage. Odd. She’d told him she’d taken care of the panhandling problem. But what else could have sent him back?

She was into delegating responsibility, but she needed her clipboard. She followed him behind the stage set just as Ted grabbed the arm of the tumbling Zoldosky.

The tumbler tried to knock his hand away, but instead of letting go, Ted pulled him closer, until the man was raised on his toes, and they were almost nose to nose.

Liv stared. This was her mild-mannered, gentlemanly assistant? She couldn’t imagine what was going on, but she knew better than to interrupt. This was no panhandling altercation. This, whatever it was, was personal.

The balloon-making brother came around the far end of the proscenium and stopped. Ted dropped his hands, the tumbler stumbled backward, the brother ducked out of sight, and Ted strode off across the grass and was swallowed up by the crowd.

Astounded, Liv looked back at the tumbler; he was starring straight at her. Then he, too, turned and walked away.

On her way to the farmers’ market, Liv tried to erase what
she’d just witnessed. At least Ted hadn’t seen her. No one liked to have their less-than-stellar moments witnessed by their boss. But she couldn’t help wondering what it was all about.

Later, when she saw Ted long enough to retrieve her clipboard, he didn’t mention the Zoldoskys and neither did she. She didn’t see him again until ten o’clock, when the last booths closed down. Most of the entertainers had long ago departed, along with most of the tourists. Only the Zoldosky brothers had remained to collect their stage and equipment when vehicles were allowed into the park for the vendors to pack up for the night. The permanent stores were dark; only the restaurants were still open, catering to the die-hards.

“Great work,” Ted told her.

Liv yawned. “Sorry. You, too.”

“See you bright and early. Eight o’clock?”

“Barring any disasters.”

“God forbid. Good night.”

“Night,” Liv said and walked across the empty green toward home, wondering if she’d imagined the whole confrontation.

Whiskey was waiting for her by the door. Bits of leaves and muddy paw prints littered the foyer floor.

“I see you’ve been helping Miss Edna in the garden. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. The floor can wait.”

Ten minutes later Whiskey was stretched on his bed gnawing on a rawhide bone. Liv turned out the light, crawled into the bed, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

It seemed like she’d hardly closed her eyes before her alarm went off. She groped for it in the dark, slapped at it, but it kept ringing. Then she realized it wasn’t her alarm clock but her cell phone.

She sat up and peered at the clock. “Five o’clock? This better be important.”

She turned on the lamp and pressed send. “Hello?” she croaked.

“Liv, it’s Ted. We have a problem.”

She was already out of bed and pulling her bureau drawer open with one hand.

“I’m at Waterbury’s farm. I think you’d better get out here right away.”

“I’m on it. Is everyone okay?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean? Joss? Amanda? One of the kids? Fire? Ted, talk to me.”

“Just get over here. Drive carefully.” He hung up.

Liv pushed her feet into sneakers and grabbed her new flannel jacket. Whiskey yawned, stretched, and settled back to sleep.

“You lucky dog,” she whispered and tiptoed out of the room.

It was barely light outside and the grass was wet with dew. She drove as quickly as she could, the windshield wipers swiping out an arc of visibility in the condensation.

Lights were on in the farm store when Liv pulled into the parking lot. No flames, no ambulances. A burglary? She prayed she wouldn’t walk in to a trashed store and broken cash register.

Ted met her at the door. “Bill is on his way,” he said as he pushed her through the empty and—as far as she could tell—intact store. “At a snail’s pace. I thought you should know what’s happened before…” He trailed off as they reached the door to the antique cider press exhibit.

Joss stood with his back to them, leaning over the 1880s antique press. He turned as they entered, and Liv saw what he’d been looking at.

A man was stuffed into the barrel. His arms and legs hung over the sides and his middle was pinioned by the round cast-iron apple press. A pink scarf was tied over his
eyes and a shiny red apple was stuffed into his mouth. He was still wearing his clown suit and white face makeup.

At first Liv thought it was a gruesome joke, but one look at Ted and Joss and she knew this was for real. Mr. Zoldosky had juggled his last scarf.

She heard a car door slam and hoped to heaven it was the police.

Joss lifted his head, then looked at Ted. “That’s Bill.”

“Most likely.”

“I have to know.”

“Then be quick about it.”

Joss knelt down and reached toward the body.

Liv opened her mouth and tried to say,
Don’t touch anything
, but nothing came out.

Joss yanked the apple out of the mouth and dropped it to the ground. The mouth gaped open, like a silent scream, and Liv’s stomach turned.

Joss didn’t seem to notice. He snatched the blindfold away and scrubbed it across the man’s face, revealing a smear of skin and a streak of blood. A gurgling sound erupted from Joss, and he fell to his knees.

“What is it?” Liv asked just as Bill Gunnison hobbled through the door.

“Jesus H. Get away from the body. Don’t you people watch television?” Clutching his back, Bill hurried closer, peered at the dead man. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He stepped closer and bent stiffly over the body. He looked back at Joss. “Is that? It couldn’t be…”

“Well, it is,” Ted said, sounding as gruff as Liv had ever heard him.

“Damn and damnation. Still, you shouldn’t have touched him.”

Joss pushed himself to his feet with Ted’s help. “I know, but I had to know.”

“Know what?” Liv asked, exasperated, nauseated, and beginning to panic.

Joss made a strange hysterical laugh. His voice cracked, and he covered his face with his hands.

Ted squeezed his arm and came to stand by Liv.

“What’s going on?”

“Remember me telling you about when Dolly was young?”

“Yes.”

Ted lifted his chin toward the dead juggler. “Well. That’s Joss’s brother, Pete.”

Liv frowned at him. “Joss’s brother? I thought he was a Zoldosky brother.”

“If only he were,” Ted said, shaking his head.

Liv stepped closer and peered over Bill’s shoulder. There was a definite resemblance to Joss. The dead man was thinner, rougher looking; life had not been kind to him. And neither had death. Blood smeared his cheek and made a sickening contrast with the white greasepaint.

And even more sickening was the fact that was slowly seeping into Liv’s brain. The man didn’t hit his head and climb into the barrel for a nap. Someone had put him there, the same someone who had hit him over the head hard enough to kill him. Because, now that she had forced herself to look closer, she could see the bloodied, matted hair above his right ear.

Her stomach roiled, and she swayed on her feet. Joss’s brother had been murdered.

Bill straightened and shuffled to face them. Perspiration had broken out on his forehead. “Joss, when do the rest of your people come on shift?”

“What?” Joss blinked hard several times. “Most of the
guys are over at the new mill already. The first shift starts at five. Donnie and I set up everything here; then Ronnie and Earl Weaver come in around eight thirty to run the electric mill for the tourists.”

He ran a big hand over his face, leaving a streak of white paint and blood across his cheek. “Fiona Higgins keeps the register, and I hire a couple of teenagers to help out on the weekends. They come in at nine.”

Bill looked around the room. “I’m sorry, Joss. But you better call them all and tell them not to come in today.”

“I…Of course.”

“Ted, you and Ms. Montgomery take Joss back to the house and wait for me.”

“I’ll make the calls,” Ted said and took Joss’s elbow.

Joss pushed him away. “I’m not leaving. That’s my brother. Good God, that’s my brother,” he repeated as if it had just sunk in. “What the hell is he doing back here and dressed like a goddamned clown?”

Liv realized that he’d been working at the store all day yesterday and hadn’t been in town to know about the jugglers.

She doubted if anybody would have recognized him after thirty years. It wasn’t until Joss had removed the whiteface that he recognized him. And though Liv could see the resemblance between the two brothers now, she would never have guessed it without seeing them together.

She glanced at Ted and remembered his reaction to the jugglers the day before. She’d called his name twice to get his attention; then he’d gone back to confront the juggler. For what reason?

Joss was shocked, but Ted didn’t even seem slightly surprised. Was that because he’d recognized Pete the day before?

Ted caught her eye, looked away. “Come on, Joss. Let Bill do his job.”

“I don’t understand,” Joss said, holding his ground.

Neither did Liv. What was Pete doing in Joss’s store? He
must have come straight from the festival since he was still wearing his costume and makeup. The store would have been closed by then. If he wanted to see his brother, why didn’t he go to the house?

And that is for the police to figure out
, she reminded herself. Solving a murder didn’t come with her job description. Though she’d have to do something about stopping it from becoming public knowledge. If it got out that there was a murderer loose, it could kill the weekend. It could kill the town’s reputation and their main source of income as surely as someone had killed Pete Waterbury.

There was a commotion outside, the sound of footsteps, and three faces appeared in the doorway.

Bill Gunnison groaned. “Folks, could you all move back? This, I’m sorry to say, is a crime scene.”

“A crime scene?” Amanda Waterbury, still dressed in a robe and curlers, pushed her way past her son and daughter, who’d stopped in the doorway and were staring in openmouthed horror. “I can’t have a crime scene here. You’ll have the inspectors closing us down.” She stopped abruptly, obviously seeing the body for the first time.

Her hand went to her mouth.

“Don’t be sick,” Bill barked.

She shook her head, her eyes bulging above her fingers.

Donnie Waterbury moved his mother aside and stepped into the room. “Dad, what’s going on? What happened? Who is that?”

Bill forced himself to stand a little straighter. The man needed backup—literally. “If you’ll all just go into the other room.”

“Who is it, Mom?” Roseanne Waterbury’s cinnamon-red curls bobbed as she tried to see around her brother, Donnie. She saw the body, screamed, and began to cry.

Bill grunted in exasperation, or pain, or both. “Amanda, please take Roseanne and Donnie back to the house. This is no place for them or you.”

“But what happened? Who is it? What’s he doing in the apple press?”

Liv felt a hysterical giggle rise to the surface. She pushed it back down. A man was dead. Joss had lost a brother, and Liv had to do something before it cast a pall over the festival. And she didn’t have a clue where to start.

“Oh my God,” Bill groaned. “What are
you
doing here?”

They all turned as Andy Miller rushed into the room. He was dressed for the fields but he stuttered to a stop when he saw the body, and his face turned whiter than the victim’s makeup.

He shook his head as if waking from a bad dream. “I heard it on my police scanner. I thought if there was trouble, I could help. I never thought. Oh my God.” He dragged his John Deere cap off his head, revealing thinning corn-silk hair. “Oh my God. What on earth happened?”

“That’s what I’m trying to ascertain,” Bill said, holding on to his patience. “So, if you really want to help, you can take all these folks up to the house. Maybe make some coffee.”