Trick or Deceit

by Shelley Freydont

  “Well, if you guys come up with any brilliant ideas, let me know. I’ll be at the station.”

  He hung up and Liv returned to the parlor. “That was Bill. No dice. No one has seen Lucille’s shoes or the shawl she was wearing.”

  “Well.” Edna poured more wine.

  Chaz passed on the offer of another beer. “Have to keep my wits about me when I’m with you three.”

  “So we know who and what,” Ida said encouragingly. “Lucille Foster’s body.”

  “In the vacant lot without her shoes and shawl,” Edna added. “Very strange.”

  “When is sometime after the award ceremony, where she was last seen alive and kicking. What are we missing?” Liv asked Chaz.

  “What happened between the time she left the park and the time you found her body?”

  “I didn’t find her body. Marla Jean Higgins did.”

  “Marla Jean?” Ida looked at her sister. “Ernie’s daughter?”

  Liv nodded.

  “What on earth was she doing there?”

  “She was rehearsing the play across the street and Henry Gallantine brought the cast over to help round up the mannequins.” Liv paused. “That’s before we knew there was a real body there.”

  “I had her in class,” Ida said. “Such a plain little thing, poor dear. She had to repeat fourth grade. It was kind of sad, really. She wanted to be a princess, remember, Edna?”

  “Every Halloween. She’d wear her costume to school even after she was way past the age to dress up. I’m sorry to say the kids made fun of her.”

  Liv nodded. It seemed Marla Jean still hadn’t outgrown her love of dressing in costume.

  “She had a job at the drugstore, then she married that awful Eddie Higgins.”

  “Certainly not the prince she dreamed of, poor soul.”

  “Is this relevant to the discovery of Lucille’s body?” Chaz asked.

  The three women looked at each other.

  “It might be,” Liv said. “I mean Ernie is accused of vandalizing the museum and his daughter is there the next morning cleaning up? Holy cow. We’ve all been thinking that the vandalism happened first. But what if the vandalism came second in order to obscure the body?”

  “Do you think that could be it?” Ida asked.

  “Possibly,” Chaz broke in. “But that’s not the point. Does anyone know Lucille’s movements after she left the park?”

  The three women exchanged another look.

  “Not even gossip,” Ida said, disappointed.

  “The mayor asked her if she needed a ride and she said her husband Carson was waiting for her,” Liv said.

  “We know that,” Chaz said.

  “But Bill said that when he talked to Carson Foster, he said that he hadn’t seen her since lunch the day before.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Edna said.

  Chaz opened his eyes. “Sure it does. We just have to figure out which one of them is lying.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Since they only had Carson Foster’s word for it that he hadn’t seen his wife, and Lucille was no longer around to tell her side of the story, the four of them tabled that aspect of the mystery for Bill to handle.

  They finished off the wine and called it a night. Chaz insisted on walking Liv to her door.

  “You realize you’re not coming in,” Liv said as they waited for Whiskey to make his security round of the garden and driveway.

  “Even with Miss Ida and Miss Edna watching?”

  “Especially with them watching.”

  Chaz cocked his head and Liv could understand why the sisters forgave him all his childhood exploits, but he was no longer a child. And Liv refused to be beguiled by it. She had a reputation to protect.

  Chaz laughed. “You’ll give in one day.”

  “Probably,” Liv said. “But you will probably have lost interest by then.”

  “Probably,” he agreed. He whistled for Whiskey, scratched him behind the ears, before sticking his hands in his jacket pocket and walking off the down the driveway. From the corner of her eye, Liv saw the curtains in the Zimmermans’ dining room—the room with the best view of Liv’s carriage house—close.

  Liv opened the door; Whiskey shot inside. Liv sighed and went in behind him.

  • • •

  It was barely six a.m. when Liv bolted upright in bed. She needed to warn the folks at the community center that Jon Preston would be stopping in the following day, then stop by Barry’s to make sure the refurbishment of the Museum of Yankee Horrors was far enough along to show to the grant representative.

  She showered and changed into work clothes. But not her usual in the field cords and heavy sweater. She wanted to be prepared if Jon made another unscheduled appearance. Today she put on a pair of black slacks and a gray knit shirt with a cowl collar that she’d brought from the city and hardly ever wore.

  She had a pair of high-heeled boots in a box somewhere but not even for the community center grant would she wear those while running around all morning. She opted for a pair of ankle boots with a wedge heel.

  Understated, casual . . . too casual? She pulled the elastic from her ponytail and her hair spilled over her shoulders. She looked in the full-length mirror behind the door. One good wind and she’d be eating flying wisps. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

  It would have to do. She had serious work to accomplish.

  Whiskey was waiting by the front door when she came out shrugging into her fall jacket.

  She clipped his leash and he happily trotted out the door. But when she stopped at the sisters’ Victorian house, he rebelled, pulled on the leash.

  “Heel,” she commanded.

  He barked, shook his head, and turned toward town.

  She’d kept him from work for two days and there had been no emergencies. It was pretty obvious he meant to go today. He was probably missing his friend Ted. Liv knew Ted was missing him.

  Liv, however, was not missing the caterwauling the two of them called singing.

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to stay with Ted while I’m running around.”

  “Arf,” said Whiskey, and trotted off happily.

  Bill must not have made much progress in the case, since there was no new gossip at the bakery or the Buttercup Coffee Exchange. “Haven’t heard a thing,” said Dolly as she handed Liv a bag with two croissants and another with a witch’s hat doggie biscuit. “But don’t you look nice?”

  “Nothing,” BeBe said before the sound of the steamer drowned her out. She handed Liv a cardboard tray with coffee and tea in orange and black cups.

  “You’re sure this is my plain latte and you didn’t try to slip me any Frankenfrapuccino?”

  “I know better. You’ve trained me well. But I still have hopes that I can expand your java horizons.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Well, call me if you hear anything new. The tom-toms are silent.”

  “Will do.”

  “You got a hot date? Love that sweater.”

  Liv just waved and left. Whiskey seemed in a hurry to get to work. He only stopped once to claim the leg of a bench and to sniff a bag that had missed the trash receptacle. Liv picked it up and tossed it inside.

  By the time Liv reached the door to the office, Whiskey was jumping around like it was Doggie Christmas. Which reminded her that she needed to check with Dexter Kent’s Landscaping and Nursery about housing the reindeer for the Santa parade. Liv was always living in several holidays at once. Luckily, she only got confused when she was really, really tired.

  As soon as the door swung open, Whiskey dashed inside. He’d finally trained Liv to drop his leash before she opened the door.

  “Whiskey!” greeted Ted and came around his desk.

  Whiskey sat at his feet.

>   “Their house is a museum . . .” Ted crooned the lyrics to The Addams Family theme song.

  “Arr-ar-aa-arr-ar-aroooo . . .”

  Liv went in her office and shut the door.

  She started on her latte without waiting for Ted. He could be out there yodeling away until her coffee grew cold.

  She quickly looked through the day’s agenda. She should be able to get to everything she needed to do before doing it all over again tomorrow with Jon. And she’d check for any more bodies along the way.

  Not funny, Liv, she told herself. Not funny at all.

  She added calling Bill Gunnison to her to-do list.

  The boys finished their concertizing and came into the office. Ted dropped a stack of folders on the desk. Whiskey retired to his doggie bed to eat his witch’s hat.

  Liv added checking out Yolanda’s store to her to-do list. She’d have to get going pretty soon if she was going to get everything done before the afternoon. Probably a case of overkill but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  A quick division of tasks between the two of them and Liv was out the door. She stuck her head back in. “Better have Dexter send over an invoice. I bet you dollars to donuts, the reindeer rental place is going to jack up their prices this year.”

  “Probably,” Ted agreed. “The price of success. I’ll get on it.”

  She started to leave, stopped once again. “Oh, and can you check on the status of the doomsday prophet removal?”

  “Yes.”

  “And—”

  “—don’t feed the dawg,” he said.

  Whiskey barked.

  Liv rolled her eyes. The sisters swore he understood what they said. Sometimes Liv believed them

  “Get out of here, you’re walking around the neighborhood, not going on a world tour. Chop chop. By the way, you look really nice.”

  This time Liv left.

  She headed for the community center. There wouldn’t be any kids there today, but she knew the bridge club met at ten three days a week, and there was a nutrition class geared to seniors every Wednesday.

  She’d love to bring Jon by when both groups were there to show the center’s multigenerational function.

  She walked east along the park, nodding to the Garden Club members who volunteered to tend the town’s planters. Today they were deadheading huge plantings of bronze, yellow, and burgundy mums.

  Liv crossed the street and passed the cemetery, turned left at the First Presbyterian Church and turned right on Baxter Street where the community center and Ernie Bolton’s Monster Mansion were both located. Maybe she’d just drop by and see how he was doing since he was out of jail.

  She purposely didn’t look toward the Clarion office as she passed by it. Chaz’s constant bantering was exhausting and she felt herself giving in. In Manhattan she might have just gone out with him and they’d be over each other by now. But this wasn’t Manhattan. Besides, there was also A.K., who definitely sparked her interest—except she never consorted with coworkers.

  She stopped in the middle of the street.

  Liv, what is wrong with you? You have a murder and a semi-disaster lurking around the next corner and you’re thinking about men? Focus!

  She marched ahead, down the sidewalk, across the parking lot, where cars were already parked, and opened the pedestrian door to the community center.

  There was a chill in the air. It had previously been an auto body shop, and it was poorly insulated. The church had donated space heaters, but Liv considered them inadequate and dangerous. She couldn’t wait to move the center into a real building.

  A handful of people were either playing bridge or working on a jigsaw puzzle. As she walked over to the puzzlers, Pastor Schorr came out of the back room, which was really the hallway to the one bathroom and also served as the “kitchen,” which consisted of an old refrigerator, a hot plate, and a microwave oven lined up along one wall.

  Liv mentally crossed her fingers that they soon would have a nice warm building with several bathrooms and a full kitchen. And separate rooms for when the seniors and kids were using the facility at the same time.

  “Liv. How nice to see you.” Pastor Schorr suddenly looked wary. “Right?”

  “Yes, I just came to see how we’re doing here. I’m bringing Jonathon Preston to visit tomorrow.”

  The pastor smiled, relieved. Dressed in slacks and V-neck sweater, he looked even younger than he did in his surplice. He was thin, though his freezer was never bare, since he was a single man and the ladies of his congregation made sure he had everything he needed. To excess.

  “Hopefully it will be a little warmer by the time he comes through.” Pastor Schorr’s smile broadened. “Unless we should turn the heaters off and look bereft.” He paused. “Of course you know I was just kidding.”

  “Of course. But do leave the heat on. The first rule of fund-raising: Look your best. People like to give money to projects that look like they’ll succeed. It kind of works.”

  “We’re all praying that it does.”

  Liv smiled. “Well, I’d better get going. I was going to stop over at Ernie’s Monster Mansion. Have you seen him since . . .”

  “No, but I know that Harriett and Marla Jean have been staying there at night to prevent anyone from breaking in.”

  “There haven’t been any attempts, have there?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I’ll just check on them on my way to Barry’s.”

  She waved good-bye to the seniors, most of whom were too intent on their games to notice her.

  Pastor Schorr walked her to the door. “I don’t suppose the sheriff is any closer to catching the person who killed Mrs. Foster.”

  “Not that he’s said. But he’ll get to the bottom of it,” Liv said with more optimism than she was actually feeling. Her landladies were right. The first forty-eight hours were crucial, and it was long past that.

  She cut diagonally across the parking lot to Ernie’s Monster Mansion. The house had belonged to Ernie’s in-laws. But they no longer lived there and the house had sat empty ever since. The Monster Mansion at least put it to good use for a few weeks.

  As she started to cross the street, she noticed someone on the porch. A woman wearing a white dress with a blue sash tied in a big bow in back, like something Sleeping Beauty would wear in a Disney movie. Marla Jean. It had to be. She moved across the porch, turning in circles until she got to the far end, then turned back again. When she reached the opening to the steps, Marla Jean threw her arms out to the side, faced the street, and bowed to an imaginary audience.

  Then she saw Liv and stopped. Froze like a deer caught in headlights. Then she turned and ran into the house.

  That’s when Liv saw the bottom of her shoes and the flash of red before Marla Jean bolted inside and closed the door. At first Liv just stood there computing what she had seen. She didn’t want to make a scene if she was wrong.

  But she wasn’t wrong. The soles of Marla Jean’s shoes were red. And red soles were the signature feature of the shoes Lucille Foster had been wearing the night she was killed.

  Liv reached for her phone and keyed in Bill’s number as she crossed the street. She paused in the yard to leave a message. “Bill. This may be a false alarm, but even if it isn’t, you need to meet me at Ernie Bolton’s haunted house immediately. I think I’ve found Lucille’s shoes.”

  She disconnected and, hoping she hadn’t called Bill out on a wild-goose chase, went up the steps to the porch.

  As she reached the top, the coffin lid flew open and a skeleton popped out, laughing hideously.

  Liv screeched before she caught herself. Marla Jean must have turned on the skeleton once she was inside.

  Liv walked up to the door and knocked. The outside lights popped on. But since it was daylight, the effect wasn’t as surprising.

&nbs
p; She knocked again. Music began to blare out of the speakers.

  Liv pounded on the door. “Marla Jean, open up. I just want to talk.” When still no one answered, she tried the knob. The door opened.

  Liv shook her head. A locked door would have been a better deterrent than scary music and a skeleton.

  She opened the door and stepped inside. “Marla Jean?”

  Nothing.

  She peered through the dark rooms. Saw strange silhouettes and shadows. Any of them could be hiding Marla Jean.

  “Marla Jean. It’s Liv Montgomery. You’re not in trouble. Just come out and talk to me.”

  Between the piped-in music, the popping lights behind her, and the dark in front of her, Liv couldn’t tell if she was alone in the house. Marla Jean might have run straight through and out the back door, for all she knew.

  She called out again. She was sort of trespassing. If she could just find a light switch . . . She reached out and touched something slimy. Her instinct cried “run” at the same time her mind was saying “gel strings.”

  Still she snatched her hand back and rubbed it on her black pants.

  She could see a bit of a light ahead. The back door? She groped her way forward. “Marla Jean. This really isn’t funny.”

  The floorboard above her head creaked.

  Liv froze. Waited. Another creak, and another. Someone was walking across the floor above her. Down the hall probably. “Marla Jean are you upstairs?”

  One more creak.

  Cat and mouse. “I know you’re upstairs. I’ll come up if you don’t want to come down.”

  Liv felt her way across the wide, empty space. Her eyes were more accustomed to the dark now and she could make out shapes. The stairs were straight ahead.

  She stepped forward.

  The space in front of her wavered, creating a distorted image. She tried to move past it but it moved with her. Then she got it: carnival mirrors. And the moving image was herself. She felt her way past the mirrors, came to a heavy black curtain.

  “Marla Jean, are you in there?”

  Liv pushed the curtain aside, but there was nothing behind it but wall.

  She found the stairs by stubbing her toe on the bottom tread. She groped for the banister and a strobe light began to pulse as horror masks appeared and disappeared, the strobe making them look as if they were moving closer.