“Can we help you, Hildy?” Ted asked.
“You can’t. I came to see the mayor to tell him that Bill Gunnison’s next to useless, but he goes running off. And the two of you standing here doing nothing. Not even five o’clock and already there’s nobody working.”
Liv forced herself not to tell Hildy Ingersoll just how hard they worked. That event coordinating wasn’t a nine-to-five, five-day-a-week job, but weekdays, weekends, all hours.
“Would you like to leave him a note?” Ted asked.
“I. Would. Not. I would like our elected officials to do the work our tax dollars pay them to do. And you can tell Gilbert Worley I’ll remember that in the next election. And it weren’t no ghost,” she repeated, only this time she didn’t seem too sure of herself. “This is just the beginning, you mark my words.” Then with a sharp dip of her chin, she turned and stormed off the way she had come.
“Shades of Mrs. Danvers,” Liv said.
Ted chuckled, and they went inside.
The telephone was blinking in the Events Office, and Ted sat down at his desk to listen to the messages. Liv put her bag on the floor and perched on the edge of his desk to listen.
Nothing seemed urgent, although there was a call from Bill that asked Ted to call him at his convenience.
“Tell me more about the ghost-sighting situation.”
Ted leaned back in his chair and stretched his hands behind his head. “Let’s see. Every year between the Strawberry Fest and the Fourth of July, people start seeing the ghost of Old Henry Gallantine. Some of the sightings are in the eye of the beholder—figments of over-imagination or too much hooch on a Friday night. Some are kids playing pranks. Harmless, and makes the ‘real’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“sightings all the more thrilling.” He shrugged.
“The real ghost?”
“The official ghost,” Ted amended.
“Oh.”
“Then there are others that are unaccounted for.”
He reached just the right tone to make goose bumps break out on her arms. Probably the air-conditioning.
“Not pranksters?”
Ted shrugged.
“So, does Jacob really believe in the ghost?” Liv asked a bit incredulously. Her neighbors liked a good tale and a bit of exaggeration. And Ted was the master of drawing out a story.
“Well, I’m guessing he was just trying to scare Leo and the other kids. But there are people who do believe. And there are others who would take advantage of them.”
“I take it that the current Henry Gallantine doesn’t dress up in a sheet and run into town scaring people.”
Ted shook his head. “Cuts out as soon as the signal is given and before the crowd disperses.”
“Does every generation of Gallantines name someone Henry?”
“I haven’t really looked into it, but my guess is that each had at least one, sometimes more than one. Don’t forget he was exonerated, and he was—before and after the scandal—a hero.”
“And does the current Henry have any offspring?”
“None that we know of. An old bachelor, though as to offspring…” Ted shrugged. “The Gallantines have always been a prolific bunch. Another trait they evidently inherited from the original Henry, who was the welcomed guest of many ladies up and down the thirteen colonies.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Probably saw it as his patriotic duty,” Ted said, fighting to keep a straight face. “Doing his bit to add to a growing country, and he probably convinced the ladies it was their duty, too.”
“That’s a come-on I haven’t heard before.” Not that Liv had been hearing any come-ons lately. She was a dedicated workaholic, even in idyllic Celebration Bay. She did get a little flutter whenever A.K. Pierce walked into her office, but since she’d hired him and she never, with a capital N, mixed business with pleasure, that was out of the question.
Her mind took a stupid turn toward Chaz Bristow before her good sense could stop it. But that would go nowhere. And really, did she have the energy or the patience to deal with the newspaper editor’s slovenly, complacent, lazy, unhelpful, snarky, annoying self?
But there was that smile. And that kiss at Christmas.
And the fact that he was missing in action. He’d left town sometime in the spring and hadn’t returned. The town had been without a local paper or a fishing guide ever since, and as much as she complained about the snail’s pace of getting things scheduled in the newspaper, it was worse not having it at all. She had no idea where he was and when or if he was coming back. If anybody knew where he was and why, they weren’t telling… her at least.
“So,” she said, drawing her mind back from that treacherous subject. “We have the reclusive Mr. G, the angry, avenging Hildy, and the rascally Jacob Rundle. Why on earth would people like that put up with hundreds of strangers on the grounds, plus a good fifty musket-toting reenactors, and someone on the roof wielding a lantern, not to mention all the fireworks?”
Ted gave her his driest look.
“Wait. I know. It’s their patriotic duty.”
• • •
It was six o’clock before they finally closed up for the day. Liv had learned no more about who the “official” ghost was. It was one of the best-kept secrets in Celebration Bay, where normally secrets made the rounds faster than the Indy 500.
Ted didn’t seem to be worried about the extra ghost sightings, so Liv let it go.
It was a warm but not uncomfortable evening, and she cut across the park on her way to her home, a delightful little carriage house behind her landladies’ big Victorian, several blocks from the center of town. Miss Ida and Miss Edna Zimmerman were retired schoolteachers, and they had lived their entire lives in their childhood home. Rumor had it that both their fiancés had died in the war—which war was rather vague—but Liv guessed the Korean one. Neither had ever married.
They were excellent dog sitters and loved Whiskey to the point of spoiling him. But tonight was their potluck night at the Veteran’s Hall, so Liv knew they would have left Whiskey in the carriage house, fed, pampered, and sleeping off a day of fun.
Liv was looking forward to a little sleep herself. Right after dinner. And for once the fridge was semi-stocked. Thanks to the 4-H’s July kickoff barbecue, there were leftover spare ribs, potato salad, and rhubarb pie in her fridge, as well as a bottle of crisp, chilled pinot grigio, not from 4-H, but from the local wine store.
As soon as Liv opened the front door, a white whirlwind shot past her, ran a maniacal circle around her feet, and raced back inside.
“Good to see you, too,” Liv said, and followed the excited Westie inside.
Whiskey was sitting by his bowl when Liv entered the kitchen. There was fresh water and a cleanly licked food bowl.
“Nice try,” Liv said. “I’m going to have to change your name to Roly-Poly if we don’t start getting more exercise.” It was still early, but Liv had no desire to drag on jogging clothes and spend the remaining daylight pounding the pavement.
She yawned. “You get a reprieve tonight. But Saturday morning—no, Sunday morning, right after church—you and I are going for a run.”
Whiskey’s ears flipped up to alert. Muzzle down, tail up, and ready for flight.
Liv laughed. “Not tonight. Tonight I put my feet up.” She reached into the fridge for the platter of ribs.
• • •
Miss Ida was out sweeping the sidewalk the next morning when Liv and Whiskey left for work. She was the slighter of the two sisters, with white hair that she kept pulled back in a bun. She had a penchant for twin sets and floral dresses, and today she was wearing a shirtwaist of tiny blue flowers and a lightweight red sweater.
“Morning, Liv.” Miss Ida slipped her hand into the pocket of the sweater, and Whiskey sat at her feet. “Just a little bit of biscuit,” sh
e told the attentive Westie and handed him a morsel. “Everyone will try to feed him today. And Dolly has the cutest little flag d-o-g b-i-s-c-u-i-t-s,” she told Liv.
Whiskey stood, barked, and gave Liv a reproachful look.
Miss Ida laughed. “I’m afraid he may have learned to spell.”
Great, Liv thought, a singing, spelling dog. What would be next? “Have a nice day, Miss Ida. I’ll see you later.”
Whiskey pulled on the leash.
“Heel,” Liv commanded.
“Arf.” Whiskey started down the street, dragging Liv with him.
“Edna and I are helping with the DAR float this morning,” Miss Ida called after her. “We’ll pick him up and bring him home with us after l-u-n-c-h. And keep him for the fireworks. All that noise can’t be good for his little ears.”
“You’re not going to the reenactment and fireworks?” Liv asked, walking backward as Whiskey pulled her toward town.
“We never do, too many mosquitoes. And we can see well enough from an upstairs window.”
“Thank you-u-u-u,” Liv called back as Whiskey picked up speed. “Heel,” she commanded again. “Unless you want to go back to obedience school.”
Whiskey sneezed, shook his head, and slowed down.
There was already a line out the door to the Apple of My Eye Bakery. Dolly must have been watching for them, because she ran out with a bag of goodies for Liv and Ted and a rectangular American-flag doggie biscuit. It even had the thirteen stars made of some kind of icing, which Liv knew would be healthy. Dolly’s recipes had passed inspection by Sharise over at the Woofery, who now sold Dolly’s Doggie Treats from her grooming business.
Next door, BeBe Ford, proprietor and barista of the Buttercup Coffee Exchange, was doing a brisk business. All lush curves and dry wit, BeBe was also Liv’s best bud in Celebration Bay.
“Crazy weekend,” she said as she steamed the milk for Liv’s coffee.
While she waited, Liv looked around at the small area where a coffee bar lined one wall and a few small tables crowded every inch of non-pedestrian space.
“You and Dolly should combine forces and get a larger place.”
“We’ve talked about it a hundred times. Can’t find one that suits our needs for a price we can afford. And then outfitting new surroundings—ugh.” BeBe slid a cardboard tray with Liv’s latte and Ted’s tea across the counter. “No time to talk. Maybe tomorrow. No, I can’t. Dinner next week?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Liv said.
Ted was waiting for Liv and Whiskey at the door to the office. He was wearing a bright-blue buttoned shirt and a red striped vest.
“How’s my favorite da-a-awg today?” Ted crooned and leaned over to scratch Whiskey’s ears.
“Aroo-roo-roo.”
“Well, I’m so glad you feel that way. But if we’re going to sing at the parade tomorrow…” Ted sighed dramatically and gave Liv a look reminiscent of the one Whiskey had shot her while she was conversing with Miss Ida. “We’re woefully under-rehearsed. Yankee Doodle went to town…”
“Aar roo roo roo aar roo roo-o-o-o-o.”
Liv groaned, hurried into her office, and closed the door. So far Ted had taught him to sing “Jingle Bells,” the “Hallelujah Chorus,” and “Danny Boy” for St. Patrick’s Day, all of which sounded very much the same. “Yankee Doodle” promised no surprises.
But it entertained the both of them. And there were some people in town, namely her landladies and Dolly Hunnicutt, who thought it was a clever trick.
Liv spent most of the day at her desk making last-minute phone calls and double-checking everyone’s schedules. For the first few hours, she jumped every time a firecracker went off, but gradually became inured to the sound.
Miss Ida and Miss Edna picked Whiskey up at four, and Ted and Liv walked to the Gallantine House early to triple-check that everything was in order, the fireworks were set up, the troops were ready, the boats were in position out on the water. But when Liv suggested they double-check with Henry Gallantine about manning the lantern that night, Ted dug in his heels.
“Already done. You worry too much.”
“It’s—”
“Your job, I know. But everything is fine. Spray yourself with bug spray and let’s go get some lemonade.”
Liv held her breath and sprayed. There were few times when she missed the city, but mosquito season was definitely becoming one of them.
The crowds were already milling around the street vendors, loading up on food and drink. At six o’clock, security opened several designated entrances in the gates, and people flooded through only to be stopped by volunteers who searched their bags and took their tickets.
As soon as they were inside the gates, veterans rushed to get the prime seats on the bleachers. Within the hour, most of the seats were taken, and the standing-room area was shoulder to shoulder.
Liv and Ted took their seats on the bleachers one row below the mayor, Jeremiah Atkins—local banker and one of the town trustees—and Janine Townsend, the ex–event coordinator, who still managed to put herself wherever the action was.
It was a perfect summer night with a sliver of moon just appearing as the afternoon turned to dusk. As it grew dark, glow-in-the-dark necklaces and bracelets competed with the fireflies and turned children into shadowy aliens.
Only the mansion was spotlighted from below, which cast eerie shadows against the stone and ramparts, making the old mansion look like a movie set. Liv was sure she could see Henry Gallantine’s hand in the presentation.
The ships looked like black silhouettes against the water.
The crowd became quiet. Children strained forward to see what would happen next. Anticipation rippled through Liv.
A voice worthy of reciting the Declaration of Independence began the story of the Battle of the Bay: “It was on a summer night when General Haynes received word that the British had begun moving ships toward the fort of Ticonderoga, but they were never to arrive. For from the roof of his house on the lake, Henry Gallantine signaled the British approach and called the patriots of our great state to arms. Here is the story of those brave men who preserved the freedom of all New York.”
It was thrilling, if mainly hyperbole and a good deal of imagination.
Just as the sun completely disappeared behind the crowd, someone cried, “There. It’s the ghost of Henry Gallantine. Up on the parapet.”
All eyes turned to the roof of the mansion.
A figure hovered behind the stone parapet, perfectly framed in an eerie light that made him look otherworldly. Liv was duly impressed. And she let herself be pulled into the action as the figure lifted the lantern. It blinked once, twice, and again. Then the light went out, and the lantern and figure disappeared.
From the shadows of the trees, the patriots crept stealthily onto the lawn. The lights rose just enough to see their uniforms, swords, rifles, and deadly bayonet-tipped muskets. First the left flank, then the right, until fifty men met in the middle of the lawn, waiting for their leader.
“You’re positive none of those rifles and muskets work?” Liv asked.
“Authentic, but not loaded. We used to fire them but it was a pain in the butt. Sometimes literally,” Ted whispered. “Another reason we added the British ships,”
Out on the lake light rose on several “British” ships.
And as the American army joined as one and turned toward the lake, a rider and horse galloped from behind the mansion. Daniel Haynes reined in before his troops and brandished his sword as the stallion rose on its hind legs.
There were exclamations of delight and awe from the bleachers. Liv had to admit it was pretty spectacular, and the fireworks hadn’t even begun.
With the general leading the way, the patriots rushed to the lakeshore, where the general rode out of view—to dismount at the horse trailer, Liv supposed. The
others dispersed, climbed into boats and started to row.
All the lights went out. Even those of the vendors across the street. Only the ships were backlit from some unseen source, and the silent black boats fanning out around them were silhouetted by the moon.
As they rowed closer to the ships, the final light blinked out, leaving total darkness except for the starlit sky as the patriot boats disappeared into the night.
Where, Liv knew, they would be tied up at neighboring docks until the next morning. The men would return to the Elks’ hall and hand in their uniforms. They’d change back into street clothes to enjoy the rest of the fireworks with everyone else. But for now it was magical.
“Good timing,” Liv whispered to Ted.
“Got it down to a science,” Ted said as the first spray of brilliant red fireworks lit the sky.
The crowd aahed. A baby started crying.
Liv leaned toward Ted. “Now, that is very effective.”
But Ted wasn’t watching the fireworks. He was looking back at the roof, where the figure with the lantern had reappeared. The light was flashing. In short and long bursts.
“Is that part of the show?” Liv asked.
Ted shook his head.
“What is it?” Liv demanded, suddenly alarmed.
“It’s Morse code for SOS.” He was already climbing down the bleachers.
Chapter Three
Ted jumped down from the bleachers and reached back to give Liv a hand, but she was already on the ground and running toward the house.
“Liv, wait,” Ted called, jogging after her.
She slowed long enough for him to catch up.
“Do you have a plan?” he asked, only slightly out of breath.
She shook her head.
“Then follow me.” He led her around the side of the house to the front door, where two security people were posted to prevent tourists from bothering the inhabitants.
They stopped Liv as she ran toward them. “Sorry. The house is off-limits to visitors. If you’re looking for a bath—”
Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay Page 3
