Trawling for Trouble: A Celebration Bay Mystery Novella

by Shelley Freydont

  Mayor Worley motioned Liv over.

  “Liv, I don’t believe you’ve met Amanda Marlton-Crosby.”

  “Not formally. Thank you for such a generous gift; the kids and seniors will really appreciate it.” Up close, Amanda seemed even smaller and more nondescript than she did on the stage, but Liv could see that although her clothes were rather simple and shapeless, they were designer.

  The two women touched hands. “It’s my pleasure. Now I must really go. I have a guest staying with me for the weekend. Rod should be around somewhere.”

  On cue, Rod Crosby, tall and athletic, appeared out of the dispersing crowd and came to stand at his wife’s side. There couldn’t be a wider contrast between husband and wife, her mouse to his dark-haired Adonis.

  Liv didn’t know Amanda’s husband. She knew he oversaw the running of the fish camp where many of the locals kept their boats. The camp had once been the Marlton family’s private marina but was now open to the public. It seemed like an odd thing for the husband of a multi-bazillion-dollar heiress to do. But fishermen, Liv had learned, were a large and diverse group.

  Still, she had to stop herself from thinking that he must have married Amanda for her money. That was such a cliché. Maybe they were madly in love. And considering the way he put his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her cheek, Liv knew she should make an adjustment to her first impressions.

  “It’s getting chilly, dear. Let’s get you home.”

  For a nanosecond, it looked like Amanda might demur, but then she just smiled and the two of them walked away.

  Liv turned back to the others, who were all talking animatedly. Amanda Marlton-Crosby had just dropped ten K and wandered off into the night. And no one seemed to have noticed.

  Weird, she thought, and turned her attention to the winner, Barry Lindquist.

  “Congratulations, Barry,” Liv said.

  Barry smiled, showing big teeth. He was a large man, barrel-chested, but fit. Fortysomething and generally congenial. He’d been divorced for several years and was an object of interest among some of the single women in town. “Thank you. Thank you. It was a haul. But I’m real proud of the way it turned out.”

  “Well, you should be.”

  Liv smiled at the big man, who smiled back.

  Finally Ted broke in. “Where did you get hold of all those mannequins?”

  “Here and there. Heck, that was the hardest part, except finding shoes that would fit, especially for the real old-fashioned scenes. Those people sure had little feet.”

  Ted nodded.

  “And the fun just goes on and on,” Chaz said under his breath.

  Liv shot him a look.

  “Well, you did a beautiful job,” Lucille Foster said.

  Next to her, Janine looked bored. And maybe even perturbed at her fellow judge, Liv suspected.

  Janine was used to being the center of attention, and made a point to be the best dressed at every function. But she’d been topped by Lucille Foster tonight. Next to Lucille’s trench coat and Louboutin shoes, Janine’s camel-colored three-quarter-length coat and three-inch black heels looked uninspired.

  The way Janine looked at Lucille as she held court among the male judges, the mayor, and Ted made Liv cringe. She had cause to recognize that expression. It had been aimed her way on more than one occasion.

  “Ernie,” Ted said. “Come on over so we can congratulate you, too. Excellent job.”

  “Yes, Ernie, very good,” Lucille said.

  Ernie shuffled over from where he’d been standing off to the side. “If it was so good, why didn’t I win?”

  Everyone stared.

  “Really, Ernie . . .” Ted began.

  Ernie turned to Lucille. “You said I was going to win. You promised.”

  Lucille shook her head. “I never said that, Ernie. I said you had a good chance of winning. And you did. You came in second out of over one hundred entries. That’s something to be very proud of.”

  “Anyone with a pumpkin on their porch entered the contest to help out the community center. I went all out.”

  “And you can keep Monster Mansion open to the public, too,” the mayor added.

  “For all the good it will do me.”

  “Ernie.” Lucille stepped toward him. “Don’t be like that. It was a difficult decision, but the judges agreed.”

  “I’m sure they all did. But I know why Barry won.”

  “Hey, it was fair and square,” Barry said, and pushed out his chest.

  “Oh Lord,” said Ted, but Chaz beat him to the two men, stepping in between them just as Ernie raised his fist.

  Chaz caught him by the wrist and held him fast. “Just cool it, Ernie.”

  “Get your hands off me. I’m leaving.” Ernie yanked his arm away and spun around. His shoulder bumped against Lucille, who staggered backward into the other judges. The shawl draped across her shoulders fell to the ground.

  Ernie didn’t slow down.

  “Are you all right?” the mayor asked.

  “Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” Lucille said in a silkily calm voice. “Unfortunate that he feels that way, but we all agreed on the winner.”

  “True,” the three male judges agreed.

  The men had formed a semicircle of concern around Lucille. Janine stood by, looking ready to spit nails.

  As the only person who seemed to notice the scarf was still on the ground, Liv picked it up and brushed it off. It was a soft pashmina wool, and while it had just looked burnt orange at a distance, up close Liv could see an intricate pattern of gold and brown. She took a peek at the label. Missoni. Liv pushed down the little geyser of envy she felt erupting in her shallow little heart.

  She handed it back to Lucille, who looked surprised. “Oh, thank you, hon.”

  Behind her, Chaz made a face.

  “Not at all.” Hon, Liv added to herself.

  “Well, I had better get going,” Jeremiah said. “Banker’s hours. Can I see you to your car, Lucille?”

  “Or I can accompany you?” the mayor offered.

  “Why, thank you both, but my husband, Carson, is here. Oh, there he is now. Good night, all.” She struck off across the park.

  All the men stared after her.

  Janine rolled her eyes.

  Liv and Janine never agreed on anything. Janine didn’t even like her. It was heartening to think that there was someone in town whom Janine liked even less.

  “Are you guys going back to work?” Chaz asked Liv and Ted. “Or are you going for cider?”

  “Both,” Liv said. “And I want to find out what happened to the heckler.”

  “I’m sure your big marine has him being tortured in the basement, never to see the light of day.”

  “A.K. is not my marine, he’s the head of Bayside Security, and I might point out, he’s been doing a creditable job.”

  “Has he, now? I love it when you use all those big words. So why don’t we ditch the free cider and all go over to the pub for a burger?”

  Liv was going to say no, but her stomach growled at the mere mention of food.

  Ted laughed. “That sounded like a yes to me.”

  They walked around the band shell to the street, and reached the sidewalk just in time to see Rod and Amanda standing by the passenger door of a silver Mercedes that was idling in the street.

  “Really, Amanda?”

  Amanda Marlton-Crosby shrugged and looked at the ground.

  “Just get in,” Rod said, and opened the car door. “I won’t be long,” he said. “You two will just gab about the good old days all night. Have fun. I’m going to have a couple of beers with the guys and I’ll walk home. ’Night, honey.”

  He practically pushed her inside and closed the car door. Stood by while it drove away, then walked off down the street in the oppos
ite direction of McCready’s Pub.

  “Guess he’s not going to the pub,” Liv said.

  “No,” Ted said.

  “But we are,” Chaz said, and hustled them across the street.

  “Fine,” Liv said. “And while we’re there, you can tell me why Ernie only went after Lucille instead of the other judges, and why no one told me about the ten-thousand-dollar donation from Amanda Marlton-Crosby.”

  Keep reading for a preview of

  A GILDED GRAVE

  The first book in a new series from Shelley Freydont

  Available August 2015

  Newport, Rhode Island

  July 1895

  Deanna Randolph eased away from the hairbrush that was scraping her scalp.

  “Miss Deanna, would you please hold still? Everyone will be ready to go and you’ll still be sitting here.”

  Deanna glanced up and smiled at the mirror image of her maid, Elspeth. The filigree that surrounded her dressing-table mirror framed them like a portrait. The seated figure, dark hair piled up on her head and clothed in a white dressing sacque, dark eyes peering out at the painter. The smaller figure standing behind, barely a head taller even with her mistress seated. Her fair complexion, made even rosier by the gaslight of the bedroom, almost luminescent above the black and white that was her daily uniform.

  Deanna would like to paint them just this way. Not in the style of the Pre-Raphaelites, with their vibrant colors and play of dramatic lighting. And not like the pen-and-ink covers of the dime novels featured in the windows of the Bellevue Avenue newsstand. Something less defined, their figures softened and made slightly hazy by the gaslight, like the brush strokes of the Impressionists.

  But all she was ever given were pears and vases and landscapes to dutifully reproduce.

  Oh, to be like Mary Cassatt, painting and living in Paris. Or Nellie Bly, traveling around the world. Or even Kate Goelet, the dashing lady detective of the dime novels she and Elspeth secretly read each night as Deanna got ready for bed.

  “Miss Deanna!”

  “Sorry,” Deanna said, falling back to earth. She was eighteen and about to make her second coming-out, the first in New York, and now tonight in Newport for the summer season. She glanced over her shoulder at Elspeth, only twenty-two but already in service for ten years, the last two as Deanna’s maid.

  They would both be going to the ball at Seacrest tonight, Elspeth to sit at the ready to answer Deanna’s every little need, and Deanna to impress the elite of Newport. She straightened her back and felt nerves flutter in her throat.

  Elspeth tapped the brush on Deanna’s shoulder. “You’ll want to make a good impression tonight. So, hold still.” She paused, the brush raised over Deanna’s head. Maid Slaying Her Mistress with Hairbrush.

  “And if you’re worrying about seeing Mr. Joseph tonight, don’t be. Orrin says he never attends any social events.”

  “Ugh.” Deanna slumped again. “I wasn’t thinking about Joe at all. Not until you reminded me.”

  “I’m sure no one will remember anything of what happened.” Elspeth tugged Deanna’s shoulders back.

  “You mean that I was jilted before I was even proposed to?”

  “Orrin says—”

  “I know. Your brother thinks Joe is a paragon of modern society. Sometimes I’m sorry I suggested Joe take him on as an apprentice.”

  That was before Joseph Ballard had shocked her, their families, and all of Newport at the end of last season by announcing that he wouldn’t be returning to New York but planned to remain in Newport year-round to work on his inventions. To add insult to injury, he was living and working in an old warehouse he’d rented in the working class Fifth Ward, when he had a perfectly good mansion on Bellevue Avenue.

  “Oh, miss, you don’t mean that.”

  “No, of course I don’t.” Deanna sighed and pushed at a curl that had sprung from her fringe of bangs. Stupid things, bangs. “I’m sure Joe is a perfect master. Now, let’s not talk about him anymore.”

  Elspeth returned the brush to the dressing table, lifted a strand of pearls and tiny white flowers and pinned them to the knot of hair that crowned Deanna’s coiffure. Deanna hardly flinched when the pins scratched her scalp. It wasn’t that Elspeth was ham-handed; she was quite gentle. It was just that fashion wasn’t comfortable. No wonder her sister, Adelaide, was always succumbing to the migraine.

  “I don’t know why they’re having a ball at Seacrest tonight. They say that Mr. Woodruff has been acting right strange ever since he came back from that heathen place.”

  “Barbados isn’t heathen,” Deanna said. “At least, I don’t think it is. And Cassie says her father always gets seasick.”

  Elspeth harrumphed. “Seasick? He’s been back on land for almost a week and he’s not getting any better. Daisy, she’s chamber maid over there, says one minute he’s all energetic and the next he looks like he’s gonna kick it. She’s had to light a fire in his bedroom every morning. I just hope he didn’t bring home some unheard-of disease and give it to the whole household just so he can show off those guests of his.”

  “I’m sure Lord David Manchester is no heathen and is perfectly healthy, even if he does live in Barbados.”

  “Hmmph. They say he has a valet as black as the night and seven feet tall, who can pull coins out of thin air, but if you get in his way he puts a curse on you.”

  “Sounds like a carney trick, if you ask me,” Deanna said.

  Elspeth shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s really black magic.”

  “I think black magic only happens in novels, Elspeth.”

  “Maybe.” Elspeth added another tiny spray of flowers to Deanna’s hair.

  “Are you finished?”

  “Almost. They say that Lady Madeline—she’s Lord David’s sister—didn’t even bring a lady’s maid. Said her maid was afraid to get on the boat. Well, I don’t blame her. My ma came on a boat from Ireland, said she nearly died. Anyways, Mrs. Woodruff offered her the use of her own maid, but that Lady Madeline points to Daisy, who was filling the water ewer in her bedroom, and says, ‘That one.’ Now Daisy is a chambermaid and a lady’s maid and she only came over a year ago. What do you think about that?”

  “I think Daisy is going to be very tired before the Manchesters leave for home.”

  “Well, I say, good for her.”

  “So do I.”

  Elspeth stepped back to regard her handiwork. “All done. You look like a princess.” She helped Deanna out of her dressing sacque and disappeared into the next room.

  Deanna stood before the full-length mirror wondering if she would be a success tonight, or whether people would whisper about her because she’d been jilted. But when Elspeth returned carrying Deanna’s ball gown high above her head, she forgot about Joe, and what people would think, and even about Kate Goelet and her detectival adventures.

  The dress was unbelievably beautiful, with the lightest jonquil bodice trimmed in Valenciennes lace, and tapering to a fitted waist before flaring out in soft flounces of gold-embroidered gauze. Mama had spent time and money to insure Deanna’s success at her first Newport ball. Now it was up to Deanna to do her part.

  She held onto Elspeth’s shoulders for balance and stepped into her dress, then stood patiently while Elspeth closed the row of tiny buttons down the back of the bodice, and shook out the flounces that trailed down the back of the skirt.

  “There now, you’re as pretty as a peach. You’ll turn heads tonight, miss.”

  “Wonderful, just what I need.” How could she feel excited and depressed at the same time? She was a minnow—no, a goldfish—swimming with the sharks. Smiling, bejeweled, and beautiful sharks, but deadly all the same. She might not have been out very long, but Deanna knew what was what.

  “I don’t mean the old snouts. If one of them looks at you funny, you just out-grand
them.”

  Deanna nodded, but it was easier said than done.

  “I meant the gentlemen what will be there tonight. And one gentleman in particular.”

  Deanna shivered, even though the room was oppressively close. “Not Joe.”

  “Not him, though I’m sure he’s kicking himself for how he acted. I meant Lord David. Everyone says he is very charming—and handsome, and rich—” Elspeth gave her a saucy smile. “And single. I bet he’ll only have eyes for you.”

  There was a quiet tap at the door followed by the entrance of a diminutive parlor maid. “Miss, you’re wanted downstairs.”

  Deanna sucked in her breath and pulled on her gloves. She waited impatiently for Elspeth to do up the buttons, took her fan and evening bag from the dressing table, and paused long enough for Elspeth to stand on tiptoe to give her headdress a final check.

  “Oh, miss, you look beautiful,” the parlor maid said before she stepped back to let Deanna pass through the doorway.

  Elspeth draped Deanna’s evening cape over her shoulders and followed her out of the room. “You’ll do us all proud, Miss Deanna.”

  “Yes, I will.” If she couldn’t be a painter or catch villains, at least she could marry well. She’d have to be content reading about someone else’s adventures. “Tell me again what you’ve heard about this Lord David Manchester.”

  * * *

  They were waiting for her in the foyer: Mama, Papa, and her older sister, Adelaide. Her father looked grumpy, an expression he’d been wearing too much lately. He was overworked, poor dear, and he had never quite regained his vigor in the three years since her brother, Robert, had died during the influenza outbreak at Yale. That was why Adelaide was engaged to marry Charles Woodruff, to consolidate the two families’ R and W Sugar Refineries, now that Bob was dead.

  Deanna kissed her father’s cheek and breathed in the lingering aroma of his pipe tobacco. That did more than anything to calm her nerves.

  Her mother gave her an appraising look and nodded. She was dressed in deep green Chantilly lace with large puff sleeves and a diamond parure. Beside her, Adelaide was a vision in pastel pink. Her sister looked beautiful and very self-assured, and Deanna felt a tiny spark of envy. Adelaide had been out for three years and engaged for one. Deanna had only been out for six months; she was still feeling her way.