Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery)

by Freydont, Shelley

  “Milk and sugar? Please?”

  “It’s been an awful couple of days, hasn’t it?” Liv said.

  Penny nodded. “Poor Phil, he wasn’t so bad. Just watched everybody kinda funny. But he wasn’t a sicko or anything. It was just like he was interested in people, you know?”

  BeBe brought a tray with three cups to the table.

  Penny smiled at her. “You’re so kind. It hasn’t been a very good Christmas so far, with Daddy sick and all, and now Jason’s car broke down and he doesn’t have the money to get it fixed. And I wanted to get Bobby something special from Santa.”

  Liv and BeBe exchanged looks. Liv wondered if Penny would qualify for Toys for Tykes. She’d have to ask the sisters when she got home.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Penny said before they even had to prompt her. “When I left, Phil waved, told me to take my time. He would take care of everything.”

  “Was that right before you got to the ceremony?” Liv asked.

  Penny sniffed. “No. It was around four o’clock. Ms. Thornsby was supposed to come in then so I could go home and change and get back in time to meet the choir at the church.”

  “That must have been so disappointing.”

  Penny nodded.

  “But Phil came in time for you to get home?”

  “Yes.” Penny shook her head. “No, uh, I didn’t have time after all.”

  Liv was dying to ask where she’d been instead, and why she’d had to rush to join the choir at the last minute if she didn’t go home. Liv let it go; surely Bill had already done the questioning.

  “And the worst thing is she waited until the last minute. Only said that something had come up.” Penny cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I called home to see what I should do. Mama said she knew what that meant. That Ms. Thornsby was—well, I guess Ms. Thornsby has a reputation.”

  “For being mean?” BeBe asked innocently, but neither she nor Liv had missed the innuendo in that statement.

  “For being, you know, man crazy. I guess she was married to Hank for a while, dumped him for Mr. Thornsby. She’s a horrible woman. And Hank is so nice. He knew Jason couldn’t afford to get his brakes fixed, so he’s letting him help out in the machine shop while he’s busy being Santa, and after Jason’s hours at the diner. He’s letting him stay over his garage, too. Hank’s real generous that way. I just can’t imagine why he would marry Grace Thornsby. I don’t see what any man would see in her.”

  “Neither can I,” BeBe agreed.

  “But they did. At least they used to. Lots of them, according to Mama.”

  Maybe they still did, Liv thought. She wondered if a man had kept Grace away from the store while a murder was being committed. An assignation? Or had someone kept her away on purpose? Outside of the overturned tree, nothing in the store had looked ransacked. Liv tried to recall the room as they’d found it last evening. What had happened in the time between Penny’s leaving and her returning to find Phil dead beneath the tree?

  “Liv?”

  “What?”

  “You were frowning. Is something wrong with your latte?”

  “No, I was just thinking. Penny, you said you left at four.”

  “Yes, Phil knew Grace was supposed to come at four, so he came in to get his paycheck. He was pretty unhappy about getting fired. I told him it wasn’t his fault, that it was a town rule. He said it didn’t matter, just made his job harder—I guess it’s kind of late to find another Santa job. Then he told me to go on, he’d mind the store until I got back. I showed him how and when to turn on the lights and left.”

  “And you didn’t come back until after the tree lighting?”

  “Just before you came.” Penny cocked her head. “It’s funny, but those are the same questions Mr. Gunnison asked me.” She sighed. “Except he asked me how well I knew Phil. And—and if I had any enemies.”

  “You?” asked Liv incredulously as her mind began fitting the pieces together. Not robbery, then. There must have been another motive.

  The front door opened, bringing a gust of frigid air and putting an end to their conversation.

  “Let me take care of this customer, and then I’ll show you the ropes.”

  Liv ordered a tea for Ted and said good-bye.

  She stepped outside just as Dolly Hunnicutt came out of the bakery, carrying two bakery bags.

  “I was just on my way over,” Liv said.

  “I couldn’t wait. Fred just got back from seeing Grace Thornsby off to the police station. He said you were getting coffee, so I brought these over. You’re already leaving?” She sounded disappointed.

  “I have to get to work.”

  “Well, here are two cranberry orange muffins.”

  Whiskey sat at attention.

  “I’d never forget you.” Dolly rattled the second bag and said to Liv, “They’re candy canes. Well, I won’t keep you. I think I’ll just get Fred some coffee from BeBe.”

  And a bit of up-to-date gossip, thought Liv. She picked her way back down the sidewalk balancing drinks, bags, and leash while she attempted to avoid the melting ice.

  Several people had stopped in front of TAT and were looking at the covered windows.

  They nodded as Liv passed and went back to their conversation. “I heard it was some electrical problem.”

  “It’s a wonder it didn’t go up in smoke with all those flammable trees inside.”

  “Amazing the whole row of buildings didn’t burn down.”

  “Yep. It coulda been a whole lot worse.”

  Actually it was worse. A man was dead. And it was just a matter of time until everyone knew it. Now Liv had to figure out a way to get the town through Christmas without further mishap, and then she would banish Grace Thornsby and her ratty TAT from the future.

  Ratty TAT. Liv smiled. It was Christmas. And it was going to be the best Christmas Celebration Bay had ever seen. Come hell or high water.

  The mayor was waiting for Liv when she reached town hall. So while Ted and Whiskey went through their morning yodeling, Liv set the bakery goods and cardboard cups down on Ted’s desk and took the mayor back to her office.

  Gilbert Worley had been mayor of Celebration Bay for the last eight years. He was planning to run for a third term, which made him a little nervous when things didn’t run smoothly. And a murder was enough to send him into a tailspin.

  He was short, stocky, and friendly—except when he was worried about reelection, which was most of the time. Today, his graying brilliantined hair seemed a little grayer and there were more lines across his forehead. Politics could do that. Today, Liv didn’t think the trials of the office were making him old.

  But murder was definitely taking a toll.

  “This is just terrible,” he said before the door closed on “Jingle-Bells-Aar-roo-roo-roo.”

  Liv didn’t think he was referring to the man-and-dog racket that was occurring in the outer office.

  “How could something like this happen? And in the middle of the tree lighting with over a thousand people in attendance.”

  “Have a seat, Mayor Worley,” Liv said in her calmest voice.

  But the mayor just stood in the center of the office, wringing his hands.

  “I’m sure this was an isolated incident. As far as I know, there was no robbery and no fear that it will happen again.”

  “Again?” The word was a soprano squeak. “What about that crackerjack security firm you hired?”

  “A.K. Pierce, the head of Bayside Security, is meeting with me later today to discuss what measures will be taken in—”

  “A little late when the horse is out of the barn, so to speak.”

  “A terrible thing to have happened. But at no time were any of the citizens or visitors in jeopardy.” At least she didn’t think so. It had happened when everyone was gathered in the square, except the store owners or their proxies who were inside waiting for their cue.

  The mayor continued to wring his hands. “Did you talk to Bill yet? Does he
have any suspects?”

  “No I haven’t, and I don’t think he’ll be sharing any news with the rest of us until he has something definite.”

  “Maybe not, but you always seem to know what’s going on. If you hear anything that might jeopardize—”

  The door opened. Ted came in carrying a tray of muffins and cups. Whiskey trotted by his side, a red-and-white dog biscuit in his mouth. Liv did a double take at the red color, but knew Dolly would never use anything but vegetable dyes in any of her doggie products. People products? Liv was sure red dye number two was good enough for them.

  Ted eased past the mayor, placed the tray on the table, and began arranging their morning meeting breakfast.

  The mayor eyed the pastries suspiciously. “Do you two do this every morning?”

  “Every morning,” said Ted, passing Liv her latte. “Have to keep on top of those financial reports. We call it Munch and Crunch.”

  Liv had to bite her lip to keep from grinning.

  “Humph,” the mayor said. “There won’t be any financial reports to crunch if people keep getting murdered.”

  “Which might not happen if outsiders were properly vetted in all areas, like Liv suggested.” Ted pulled up his chair, sat down, and reached for the butter dish he kept in the portable fridge in the supply closet.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, think about it,” Ted said, slicing his muffin and slathering it with butter. “Somebody is responsible for not insisting the Thornsbys conform to the one-Santa rule. Liv had to go tell them to cease and desist. They didn’t. If they had, there would be no dead Santa, now would there?”

  “Oh.” The mayor stopped wringing his hands long enough to pull his palm across his mouth. “This is just terrible. I’ve called a trustees meeting for tonight. And I’ve invited a few local businessmen—businesspeople—to attend. I’d like you both to be there.”

  Ted stopped with the butter knife poised in midair. “For the purpose of?”

  The mayor flinched and eyed the knife. “Tonight, seven o’clock. Now, I really have to run. Busy day.” He scooted past Ted and hurried out of the office. They heard the outer door close.

  “Oh, Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert,” Ted said and finished buttering his muffin. He handed Liv the butter.

  “Did you do that on purpose?”

  “What?”

  “Brandish that butter knife at the mayor?”

  Ted smiled. “Would I do that? Now, let’s eat and pretend like it’s a Merry Christmas before the accusations start flying.”

  Liv reached for her latte, which was quickly growing cold. “This isn’t like you.”

  “I get cranky when people start calling useless meetings during my favorite holiday.”

  “He’s concerned about safety.”

  “My dear Pollyanna, he’s worried about the next election. And we can be sure Janine will be there to stir the hysteria. Same old, same old—and to make matters worse . . .” He stopped.

  “What?” Liv asked, bracing for the worst.

  “I’ll have to miss choir practice.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Really? Choir practice?”

  “Really.”

  “So all the nonsense about the Messiah sing-along wasn’t a joke?”

  Ted shook his head.

  “I can go to the meeting by myself.”

  “And let you face a boring two hours by your lonesome? What kind of assistant would I be?”

  “A happy one?”

  Ted grinned. “Oh, I plan on being happy with both barrels. I’m not going to let you have all the fun. Now, didn’t you say something about writing an article for the Clarion?”

  “Yes and the sooner the better.”

  Ted cleared the breakfast things and went back to his office. Whiskey curled up on his doggie bed and was soon snoring peacefully. Liv opened a new document on her computer and began to write.

  An hour later she had a nice succinct article about how the town all came together for Christmas. Chaz would laugh, but surely he would run it. His livelihood depended on the success of the town, too. It took money to run a newspaper, even a weekly rag like the Clarion. The paper didn’t have a wide distribution, and his secondary job as fishing guide could hardly support Chaz and the newspaper, both. Liv guessed that advertising must go a long way toward keeping him in ink and night crawlers.

  She downloaded the article onto a flash drive and dropped it into her canvas bag.

  Whiskey roused himself, yawned a yawn big enough to belong to a larger dog, and got to his feet. “You’re going to stay with Ted for a bit. I have a lot of running around to do.”

  True to form, at the word “running,” Whiskey shot across the room and hid beneath her desk.

  Liv stopped by Ted’s desk. “I may be gone for an hour or two.”

  “Not to worry, we’ll amuse ourselves.”

  Liv had no doubt they would. “No feeding the d-o-g.”

  Ted toodled his fingers at her.

  “I mean it.”

  “No feeding. Got it. We’ll bring something back for you.”

  She had to be content with that. One of the hardest parts of her life in Celebration Bay was preventing everyone from feeding Whiskey and feeding her. It was a show of affection, she knew, but with these winters, it was hard to get any exercise in at all, for either of them.

  She put on her coat and scarf and pulled her hat down over her ears, something she would have scorned to do in Manhattan. Fortunately, in Celebration Bay hat hair was a fait accompli. The winds off the lake could be fierce.

  *

  Chaz Bristow couldn’t even claim hat hair for the way he looked when he opened the door of the Clarion office, which Liv knew was also his home. He was wearing a ratty T-shirt and checked flannel pants that Liv assumed were his idea of pajamas.

  “Oh God, it’s you,” he said and pushed his fingers through hair that was already standing on end.

  “Are you busy?” She’d thought about calling first, but she didn’t want to give him time to escape. He was one of the least cooperative people in town. Fortunately for Chaz, he seemed to get away with it on good looks and occasional charm.

  His height, his build, his blond hair—he could have been a beach bum in another life. Instead, he was a former investigative reporter who was content to fish and churn out a few pages of local news each week.

  She didn’t get him, and for some reason it just made her angry every time she got near him.

  “If you can spare the time, I have something for you.”

  He grinned at her, white teeth flashing from a day-old growth of blond beard.

  “An article I want you to run.”

  His face fell ludicrously.

  She shook her head and pushed past him into the dim, neglected foyer. It was too bad. At one time, the Clarion office had been a charming clapboard bungalow. The rooms were square and still had the original details. But the inside was a pigsty.

  Liv resisted making an analogy between the house and its owner.

  Liv groped her way through the murky parlor to the “newsroom,” once a bedroom or second parlor. She went straight to the window and raised the venetian blinds. Light washed over piles of paper, books, computers, and printers that littered several fairly flat surfaces.

  Liv sat down at the nearest computer, pulled off her hat, unbuttoned her coat, and inserted her flash drive, while Chaz rummaged for the coffeepot, then took it into the bathroom for water. When he returned, she had the article on his screen.

  He measured coffee and started the machine, then came to stand behind her, one hand resting on the back of her chair, the other on the desk.

  “Huh,” he grunted.

  “I need you to run this on the front page. Not too splashy but big enough to catch the eye. You can change the wording as long as you keep the goodwill of Celebration Bay paramount, and do not under any circumstance mention what happened at TAT.”

  “Huh.”

  She w
ould have spun around to glare at him to drive her point home, but he held her trapped in her chair.

  “What happened to Good morning, Chaz. Here’s the coffee and bagel I thought to bring you when I have a favor to ask?”

  “Good morning, I have a favor to ask.”

  “You’re getting closer.” He leaned over her, ostensibly to read the article. Liv suspected he was just trying to crowd her space.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s a good thing you decided to go into party planning.”

  “Event planning.”

  “Because your journalistic skills are less than—”

  “Chaz, will you please just do it?”

  He lifted one shoulder and began looking for a clean cup.

  Liv held on to her temper. “I don’t suppose you were sleeping in this morning because you were up late surfing the Internet for Phil the Santa and the Thornsbys and have come up with a theory of why someone killed the man?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, do you have any theories?”

  “Nope.”

  “Aargh. How can you just walk away from all the good you did as a reporter and be content with fishing news? You could help Bill if you wanted to.”

  “Well, there’s the rub. I don’t want to. But I’ll print your article. Now go away.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll let myself out.”

  She’d reached the door when he called out. “The sooner you give up on me being a productive citizen, the sooner we can be friends.”

  She didn’t want to be friends. She wanted someone who cared enough to help catch a murderer.

  The cold caught her off guard and she had to stop at the corner to button her coat. She yanked on her knit hat and marched toward the town green. Breakfast with Santa would be over by now. She’d meant to look in on it, just to see that everything was okay. Since she hadn’t received any emergency calls, she would assume it went as planned.

  Which meant Hank should be at Santa Village. She had time to make a quick visit before she prepared for her meeting with A.K. Pierce and then came up with a strategy to calm people at the meeting that night.

  She turned right at the First Presbyterian Church and hurried toward the square.

  Kids and their parents were already lined up along the sidewalk that cut through the park, waiting for Santa to open the doors for Christmas in Celebration Bay. The tree lighting and the Pancake Breakfast had just been preludes to Hank’s real work. From now until Christmas Eve, he’d be ensconced in Santa Village taking Christmas wishes, hearing Christmas secrets, being sneezed and coughed on, having his beard pulled, and who knew what else.