Not a teenager up to mischief, but Pete Waterbury in whiteface. Up to his old pranks? Surely Dolly hadn’t recognized him. Or had she? And told Fred, who told Joss when they were standing in front of the church waiting for Roseanne and Donnie.
Ridiculous. Her mind was running away with too little information and too much imagination. She had a festival to run and visitors to keep safe from a possible psychopath.
Everything looked as bucolic and festive as it had the day before. Of course, it was still early. Hopefully everyone was too busy getting ready this morning to have time to listen to their police scanners. And what was it with that? Liv sometimes listened to music on the radio in the mornings, but she didn’t really get the appeal of starting your day with the snap, crackle, and pop of police communications.
She studied the park where the vendors were unpacking their wares. She wondered if the Zoldosky brothers had been told yet. And what was their story? Why was Pete Waterbury impersonating a Zoldosky and why were the real Zoldoskys letting him use their name?
Too many loose ends. Liv hated loose ends. They could sabotage a party or event with the snap of your fingers. Some things were out of her hands, but she could make sure everything else was secure.
Usually Ted opened the office, but today Liv walked into a dark, chilly room. She kept her jacket on while she drank her latte and organized her paperwork. She wondered when Ted would be showing up and caught herself listening for the sound of footsteps in the outer office, but no one came.
She reviewed the contracts and invoices for the weekend, made sure all accounts were paid to date and no vendors were in arrears. She got out the checkbook to write the final checks to the entertainers, who were paid half on arrival and the second half at the end of the weekend.
She opened the checkbook to the last page of stubs. The bottom check was gone but nothing was written on the stub—no payee name, no date. Liv thought back. The last check she remembered writing was the one above the missing check, for additional garbage pickup. She checked the next page. All three checks were there with Ted’s signature.
Maybe Ted had taken one for emergencies, but since both of them had to sign for it to be negotiable, that seemed unlikely. She’d have to ask him when he came back from the farm.
She was just finishing up when church bells began ringing, calling worshippers to nine o’clock services. She went to the window and looked out. A steady stream of people was entering the two churches on the square.
The people in Celebration took their celebrations, their families, their friends, and their religion seriously. Liv knew she would have to make an appearance in one of the churches soon if she were ever to be really accepted.
She had never been a consistent churchgoer. She never seemed to have the time, except, she realized now, in her busiest party seasons. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, when she really didn’t have time to go but couldn’t resist the music and the message those holidays brought. Maybe there was a nascent churchgoer hidden inside her.
But for now, she had a festival to run. She put her cell phone and wallet in one pocket of her jacket and her walkie-talkie in the other. She shoved a stack of survey sheets into her canvas bag. She’d hand them out to the vendors later this morning and pick them up at the end of the day. The questions were posed to give the committees a better idea of the efficiency and convenience of the facilities. There was a Web page where the surveys could be filled out online, but at Ted’s suggestion she’d decided to supplement that process by one she could collect at the end of the day. Strangely enough, not everyone was willing to go online to answer.
She left the office and cut through the alley between Bay-Berry Candles and the Bookworm, the new and used bookstore, to the municipal parking lot where the farmers’ market was already doing a healthy business.
The sun was just breaking and clear skies had been promised by the weather bureau. Rows of tables, tents, trucks with their tailgates down, and cars with their trunks open displayed produce. Some sellers had elaborate custom-painted signs and special display boxes constructed to show off their wares. Others had simple folding tables loaded with local produce: apples in more varieties than Liv had ever seen, pumpkins of all sizes, squash, funny-shaped gourds, crisp broccoli, frilly kale, cabbage, cauliflower, shiny purple eggplants, fresh and dried herbs, jars and jars of honey and homemade preserves.
Liv found Andy Miller’s stand strategically placed at the end of the second aisle, near the street and the sidewalk that people used to return to their parked cars or wait for the shuttle that would carry them to lots farther from town. A basket of corn, homegrown onions with the soil still clinging to them, gourds, and the last crop of green beans sat at one end.
The other half of the table held a pyramid of Waterbury cider bottles and jars of apple butter and grape jellies that Amanda had made. There were no doughnuts, and Liv knew everyone would be disappointed, but at least the day wouldn’t be a total loss.
Andy handed a paper bag to a woman with a double stroller, and the woman rolled babies and produce away, revealing Roseanne Waterbury standing behind the table next to him.
Her rusty curls had been subdued into a long braid behind her back. She was wearing tight, low-slung jeans and a tight ribbed tank top with the obligatory flannel shirt tied around her neck.
Even with the sun up, the day was still chilly. The girl must be freezing for fashion. It made Liv feel a little better to see that she wasn’t at home traumatized by the death of an uncle she’d never seen.
Roseanne smiled shyly as Liv walked up but evidently thought Liv would want an explanation. “Mom and Dad made me and Donnie come. I don’t think they wanted us around with the police there.” She slapped her hand over her mouth and looked quickly around.
“What police?” Janine Tudor, self-appointed society matron of Celebration Bay and former event coordinator, walked up to the stand and glowered at the little group clustered around the produce.
Of course Janine, of all people, would be in hearing distance. Liv plastered on a smile and turned around.
Janine was a tall, thin woman—Liv had never seen her eat anything but lettuce and rice cakes—with a frosted face-framing haircut that was always impeccably styled. (It was public knowledge that she went to a hairdresser in Albany every six weeks, no one in the county being expert enough for Janine’s tastes.)
Today she was wearing a rust-colored pencil skirt and a goldenrod jacket. Both were obviously well made, but they reminded Liv of a seventies kitchen. Janine carried a brown leather handbag that matched her three-inch heels.
“What’s happened now?” she asked accusingly, directing the question at Liv.
“Sorry,” Roseanne said to Liv, making it worse.
“What police?” Janine repeated. “At your house, Rose? Was there a robbery?” She looked from one person to the next, her eyes stopping and staying on Liv.
Fred shrugged. “I’m kind of curious myself.”
Andy suddenly became very busy rearranging the cauliflower display.
“No robbery,” Liv said. “Just a little emergency; everything should be back to normal soon.”
“So why were the police there? Is that where Bill Gunnison is? Just what is going on here? And who is protecting the town?” Janine’s strident voice had attracted the attention of the people at the next stand, which was just what she intended. She’d been determined to make Liv look bad from the day she had arrived.
One of them came over. “What’s all this talk about the police?”
“It’s nothing,” Liv told him. “But if you all keep saying ‘police’ at the top of your lungs, we won’t have a visitor left in town.”
“Oh,” said the newcomer, whom Liv finally placed as Dexter Kent, owner of the garden center out on Lakeside Road. He leaned in closer and everyone followed suit.
Liv suddenly felt claustrophobic. “Look,” she said, casting a quick glance at Andy and Rose, warning them to back her up. “It will all be cleare
d up, but it’s best if we leave it until tomorrow and concentrate on selling today.”
“Yeah,” Andy said, picking up his cue. “No big deal. Let’s sell some produce.”
Liv smiled and said good-bye, but when she was several vendors away she turned back to the group. Their heads were together, customers ignored. She had no doubt that they were pumping Andy for the details.
Their choice; their loss if people started bailing on the afternoon. Hopefully, they were savvy enough to keep it among townspeople and not let it drift to the tourists’ ears. Though she didn’t have such hope for Janine’s good sense.
She was sure to use the murder to make Liv look bad. Liv for the most part had been able to ignore Janine. In the scheme of things, she didn’t hold a candle to some of the witches Liv had dealt with in the city. But if Janine started hurting the town, Liv would show her just what an ex-Manhattan event planner was made of.
Liv walked back to the park where everything seemed perfectly normal. So far, so good. With any luck they’d get through today without the news leaking out.
She was surprised to see the Zoldosky stage set up and Anton and one of the brothers practicing their act as if nothing were wrong, only today instead of bowling pins they were juggling odd objects: an ax, one bowling pin, and a plate. The disfigured brother was sitting in his normal place, twisting a yellow balloon into an elaborate form.
Their presence seemed a little coldhearted in light of Pete’s demise. Of course, Pete wasn’t really a brother, and Liv guessed whatever his relationship to them was, they weren’t mourning him.
As she watched, another figure sauntered toward them and alarm bells clanged in her head. Of all the people she didn’t expect to see at the festival, didn’t want to see, the laziest newspaper editor in New York State, today of all days, had decided to do his job.
And Liv had to stop him.
Chapter Six
“Mr. Bristow!” Liv hurried to head him off.
He looked up and a wary expression invaded his face. His hair was sticking up and he hadn’t shaved. He looked like he hadn’t slept the night before; his face was drawn and his eyes were puffy. His jeans were baggy and his multi-pocketed khaki coat looked as if it had been smeared with—blood?
Liv’s step stuttered. No. Not possible. Was it? Her hand automatically went to her walkie-talkie.
Right, Liv. What are you going to do? Bash him over the head with it? He surely didn’t have a motive for murder. The man couldn’t have been more than five years old when Pete Waterbury left town.
People around here have long memories, Ted had said.
But not that long.
“Mr. Bristow,” she said, coming to a stop in front of him. She was vaguely aware of Anton Zoldosky looking up from where he’d just taken a bow. The balloon brother had stopped twisting his animal shape and stared. And the other brother came to stand by his side.
“Ms. Montgomery,” Chaz drawled.
On closer inspection, she saw that the stains were indeed a combination of mud and blood. There was a dirty handkerchief tied around two of his fingers.
Now that she had his attention, she wasn’t sure what to do with him. She had to draw him away from the Zoldosky brothers on the outside chance that he wanted to ask them questions about the dead man. But she didn’t want to draw him too far from the crowd in case he’d actually murdered Pete Waterbury.
She was saved by the cavalry, in the person of her assistant, Ted. She breathed out a sigh of relief.
Chaz Bristow raised one eyebrow at her.
“Morning, Chaz,” Ted said just as easily as if he hadn’t seen a murdered man in situ just a few hours before. “Any luck?”
What? Ted was in league with Chaz Bristow? Hell, even a lazy editor would take this info and run. It would be all over the front page tomorrow. Liv gave Ted a stern look, which made him frown.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ted said.
“You’re not interrupting,” Chaz said. “At least, I don’t think you are. Did you want something, Ms. Montgomery?”
“Oh, I was just saying hello…and…wondering if you’d like me to answer any questions about the festival. You will be doing an article on it for the Clarion, won’t you?”
“Yes, Ms. Montgomery. But I don’t think I have any questions for you at this time. Actually, I was on my way to talk to the Zoldoskys.”
“No!” Liv blurted. “I mean, wouldn’t you like to do a piece on the farmers’ market? I could take you over.” It was the first thing to come to her head. And the farthest venue from the jugglers.
“There’s a farmers’ market just about every weekend from May to October. I think maybe it would make boring reading.”
Unlike the fishing reports, Liv thought grumpily.
Ted was grinning.
“I’ll just come back later,” Chaz said and started to ease away.
“What happened to your hand?” Ted asked, indicating the bandaged fingers.
Chaz shook his head. “Stupid. Sliced them during a hell of a fight last night.”
Liv started. Pete Waterbury had been hit on the head. Not knifed. She’d seen the matted hair and the smear of blood left by the handkerchief. Bristow must have been in a bar brawl or something equally distasteful.
“Big one?”
“About eleven pounds.”
Eleven pounds? What?
“But he fought like a tiger, tangled himself up in the rushes so bad I had to cut the line and a couple of fingers.” He held up the bandaged hand.
“Better get them cleaned up.”
“I will. I was on my way home, just stopped to tell Junior to come by and get his half of the catch.” He turned to Liv. “Not only is he a whiz at balloon animals, he knows where to find the best night crawlers.”
Liv shivered. “Night crawlers?” They sounded hideous.
“Don’t tell me they don’t have night crawlers in Manhattan.” Chaz exchanged a grin with Ted.
“Sure we do,” Liv said. “And other low-life types. But I try not to frequent those kind of places.”
Chaz barked out a laugh. “I don’t know what the board of trustees was thinking.” He shook his head. “Boggles the mind.”
“He’s just goofing on you, Liv,” Ted told her. “Night crawlers are earthworms; they come out at night, and they’re the perfect bait for catfish.”
“Catfish?”
“Yeah. Where did you think I was? Trawling the local bars?”
“Of course not.” Not exactly. Though she had to admit trawling bars was better than committing murder. He’d been out fishing. Of course. Where was her mind? “I thought fishing was canceled because of spawning salmon.”
“Not night trawling,” Chaz said, looking at her speculatively. “Though it’s nice to know you read my humble rag.”
Liv ground her teeth into a smile. “Well, I won’t keep you. Are you coming, Ted?”
“I’m all yours. Better go look after that hand, Chaz.” Ted joined her and they started across the lawn toward town hall. Liz forced herself not to look back to see where Chaz Bristow had gone.
“What was all that about?” Ted asked.
“What?”
“The run-in with Chaz? You really don’t like him, do you?”
“Oh, he’s all right, I guess. He’s just so blasé about everything, for which I suppose I should be thankful. When I saw him going toward the Zoldoskys, I was afraid he’d learned what happened and was going to interview them.”
“Oh, so you’ve heard about him.”
“Who?”
“Chaz.”
“Just what you told me. I figured the rest out all by myself. No great stretch.”
“Really,” said Ted. “Just what did you figure out?”
“Besides the fact that he’s a slob, lazy, and goes fishing at night? Are there more fascinating details I should know about?”
“Nope,” Ted said. “None at all.”
“How are the Waterburys holding
up?” Liv asked.
Ted opened the town hall door for her. “I suppose the answer would be, as well as can be expected. Though no one ever expected this.” He turned on the lights to the office and they went in. “Joss hasn’t heard from his brother in over thirty years. Not a postcard or a phone call, according to him. Then suddenly to show up dead in his apple press…It doesn’t make any sense.” He looked around the office. “We forgot to pick up breakfast.”
“Rats,” Liv said. “Dolly hadn’t opened when I passed by earlier, and I was on my way there when I ran into Chaz.”
Ted looked up, eyes twinkling, “And everything else flew right out of your head?”
Liv gave him a sour look. “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. I was trying to avert disaster. I mean, we don’t need murder spread all over the front page.”
“Won’t be able to stop people from talking, Liv. This is Celebration Bay. Gossip is our meat and potatoes.”
Liv dropped into her desk chair. “How could this happen? I’m sorry for Joss’s loss, of course, not that he or the Zoldoskys seems to be mourning Pete’s demise. But think of the ramifications for the town. And—not to sound selfish but—for me.”
“You?”
“My first event here and there’s a murder. Everyone might think it’s my fault.” She sighed. “See, I told you: selfish.”
“Never, but if it’s any consolation, Pete Waterbury is no great loss. He was a bully and a conniver when he was a kid. I don’t think he’d changed at all.”
“I just wish he’d gotten killed in some other town.”
“I do, too. There’s bound to be trouble ahead.”
Liv looked up. “You mean somebody who lives in Celebration Bay may have killed him?”
Ted smiled ruefully. “Never slow on the uptake, are you?”
“No,” said Liv. “It’s a necessary skill for survival in a territorial, competitive business. But in this case, I think ignorance would be bliss.” She sat up straighter. “They usually suspect the spouse or, in this case, the brother? Lord, you don’t think Bill will arrest Joss?”
“Not unless he has just cause.”
Foul Play at the Fair Page 6
