Ted pursed his lips in a parody of a pout. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be filing some papers.”
Translate: listening at the keyhole.
Liv shut the door and gestured to a chair. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Zoldosky?”
“No. I thank you. I came to apologize for my brothers’ behavior. We are very private people. And they are a little hotheaded.”
An understatement, thought Liv, but she didn’t say so.
“I hope they did not hurt Chaz. He has been good to Junior.”
“Just a little bruise. And he did rush in without thinking.”
Anton nodded slowly. “He wished to protect you.”
Liv nodded, too, but she couldn’t help but smile.
And strangely, Anton smiled, too. It was the first time she’d seen him smile, and it looked odd on the angular face.
“Junior told me what happened with those men. I want to thank you for helping him. Not many in this town are so kind.”
“They’re just frightened.”
“And blame us.”
“It’s easier than blaming one of their own.”
“He said you were like a ninja.”
“Hardly. Just a few self-defense techniques.”
“He was ashamed that he had a woman protect him.”
“Oh, not at all.” She smiled, this time genuinely. “I’m a bit of a hothead myself.”
“Very good. Still, I thank you.” He reached across the table and tentatively held out his hand. Liv stood, took it and her hand practically disappeared in his.
He walked to the door but stopped when he reached it. “I’m sorry that we have brought this awful thing upon you. Hopefully, we will be leaving soon. I think we won’t be back this way again.”
Liv selfishly hoped they wouldn’t, either. “It hasn’t been easy for you, either. I wish you the best.” And she meant it.
“What was that all about?” Ted asked the minute the outer door closed behind Anton.
“He came to thank me.”
“For taking out the Weaver brothers?”
“Do you know everything that happens in this town?”
“This was rather newsworthy. Half the guys in the bar were watching.”
“Were you there?”
“No. I would have come to your rescue and spoiled all the fun.”
“But I would have appreciated it.”
“Good to know. Now let’s get to work. We have a festival to organize.”
They spent the rest of the day jump-starting Haunted October, calling committee heads, confirming rentals. Liv hired the security firm and faxed them a schedule of the weekend events. They ate lunch at their respective desks. They were in festival mode.
It was growing dark when Liv finally looked up from her desk. Five thirty. She jumped up. “I have to pick Whiskey up from the groomer’s. Edna took him over this morning, but it’s potluck night at the Elks Club. Can you close up?”
Ted looked over the rim of his reading glasses. “Sure. Go ahead. I’m almost finished.”
Liv was bundled up and out the door in five minutes. “See you tomorrow.”
She struck off across the green, bypassing McCready’s Pub to the Woofery.
The proprietor, Sharise Lee, put down the phone when Liv came in.
“Sorry, Sharise. Halloween is on and I got immersed in work.”
“No worries. I was just calling you. I need to get home and make my three-layer dip for the potluck tonight.”
“Doubly sorry.” Liv wrote out a check while Sharise went to get Whiskey.
He pranced out, white as the snow and his outer coat brushed soft as a baby bunny.
“He was some dirty dog,” Sharise said. “Let me get his leash.” Whiskey bumped Liv’s leg and she knelt down to give him a pet.
“Okay, let’s get out of here so Sharise can go home.”
Sharise was just coming back with his leash when the front door opened. “Thank goodness you’re still open,” said a woman wearing a fur-trimmed all-weather coat.
Whiskey shot past her.
“Whiskey!” shouted Liv.
Sharise started for the door. “I’m so sorry. I’ll find him.”
Both of them rushed outside and stood on the sidewalk searching the streets.
“He just started doing this,” Liv said. “I guess it’s time for a refresher course in obedience.”
“My fault. I should have leashed him first. But you were my last client. I don’t know why Mrs. Stucky is here.”
“You go deal with Mrs. Stucky,” Liv said, catching a glimpse of white streaking down the sidewalk. “I see him.” She took the leash from Sharise. “Don’t you dare roll in anything nasty!”
Whiskey bounded through the open gate of the Presbyterian cemetery just as Liv crossed the street.
By the time she reached the cemetery, Whiskey had disappeared among the gravestones. She slowed down, straining her eyes in the dimming light. It was a good thing she wasn’t superstitious, or the graves at dusk might be a little spooky. She caught sight of a wagging white tail.
Please don’t let him be digging up somebody’s grave, Liv prayed as she ran down the path.
And came to a sudden stop when a figure rose from the ground. Her heart, when it started up again, pounded hard enough to hurt until she realized it was a man, not a ghost, and that Whiskey was jumping up to his hand.
As she drew nearer, the man saw her and began walking toward her while Whiskey gamboled about his feet. Those in the know said that dogs can always tell whether a person is friendly or not, but Mr. Congeniality liked just about everybody.
And then she recognized Junior Zoldosky. No wonder Whiskey was so happy to see him. He might have more food.
He automatically shaded the bad side of his face as he drew nearer. “I wondered what he was doing out here alone.”
“He escaped from the groomer’s while I was paying the bill. Thanks for waylaying him.” She grabbed Whiskey’s collar and clipped the leash on. “Gotcha, you little vagabond.”
“Well, I’d better be going. Are you going toward town?”
She had been. But there was something strange about finding Junior in the cemetery.
“No, I’m headed home. Thanks again.”
“Sure.” They separated at the gate. Liv going south and Junior going north toward the green.
Liv guessed that he must have been visiting Pete’s grave. Even though Pete was hated by everyone in town, and he’d brought the Zoldoskys a whole lot of trouble, he might have been Junior’s friend. It couldn’t be easy for Junior to make friends. But Pete didn’t seem to be the kind of guy that would befriend a shy, disfigured man. More likely, he would have tormented Junior.
She started to cross the street toward home, hesitated, then turned the opposite way and walked the half block to the south entrance of the cemetery.
“I know this is crazy,” she told Whiskey. “But it won’t kill us to take a little look.” She headed down the path, slowed by Whiskey’s insistence to smell every possible disgusting article.
She came to a gravestone, still surrounded by colorful arrangements. She could make out the name Waterbury on the family marker. Nothing looked out of place. None of the flowers were disturbed. Junior hadn’t been defiling the grave. She turned to go, and a single bit of color from a nearby site caught her eye.
A bouquet of fall wildflowers tied with a piece of string lay at the simple headstone. Liv shortened Whiskey’s leash and went to see who was honored by such a simple homage. It was an older grave, the earth had settled years before, and the grass was thick. Liv bent down to read the name of the deceased.
Eleanor Driscoll Gibson, 1951–1999.
Eleanor Gibson. Ted’s sister. Victor’s mother.
The grave was well kept, though the leaves around it had been disturbed. By a little dog happy to see his friend.
She didn’t know a lot about flowers that didn’t come from a florist, but she knew that wildflowers wilted quick
ly once picked. These had been picked recently, and the only other person in the cemetery had been Junior.
Could it be possible? Liv wondered as she stared down at the grave. He was about the right age. His disfigured face. An accident? Or from a beating?
Victor chased and beaten so badly that it crushed his facial bones, his boat found at the south end of the lake, but no body ever recovered. Because the Zoldoskys had found him and taken him with them? But why wouldn’t Victor come home and relieve his mother’s grief?
Liv remembered the newspaper articles and Andy saying, We thought it was a body. They said they’d kill us if we told.
Had Victor been hiding all these years, afraid that Pete would kill him or hurt his mother? Had he been afraid to come home? And then to see Pete after all these years? It was so far-fetched that it might be true.
Liv stood up. It might also be a motive for murder. She needed to be absolutely sure. And she needed advice on how to proceed. She could ask Ted, but what if she were wrong? To open those old wounds and be wrong, she didn’t have the heart to do it. She could just ask Junior outright but that seemed cruel. At least until she did some research.
She had her laptop but was too anxious to go all the way home. The closest place with an Internet connection was the Clarion office. And Chaz would know what to do if her information proved right.
“Come on, Whiskey. We’re going to pay a call on the recalcitrant reporter.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The Gone Fishing sign was on the door at the Clarion office, which could mean anything or nothing. She knocked. No one answered. No surprise there. She tried the knob. It turned and the door opened.
“Chaz?”
Nothing. There were no lights on. “Chaz?” she called again.
Hearing nothing, she flipped the switch and made her way back to the office. She called again and turned on the light. Whiskey darted into the room. A stack of papers went flying.
“Whiskey. Come here.”
An innocent white face appeared out of the pile of promising rubbish. “Sit right here next to me. Don’t eat anything. Don’t roll in newsprint.”
Whiskey cocked an ear as if to say, “What newsprint?”
“I know. I’m stressed. I’ll make it up to you. Now, stay.”
With a snuffle, Whiskey lay down at her feet.
She booted up her computer. Pulled up the file she’d made on the Zoldoskys. Perused the articles starting back to when the parents were members of Ringling Brothers. Anton, the eldest, joining the act. Their demotion to a family circus that toured the East Coast. Their retirement. And after that the occasional mention of the Zoldosky Brothers as members of fairs and carnivals. She opened the picture file, already knowing she wouldn’t find anything new. She’d studied each of the few grainy photos she’d collected when she first discovered that Pete wasn’t a Zoldosky. But they were mainly of the parents back when they were a big act.
She didn’t learn anything new today. She leaned back in the chair and sighed.
“Where the hell are you, Chaz? I need advice.” If he really were out fishing, he might not be back until the morning. And she needed to know today.
No, you don’t, she told herself. You don’t need to know at all. You should call Bill and let him deal with it. You could be totally wrong.
If she was right, she might be responsible for sending Junior or one of the other Zoldoskys to jail. At least that would clear Joss. And any others whom Pete had blackmailed or injured and who would be glad to see him dead.
Yes, but not kill, Liv. Don’t surmise. Stick to the spreadsheet and don’t get distracted by nonessentials. Liv smiled ruefully. The first rule of planning a perfect party. Or the perfect lesson plan. She wouldn’t go to Bill yet. Not until she knew for sure that Junior was Victor Gibson. And the most efficient way to find out was to ask Junior himself.
She closed her laptop and stood up. Whiskey rolled away and looked up at her.
“Yes, you can get up now,” she said with a sigh. “We have some not very nice business to take care of.”
Whiskey wanted to stop and sniff at everything on the way to Dolly’s, and it took all Liv’s patience not to pick him up and carry him across the green. But that might look odd, and she really didn’t want to attract any attention.
The town was fairly quiet. The weekend tourists had gone and the weather was a bit crisp for lingering in the green.
She stopped outside the door to the Apple of My Eye and looked down at Whiskey, whose tongue was hanging out in anticipation of all the treats he imagined coming his way.
“Behave,” Liv said, and opened the door.
“Liv, what a surprise.” Dolly seemed a little wary. “I was just putting these samples away before I close.” She indicated a stainless steel tray of bite-size sweets on top of the display case. “Have one. They’re my cinnamon crunch muffins.” She pushed the tray closer to Liv.
“Thanks, but actually…Is Junior here?”
Dolly darted a look toward the curtained door behind her. “He’s sweeping up in back.” She hesitated. “He isn’t in any trouble, is he?”
“Not that I know of. I just wanted to ask him a question.”
“What kind of question?” Dolly didn’t move to let Liv through.
“Dolly, I need to ask him something before the police do.”
Dolly’s hand went to her chest. She shook her head, already denying what she might hear next.
“Please.” Liv’s heart was thudding in her chest. She just prayed that Chaz wasn’t right about her being Pandora. She wanted to get things right, not make them worse.
Finally Dolly pulled the curtain aside and Liv stepped through, aware that Dolly was following her. Did Dolly already know, or was it just her generous nature that made her protective of the man?
Junior was standing in the far corner, bent over while he swept dirt into a dustpan.
Liv took a breath. “Victor?”
Junior looked up, saw Liv. Then his eyes widened as he realized what he’d done. He dropped the broom and stood up.
“What are you saying? What’s going on?” Dolly looked from Liv to Victor, her eyes filled with worry.
Junior’s eyes darted toward the back door.
“Don’t run. It’s all right. No one else knows.”
“Liv, what’s this about? You’re scaring me.”
“I think Junior is Victor Gibson, the boy who disappeared all those years ago. You didn’t die, did you, Victor?”
He didn’t answer. Just stood, body tense, ready to bolt.
“Don’t be afraid. I just want to help you.”
He stayed silent.
“If I figured it out, so will everyone else.”
“Victor?” Dolly said. “Is it really you?”
Junior slowly turned to look at her. His lips tightened and the scars on his face looked white against the suddenly livid skin.
“Oh my God.” Dolly leaned on the cook island, one hand going to her mouth, as she studied the disfigured face. “It’s really you?”
Junior shrugged.
“Oh, honey. Why didn’t you come home? We all looked and looked for you.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Look at me.”
“Jun—Victor. You need to tell Bill Gunnison right away before—” Liv stopped. “Or does he already know?”
Victor shook his head.
“Does anyone know?”
Victor hesitated.
“It’s important.”
A loud clatter made them all jump.
“That was from out front.” Dolly rushed to the store, but Liv was there first. The platter of samples lay on the floor, bits of muffin scattered in every direction
“I must have pushed it too close to the edge,” Dolly said, and began cleaning up the mess.
“I don’t think so,” Liv said as she noticed a squished piece of muffin and the skid mark where a shoe must have slipped. “Keep Whiskey insid
e. I’ll be right back.”
She slipped out the front door and stood, looking up and down the street. Two middle-aged women were getting into a car in front of A Stitch in Time. She saw several people at the far side of the square, but no one making a quick escape from the bakery.
Whoever it was had either ducked into one of the stores or made a really quick getaway. And she couldn’t really go around checking the bottoms of everyone’s shoes for muffin residue.
Damn. Maybe she had been wrong to confront Junior in the bakery. To confront him at all. It was time to call in Bill, whether Victor was willing or not.
When she returned to the bakery, Dolly was dumping the remains into the trash basket behind the counter, and Whiskey was licking muffin off his fur.
Liv rolled her eyes at him and went back to the kitchen.
It was empty; the back door was open.
Victor was gone. And unless Liv was really wrong, someone besides her and Dolly knew his secret. She looked out the back door; the alley that ran behind the buildings was empty. She turned to go back inside and ran into Dolly.
“Oh dear, I had no idea. Why didn’t he—Do you think someone overheard?”
“Yes. I thought it would be safe to talk to Junior at the bakery.”
“You have to do something. They might think he killed Pete. You have to find him before the police do. Oh my Lord, do you think Pete did that to his face?”
“I don’t know. I have to go. Don’t say anything until I can straighten this out.”
Liv started for the door, had to snap at Whiskey’s leash to pull him from a muffin square. But as soon as they were out the door, he seemed to sense her urgency, and he set a brisk pace for home.
It was dark by the time Liv reached the driveway to her carriage house. The Zimmermans’ porch light was on, and as she stood trying to catch her breath, the front door opened and Edna ran out onto her front porch. “Thank God you’ve come home. The police just put out an APB on that poor Zoldosky boy. I heard it not two minutes ago on my police scanner. Do you think he was the murderer?”
“I don’t…know,” huffed Liv. “But I’m on my way out to Andy Miller’s. Can you watch Whiskey?”
“Of course, dear.”
But Whiskey refused to be left behind. As Liv opened her car door, he scrambled off the porch and jumped inside.
Foul Play at the Fair Page 24
