As soon as they’d left the square, they slowed down. They passed the cemetery, showing its share of American flags on the graves, turned the corner at the First Presbyterian Church, and climbed the steps to the parsonage next door.
It was a nice stone “cottage,” large enough to accommodate growing families. Of course, Pastor Schorr was a bachelor, but he wouldn’t be for long if the ladies of Celebration Bay had their way.
He opened the door looking serious but welcoming. “Thanks for coming. He’s in here.” He gestured them into what must be his study, a smallish, cozy room filled with books and papers, a couch and wing chair, a desk, a table with a stack of books in one corner, a globe on a stand—and Leo Morgan sitting on the corner of the couch.
“Look who’s come for a visit, Leo.”
Whiskey ran right up to him, and Leo slid off the couch to sit on the floor and scratch his ears. Whiskey licked his face and climbed into Leo’s lap. Leo hugged him so tight, Liv was afraid Whiskey might wriggle free.
“I really don’t know what I can do,” Liv said to the reverend in a low voice.
“This is just what he needs right now,” Pastor Schorr said, gesturing to boy and dog.
“He’s the best comfort dog ever,” she agreed. Actually, she thought he was the best dog ever. Period.
Roseanne went to sit on the floor beside Leo and reached over to ruffle Whiskey’s fur. “Leo, Ms. Montgomery has come to talk to you.”
Leo looked up. “They threw a rock.” He rested his cheek on Whiskey’s back.
“I’m so sorry,” Liv said.
Reverent Schorr caught her eye. “Let’s step outside for a moment.”
They went across the hall into a living room that was also small and filled with comfortable furniture. “I have to confess,” the pastor said, once they were seated, “when Roseanne said she wanted to bring you here, I wasn’t in favor of it. The less said the better. Leo is a good boy, but he’s special, he lives life slow, his IQ isn’t the greatest, but he’s…”
“A gentle soul,” Liv said. “That’s what you said back in December.”
He smiled, a little sadly. “Sometimes ‘the world is too much with us.’”
Liv recognized the quote, but didn’t understand why the pastor was quoting it now.
“Sorry. I’m a little out of my element. Squabbles and crises of faith I know how to handle. I can give comfort and guidance. I can even replace Velma Morgan’s window.” He sighed heavily. “I trust in Bill Gunnison to get to the bottom of this. But what am I to do with Leo?”
Liv shifted in her seat. “Is that a rhetorical question?”
He laughed sadly. “Unfortunately, yes. He’s eighteen…”
“You don’t think he really killed Mr. Rundle?”
“No, of course not. I’m more worried how he’ll fare with the town’s opinions. And I’m even more worried that someone might try to hurt him.”
“An angry citizen?”
“Or the killer.”
Just what Bill had said. “He said he’d seen the ghost; surely if the killer thought he’d recognized him, he would have killed him, too, but he didn’t.”
“I said that Leo is slow, but he gets there eventually. It might take him a while. I’m afraid he might see someone in town and suddenly he’ll recognize him as the ‘ghost’ he saw on the roof. He might even blurt out something that would name the man as the murderer. Can you imagine?”
Liv tried not to. There was a killer out there, and maybe no one was safe.
“But I’m not sure what to do with him. Oh, he can stay here. But he can’t stay inside all the time, and I’m not sure he’ll feel comfortable being left alone when I have to go out. And I don’t know if he can withstand the outside world blaming him.”
“Surely they won’t,” Liv said, knowing that of course some people could and would and already did.
“I don’t know how much he really understands about why people act the way they do. He’s been the brunt of some bullying in school. Just a few kids and they didn’t get far.”
“He fights back?”
“Oh heavens, no. The kids from the center and from his church group keep an eye on him. Form sort of a buffer around him. But they can’t do that outside of school. And they certainly shouldn’t in a situation like this that could be potentially dangerous.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know where Leo got this notion of helping the center by asking the ghost for the treasure.”
“I’m afraid it was Jacob Rundle, himself. Though I believe he was trying to frighten him.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Why does anyone feel like they have the right to be hurtful?” Liv asked.
“A question the sages have been trying to answer since the beginning of time. And then there are people like Leo.” He smiled. “What a selfless act, to want money for the center, when he could have wanted it for himself, or his mother; when you think of all the young people who rob and steal just for the fun of it—oh dear, listen to me.
“I can’t help but get a little”—he smiled sheepishly; he was charming—“righteously angry at the injustice of it all.”
“Pastor Schorr…”
“Why don’t we cut out the formalities? Call me Phillip. ‘Pastor Schorr’ can get to be a mouthful after too many repetitions.”
“Phillip. Is the center in trouble? Leo said that night that you had been talking with a man who said he was going to take the center away.”
“Ernie Bolton. He owns the building. Owns several pieces of property over on the next block. We’ve been paying him two hundred dollars a month for an old storefront. Now he says the taxes are too high and he’s going to raze the whole lot and sell it off as one big parcel.”
“Where will you move to?”
“That’s the problem. We can meet other places, but I want the kids to have a place that’s all theirs. That they don’t have to share.” He laughed deprecatingly. “I know this doesn’t sound very charitable of me. But some place that isn’t associated with social services, or school, or even religion; we have kids at the center from different ethnic backgrounds and religions.”
“I think I understand. A place to call home.”
He looked up, sudden interest lighting his face. “Exactly. I don’t think we could find another place that’s large enough and that we could afford. We’ve been surviving on bake sales and car washes for years.”
He slapped his knees and stood up. “Speaking of which. Let’s see what those two young people are doing. Knowing Leo, he’s ready for lunch.”
While Phillip got out the makings of sandwiches, Liv washed lettuce. From the sink she could just make out the back of the Clarion office on the next block.
“Does Chaz Bristow mentor the kids from the center?”
Schorr laughed. “Better not let him hear you say that. It’s one of the better-kept secrets in Celebration Bay, and he swears he does it just to get them to leave him alone. I hope he doesn’t let that all get lost in the shuffle.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.
“Well, it will be good to have the paper up and running again. But I hope Chaz doesn’t let this story grow too big. It might take a long time for the center to recover. Some of the kids have been in a bit of trouble. Not so much anymore.” He smiled that boyish grin. “There are always temptations out there. And if Leo… but he didn’t, and Chaz won’t turn it into something sensational. He’s pretty loyal.”
“Chaz?”
The pastor nodded and handed her a tomato. “The first out of the garden,” he said.
“Do you know when he’s planning to come back?”
“Chaz? Oh, he’s back, I saw a light at the paper on my way home from the fireworks last night.”
Chapter Seven
They a
ll sat around the kitchen table eating lettuce, tomato, and turkey sandwiches.
Leo ate enthusiastically, as if he hadn’t just witnessed a murder and been cast out of his home.
Roseanne sat next to Leo, her sandwich barely picked at. She’d been giving Liv pointed looks since she’d sat down. Actually the pastor had given her a few himself.
Liv put down her sandwich. “Leo, would you like to tell us about last night on the roof?”
He shook his head and kept eating.
“Leo,” Roseanne urged, “you can tell Liv, I mean Ms. Montgomery. She wants to help you.”
He shook his head.
“Leo. Why?”
“Sheriff said not to talk to anybody, not even you, Rosie.”
“But Liv is…” Roseanne began.
“The sheriff is exactly right,” Liv said. She couldn’t really help Leo if she didn’t know what he’d seen, but she didn’t want to be able to coerce it out of him. Because if she could, so could someone else.
Leo nodded seriously. Knit his brow. “I can’t go home.”
Liv glanced at the pastor.
“Well, I would like you to stay here with me for a few days. Like a vacation.”
“Never been on a vacation.”
“Chaz takes you fishing,” Schorr said. “That’s like a mini-vacation.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you like to stay here on a vacation?”
“Don’t have a toothbrush or clean clothes.”
“We’ll go pick them up at your house.”
Leo shook his head. “Mama said don’t come back. She’s afraid the ghost will come looking for me and hurt one of the young’uns.”
The other three protested together.
Finally, Pastor Schorr won out. “Leo, what did I tell you about ghosts?”
Leo thought about it. “There’s only one ghost, and he’s a good ghost.”
Schorr scratched his head. “Right… and besides… Old Gallantine’s ghost only comes out for the Fourth of July. What’s today’s date?”
“The fifth of July,” Leo said proudly. “He won’t come out no more?”
Schorr hesitated, and Liv knew he must at least be wrestling with what he should say—if not with his conscience—because at last, he said, “No, he won’t come out anymore.”
• • •
Liv and Whiskey left after lunch, but Liv promised to bring Whiskey back for a visit. She needed to touch base with Ted about the parade, plus she was sure that by now he would have the inside scoop on the investigation, since he and the sheriff had been friends for decades.
But first she took a detour to the Clarion office. The office had once been a charming clapboard bungalow with a front porch and a peaked roof. It had been painted white at one time but now had faded to gray. It had been terribly neglected inside and out. The rooms were square and still had the original details but were crammed with old printing equipment and new computers, not to mention mountains of paper.
She suspected Chaz lived upstairs, though she’d never ventured that far into the house.
It certainly looked deserted, though it was hard to tell. There were no papers piling up on the porch, though, being the editor of the local newspaper, he didn’t have to have it delivered. And the mail went through a slot in the door.
Still it looked forlorn, lifeless.
Recognizing it as a place filled with wonderful things to snuffle and roll in, Whiskey started up the steps. Liv followed him and knocked on the front door. She didn’t expect an answer, but she knocked again anyway. Since there was no Gone Fishing sign hanging on the door—Chaz’s usual signal that he was out or not interested in having visitors—she turned the knob. The door was locked, and she began to wonder if Pastor Schorr had been mistaken.
If Chaz was home, the door would be unlocked.
Quelling a sense of disappointment that she attributed to not finding someone who could help Leo out of this mess, she walked back to the Events Office.
“How’d you like the parade?” Ted asked once he and Whiskey had gone through another of their “singing” rituals.
“I thought it was great,” Liv said distractedly.
“You don’t sound like you thought it was great.” He followed her into her office.
“I just got back from the rectory.”
“Details, please.”
“Roseanne Waterbury found me toward the end of the parade. Someone threw a rock through Leo Morgan’s window, and his mother threw him out. He’s at Pastor Schorr’s. I went with Roseanne to let him play with Whiskey.”
“How could you say no to a request like that? So, what are you upset about?”
“Other than a man being murdered during the reenactment? A young man was a witness. A couple of the women in Buttercup this morning were blaming him because Leo is different. And now someone is threatening the family.”
“A pretty nasty situation and bound to get worse,” Ted said. “We have our share of hotheads. Prejudiced bigots and stupid to boot.”
Ted wasn’t usually so adamant, but this murder seemed to have struck a nerve with everyone. Why this time? Celebration Bay thrived on gossip and opinions. Most of it was out of habit, sometimes just to be ornery, and occasionally tempers did flare. But this felt like an attack on the community.
“Why would someone kill the gardener?” Liv asked.
“First, we need to know what he was doing up on the roof.”
“Instead of Henry Gallantine? The real Henry Gallantine.”
Ted shrugged.
“Even Hildy was upset. She thought it was Gallantine on the roof. So why wasn’t he there last night? And where is he?”
“Not a clue.”
“Are you sure you don’t know? You always get the news first.”
“Not this time. If anybody knows, they’re not talking.”
“Leo said the ghost wore a uniform like Rundle’s. Do you think it was someone in the reenactment?”
“Not necessarily. Anybody with access to a uniform could make those visitations. That’s close to a hundred participants plus all the dressers, cleaners, and anyone who could walk in and borrow a uniform, not to mention anyone who has a uniform at home.”
“People have patriot uniforms at home?”
“We’re a patriotic group.”
“And to think I couldn’t find a backup Santa suit last Christmas.”
“Well, I for one think Revolutionary Santa would be right up there with Golfer Santa, Surfer Santa…”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Every town should have one tacky Christmas shop.”
“Not this town,” Liv said.
Ted laughed.
“So you don’t know where Gallantine is?”
“No. And that is worrisome. He doesn’t seem to be in town, that anyone is aware of. Bill called his sister in Buffalo. He usually visits her, but she said he’d called to say he wasn’t coming this year. He didn’t say why.
“Bill even tried the nephew. Lives over in Connecticut somewhere. Left a voice message to call him, but as far as I know he hasn’t returned his call. Not that Henry would visit him.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t get along. The nephew has a bit of a gambling problem. Tried to get Henry to help him out on more than one occasion. Had some pretty unsavory characters after him. Henry helped him a couple of times but then put his foot down when it became clear he wasn’t going to get help with his addiction.”
“And Hildy doesn’t know?”
“Evidently not. She told Bill that she thought he was on the roof and that he would leave afterward like he did every year.”
“Well, that doesn’t get us anywhere.”
“Us?”
“The royal ‘us,’ meaning Bill,
the town, everyone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Has he found out anything?”
“Nothing that he can share anyway.”
“So can you give me some background?”
“Is this a need-to-know question or just curiosity?”
“This is a forewarned-is-forearmed question.”
“Very appropriate adage for the season.”
“Ted,” Liv said sharply.
Whiskey barked.
“Two against one.” Ted shrugged. “Okay, here it is. Henry may be retired from the movies, and he is a bit of a recluse, but he still has a flare for the dramatic.
“And since his was one of the founding families of Celebration Bay, he sees it as his duty to carry on the good part of the Gallantine myth.”
“He went from fame to seclusion?”
“Not all at once. But he grew up, and as often happens with child stars, he didn’t make the transition to adult actor. He tried to make a couple of comebacks, but nothing panned out. He came back to stay, oh, maybe thirty years ago. And now he’s a local legend. And terribly eccentric.”
“From Hollywood to Celebration Bay. Wow. Which reminds me. Did you know Chaz is back?”
“I heard he was.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“Should I have?”
“Have you seen him?”
Ted shook his head.
“Aren’t you curious as to where he’s been?”
“Not really. Are you?”
“No, but I thought he might want to know about Leo. They seem to be acquainted. He might want to—I was about to say help, but Chaz never wants to help.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons. Let’s go mingle with the crowds in the park.”
Whiskey immediately stood up, looking alert, and Ted hadn’t even mentioned either of his two favorite words, “food” or “eat.”
“Come on, Liv. I haven’t had lunch, and it will give us a chance to test the climate.”
Liv knew he wasn’t talking about the weather.
• • •
Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay Page 8
