Foul Play at the Fair Page 16

  Chapter Fourteen

  Liv and Ted assured the mayor that everything for Haunted October was proceeding as planned, which was a big fat fib. Work had slowed down since Pete Waterbury’s body was found. As soon as the mayor left, they hunkered down with tasks for the upcoming festival. As usual, they divided the work and Ted returned to his office to make calls to the tent and catering supply rental services.

  Liv opened the Haunted October file and sat perusing the spreadsheet. As festivals went, this one was fairly straightforward and simple in planning. Special activities were presented only on the last two weekends of October, though the Waterburys would run the Haunted Hayride Thursday through Sunday for the next three weeks—if Joss was free, literally, to oversee it. Andy Miller’s Maze of Madness was due to open in a few days. She made a note to touch base with him to confirm.

  Things had gone very well, traffic-wise, during the Harvest by the Bay Festival, but she’d better call Fred and make sure the traffic volunteers were in place. She added that phone call to her to-do list. Added another couple of calls to Dolly and Genny Parsons, who were co-coordinating the food and drinks.

  Liv still had to come up with a prospectus for hiring an additional security service. It should have been done and voted on by now. Liv had researched several nearby security firms, gotten quotes for various services, but she still needed to consult with Bill Gunnison about the number of guards and services she should request.

  Liv tattooed her fingers on her laptop. They could pull it off, providing the town council voted to continue. It had been four days since they’d discovered Pete’s body. And it didn’t seem like they were anywhere near catching the killer.

  And, whether they were guilty or not, Liv had really hoped to see the Zoldoskys gone before the tourists started pouring into town in earnest.

  Liv looked out the window. Could Roseanne and Donnie’s involvement in all of this have any importance? Would telling Bill or the state investigators move this along any faster?

  And could you please just concentrate on being ready to hit the ground running when you get the green light?

  Pushing speculation from her mind, she turned back to her computer. She pulled up the committee rosters. Scrolled down the names. She and Ted had checked their credentials twice. Every person on it was either a resident or had been used before.

  The heads of the committees had been doing this for years. Dolly, Genny, Fred, Andy. Liv narrowed her eyes. Read on. Bill, Joss. All friends for years. All who remembered Pete Waterbury and, from what Liv could tell, disliked him. All working on the last festival. About to work on the next.

  Bill’s reluctance to investigate. Dolly’s agitation. Fred preventing Liv from talking to his wife. Joss leaning over the body of his brother. Ted, the first person he called. Andy beaten senseless by the teenage Pete.

  And none of them was talking to the police, or to Liv. As she sat at her desk, planning the town’s future—and hers—she felt the full force of what it was to be an outsider in a town where everyone shared the same history.

  A chill ran up her spine, because she knew without a doubt that they might turn on her the way they had turned on the Zoldosky brothers.

  Liv’s mind was running in overdrive, and it had to stop. Timetables, rental fees, and murder motives were running in tandem, tangling into a useless mess of facts and speculation.

  It was late when they closed the office for the night. Lunch was a dim memory; her stomach was empty. She bet Whiskey was ready to gnaw on the table legs. She said good night to Ted and walked the four blocks to her carriage house in record time. Her landladies’ house was dark. Only the porch light shone from the shadows. It was bingo night at the VFW hall and the sisters would be there.

  For a wild moment, Liv thought about joining them. She was sure to pick up on the gossip, and the food was probably delicious. But she’d been neglecting her exercise regimen lately and eating way too many of Dolly’s excellent sweets, though it was already too dark to run.

  She was met at her door by excited yelps. As soon as she opened the door, Whiskey ran two circles around her feet, jumping and capering and finally ending with his paws on her shins, his tongue hanging out and his tail whipping up a gale wind.

  “Hey, buddy. Did you miss me? Did Miss Edna take you for a walk?” He barked, executed a little twist in the air, and shot past her heading for the kitchen.

  She stopped to pick the day’s mail off the floor, which, instead of resting in a neat pile beneath the mail slot, was scattered from one end of the hallway to the other. Only the corners of a coupon mailer showed evidence of teeth marks.

  Evidence. There was a word she didn’t want to think about.

  She checked the messages on her landline to make sure she hadn’t missed a call that informed her that Joss had been cleared of murder and some transient person from way out of town had confessed.

  Whiskey returned to sit politely at her feet, giving her his nobody-loves-me-enough-to-feed-me face.

  “Come on, you poor, neglected dog.” She opened a can of dog food and poured fresh water in his bowl, then searched her fridge for something to feed herself. The fridge was bare, not even a drop of milk for cereal. The cupboard was bare. One lonely can of chicken noodle soup sat on an empty shelf.

  Tomorrow she’d have to make a grocery run. She could walk over to the Quickie Mart for milk tonight. She could pretend it was exercise. And it would give her some quality time with the only man in her life, who was greedily scarfing up the last of his gourmet dinner.

  Liv ate the soup in front of the nightly news, channel surfed for another few minutes, then turned off the television. Whiskey, who was sleeping beside her, opened one eye, and settled back to sleep.

  “Come on, lazy bones. I need milk and you need a treat.”

  His ears perked up; he propelled himself off the couch and scampered toward the kitchen. “Not so fast. The milk and the treat are at the store.”

  Whiskey’s head appeared around the corner of the kitchen door. Liv lifted his leash and shook it. Whiskey’s head disappeared.

  “Whiskey! Treat.” A streak of white made several passes at her, then nuzzled under the easy chair, until only his rump stuck out.

  Liv cooed. “My bad. I guess I forgot to shop this week. So it’s no walkies, no treat.”

  Reluctantly Whiskey shimmied out from under the chair and with a disparaging look, sat down at the door so that she could clip on his least favorite thing. The leash.

  “Sorry, bud. But there might be wild animals out there. We’re in the country, after all.” Not that she’d seen any. She’d smelled a few skunks and heard something rattling in the garbage cans late at night, which she hoped had been raccoons and not Dolly’s Peeping Tom.

  She set off in the direction of town. She had half a mind to see if BeBe was still at the Buttercup. She needed a sounding board. One that didn’t have a history with the deceased. But when she reached the green, the coffee bar was dark. Most of the stores had closed hours ago, though the Scoop de Ville, the local handmade ice cream shop, was still doing a decent business.

  She turned in the direction of the Quickie Mart, which was a block south of the square. Whiskey stopped to snuffle at an empty plastic bag.

  The front door of the bakery opened, and someone stepped out carrying a large paper bag. Liv stepped into the shadow of a tree. It was purely reflex. The bakery was closed, and she knew Fred wouldn’t let Dolly walk home alone. But it wasn’t either of the Hunnicutts.

  The door closed and the figure crossed the street, his movements almost furtive. He struck off along the path across the green, walking south. Liv waited, watching until he passed beneath the pool of light cast by one of the Victorian lampposts. For a split second his face came into view before he was swallowed by shadows. Junior Zoldosky. The balloon maker. Coming out of the bakery. After hours. What did it mean?

  Did it mean anything?

  Discovering a new moving object, Whiskey barked and lun
ged forward. Only Liv’s hold on the leash prevented him from taking off after the man—and his bag of treats.

  Junior stopped, looked quickly around, then set off again.

  “Hush,” Liv whispered and struck off through the park after him. It was probably a crazy thing to do, but she was curious to see where he went. Junior crossed the street, then stopped beneath the neon sign of McCready’s Pub and reached into the bag.

  Whiskey barked and yanked hard at the leash. It snapped out of Liv’s hand and Whiskey took off across the street.

  “No. Whiskey, come back here.” Liv ran after him, praying no cars would suddenly round the corner. Hoping Junior wasn’t afraid of dogs or, worse, hated them. Whiskey was a rescue dog, but his early life of neglect hadn’t squelched his love of people or his indomitable spirit. If anything, he had too much spirit. Something that not everyone appreciated.

  By the time she’d reached the street, Whiskey was jumping at Junior’s pant leg. Junior squatted down and scratched him behind the ears. He was about to make a friend for life.

  Whiskey nuzzled his way into the bag.

  Junior laughed, a melodious tenor. It was so unexpected that Liv slowed as she approached him. He reached into the bag and pulled off a piece of bread, saw Liv, and averted his face.

  Whiskey licked Junior’s cheek.

  “Sorry,” Liv said, coming up to him. “He’s really friendly, but he can be a pain if there’s food involved.”

  “Is it okay if he has a piece of bread? It’s small enough so he won’t choke.”

  “Sure, but don’t be surprised if he begs for more.”

  “I don’t mind.” He reached in the bag and presented the morsel to Whiskey, who gobbled it down.

  Junior laughed again. “He’s a great little dog.”

  The door to McCready’s opened, and a blare of jukebox music burst into the night. Three men wove their way onto the sidewalk. One saw Junior and stopped.

  “Why, you—you have a lot of nerve showing your face around here. Murderer.”

  Junior stood up, clutching his bag to his chest.

  “Hey, Cliff, leave the guy alone,” said one of his companions.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Cliff’s right,” said the third man. “We oughta teach this scumbag not to mess with good folk.”

  “You let an innocent man go to jail, you filthy—” Cliff lunged at Junior, who ducked, and Cliff stumbled past him. He whirled around.

  “Stop it,” Liv ordered. “You’re drunk and stupid to boot. Leave us alone.” She tried to stare them down long enough for someone in the pub to come to the rescue.

  Cliff turned on her. “You’re that new girl they hired to take over for Janine Tudor, aren’tcha? Well, if you plan to stay, you better know which side you’re playing for. Now, go on home and mind your own business.”

  At her feet, Whiskey let out a low growl.

  Oh crap, she thought. The first rule of fighting was to run like hell. But she didn’t know if Junior knew that. She couldn’t leave him to fend for himself, but she wasn’t at all sure that all those sparring classes actually would be effective in a real-life situation.

  “This is my business.”

  “The hell.” This time Cliff’s punch clipped Junior on the jaw.

  Liv saw red. The poor man’s face had seen enough damage. When Cliff went in for a second punch, she was there before him. One quick sweep of her forearm and the punch hit air.

  “What the—” He turned on Liv.

  Whiskey went wild, jumping and barking, not knowing whether this was a new game or whether he was supposed to protect.

  The second man made a grab for Junior. The paper bag split and rolls, muffins, cookies flew everywhere.

  “Hell, we just caught us a thief. He was robbing the bakery. Look at that stuff.”

  That was all the third man needed. He rushed Junior. Liv’s foot shot out of its own volition. It caught him on the ankle and he went down. He scrambled to his feet and stepped right into Liv’s fist.

  “Damn,” said Cliff.

  “You want more?” Liv threatened. She hoped she was sounding tough. In reality she was shaking in her Nikes and she was afraid her hand was broken.

  “Hell, we can’t fight a woman.” He jabbed a finger at Junior. “You and your brothers better watch yourselves.”

  The three of them staggered away.

  Junior bent down and began picking up his bakery items and stuffing them in his pockets, much to the excitement of one very enthusiastic Westie terrier.

  From the doorway, someone clapped. Chaz Bristow leaned against the doorframe, smiling his most obnoxious smile. “Pretty impressive,” he said.

  “You saw?” Liv gasped. “You saw that and didn’t try to help?”

  “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

  “If that’s your idea of fun, you’re an idiot.”

  He shrugged, moving away from the door. Still the same ole Chaz. Hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a couple of days and no styling gel maybe ever. Out-at-the-knee jeans, probably the same ones he’d been wearing when they first met. And a green canvas jacket that had been through a few wars.

  And why was she standing here taking an inventory of the man’s clothes?

  She leaned over and handed a roll to Junior, who shoved it into the broken bag and stood up, cradling the remains in his arms like a baby. “Are you okay?”

  Junior nodded. “Sorry. Really sorry.”

  “Anton picking you up?” Chaz asked.

  “At the intersection south of here.”

  “Go on, then. He’ll be wondering where you are.”

  Junior nodded. He stretched down to scratch Whiskey. “Good boy.” Turning to Liv, this time he didn’t bother to hide his face. “Thank you.” He tucked his head and took off down the street away from town.

  Liv watched him go, felt a stab of pity. “Will he be okay?”

  Chaz also watched the man hurry away. “Yeah. They won’t bother him again.” He faced Liv frowning; then his usual smile broke through. “Damn, you didn’t say in your résumé you were a ninja.”

  Liv sucked in her breath; she was suddenly shaking all over. “I—I can’t believe it actually worked.”

  “What?”

  “It really worked.”

  Chaz’s mouth dropped. It made him look like a half-wit. A very handsome half-wit. “You mean you’ve never tried it out before?”

  “Only in class sparring with other students.”

  “You mean…Holy…” He shot his fingers through his hair, leaving it even more mussed. “Are you nuts? Why the hell didn’t you say so?”

  Liv sniffed. “What? So you could rouse yourself to come to the rescue?”

  He shrugged. “I’d at least have called for help.”

  Liv rolled her eyes. “Do you take lessons on how to be obnoxious?”

  “It’s an art. Come on, I’ll be an obnoxious gentleman and walk you home.”

  “Thanks, but I was on my way to the Quickie Mart for milk.”

  Chaz flashed his teeth.

  “No smarmy double entendres, please. I’ll just be on my way. Good night.” She snatched the end of Whiskey’s leash and strode down the sidewalk, practically dragging a recalcitrant Whiskey, who’d found a piece of sweet roll that had been lost in the shuffle.

  She heard footsteps behind her and walked faster.

  “What’s the hurry?” Chaz asked, catching up to her and shortening his stride to match hers, which was really annoying. She didn’t answer, just took larger steps.

  Chaz snorted and kept up.

  “What? The fight wasn’t enough? You have to come along to bad-manner me to death?”

  He laughed, a big belly laugh that sent shivers through her nervous system. And she found herself smiling in spite of herself.

  She pulled herself together. They’d arrived at the Quickie Mart and she shoved her end of the leash at him. “Make yourself useful and watch m
y dog while I’m inside.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer but went through the glass door, bought a half gallon of milk and a small box of dog bones.

  When she came back outside with her purchases, Chaz was resting on his haunches. Nose to nose with her dog.

  “I won’t even ask,” she said and held out her hand for the leash.

  “I’ll walk him,” he said. “I have to mend my tarnished hero image.”

  “Oh,” she said, letting him keep the leash. “Did you ever have a hero image?”

  He looked straight ahead, and she prepared for his next retort.

  “No.” He kept walking, staring ahead.

  That one word left a gaping hole in the air around them. She had inadvertently stumbled onto the dark side of Chaz Bristow. It made him a hundred times more interesting than the superficial clown.

  Clown. Jeez. Stay focused, Liv. She had an agenda here. She’d made a decision while in the Quickie Mart. He might be incorrigible, he might be totally lazy, a lothario, and a fashion nightmare, but he had expertise that could help her and the whole town, and it was time he came on board.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  He slowed down, turned to look at her. His eyes were deep and unreadable. His expression grave. Then he ruined it all by smiling.

  “I’m listening, but I gotta warn you, I only accept propositions that include clean sheets and breakfast in bed.”

  “That’s not the kind of proposition I was talking about.”

  “Too bad…for both of us.”

  “Speak for yourself.” She picked up her pace, fuming. If she thought she could get her dog back without participating in a tug-of-war that would make them both appear ridiculous—or more ridiculous than they already were—she’d do it.

  He didn’t speak. He started whistling an off-key tune she didn’t recognize, and she knew he was doing it just to irritate her.

  “Don’t you care about anything but fishing?” she blurted out, then could have bitten her tongue. She was playing right into his calculated apathy. It had to be faked. He’d had an exciting career. It didn’t make sense. “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to what the proposition is?”