Trick or Deceit (6 page)

“What did she do?” Liv urged.

“Yes, please hurry up, Dolly,” BeBe said. “Before someone comes. I had a party of six waiting for my assistant to make their Monster Mocha Macchiatos. They're on their way here next.”

“Well,” Dolly continued. “Some people, not me mind you . . .”

“Go on . . .”

“Some people say that Lucille caused Janine's divorce.”

“Lucille Foster?” Liv asked. The woman hadn't struck Liv as the town vixen.

“No one would ever say anything. Carson is well respected in this town.” Dolly pursed her lips.

BeBe snorted. “Plus he owns mortgages on everything that isn't held by First Celebration Bank. Not to mention a bunch of money that he's invested for anyone with two pennies to rub together.”

“Wait,” Liv said. “How did his wife cause Janine's divorce?”

The front door opened; the little bell that welcomed newcomers made the three women jump apart. Like three co-conspirators. Or witches in a Shakespeare play.

Dolly grimaced before moving behind the counter and smiling at the newcomers. “May I help you?”

BeBe and Liv waved good-bye and walked next door to the Buttercup Coffee Exchange, passing six coffee-cup-wielding tourists on their way. The coffee bar was empty except for Quincy Hinks, owner of the Bookworm, taking his morning break. He was bent over a hardcover book, oblivious to the world and the grinning skeleton that was sharing his table.

He didn't even look up when Whiskey, recognizing his favorite cat's roommate, trotted over and sniffed Quincy's shoes.

BeBe held up a finger to Penny Newland, who was working part time at the coffee bar, and pulled Liv around into the back room.

“I heard that Janine's husband and Lucille were having an affair, and Janine found out about it. Janine and Lucille evidently had been best friends before that. I don't have any details. That's just what I heard. I didn't know them, but from what I've heard . . .” BeBe lowered her voice. “Well, Carson may be well respected as a man and an investor, but I heard he was a pretty boring husband. So Lucille looked elsewhere.” BeBe smothered a laugh.

“That's interesting, but I don't see how it could have anything to do with the vandalism.”

“Me, neither. Not exactly a killing offense.” BeBe frowned. “Plus it was years ago. Well, let's get your order. I have to get back to work.”

So did Liv. It had taken her a good twenty minutes to make the three-block walk from her house to the Buttercup, and she still had a whole block of shops to go.

“I know Mocha Macchiato isn't your thing,” BeBe said. “Want to give Witches Brew a try? Just a dash of licorice.”

“BeBe,” Liv said.

BeBe huffed. “I know, double-shot latte, no whip cream, no cinnamon. Don't you ever want to expand you horizons?”

“Yes, just not with coffee.”

BeBe had just finished steaming the milk for Liv's latte, when Dolly ran into the coffee bar. “Fred just called. The police picked up Ernie Bolton for questioning.”

“It was inevitable,” Liv said, though she was surprised they'd moved this fast. “He seems the most probable culprit for the vandalism.”

“But murder, Liv?”

A cold shiver ran up Liv's spine and she gripped Whiskey's leash a little tighter. “Did Fred say they thought it was murder?”

“No, but what else could it be?”

“I think we should just wait and see. Now I have to run, Ted will be screaming for sustenance.” And she still had to make it down the rest of the block.

She took the cardboard tray with Ted's tea and her no-frills latte in the other hand.

BeBe ran to open the door. “Let us know the minute you learn anything.”

“You, too.” Liv looked out the door. Coast clear. What were the chances she could make it to work without having to tell her story again?

She made it past Bay-Berry Candles and was almost clear of A Stich in Time, but hesitated to admire the quilt that hung in the window. It wasn't constructed in the usual orange and black colors of Halloween, no witches on broomsticks and black cats or the other decorations. This quilt was pieced with dark grays and greens, with a silver five-pointed star that covered most of the quilt and was surrounded by strange exotic symbols. Even looking at it through the window Liv could feel its power, same but different than the other Halloween quilts that shared the display.

She'd have to ask Miriam about it later, when the news of Lucille's death wasn't heating up the rumor lines and Liv's coffee wasn't getting cold.

“Liv! Did you hear?” Miriam Krause slipped out the door of the fabric and quilting shop and closed it behind her. “The quilting club is meeting and we're all in shock. Lucille Foster was found dead this morning.”

“I heard,” Liv said, drawing her attention from the quilt. “You know, that's an amazing quilt. Did the club make it?”

“Heavens no. It's on loan from Yolanda Nestor.”

“Yolanda Nestor? I don't think I know her, but her name is familiar. Is she from around here?”

“She just took over the space where the Pyne Bough used to be.”

“Oh yes. Now I remember. At the end of the summer. I've been so busy I haven't even been inside to welcome her.”

“It's an amazing shop. Takes a little getting used to, but she joined the quilting group. She's here now, would you like to meet her?”

“I would, Miriam, but I'm really late for work.”

“I guess you already got all the details from Dolly and BeBe.”

Liv nodded.

“Sometimes I feel that I'm missing out being the farthest down the block.”

Liv laughed. “Well, going the other way, you're one of the first ones on the block.”

“True,” Miriam said. “I'll tell Yolanda you admired her quilt.”

“Please do.”

Liv was just thinking,
Whew, almost home free
, when a cry arose from the park across the street.

“The end is near! Repent, you worshippers of the devil. Fall on your knees and repent your wicked ways. You sinners, you harlots, you forn—”

“Okay, that does it.” Liv shoved her drinks and her carryall at Miriam.

But before she even stepped off the curb, the door to A Stitch in Time flew open. A woman wearing black yoga pants and an oversized black sweater tunic swept out and onto the sidewalk. She didn't slow down but strode straight across the street and stuck her open hand up to the man's face.

He ricocheted back, stumbled, and fell on his butt.

“Oh dear,” Miriam said.

“She didn't even touch him,” Liv said. “If he thinks he's going to sue, he's got another think coming.”

As she watched, he scrambled back, somehow managed to get to his feet, and ran.

The woman watched him go, then turned and came back across the street. “How long has he been here?” she asked Miriam.

“I don't know. Liv?”

“I saw him for the first time last night at the award ceremony.”

“Well, I'm getting a little tired of the likes of him.”

The woman turned slowly, and Liv got her first good look at her face. Late fifties, or maybe sixties, with black, black hair and even darker eyes in a roundish face. She wore a heavy silver necklace with a medallion that looked familiar. Liv looked from the woman to the quilt in the window and back to the necklace. The same five-pointed star.

“Liv,” Miriam said. “I'd like you to meet Yolanda Nestor.”

The woman stuck out her hand. “Proprietor of the Mystic Eye, and purveyor and practitioner of all things metaphysical.”

“She's a witch?” Liv asked incredulously.

Ted looked up from where he was teaching Whiskey
The Addams Family
theme song. “Interesting woman. Watch this.
Da do da do da dooo do
.”

“Ar roo Ar roo Ar roooo roo,”
Whiskey repeated.

Ted grinned and snapped his fingers twice.

Whiskey bounced on his front paws.

“Now he not only sings, he dances. We really need to take this on the road.”

“Ted, you've already taught him a song for each season. Could you concentrate? We have vandalism, a death, possibly murder—”

“Definitely murder.”

Liv groaned. “Vandalism, murder, a hellfire guy warning everybody who'll listen that the end is near. And a witch who owns a store in town held up her hand and made him fall down.” Liv slapped her hand on her forehead. “No. What am I saying? It wasn't some kind of magic. She held up her hand, he stepped back and tripped and fell. And if he thinks he's going to sue—”

“Stop. Hand me the baked goods that must be in your carryall. I need my tea.”

Liv handed him the tray of drinks and reached in her bag. The pastries were smushed.

“Witch?” Liv reiterated. “Are you serious? We have a store run by a witch now?”

“Yes but evidently a good witch.”

“Ted, if you're making this up . . .”

“No, not at all, and she'll be great for business.”

“For Halloween maybe, but what about the rest of the year?”

“Oh ye of little faith. There's tarot, and Ouija boards, herbs, and oils and jewelry and—”

“You've been to her store?”

“Of course. Someone had to welcome her to the neighborhood.”

“Where was I?”

“In the big city begging for money for the community center.”

“I wasn't begging. Oh no, Jonathon Preston is coming next weekend to see our wholesome, friendly little town in need of big bucks for a community center. Jon loves a good spectacle as much as the next person, but I think he'll draw the line at murder. Thank God he's stuck in Bangkok for an extra week. Maybe Bill will have solved the case, brought the perpetrator to jail, the museum will open as intended, and . . . And that crazy man will be gone. Ugh.” She huffed out a sigh and walked into her office where she slumped down in her desk chair.

“Where did I go wrong?” she asked to the empty room.

“You're doing everything right,” Ted said, carrying in two flattened orange rolls and their coffee and tea on a silver tray.

Whiskey trotted behind him, growling and shaking the black cat biscuit in his mouth.

“This may not bode well for the neighborhood felines,” Ted said as he put down the tray. “Whiskey took one look at that biscuit and I was afraid he was going to take my hand with it.”

Liv looked up horrified. “Really?”

Ted laughed. “No, but he definitely recognized it for what it was. His nemesis Tink the Stink.” He handed her a plate with a pastry on it. “Where shall we start?”

Liv glanced at the stack of folders on her desk that hadn't been there when they'd left the night before.

“How did you beat me back to the office? I thought you were rehearsing.”

“Meese took too long with his questioning. Poor man, he didn't have a chance. He's probably still there.”

“What do you mean?”

“They're actors. They're terribly detail oriented, they generally make good witnesses, but you can't expect them to tell a story without a little blocking, a bit of elaboration and gesticulating, and pulling out every emotional stop. Meese may be there for a while.”

“Did they say anything useful?”

“Just what we already know or saw. But you missed everyone's interpretation of Marla Jean's scream.”

“Not funny.”

“I know. But a little comic relief never hurts.”

“Did they find her car?”

“Who's— Oh, Lucille's.” He thought, shook his head. “Not before I left. I'm not sure they were even looking for it. What made you think about her car?”

“When I was talking to BeBe. She thought that Lucille might have been driving by and saw the break in and tried to stop it.”

“Seems unlikely. She would have driven to the corner and called the police from her cell. But why would she be driving along that street? They live on the opposite side of town.”

Liv opened the tab on her latte cup. “No one would break in until the crowds were gone, and that would be pretty late, long after the ceremony was over. Why was Lucille out that late? And where was her husband?” She took a sip of coffee. “They didn't find his body, did they?”

Ted shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

“So why wasn't he with her? And if he dropped her off somewhere, how did she end up there?”

“And why?” Ted added.

“And what are we going to do about it?”

Ted stared at her. “Are you actually suggesting that
we
investigate?”

“What? No! I mean the other stuff. Like what do we do about the haunted house situation? According to the rules, if the winner is unable to fulfill his obligation, the prize and the title go to the runner-up. Do you think Barry can get his exhibits back up and running? Should we tell Ernie to stand by?” She stopped. “Fred called Dolly to say that the police picked Ernie up for questioning.”

Ted put down the pastry he'd just picked up. “Aah, the Celebration Bay gossip hotline.”

“Well?”

“Hmm. Ernie might be angry enough to indulge in a bit of vandalism. But murder? I don't know.”

“Why would he do something like vandalize Barry's museum? He has to live in this town. Did he think no one would find out?”

“I don't know, Liv. He's always been a straight-up guy. Rented his machine shop to Pastor Schorr for the community center fairly cheap. But he has to sell. He has to pay back taxes or face jail. He's between a rock and a hard place. Maybe losing to Barry just pushed him over the brink. But . . . we don't know that he did any of it.”

“Who else?”

Ted took his cup and leaned back in his chair. “That I don't know.”

They both sat studying their cups.

“Edna said that Barry lost a lot of money because of Lucille's husband.”

“Ancient history.”

“A dish served cold,” she reminded him.

“Revenge?” asked Ted.

Liv shrugged.

“Okay, just for argument's sake, let's say he lures her into his horror museum and kills her, then wrecks his own display, for which he just won ten thousand dollars.”

“He loses twice,” Liv said. “First from the investment and then from his prize money. Hmm. Maybe he caught her vandalizing the displays.”

“Why would she do that?”

Liv sighed. “I don't know. None of it makes sense. And you know Gilbert will be coming through that door any minute now, wringing his hands in a panic and wanting to know what we're going to do about it.”

“We're going to let Bill find the killer. We're going to tell Ernie to stand by, unless Bill has evidence that we're not privy to, and in that case, we'll have to make sure Barry gets back up and running and in less than a week.” Ted shuddered. “I refuse to go to a haunted house where all the accoutrements are made for munchkins and I'm greeted by Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

“Oh,” said Liv, “and we also have to find a way to get rid of that end-of-the-world guy before he starts accosting families and scaring them away.”

“I'll call down to the permit department and find out if he's legal.”

“I don't care if he is, he's not going to yell doom and gloom during our Halloween activities.”

Ted grinned. “We could always have Yolanda and her sisters scare him away.”

“She has sisters?” Liv asked, horrified at the thought of a family of witches running a business in town, even if they were good witches. Someone was bound to complain.

“Of the sisterhood variety.”

“Oh.”

“I think they're planning to have their Samhain around here somewhere.”

“You're kidding, right?”

Ted shook his head and took a large bite of orange roll.

“How many?”

Ted shrugged. “Are you one of those people who thinks witches worship the devil?”

She gave him a look.

“I didn't think so. So what's the problem?”

“Right after a murder isn't a great time to introduce the occult into the neighborhood. People might freak and run them out of town.”

Ted finished chewing and brushed off his fingertips. “Or figure out how to exploit them for the rest of the town's events.”

“That would be even worse. I guess I'd better get over to the store and introduce myself properly and welcome her, belatedly, to town.”

“Good idea, but wait until we figure out how to deal with the . . . kerfuffle, and get a plan before we have to present it to the remaining judges panel. Which you know we'll have to do. And probably sooner rather than later.”

Liv nodded and pushed her plate away. She wasn't looking forward to that. All these meetings, whether town council, or town wide, generally solved nothing. They only stirred up the inhabitants more than necessary and ended with the command for Liv to fix things.

She booted up her computer. “Okay. Where do we start?”

•   •   •

Two hours later, the only plan they had consisted of crossing their fingers that Barry would get his house back together in time. And wondering what was taking Bill so long.

Liv drummed her fingers on the desk. “BeBe said Lucille was responsible for Janine's divorce.”

Ted stretched back in his chair. “If you ask me, Janine was responsible for that. But yes, I've heard Lucille might have had a part in it.”

“Did it create a scandal?”

“Not really. No one much liked Janine's husband anyway.”

“So Lucille might really have had an affair with the man?”

“Sure.”

“Wait. You sound like you're not even surprised. Was Lucille known for having a roving eye?”

Ted choked out a laugh. “If only it stopped there.”

“You mean there was more than one?”

Ted nodded.

“A lot?”

Ted shrugged.

“I hate it when you withhold information.” Not getting a reaction, she said, “You don't think Lucille and Ernie . . .”

“No.”

“Lucille and Barry?”

“Not likely. Considering his history with the investment bank.”

“Revenge?”

“Not Barry's style. Besides, his attitude would not be appreciated in all quarters. A lot of people have their money tied up in investments that Carson steered them to. And have done well.”

“So he wouldn't win any friends by attacking Carson.”

“Exactly. And even if she was meeting Barry for some reason, why did she die in a vacant lot?”

Liv grasped at her last straw. “Maybe she had a heart attack and he panicked and dumped her body.”

“In the weeds next to his museum?”

“Maybe they saw someone had broken in and went to investigate and she collapsed in fright, and he panicked, et cetera.”

Ted raised his eyebrow and one side of his mouth, his that's-so-farfetched-it-pains-me expression. “Then went home, crawled in bed, fell asleep, and waited for someone to notice that he'd been burglarized, and give him a call? Where he proceeded to act like a crazy person over the loss of his exhibit? Liv, he worked hard on that haunted house. It may sound stupid, but he put his heart and soul into it. Besides, I don't think it was a heart attack.”

“Aneurism?” Liv asked hopefully.

“Give it up, Liv. Let's just wait for Bill.”

They both fell silent. Neither of them wanted to say the obvious, that Lucille had been murdered.

They went back to working on Plan B.

They were still at it when a weary sheriff walked into the office that afternoon.

“Have a seat,” Liv said. “Can I get you some water? Coffee? Tea?”

“I'm coffee'd out. I want my breakfast, lunch, heck, I'd settle for an early bird special at Buddy's Place.” He held up a hand. “Don't even suggest we go out for dinner. I've still got a bucket load of work to do.”

“I'll order take out and have Ginny send over the special,” Ted said. “Liv, you want anything?”

Liv shook her head. “I'm fine.”

Ted went out into the outer office to make the call.

“Bill, can you just tell me whether Lucille died of natural causes?”

The look on his face said it all.

Liv's stomach dropped. “You mean . . .”

“I'm afraid so. But I won't know anything for sure until I get the coroner's report, which could be a while. Evidently they're really backed up at the moment.”

Liv sighed. “Do you have to know how she died before you start investigating?”

“Heck no. But it makes it that much harder. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I already know how she died.”

Liv leaned forward. Ted stuck his head in the door, the telephone still in his hand.

“Death by asphyxiation,” Bill said.

“Meaning?”

“She stopped breathing,” offered Ted wryly.

“Duh,” Liv said. “I mean what was the method of asphyxiation?”

Bill winced. “I wanted to get statements from you before I start giving out details. Don't want to taint your memory.”

“She was strangled, right?”

“How—” Bill slumped back in his chair. “Of course, you've been discussing this since you left. Don't you know—”

“Yes,” Liv assured him. “We know not to discuss things until we give our statements, so we don't monkey around with the facts by mistake. But you took a really long time. Besides, we didn't really get very far.”