Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery)

by Freydont, Shelley

  Liv looked down the rest of the alley. The lampposts were set at intervals of about fifty feet, bright enough to cast cones of light over most of the area. She could see the brighter lights of the walk-through two-thirds of the way down. Though the middle of the alley was fairly well lit, the sides were not. There were plenty of places to hide in the shadows against the fence and the buildings.

  The front of the Dumpster where Hank had found his Santa suit was lit. Liv could see it quite clearly, but the back half was cloaked in total darkness. Enough so that someone could dress and undress quickly without being seen.

  A shiver prickled up her spine. She would assign an extra security guard to the area to supplement the police patrol. She didn’t think the trustees would begrudge her spending a little extra on something that might prevent further crime.

  But they really needed to make a concerted effort to upgrade safety. The festivals were growing exponentially, and they didn’t have enough permanent security measures in place. She’d prob—

  There was movement ahead. Liv peered down the alley. Whiskey stood at attention. Legs set, head erect, ears pitched forward.

  The Trim a Tree delivery door opened and cast a rectangle of light on the pavement.

  Liv was inclined to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She dropped to a crouch, fumbled in her bag, pulled out a dog biscuit, and gave it to Whiskey. She put her finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  She eased forward.

  Clarence Thornsby stepped into the alley. Was Grace still inside? Clarence hadn’t bothered to turn out the lights.

  Liv couldn’t seem to move away. Curiosity, nosiness. Call it whatever, Liv had known without Chaz having to tell her, that Clarence was lying about Grace being with him during the time of the murder. Why would he do that?

  And what were they up to?

  Maybe neither of them had hired Phil Cosgrove. Maybe someone had hired him to investigate the Thornsbys. And if that was the case, they might have conspired to murder him.

  Liv took a deep breath, slowly let it out, watching the puff of fog it caused. Too much imagination. There was nothing at all—not much anyway—that made their actions suspicious. If they were planning to open the next day, they of course would want to check out the condition of their store. She should mind her own business.

  Clarence strode away from the door. He was carrying a folded newspaper under his arm.

  “Wait just a minute.” Grace’s voice shot out of the shadows and sliced through the clear night air.

  Clarence stopped, turned. Grace came out of the store, and they faced each other in the rectangle of light, silhouetted like an old Victorian Christmas card.

  An old, menacing Christmas card, Liv amended silently.

  “Don’t”—Clarence poked his finger at Grace’s nose—“start with me again. You’ve made me look like a fool. These people are my potential customers, their friends are my potential customers. They want to deal with someone they can trust. And look what you’ve done.”

  “Me? I haven’t done anything.”

  “Ha.” The sound cracked like a gun, making Liv jump. Whiskey yipped in return, and Liv reached over and scooped him up into her arms as she ducked into the shadows.

  She held Whiskey close to her, whispered in his ear. “Quiet.” His ear twitched and tickled her nose. She had to quell the urge to laugh. It was absurd, skulking in the shadows with her dog, listening to a husband and wife argue.

  A husband and wife who may have committed murder, she reminded herself.

  In which case you should get the heck away.

  Keeping to the shadows, she maneuvered to the back of the Dumpster. She squatted down, put Whiskey on the ground next to her. Keeping a restraining hand on his back, Liv crab-walked to the edge of the Dumpster and peered out.

  “If you had been at the store, none of this would have happened.”

  “What you mean is, he might have killed me instead,” she cried hysterically. “You wish I were dead.”

  “You’re crazy. I just want to know why you weren’t here for the tree lighting. It’s the biggest night of the season. And you took the night off? Where were you, Grace?”

  “I was busy. Penny Newland was supposed to do it. The Newlands have been doing it for years. She knew exactly what to do. But she cut out on me. You can’t trust anybody these days. And I’m not hiring her back.”

  “Where were you?”

  “None of your business.”

  Liv shifted position, trying to ease a cramp in her hamstring.

  “The hell it isn’t.” His voice dropped. “I lied for you. Tell me, or I’ll—” He grabbed her arm.

  Liv leaned forward to hear better. Her hamstring spasmed and she pushed to her feet, standing with her weight on one leg while trying to relax the cramp in the other.

  “What? Kill me? Do you think anybody will buy any of your stupid boats if they think you tried to kill your wife?”

  “Dammit, keep your voice down. Do you want the whole town to hear?”

  “That you tried to kill your wife?”

  “You’re insane.” Clarence turned away.

  Grace grabbed at his sleeve. Clarence jerked his arm away; the folded newspaper he’d been holding under his arm fell to the ground. He stepped over it and crowded Grace until she stumbled backward.

  Liv hoped to hell they didn’t start hitting each other or she’d feel compelled to intervene. And what good could she do? And she would blow her cover.

  She balanced on one leg, and holding her computer case behind her, Liv leaned farther out from behind the Dumpster to get a better look. She never made it. A hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her back.

  Liv froze. She’d survived how long in Manhattan without being mugged? This couldn’t be happening.

  “Do not stomp on my foot,” a voice whispered in her ear.

  Liv’s breath came out in a whoosh, or it would have if he hadn’t covered her nose with his palm.

  She pushed the hand away. “Dammit, Chaz. Shh.”

  She peered around the Dumpster. Chaz came with her, looking over her shoulder, so close that it was distracting.

  “What are we watching?” he whispered in her ear. It sent vibrations all the way down to her toes.

  “The Thornsbys.”

  “Oh.” He moved closer until her back was molded to his front.

  “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “Is it working?”

  “This is serious.”

  “I’m feeling a little serious. What are they doing?”

  Liv leaned out just in time to see Grace stalk into the store. As soon as she was gone, Clarence bent over to scoop up the newspaper and something else. A rectangular something, a book or a bag of some sort, maybe a bank deposit bag. He slipped it into the folded newspaper, looked quickly around, and shoved it inside his coat.

  Liv didn’t blame him. Even though most of the locals refused to patronize the store and it had been closed on the first big shopping night because of the murder, it had still been open for a week or so. He could be carrying a substantial amount of cash and checks.

  “I think the show is over,” Chaz whispered and pulled her even closer.

  “Stop it.”

  Grace reappeared in the alley and turned to lock the door.

  The Pyne Bough door opened, and Nancy Pyne stepped out.

  Chaz yanked Liv behind the Dumpster. Liv nearly tripped over Whiskey as Chaz pulled her into the shadows.

  “Did she see us?” Liv whispered.

  “I don’t know, are we hiding from her, too?”

  Liv growled, so did Whiskey. “No, shh, shh, I was just kidding.” Liv clamped her hand over Whiskey’s mouth.

  She could see Chaz grinning in the half light.

  “Shit, she’s coming to take out the garbage.” He pulled Liv down, where they crouched against the side of the Dumpster. Hopefully out of sight.

  Liv held her breath. Feeling stupid. And wishing Nancy would hurry and get b
ack inside before the Thornsbys left.

  She heard the squeak of the Dumpster lid, the sound of a bag being shoved in and the lid closing. Then nothing. Nancy didn’t move away or move at all. What was she doing? Why wasn’t she going back to the Pyne Bough? Liv cut her eyes toward Chaz. He shrugged.

  It seemed like eons with Liv, Chaz, Whiskey, and Nancy suspended in time. Nancy must have been watching the Thornsbys, too. But what were they doing? Liv strained her ears but heard nothing; then finally Nancy’s footsteps moved away.

  Liv and Chaz let out their collective breaths. Whiskey licked both their faces. Liv started to stand, but Chaz pulled her back. “Wait.”

  Liv watched Nancy start back across the alley. She was taking her time. Finally she opened the door, but before she got inside, something orange streaked past her feet and into the alley.

  “Oh no,” said Liv. She grabbed for Whiskey, but he shot out from behind the Dumpster and took off after Grace Thornsby’s cat.

  “Why did you let go of his leash?” Chaz asked.

  “I thought you had him.” Liv used Chaz’s shoulders to push to her feet. She stepped into the open.

  “Liv?” Nancy Pyne stood at the open door.

  Chaz stepped behind Liv.

  “Chaz? What are you two doing?”

  “Busted,” Chaz said and squeezed past Liv into the light.

  Liv didn’t wait for the explanation. She didn’t even want to know how Chaz would spin it. She took off after Whiskey and caught up with him, and an angry Grace Thornsby, at the TAT door.

  Clarence was gone.

  Grace had scooped up her cat and was holding him out of reach of the jumping, frisking Westie. “Get that dog out of here!”

  “Sorry,” Liv said. “He just wants to play.” She grabbed at Whiskey’s leash and slipped it over her wrist. She pulled him behind her. As much to protect her dog as to appease Grace Thornsby.

  Grace dropped the cat. It sidled away to stand behind her, back arched and fur standing on end. Grace glowered at Liv. “Just how did my cat get out of the store?”

  Liv shrugged as Chaz sauntered up beside her.

  “Probably got out during the investigation,” Chaz said, almost purring himself. “Cats are such resilient creatures; he probably saw his chance and took it.”

  “She,” Grace said.

  “She—nice kitty.” He reached to stroke the cat.

  Liv could have told him, but she didn’t get the chance. The cat swiped at Chaz’s outstretched hand.

  “Ow.” Chaz snatched his hand away.

  Grace scooped up the cat, tossed it inside the store, and slammed the door shut.

  “Ow,” Chaz repeated as they watched Grace storm away.

  “A salutary reminder to wear your gloves and hat in this weather. At least it didn’t go for those baby blues.”

  Chaz’s face went from hurt feelings to a grin. “She.” He batted his lashes at her.

  “Ugh.”

  Liv just caught sight of Grace’s back as she hurried to the parking lot. Liv’s spying had turned into a three-ring circus. At least she knew for sure what they’d already guessed. Grace had not been with her husband the night of Phil Cosgrove’s murder.

  She huffed out a sigh. “Come on, buddy, let’s go home.”

  Chaz fell in beside her as she backtracked her way up the alley. “Do you have any food at your house?”

  “I meant Whiskey, not you.”

  “Hey, I’m your buddy. And if you weren’t so bossy—”

  “Do not say something snarky or off-color. You are responsible for me missing the end of the Thornsbys’ fight.”

  “Yeah. Do you make a habit of skulking in alleys spying on people?”

  “No, and I wasn’t skulking . . . exactly.”

  “Uh-huh, and you were so caught up in whatever they were saying that I could have crept up behind you and slit your throat. Jesus, how lamebrained can you be?”

  From her feet, Whiskey growled.

  “I should sic him on you,” Liv said.

  “Oh please, don’t say this ferocious little powder puff would save you.” Chaz addressed his sentence to Whiskey in a sing-song voice. And while Liv boiled, Whiskey wiggled and preened and placed both paws on Chaz’s knees to be petted.

  “Traitor.”

  “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “I don’t have my car, I’m walking home.”

  “Then I’ll walk you to my car, ’cause I’m not walking you home in this weather.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” She kept walking.

  Nancy Pyne was standing in the open doorway to her store.

  “’Night, Nancy. Sorry we disturbed you.”

  “No bother. But it’s a crime the way she treats that cat. Did you see the way she threw him into the store?”

  Liv had, but she had to admit she might have been tempted to give the cat a gentle toss herself. Didn’t cats always land on their feet?

  “People like that shouldn’t be allowed to have animals. Well, good night.” Nancy closed the door.

  Liv picked up her pace. That ridiculous excursion hadn’t been a total waste. She’d learned that a person could have stolen the Santa suit, changed into it, killed Phil Cosgrove, and changed out of it again without being seen, even by pedestrians crossing the alley or store owners taking out the trash.

  She knew that the Thornsbys were not getting along. And that Clarence didn’t trust his wife, which added credence to the idea that Clarence might have hired the detective to follow her. Could Grace have found out and killed the detective? Seemed far-fetched.

  Liv wondered whether Bill had any theories, and would he share them with her if he did.

  “Hey, wait up.” Chaz strode after her, sucking on the back of his hand. “How about a beer?”

  She ignored him and kept walking.

  “A Band-Aid?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Liv fisted a hand on her hip, which didn’t have nearly the effect she was after, since Whiskey was tugging at the leash, making up for lost sniffing time.

  “You look like a powder puff to go with your powder-puff dog.”

  “Okay. That does it.” Liv tugged at Whiskey’s leash. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” Chaz asked, striding after her.

  “Whiskey and I are going home. You can go to—”

  “Come on, Liv. Have a heart. I’m bleeding and I need a beer.”

  She slowed, gave him a look, known as “the look” in Manhattan event-planning circles. It went right over Chaz’s head.

  She gave it up. “Why do you think the Thornsbys were lying?”

  “That’s easy. Didn’t you see Grace’s face?”

  Of course she had. Liv gritted her teeth. “Let me rephrase that. Why do you think they needed to lie about being together?”

  “That’s easy, too.”

  “How?” she asked, nearly at the end of patience.

  “I’ll tell you after the Band-Aid and over the beer.”

  “Forget it.”

  Whiskey barked and stiffened all fours.

  “Good dog,” Chaz said, and Whiskey, fickle friend that he was, pattered across the asphalt to paw at Chaz’s knees.

  “I don’t have any beer at home, and I can’t take Whiskey into a bar and I won’t leave him out in the cold. So you’re out of luck.”

  “Sure you can, you’re local, sort of—getting there anyway.”

  “Gee, Chaz, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He grinned at her. “And if you get drunk, I’ll be there to drive you home.”

  “I never get drunk.”

  “Why am I not surprised.” He took her by the elbow. “Hey, it’s just a beer. And then I’ll drive you home, drunk or not. Besides, you never can tell who might be there or what news you might pick up over your Virgin Mary.” His eyes glinted in the streetlight.

  Liv couldn’t tell if it was from amusement or challenge. She went with the chall
enge. “Okay. But just one. And you’re buying.”

  He trundled her across the alley to the parking lot. Liv couldn’t help but look around to see if one of the Thornsbys was still there.

  “We’re driving?”

  “No, we’re cutting through the parking lot.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Liv, hurrying to keep up and practically sliding right past him.

  Chaz grabbed her and kept her on her feet. “Watch out for the icy patch.”

  “Funny, but thanks for the save.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So where are we going?”

  “To Buddy’s. Not very romantic, I realize, but then, neither are we. And the dinner crowd will be gone. Genny won’t have closed down the cash register yet, and she won’t mind us sneaking Whiskey in.”

  Buddy’s Place, known to the locals as Buddy’s or the Place or just plain Genny’s, was a cross between a Jersey diner and a luncheonette. Genny Parsons was owner, manager, and sometimes waitress. No one seemed to remember Buddy.

  It was Liv and Ted’s go-to take-out place, and Liv ate dinner there at least once a week. It was a popular hangout, especially because it had a liquor license and a better-than-average wine and beer list.

  Genny had already locked the door, but Chaz being Chaz, knocked on the glass.

  Genny appeared on the other side and peered out, saw who it was, and unlocked the door.

  “Come on in. It’s cold as you know what out there. Whiskey, you, too. No health department rules after hours. Bill’s in that back booth if you want to join him.”

  Liv’s eyes widened. Did Chaz know Bill would be here? And why on earth would Mr. I-Won’t-Get-Involved get involved now?

  She was about to find out, because Chaz had gone ahead. Genny and Liv exchanged looks.

  “I’ll be right there,” said Genny and took off to the kitchen. Liv hurried after Chaz.

  He was standing over Bill, who was cutting into a thick steak. A bottle of locally produced micro beer sat at his elbow.

  Chaz pushed Liv into the banquette, gave Whiskey a boost up, and slid in beside them.