“Whiskey, come back here.” She hurried after him. But instead of turning to the right toward the door to outside, Whiskey turned left and was caroming down the hall. “Where are you going?”
He ran past the unoccupied receptionist’s desk and skidded to a stop at the closed door of the mayor’s office. Looked back at Liv. She cold hear the murmur of voices inside. It was early for the mayor to be in his office. Maybe there had been a break in the case. But the other voice didn’t sound like Bill Gunnison or A.K. Pierce.
“Come on, let’s get to work.” Liv reached for Whiskey’s leash. Whiskey barked. The door opened. Ted looked out at them; Whiskey jumped up and put his paws on Ted’s knees.
Liv rolled her eyes. All those obedience lessons and Ted was undoing most of them.
“Come in, Liv. I’m sure you’ll be interested in hearing this.” Ted gestured Liv in.
Liv was as surprised as Whiskey was disappointed. He dropped to all fours and whined. Ted bent down and distractedly scratched his ruff. Waited until Liv had stepped into the mayor’s office.
There was a stranger sitting with the mayor. He stood as Liv entered. He was about five foot eight, with a delicately featured face topped by a black comb-over. He was dressed in a navy-and-gray plaid sports coat, khaki trousers, and a white button-up shirt finished off with a bow tie. Nothing patriotic about him.
She had no idea who he was. She was sure she’d never even seen him before.
Hopefully, he wasn’t a tourist who had come to complain about something. Or from any county office that was looking to fine them for some minor infraction of the county code.
Ted cleared his throat. “Liv Montgomery, this is George Grossman.”
Liv shook hands with the man. “How do you do?”
The mayor looked ill at ease, so she turned to Ted for more information.
Ted raised an eyebrow at her. “Mr. Grossman has just informed us that he is the new owner of Gallantine House.”
Chapter Twelve
“What?” Liv blurted, but quickly covered her lapse. “I mean, so nice to meet you. I didn’t know Gallantine House was for sale.”
“Well, not me personally,” Grossman said as he leaned over to shake her hand. “I represent Onyx Historical Housing Conservancy. We locate historic homes that have museum potential but that have fallen into, shall we say, less-than-pristine condition. We either buy them outright, completely furnished, or fit them out with appropriate artifacts from our permanent collections.”
Mayor Worley popped up from his desk chair. “I was just explaining to Mr. Grossman that Gallantine House is leased to the town for ninety-nine years for use during the month of July for the reenactment. And that we hope that his organization will continue to honor that lease.” His smile was polite, tight with no sign of teeth.
Grossman chuckled. “And I’ve been telling your mayor that I can’t promise anything. That is up to my board of directors. I’m just here to catalogue the contents of the house and make a detailed record.”
“But what about the reenactment?” the mayor asked.
Liv watched Grossman’s jaw tighten. “What I saw Friday night was not a reenactment. Totally without merit. A travesty of historical accuracy. Though the fireworks were good.”
The mayor turned an apoplectic red. “But—”
“Mayor Worley. As we are all aware, there was never a battle in Celebration Bay during the Revolutionary War or any other war. There were never any British ships blown up by patriots on the lake. Certainly not with any pyrotechnics like the ones we saw Friday night.
“And even if there had been, Henry Gallantine wasn’t even in residence during the time of the supposed battle, much less standing on the roof waving a lantern. He was being tried in a general court-martial for treason.”
“Of which he was later exonerated,” the mayor said.
“Of which he was exonerated,” Grossman agreed. “Though it was never actually proven he was innocent.”
“Well, of all the—” Mayor Worley snapped his mouth closed, seemed to lose his train of thought, and cast an agonizing look at Ted and Liv.
“Well, we’d like to welcome you to Celebration Bay,” Liv said, since the other two had been struck mute.
Grossman turned his attention to Liv. Sensing a possible ally?
“First I would like to know where Henry Gallantine is,” Grossman said.
You and the rest of the world, Liv thought. She wondered if his board would still be interested in buying after they learned about the murder and that Henry was either dead or a possible suspect. Traitor, murderer. History repeating itself in a twisted sort of way.
“And have him tell us why he didn’t inform us of his intent to sell,” added Gilbert Worley.
For some reason both men were looking at Liv, the mayor desperately, Grossman as cool as a cucumber.
“When we met with Mr. Gallantine to go over the plans for the reenactment,” Liv said, “he didn’t mention he was selling.” She finished with a look at Ted, who had also been there.
“Just so,” Ted said, almost as if he were bored by the announcement. Which couldn’t possibly be the case. If Grossman didn’t honor the lease, they would have to find new grounds for the reenactment, which would probably fall to Liv and Ted, which meant she could kiss the rest of her summer good-bye. And where would they find a place as perfect as the Gallantine lawn?
“Well, someone must know,” Grossman said. “I was supposed to meet him Saturday to sign the papers. But when I arrived, the police informed me that the house was a crime scene. And Gallantine was nowhere to be found.”
“So you haven’t actually signed the contract?” Ted asked.
“No, but it was virtually agreed to, dependent on whether the house is actually salvageable or not. And I do have this letter of authorization from Gallantine himself, allowing me full access to the house and grounds for my inventory.”
At this, Ted cut his eyes toward Liv before looking at Grossman directly. “Perhaps you should talk with the sheriff, Bill Gunnison.”
“I have. He said the house and grounds are still a crime scene, but that I could have access to the downstairs if accompanied by a representative of the town.”
Liv got a sudden sinking feeling.
“Mr. Grossman.” Mayor Worley was finally galvanized to action. He came around his desk. “I really don’t know what more we can tell you at this time. No one has seen Henry Gallantine since last week. Perhaps he has confused the time or the day. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait for his return.”
Grossman didn’t deign to answer but gave the mayor a look that brooked no argument. His diminutive appearance, the bow tie, and the comb-over were deceiving. He might not beat out anyone in a physical fight, but Liv had no doubt he wielded a lot of power in other ways.
“And your real estate agent doesn’t know where he is?” asked Liv. If said agent was Janine, they could stick her with him. But not even Janine would sell Gallantine House out from under them, even for what had to be a huge commission. She might put on airs, but she was a Celebration Bayite to the bone. Wasn’t she?
“We didn’t use an agent. Gallantine knew I was interested. He was going to have his lawyer present to make certain all the t’s were crossed and the i’s dotted. Once my board okays the deal, we’re prepared to take occupancy immediately.”
Ted raised his eyebrows. Liv bet he’d be making a call to Silas Lark as soon as they got back to the Events Office.
Whiskey took this moment to shuffle over and sniff Mr. Grossman’s pant leg.
Grossman looked down. “Ah, a West Highland white. Which breeder?”
“Actually he’s a rescue dog.”
“Terrible, people who don’t care for their pets. This fellow looks in decent shape.” He leaned down and took Whiskey by the muzzle, an indignity that he rarely tolerated, ex
cept from Liv or Sharise at the Woofery.
Liv half expected Grossman to pull back Whiskey’s lips to look at his teeth.
Whiskey immediately backed away and bared those teeth.
Mr. Grossman brushed his hands together. “The sheriff assured me that the Mayor’s Office would have someone who would accompany me on my inventory. Not an ideal way to work, but I understand the necessity under the circumstances.” He finished the statement looking at the mayor, clearly expecting him to come forth with a volunteer.
And all eyes turned to Liv.
“I’d love to. It sounds fascinating, but I have a meeting with Bayside Security at nine. In fact, I’d better run. So nice to meet you.” She practically dragged Whiskey out of the office.
“I have to take shorthand,” Ted said, and followed her out.
As soon as Ted closed the Events Office door behind them, Liv began to fire questions at him. “Did you know about this? Is it possible that Henry would sell without informing anyone?”
“Whoa. Not until we’ve had sustenance,” he said. “Shoo. I’ll get the supplies.”
Liv went into her office, while Ted and Whiskey went through their morning routine.
“Who’s my favorite dawg?” Ted crooned.
“Aroo-roo,” Whiskey answered.
“Dawg,” Ted repeated.
Liv sighed and drummed her fingers on her desk while she waited for it to end. At least it wasn’t “Yankee Doodle.”
And while she drummed, she thought. A gardener is killed during a heavily attended reenactment. The owner, who should have been on the roof instead of the gardener, goes missing. Leo Morgan actually—probably—saw the killer, but can’t identify him—yet. And the new owner, who no one has ever heard of, shows up demanding to take residency.
Suddenly things were moving at a breakneck pace. Her chances for a vacation receding just as quickly to slim-to-none.
Ted came in with the tea tray, the pastries, and the newspaper.
Liv grabbed for it. It wasn’t the Clarion but the Plattsburgh Press-Republican. Disappointed, she scanned the front page to make sure they hadn’t made the headlines.
At least Chaz was back and semi-functioning, though not nearly up to his usual snark. Still no edition of the paper, but Liv had hope. She wondered what he’d think of Gallantine’s decision to sell.
“I’m afraid your coffee isn’t very hot. Want me to nuke it?”
Liv shook her head. “Never tastes the same.” She reached for a slice of cinnamon bread.
She managed one bite before the outer door opened and they heard footsteps across Ted’s office.
“Gilbert,” Ted said and pulled the paper from his muffin. “We’re back here, come on in,” he called without even turning around.
The mayor came in.
Ted took a big bite of muffin just as the mayor said, “What are we going to do?”
Since Ted’s mouth was full, the mayor turned his question on Liv.
Liv gave Ted a look that said Thanks a lot.
Ted just chewed his muffin.
“Well,” Liv said, “if it’s true that this Onyx Conservancy has made an offer on the house—and we only have Mr. Grossman’s word for it—we’ll have to renegotiate with him.”
“With the way he just insulted the reenactment?” The mayor turned away as if he planned to storm out of the room at the very idea of negotiating with Grossman. But he turned just as suddenly back to Liv.
Ted swallowed. “Gilbert, you’re giving me whiplash. Pull up a chair and let’s discuss this rationally.”
The mayor spotted an extra chair by the wall, dragged it to the desk, and sat down.
“Care for a bear claw?” Ted held out a napkin. “Sorry, we only have two plates.”
“How can you think about eating at a time like this?” The mayor distractedly took the napkin and reached for one of the pastries. “How can this happen?” He waved his pastry in the air. “Our own historical society wasn’t even interested in buying it.”
“Oh,” Liv said. “So Gallantine had tried to sell before this?”
“No, but Janine thought it would be better if the town controlled the mansion, since Henry is letting it go to wrack and ruin. She approached the historical society. No interest there at all.
“Not that Henry would sell it even if there had been. His family has lived there for generations. And now of all times to have a stranger show up and says it’s practically a done deal. And Henry isn’t even around to say yea or nay.” He chomped down on the bear claw, sending a rain of icing particles down his shirtfront.
“And where the heck is Henry?” he continued. “Why didn’t he give us any warning that he was planning to sell?”
“If he was about to sign a contract, they must have been talking about this for months,” Liv said. “There would have to be inspections, the lawyers must have been involved. Do you know who Gallantine’s lawyer is? Silas Lark by any chance?”
“Daniel Haynes,” Ted said and sipped his tea.
“The general?”
“One and the same.”
Liv laughed.
“What can you possibly find humorous in this situation?” Worley said.
“Just two fine revolutionary families still doing business together after all these centuries. I’m always amazed at the ties that bind this town together.”
“The good people of Celebration—”
“Save it, Gilbert,” Ted said, and reached for his tea.
“You’ll have to talk to Daniel, then,” the mayor said impatiently.
“Lawyer-client confidentiality,” Ted said.
“This affects the whole town,” the mayor countered.
“He won’t talk,” Ted said. “But when property goes on the market, even privately, you can bet the real estate community knows about it.”
Mayor Worley put down his pastry. “You think Janine knew about this?”
Ted shrugged, but Liv caught the momentary gleam in his eye. “I don’t know, but someone in her office would.”
“I’ll give her a call right away.” The mayor stood up, started to leave, reached back for his bear claw, and strode out of the office. Stopped at the door. “And you need to figure out what we’re going to do about it.”
“Maybe you should run for mayor,” Ted said as soon as the door closed behind the mayor.
“Me? He was talking to you.”
They both looked over to Whiskey, who was happily gnawing on a flag-shaped treat.
“As good a candidate as any. And it does have a certain ring to it. ‘Whiskey for Mayor.’” Ted grinned.
“Can you imagine what Hildy Ingersoll would do with that one?”
“Lovely,” Ted said, and took another bite of muffin.
“Do you think Janine really knew about the pending sale?” Liv asked.
“I have no idea, but I’d guess no. If she did, she would have hustled herself into the deal, and if she didn’t, she’ll be hopping mad. Either way, it won’t hurt anybody for the mayor to ask her.”
Liv struggled with a smile. “Except maybe the mayor.”
“At least it might stir up things between those two. Help push the blumen off the rosen so to speak.”
“Why does Gilbert let her boss him around? What hold does she have over him?”
“Beats me. Her charming personality?”
“Ugh,” Liv said. Janine was another Celebration Bay native who liked to cause trouble, but in a quasi-sophisticated pencil-skirt-and-high-heeled way that was usually aimed at Liv.
Liv took a sip of her latte and made a face. “Lukewarm.”
“Mine, too. Shall Whiskey and I make a desperate-for-a-latte run?”
“In a minute, but first… someone must have known Henry Gallantine was planning to sell his mansion.”
“I hadn’t heard a thing. Scout’s honor.”
“Hmm. If you didn’t, it’s pretty certain that no one else in town did.”
Ted shrugged. “You flatter me.”
“Nope. Just calling it like it is. But what about Hildy? She’s there every day, right?”
Ted nodded.
“She would be upset if she knew her job security might be coming to an end.”
Ted nodded.
“And she was surprised that Rundle was on the roof instead of Gallantine.”
“Yeow. I’ll never figure out how your mind runs in several directions at once while keeping the strands untangled. You think Hildy may have killed Rundle thinking it was Gallantine?”
Liv leaned back in her chair. “Sounds totally absurd, doesn’t it?”
“Not totally. But she’d definitely be out of a job if he was dead.”
“True. But she might know what was going on about the sale.”
“Are you volunteering to spend the day with Grossman watching him photograph tchotchkes?”
Liv screwed up her face. “I’m really busy.” She opened her laptop.
“Don’t look at me. Hildy doesn’t trust men.”
“Really?”
“Really. Looks like it’s you. Besides, we could use someone on the inside.”
“I suppose. Though I’m not sure Hildy will even let me in after yesterday.”
“I heard.” Ted attempted to hide his smile. “Why don’t you finish organizing your notes for our meeting with A.K., and Whiskey and I will make an emergency coffee run.”
“Sounds good, but first come look at this.” She hadn’t pulled up her meeting notes but had searched for the Onyx Historical Housing Conservancy.
Ted came to stand behind her. “Nice, tasteful. ‘Dedicated to the preservation of neglected…’ Sounds legit.”
“It does. I wonder if we might have better success with someone else in their organization. One that isn’t as anti-imaginative-battle-reenactments as Grossman.” She clicked on Who We Are, where photos of the board of directors were usually posted. There was only one photo displayed.
“Whoa,” Liv said.
Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay Page 14
