Foul Play at the Fair

by Shelley Freydont

  “Now, about the ad. We depend on you to disseminate information about the festival; therefore—”

  “Honey, it’s a local paper. Trust me, everyone knows when the damn festival is.”

  “We’d also like visitors to the area to have the information available to them.”

  “Speak for yourself.” He sat down on the couch, looking as if he had every intention of resuming his nap. “Hell, you can’t take two steps without running into one of your posters. Anyone with half a brain can figure it out.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It is to me.”

  “If you don’t care to support our activities, you could at least fulfill your contractual obligations with the festival.”

  He snorted. “Did Janine tell you we had a contract?”

  “Well, no, but that will be remedied immediately.”

  “No need.”

  Oh, yes, there was. She wondered how many other citizens had been stiffing the festival like Charles Bristow was doing.

  He yawned. “Nice to have met you. I’m sure you can find your way out. You didn’t have any trouble finding your way in.” He lay down and pulled the newspaper over his head.

  She yanked it off again. “When an organization pays for a service, said organization expects to receive that service.”

  “Oh, nag nag nag. If I wanted a wife, I would’ve bought one.” He snatched the paper from her hands. “And FYI, you haven’t paid me.” He smiled up at her, clearly thinking he’d gotten in the last word.

  “For how long?”

  “Let’s see. You still owe me from Memorial Day weekend. Oh yeah, the Strawberry Festival, Arbor Day. I think that’s it. Nope, there was Midsummer Mardi Gras, too.”

  “That’s over three months of advertising.”

  “Janine knows how to hold a grudge.”

  Liv was so tempted to ask him what he’d done to Janine, but she bet she could guess.

  “If you’ll send in copies of the invoices, I’ll see that you are duly compensated.”

  “Do you always talk like a court stenographer, the party of the first part…”

  Only when she was pissed…or nervous, and she was currently both.

  “The party of the second part, the hambone connected to the leg bone…duh doo doo di doo…” He lay down and covered his face with the paper again.

  This time Liv left him to it. She removed the precariously balanced cup of coffee and saw herself out. She heard his, “Have a nice day,” follow her as she shut the front door.

  It was late afternoon by the time Liv picked up Whiskey from Ted and set off at a trot across the green toward home. She opened a can of dog food and fed Whiskey, took a carton of leftover Chinese from the fridge, and headed to her bedroom, where she quickly changed clothes and reapplied her makeup while she ate. She grabbed her keys and purse from the foyer table.

  “Gotta go,” she called. “Traffic Committee meeting, but as soon as this weekend is over we’re getting back into a routine.”

  She decided to walk to the meeting. It was a lovely night, and she hadn’t gone for a real run in days. She struck off toward town hall at a brisk walk.

  The meeting went well, but it was still after ten when they adjourned, and even Liv’s Top-Siders were beginning to pinch.

  Fred Hunnicutt caught up to her as she walked out of the meeting room. “Well, that’s the quickest we’ve gotten through that meeting ever, and we have you to thank for it.”

  Like his wife, Dolly, Fred always had a ready smile and a compliment. They even resembled each other, stocky and well padded, except Fred was nearly bald.

  “Thanks,” Liv said and waved to several committee members as they made their way to the street. “It was touch and go at first; Manhattan has nothing over Celebration Bay for bandying opinions.”

  “I expect we do a little better than them. We’ve been fighting over the same things for a couple of centuries, but you handled them like a pro. First time anybody ever did a spreadsheet and flowchart on traffic. I think everybody was so surprised they forgot to argue. Dolly won’t believe her eyes when I show up before midnight. Where’s your car?”

  “I left it at home. It’s only a few blocks and this may be one of the last mild nights we get, if Ted is to be trusted.”

  “We might get a few more. And where was Ted tonight?”

  “I gave him the night off. Between showing me the ropes and getting his own work done, he’s been working overtime. And we’re just going to get busier over the weekend.”

  “Well, I’m going your way. I’ll walk you home.”

  “Thanks.” They cut through the park, following the path between the half-finished booths.

  “I think this is going to be the best one yet,” Fred said. “Kinda dark, though.”

  “It is tonight,” Liv agreed as they stepped into the shadows between two circles of light cast by the cast-iron lampposts. “But the booths and the smaller trees will all be festooned with white and orange lights. Plus all the stores and restaurants will be lit. We’ll be fine.”

  “You sure do think of everything.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Yeah, but you also enjoy doing it. I can tell.”

  “I do.” It was just as many hours as she’d worked in the city. There had been snafus and frayed tempers, and she knew there would be more before the harvest festival was over and they set up for Halloween. But she was enjoying it. It felt right.

  She had a sneaking suspicion that she’d found her home.

  Liv stopped when they got to the gate of the picket fence that surrounded Fred and Dolly’s cottage. Like all the houses in downtown, it was impeccably kept, freshly painted, and as charming as a postcard.

  “I’ll walk you on home,” Fred offered.

  “Thanks, but it’s only another block; you go in and surprise Dolly.”

  Fred smiled and Liv felt a little envious, wondering how it would feel to have someone smile like that over her after twenty-five years of marriage. She couldn’t even imagine someone smiling like that after a few dates.

  Event planning and longevity in relationships did not mix.

  “Go on inside.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure, but thanks. Tell Dolly I’ll see her tomorrow.”

  As he opened the gate, something moved in the shadows.

  “Fred,” Liv whispered, grabbing his arm. “Over there, someone is in your driveway.”

  “Where?”

  “There.” Liv pointed just as the shadowy form of a man slipped into the hedge that ran along the property line.

  “Probably one of the teenagers taking a shortcut.”

  Two houses down a pickup truck started up and sped out of sight.

  Fred walked out into the street and peered after it. “It doesn’t look like any truck I know of. I better go in and check on Dolly. You come, too. I don’t want you alone out here until we make sure there’s nothing wrong.”

  Liv didn’t argue.

  Fred opened the gate, ran ahead, and flung the front door open. “Dolly? Dolly? Where are you?” He rushed into the living room, Liv right behind him.

  Dolly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Her hair was down; she’d changed out of her gingham and was wearing a purple velour tracksuit. Her hand was pressed to her chest.

  “Thank heavens, you’re here. There was a man—a Peeping Tom—at the window. Oh Fred, he didn’t look human.”

  Chapter Three

  “I’m calling Bill Gunnison right now.” Fred gave his wife a reassuring hug and steered her toward Liv. “Do you mind staying until Bill gets here, and then I’ll walk you home?”

  “Of course I’ll stay. Why don’t we sit in the living room, Dolly? Can I make you some tea or something?”

  “No, dear, I’m all right. It was just such a fright. And now to drag poor Bill out when he’s down with a bad back.”

  Bill Gunnison showed up ten minutes later. Fred opened the door, and t
he police chief slowly shuffled his way into the room. Normally he was a tall man, well over six feet, with grizzled gray hair and twinkling blue eyes. Tonight he was bent over at the hips, which made him almost the same height as Fred.

  “Oh, Bill,” Dolly said. “You shouldn’t have come out. You sit right down.”

  Bill crooked his head up to look at her. “Thanks, but I’m better standing.” He managed a smile and fumbled inside his jacket pocket for a tape recorder. “You don’t mind if I use this?”

  Dolly shook her head, and Fred came to sit beside her.

  Bill mumbled into the tape recorder, then lifted his head back to Dolly. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  “I was in the kitchen doing the dinner dishes when I heard a noise outside. It sounded like a raccoon was getting into the trash, so I went to the back window to look out, and he was there at the window staring right at me. Not the raccoon, the man.”

  Bill nodded and winced. “Can you describe him?

  Dolly shook her head. “He didn’t look human. More like a ghost—no, a skeleton. He was all white with black holes for eyes. Then his mouth opened and I think he laughed at me. It was awful.”

  “Sounds like he was wearing a mask, didn’t want to be recognized, maybe.”

  “Recognized? But we don’t know anyone who goes around looking in people’s windows.”

  “Dolly, you’d be surprised at what some folks will do. Anything else?”

  Dolly shook her head. “I ran out of the kitchen, and then Fred and Liv came in and we called you.”

  Bill twisted his head to Fred and Liv. “You two see anything?”

  “Liv saw someone in the driveway, but when I looked he was gone.”

  “Ms. Montgomery?”

  “I saw someone moving along the driveway. Then he, or she, slipped through the hedge and was gone. But a few moments later, maybe half a minute, a truck started up down the street and took off. It might have been coincidence but…” She shrugged.

  “I didn’t recognize it,” Fred said. “But it was dark—gray, green, maybe blue. Not sure, just that it was dark; these days I don’t see so good at night.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Bill. “We’re all getting that way.”

  “Middle age,” Fred said. “Though Dolly here says we’d have to live to be over a hundred if this is middle age.” He smiled fondly at his wife. “And I hope we do.”

  “You’re embarrassing Ms. Montgomery.” Bill turned to Liv. “Anything else?”

  “That’s all. We came inside and Fred called you.”

  He clicked off the tape recorder and slipped it back in his pocket. “I’ll talk to the neighbors tomorrow. Maybe someone saw something, or can at least tell me whose truck it was.”

  Fred stood up. “Thanks, Bill. Sorry to call you out when you’re all banged up.”

  “Glad to do it. Ms. Montgomery, are you staying here tonight?”

  “No, I was on my way home. And please call me Liv.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here if you’re nervous about being in that carriage house alone.”

  “Thanks, Fred, but I’m from the city. I can take care of myself.” She could; she had the black belt to prove it, but she welcomed Bill’s offer to drive her home.

  He pulled all the way into the driveway of the old Victorian house and stopped in front of the carriage house Liv rented from the Zimmerman sisters, Edna and Ida, two retired schoolteachers who lived in the main house. Liv had fallen in love with the little cottage the first time she saw it. It had a cozy living room with a small fireplace, a separate bedroom, a tiny kitchen and bath, and was surrounded by trees and silence. It was close enough to the old Victorian for Liv to feel safe but not so close as to become a source of gossip. Not that she had anything to hide. Unfortunately.

  Tonight she was glad of the proximity, and though she declined Bill’s offer to search the premises, she let him walk her to the door.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look around?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Plus I have Whiskey to protect me.”

  Bill twisted his neck to see her better. “Whiskey?”

  Liv smiled. “Yes. Can’t you hear him on the other side of the door?”

  Liv unlocked the door and was met with a bouncing, jumping, barking, white whirlwind.

  “This is Whiskey, my Westie terrier. Whiskey, meet Sheriff Gunnison.”

  Whiskey and Bill cocked their heads at each other. Sizing each other up as only two men could do, regardless of what species they were.

  “I’ll just wait here while you let him out for a minute.”

  Realizing he was being given a carte blanche, Whiskey scampered past them and disappeared into the shrubbery. He returned a few minutes later, looking satisfied and without any small animals to present to his mistress.

  “Good night, Bill. Thanks for seeing me home.”

  “Go inside.”

  She did and locked the door. Then she scooped up Whiskey and stood at the window until Bill drove away.

  “A Peeping Tom,” she said.

  Whiskey cocked his head and licked her face.

  “I know—not something you run into on the fifteenth floor of a Manhattan high-rise.” She pulled the curtain shut with one hand and carried Whiskey back to the bedroom.

  He squirmed out of her arms and headed for his doggie pillow.

  “Okay, but if a Peeping Tom comes to our window, I’ll expect you to protect me.”

  Whiskey yawned and settled down to sleep.

  Liv quickly brushed her teeth and hopped into bed, listening for sounds of footsteps outside her window; all she heard were the contented snores of an unworried pooch.

  “I hope you’re right,” she murmured, and snuggling into the comforter, she fell asleep.

  Saturday morning arrived, cold and crisp. Cars and trucks were juggling for space as people unloaded their wares and set up their booths and tents. Bright pennants flapped in the early-morning wind. Somewhere a flute was playing an Irish tune.

  Liv and Ted stood on the town hall steps, Ted holding her clipboard while Liv cupped her latte in both hands to warm her stiff fingers.

  “Don’t worry. It will warm up as soon as the sun gets over the mountains, and all will be right with the world.”

  “At least there have been no new reports of Peeping Toms,” Liv said.

  “No, but there was a brawl last night at Soapy’s Roadside Grill out on the county road.”

  “I’m not counting that as a Harvest by the Bay incident.”

  “I wonder who it was?”

  “The fight?”

  “The Peeping Tom. I don’t recall ever having one of them before.” He chuckled.

  “There’s something amusing about some pervert staring in your window?”

  “No, but I was just thinking.…”

  “About what?” Liv coaxed. Ted knew everything about everyone, but he made you work for it.

  “It’s kind of a strange coincidence that it was Dolly’s window he chose to peep through.”

  “Why?”

  “Back when Dolly was in high school, the boys used to sneak up to her bedroom window and watch her. And don’t you dare tell her I told you.”

  “Dolly?”

  Ted nodded. “I know it’s hard to look at her and think anything but jolly grandmother, but she was a looker in her day, the first girl to have”—he made a gesture with his hands—“padding in all the right places.”

  Liv smiled. “Ted, I’m shocked. Were you one of those boys?”

  “Heavens, no. I was too mature for that. Plus I was a few years older than that crowd. Now, Joss Waterbury. He and his younger brother, Pete, had more than one fistfight over her. They both had it bad for Dolly.”

  “You’re kidding. I don’t think I’ve met Joss’s brother.”

  “He ran off right after high school. Or should I say right after Dolly disappointed everyone by marrying Fred Hunnicutt. Never came back. Good riddance to bad trash.” He lo
oked thoughtful, then smiled. “Now you know the real story of Dolores Vanderboek Hunnicutt.”

  “I’ll never look at Dolly the same way again.”

  “Come on, let’s go check out the fruits of our labor.” They walked across the street and into the green where booths lined both sides of the walkways. They passed a trio of strolling troubadours and sampled local honey on little squares of homemade whole wheat bread.

  Liv stopped to watch two ladies from A Stitch in Time Fabric and Quilting who were sewing a colorful patchwork quilt stretched taut on a large rectangular frame.

  “The pattern is called Holiday Harvest,” said one of the ladies.

  These people sure knew how to carry out a theme, thought Liv as she admired the tiny stitches delineating leaves and acorns. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  They moved on to an apple-saucing demonstration, then a table set up for pumpkin painting and a bobbing-for-apples station with four huge half barrels filled with water and apples. Liv tried not to think of the sanitation rules that were being broken. It was a take-your-chances situation, and plenty of kids and some adults were having a blast leaning over the barrels, their hands behind them, chasing the floating apples around the surface.

  There were homemade jams, pickled watermelon rinds, pies and cakes. A caricaturist. A man who played tunes on half-filled beer bottles. A magician and an Uncle Sam on stilts.

  “Recycled from the Fourth of July,” Ted told her.

  Carts of cotton candy, candy apples, roasted peanuts, and funnel cakes dotted the pathways. The smoke from cooking sausages, frankfurters, hamburgers, and corn dogs thickened the air and tempted the nose.

  At the fork in the sidewalk, the Zoldosky brothers had set up a colorful plywood proscenium. The brother with the disfigured face sat off to the side blowing up balloons from an air canister. Anton was tossing bowling pins to one of the other brothers. They were both dressed like Heidi’s grandfather, complete with Tyrolean hats. Anton finished by throwing the pins high in the air and catching them one by one.

  They bowed to the smattering of applause and the third brother, dressed in a clown’s outfit, a white face, and a pointed red hat, replaced the other two and began juggling three brightly colored scarves. Though his face was painted, Liv recognized him right away. It was the same juggling Zoldosky who had somersaulted out of the trailer and scared the crap out of her. And those had to be the same scarves he’d been juggling as he watched her drive away from the Miller farm. He caught Liv’s eye and winked as he snatched the pink, orange, and green scarves from the air and tossed them up again.