Trick or Deceit (5 page)

“I see. Meese, take these folks across the street to the theater. There's probably some coffee or hot chocolate in the green room you can make, right, Henry?”

Henry nodded and tossed Meese a key ring. “The one with the green plastic edge.”

Meese nodded, looked back at his gaggle of actors, and herded them away.

Whiskey came back to sit beside Liv.

“It looks a little like the reign of terror over there,” Ted said under his breath.

Liv nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. The bodies piled on carts to be taken away.” Especially with Barry standing guard over the cart of mannequins like a modern-day sansculotte.

“I'll be here a while longer,” Bill said. “If there are no more details you can point out, I'll see you at your office later. Unless you have something to add, Henry, you can return to the theater and give your statement to Officer Meese, too.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Henry started to leave, then changed his mind and went over to Barry. “Now, Barry,” Henry said in his best stage voice. “I know things look bleak now, but if you decide you want to remount your museum, my small band of players is at your disposal. And we have a costume room and several sewing machines. Just give the word. We'll be yours to command.”

Barry just stared at him, and finally managed, “Thanks,” and with a half bow, Henry strode through the parking lot and down the street.

Bill slowly looked back to Ted and Liv. Opened his mouth and shut it. Closed his eyes, opened them. Said, “I'll see you two later,” and without a look, went back into the now not-so-empty lot.

“Well, I guess I'll drop by the theater,” Ted said. “See if we can at least get the rehearsal started, then let's meet at the office for a little damage control. You want to pick up coffee?”

“Sure. I'll just run home and get changed. See you in a few.” A few
if
she got home, showered, changed,
and
managed to get past her inquisitive landladies, the bakery, and the coffee shop before news got out about the murder.

Not a chance.

Liv made it back to her carriage house unseen. She fed Whiskey and let him out while she showered and dressed.

Less than half an hour later, they left for work—and had almost made it to the sidewalk when someone called, “Good morning, Liv.”

Whiskey barked a greeting and dragged Liv over to Ida Zimmerman, one of Liv's landladies. Miss Ida was holding a broom, but that didn't fool Liv. She was out for information.

“Morning, Miss Ida.” Both Ida and her sister, Edna, had been schoolteachers in town before retiring, and everyone called them “Miss.” They didn't look at all alike: Miss Ida was small boned, demurely spoken, and tended to twinsets and sensible shoes. Miss Edna was tall and bigger boned, spoke her mind freely, and had hung up her twinsets the day she retired, changed into slacks and pullovers, and had never looked back.

They were both dears and they'd taken a shine to Whiskey and, by association, Liv. They, like most local residents, listened to the police band for their entertainment, enjoyed a little gossip, and were always ready to help with an “investigation.”

The fact that Liv was an event planner and not a detective made absolutely no difference to them—or to anyone else in town. They expected her to do her part in bringing justice, and were more than willing to do their own parts to help.

“I heard there's a commotion over at Barry Lindquist's new museum. Nothing was damaged, was it?”

Liv was tempted to say she didn't know anything about it. But that would be useless. Everyone would know all the details before Liv had paid for her coffee, and the sisters' feelings would be hurt if she didn't tell them first.

“Well . . .”

“Wait for me, you two.” Miss Edna came barreling through the front door and down the front steps. “I just heard on the police band that the coroner was summoned,” she said. “Just what happened over there, Liv?”

Liv gave up her last shred of hope that she would get away without revealing the whole story.

“Whiskey and I were out running . . .”

“And you found a body?”

“No, Whiskey found the arm of a mannequin in the weeds.”

“You clever little man,” Ida said. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a biscuit, which she gave to Whiskey.

“Barry's museum had been vandalized and there were mannequins all over that vacant lot next door.”

“We've been telling the trustees to have somebody clean up that lot for months now,” Edna said.

“I called Barry, who came over, and sure enough, the place was wrecked.” Liv went through the morning, organizing facts as she spoke. She knew she'd be telling the story again. By the time she made it through town and to work, she'd have it down pat.

Of course she could drive to work, but she walked to work every day, and everyone would know she had driven just so she wouldn't have to talk to them. And, like the sisters, their feelings would be hurt.

“Who died?”

“Lucille Foster.”

“Lucille?” Ida echoed. “Edna and I were just talking about her yesterday”

Edna shook her head. “And the whole town will be talking about her today. What a shame.”

“What on earth was she doing over there?” Ida asked.

It was exactly what Liv had been wondering.

“Well,” Edna said. “It wasn't to see Barry Lindquist. Of that we can be sure.”

“They don't like each other?” Liv asked.

“I have no idea,” Edna said. “But we heard tell he lost a bundle of money in a hedge fund that Lucille's husband, Carson, talked him into getting involved in.”

“You don't think she saw someone vandalizing the museum and had a heart attack?” Ida looked concerned.

“Ida, I don't think it was natural causes. Did the sheriff say?” Edna looked expectantly at Liv.

“He didn't say. It was all so weird and horrible. Some poor girl in Henry's play found the—found her. Thought she was a mannequin and tried to pick her up.”

Edna cracked a laugh. “Sorry, but what a ridiculous situation.”

“It was pretty macabre and one of the actresses let out a scream to end all screams.”

“Were there any signs of foul play?” Ida asked.

“I confess I was so stupefied that I wasn't thinking much of anything. I'd already called the police over the break-in. So Officer Meese was there when they found the—Lucille. Now, I had really better get to work.”

“I expect you'll have to move to Plan B,” Edna said and shook her head. “Everyone said Barry's exhibit was so professional looking and the mannequins looked real.”

“And taught a little history, too,” Ida added.

Liv didn't burst Ida's teacherly bubble by telling her that Barry had played fast and loose with history in the typical, time-honored Celebration Bay way.

“I'm sure you both will know more than I will by the end of day.”

“Drop by and we'll compare notes,” Ida said. “Do you want to leave Whiskey with us today?”

“Thanks, but I'm hoping I won't be long.”

“Well, you have a nice day,” Ida said.

“And keep your ears open,” Edna added.

“Will do,” Liv said, and she and Whiskey headed to the town square for coffee and pastries and a little gossip.

The sun made a brief appearance. And if Liv hadn't been concerned about murder and how the vandalism would affect the rest of the festival, she would have enjoyed the crisp fall day. The leaves that hadn't fallen were brilliant red and yellow. There was an icy chill in the air; seriously cold weather would be sweeping in on them soon. And then the snow.

But before Liv had gone two blocks, the sun had vanished and she began making contingency plans. She would have to talk to the mayor first thing about what, if anything, to do with the prize money. It would be a diplomatic nightmare. She didn't see how Barry could get his museum back up in time for the official opening at the end of the week. How long would they wait to transfer the prize to the runner-up?

And if Ernie Bolton had vandalized Barry's exhibit, would he still be given the first-place prize money and official recognition for his haunted house? If that failed, it would have to go to Miss Patty for her friendly ghost house. A worthy effort on Miss Patty's part, but not Liv's idea of an official site.

She would have to check with the mayor about that, not a duty she was looking forward to. Gilbert always got hysterical when things hit a bump.

A bump?
Liv just hoped Ted had been wrong and Lucille's death was natural, though for the life of her, Liv couldn't come up with a scenario that placed Lucille Foster at the scene other than ones involving foul play.

Her first stop was the Apple of My Eye Bakery, owned and run by Dolly Hunnicutt. Her husband, Fred, ran the business end of the bakery and was permanent traffic committee chair for all the festivals and events.

The bakery, like all the stores on the square, was decorated for Halloween. A witch's hat sat atop the pink cupcake wall clock. There were pumpkin and black cat centerpieces at the three tables the bakery kept inside.

Dolly, like her husband, was stocky and good humored, generous and totally serious about holidays. Today she was wearing an orange and black polka-dot apron detailed in orange rickrack and an orange mobcap. Beneath it Dolly's rosy pink complexion looked a little out of place.

There were a couple of people ahead of her, but Dolly saw Liv and gave her a knowing look. She'd already heard, which meant that Liv would be stopped by questions and speculations down the entire block to town hall, where the event office was located.

As soon as Liv reached the front of the line, Dolly said, “Did you hear about the break-in?”

Liv nodded.

“You were there?”

“I was just running by and Whiskey discovered one of the mannequins.”

“Oh dear. Is it an awful mess?”

“I'm afraid so. The mannequins were all dismantled and thrown out into the vacant lot next door.”

“What will happen now? Do you think Barry can put it back together?”

“It looks like a major undertaking, though Henry Gallantine offered the cast of
Little Shop of Horrors
to help reconstruct the scenes.”

“That was sweet of Henry. Ever since he started that theater group, he's stopped being such a recluse. He's like a changed man.”

Liv nodded, though if you asked her, Henry was more in his element than he'd ever been. Back in the theatrical saddle again.

“Do they know who did it? Everyone in this morning said that Ernie was really unhappy about losing. So unlike him.”

“He was pretty upset,” Liv agreed. “But so far the police haven't considered the possible suspects. At least as far as I know.”

“Well, Bill certainly can't think Patty Wainwright would do such a thing,” Dolly said. “She's the sweetest soul.”

Liv thought that was what neighbors always said about serial killers—“he was always such a nice quiet boy”—but in this case she had to agree with Dolly. The preschool teacher and caregiver would hardly break into a house and destroy the competition. Besides, the panel had chosen her in order to have a child-friendly haunted house in town.

“I'm sure Bill will get to the bottom of this,” Liv said.

Dolly nodded. “I'm sure he will. Now, what would you like? I have orange breakfast rolls this morning.”

“Those rolls on the tray oozing frosting?”

“The very ones.”

“I shouldn't, but I will.”

“Ted shouldn't either, but he loves them.”

Liv laughed. “We both love everything you bake. I've had to start running twice as far just to keep from gaining weight. And Ted? I think he must have a hollow leg.”

“Why, listen to you, Liv Montgomery. I bet you never talked about hollow legs in the corporate event world.”

“Huh, how about that.”

“We'll make a country girl of you yet.”

They'd certainly made a holiday girl out of her. Today she was wearing black slacks and a black sweater and jacket and felt right at home. Of course she'd always worn black in the corporate event world; the difference now was the smiling jack-o'-lantern that took up most of the sweater front.

“And for you, my favorite dog, a black cat doggie biscuit.”

Whiskey barked. He recognized the word “cat;” he had an ongoing love-hate relationship with the cat from the bookstore, two doors down. All love on Whiskey's part, all hate on Tinkerbelle's, who wasn't really friendly to anyone (which had earned her the nickname Tink the Stink).

“Ever since you started baking your Dolly Doggie Treats, he's on a new exercise regimen, too.”

Dolly slipped it into the bag, then leaned over and made kissy noises to Whiskey. “Is Liv making you run, too, sweetie?”

Whiskey cowered on the floor.

“I swear he understands what we're saying.”

“He certainly knows a few words,” Liv agreed. “He's also a sly manipulator. But we love you anyway, don't we?” Liv rattled the bag at him and Whiskey immediately perked up.

Liv thanked Dolly and was turning to go when the door opened and BeBe Ford ran through the door. BeBe was a lush thirtysomething, half country girl and half urban entrepreneur left over from her former life. She was Liv's best friend in Celebration Bay. BeBe owned and ran the Buttercup Coffee Exchange, made a mean latte, had ridden shotgun on some of Liv's wilder exploits, and was responsible for Liv and Ted's caffeine well-being each morning.

“Did you hear?” BeBe stopped mid-step. “Oh, hi, Liv. I wondered if something was wrong. I guess you heard about the contest-winning haunted house.”

“She was there,” Dolly said.

BeBe looked to the ceiling. “Of course you were. Spill.”

Liv told her about Whiskey finding the arm, calling Barry, and discovering the house had been ransacked.

“Were you still there when they found the body?”

“What body?” Dolly asked and came around the counter. “There's a body? Who was it?”

Liv sighed. Looked around. All the customers had left. “Lucille Foster.”

Dolly stared. “Was it an accident? What was she doing there?”

Liv shrugged. “I don't know and I don't know.”

“Did Bill come?” BeBe asked.

“Yes. But he said he'd talk to me and Ted later. So you probably know more than I do, since I went home to shower and come here.”

“Well, it wasn't a heart attack,” BeBe said. “At least that's what I heard. They took photos and enclosed the area in crime scene tape.”

“No-o-o,” Dolly said. “Really?”

“There
was
a crime,” Liv said. “Someone threw all the mannequins in the vacant lot. Doesn't mean it was . . .” Liv lowered her voice. “Murder.”

“Or manslaughter,” BeBe said. “She might have been driving by and saw someone breaking in and tried to stop them.”

“Maybe,” Liv said. Except she realized that there hadn't been any cars parked in the lot or on the street, just the ones in the theater parking lot, which Liv assumed belonged to the actors. Besides, if Lucille had been trying to stop a burglary, why would she have gone down the street to park?

“Liv? Did you think of something?”

“No. I don't know what she was doing there. Or why someone would want to kill her.”

“Maybe we could pin this one on Janine,” BeBe said.

Dolly pursed her lips. “That's not funny. Janine is a pain in just about everybody's patooty, especially Liv's. But she wouldn't murder Lucille just because of what Lucille did.”

“I noticed last night that Janine and Lucille weren't on friendly terms. What did she do?” Liv asked.

“Well . . .” Dolly looked around the empty shop. She moved even closer. She smelled like pumpkin pie. Between that and the coffee aroma wafting from BeBe, the combination was enough to make Liv's stomach growl. Which it did.