Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay Page 2

  “The Declaration of Independence?”

  Ted shrugged. “Let’s just say it might have turned into the Declaration of Independence if any of them had lived to complete it. But they were slaughtered on their way to meet with other revolutionaries while they were secretly bivouacked with an army patrol.”

  “Ugh. I think I prefer the parade. Let’s do this and get back to the office.” Liv took the clipboard that held the map of the reenactment.

  She turned so she was facing the river. “So the bleachers will be behind us over there,” she said, pointing to a flat piece of lawn between her and the street. “And the ships…”

  Out on the lake, the wooden depictions of the British ships floated on the water. They weren’t actual ships at all but mock-ups attached permanently to docks, from which the fireworks would be discharged.

  “This is perfect,” Liv said. The trees that lined each side of the property were thick enough to hide the boathouse, the garage, and the neighboring houses, and made the tableau on the water look just like a stage set. “We’re lucky Henry Gallantine is so amenable to letting us use his property.”

  Ted nodded. “We’ve been holding it here in one form or another for the last ten years. There was never a question of holding it anywhere else.”

  “I can definitely see why.” Liv turned to the right and peered up the façade of the old stone house. It looked more like a gothic castle to Liv, with a turret on one side and a huge chimney on the other. Various sections were stacked like building blocks made of stone, until the last one rose in a peak toward the sky. Dark windows gave it a sinister feel even in the daylight.

  “Where does Henry, the ghost, stand to give the signal?” Liv asked.

  Ted pointed about a third of the way up the three-story mansion, where a wide flat roof was surrounded by a stone parapet. “Henry G stands facing the crowd and flashes the signal with a lantern. Well, to be accurate, with a powerful LED lamp that can be shuttered and opened so he can ‘one if by land, two if by sea’ it in style.”

  “I think that was Paul Revere.”

  “Whatever works. Ours is more elaborate; a virtual light show of ‘the British are coming.’”

  “And this is already rehearsed?”

  “For years. Rufus Cobb and Roscoe Jackson have been in charge of the patriots for at least a decade. Rufus is the left flank and Roscoe the right. They have their teams rehearsed and ready to go by the middle of June.

  “Daniel Haynes, scion of General Delmont Haynes, who was a Revolutionary War hero, no question, leads the attack on horseback, just like he did at the Battle of Ticonderoga.”

  “Which you neatly appropriated for the Battle of the Bay.”

  Ted grinned. “If it works…” He shrugged. “Actually they should be showing up soon. Tonight’s dress rehearsal.”

  “Are you participating?”

  “God no. I’ll be sitting in the bleachers with a hot dog and a root beer.”

  “And which unfortunate souls have to play the British?”

  “Well, we don’t have any British. We used to when we first started doing the reenactment. But after a few drinks people forgot it was just playacting and the punches started flying. That’s when we came up with the idea of the ships.”

  “Good thinking. Seriously, is it safe? There’s no chance of the ghost falling over the parapet?”

  “Relax. They all can do this in their sleep. You have to earn your place in this patriot army. And the fireworks are handled by the same company that we’ve hired for the last five years. You worry too much.”

  “It’s my job. Anyway, I don’t worry exactly, I just try to make sure all my bases are covered.”

  Though Liv had to admit, she’d pretty much let Ted oversee the reenactment without her while she prepared for the parade and made the final security arrangements for the weekend. They were expecting record crowds, and her new security team would be out in full force.

  A.K. Pierce, the head of Bayside Security, ran a tight-but-friendly ship. He’d hired extra personnel to cover the grounds and waterfront for the fireworks and would continue to supplement the police during the rest of the weekend. EMTs and ambulances were in position.

  As for the safety of the fireworks, they were professionally rigged and set off behind the “British” ships moored out in the lake and couldn’t be reached except by boat. Ted assured her that none of the pieces would come near to falling on anyone’s head.

  Liv had double-checked with the fire department anyway.

  The entire event was ready to go.

  The only thing, or rather person, who was missing was Chaz Bristow, the editor of the local paper, an avid fisherman who took out fishing parties to supplement his journalistic income.

  He’d left town without warning right in the middle of his busiest fishing season. Not to mention the middle of the town’s tourist season. So instead of the Clarion publishing features and schedules of events, Liv had to print posters to display in the windows of restaurants and stores, and flyers to be handed out by volunteers at information booths at each corner of the village green.

  Other than that, Liv didn’t miss him, exactly. He was obnoxious and lazy. He had the attitude and looks of a landlocked surfer dude: muscular, blond, really handsome—with a big attitude that needed some serious adjustment.

  He could be annoying as all get out, but in spite of his outward laid-back persona, he still had the mind of the investigative reporter he’d once been in Los Angeles. Unfortunately he was very reluctant to get involved in any of the recent wrongdoings in Celebration Bay.

  Maybe she did kind of miss him.

  “Seen enough?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah. No, wait. Are those two men in uniform Rufus and Roscoe?”

  “In the flesh.”

  The two council members strode toward Liv and Ted. They had to be sweltering in the top boots and breeches and the woolen coats of the American patriots. Each was wearing a black hat and had a powder horn slung across his chest. Roscoe also wore a heavy cape that he’d thrown behind one shoulder and held a musket that ended with a serious-looking bayonet. Rufus held a long gun that was almost as tall as he was.

  “You two look great,” Liv said enthusiastically, though she couldn’t stop herself from casting a dubious look at their weapons. “Is that bayonet real?”

  “Absolutely,” said Rufus, brandishing the musket over his head. “But we’re trained to use them safely.”

  “Good,” Liv said, not entirely convinced.

  Rufus chewed on his mustache. “It used to be that the first line actually shot.”

  “With real bullets?” Liv asked, thanking her lucky stars there would be no real shooting that night.

  “Not anymore,” Ted assured her.

  “They didn’t use bullets in the Revolutionary War,” Roscoe said, “but powder and ball… . You see, you keep the powder in this horn, and when you’re ready to load, you pour the powder into the…”

  “You had to ask,” Ted said under his breath. “Ah, here comes Daniel Haynes. I wanted Liv to meet him before tomorrow.”

  Roscoe looked a little disappointed.

  “But some other time I would love to learn how to load a musket,” Liv said, and turned to wait for Daniel Haynes to reach them.

  He looked like a military hero, tall and lean, with longish dark hair graying at the temples and a neatly trimmed goatee streaked with white. Liv knew he was a local lawyer, though she’d never met him.

  His uniform was a cut above the others, with tan breeches and shiny black boots. He wore one of those military hats whose shape always reminded Liv of a taco. He also wore a sword at his side rather than carrying a musket, though he might have one of those, too.

  Ted made the introductions. Liv and the “general” shook hands. Daniel Haynes had a deep voice that Liv could imagine mesmerizing
a courtroom—or leading an army of patriots. But he seemed distracted. Probably concentrating on getting into the part.

  “Have you seen Rundle?” he asked. “He was giving the driver from the stables a hard time about where to park the horse trailer. We park it in the same place every year. And every year he complains. I don’t know why Henry keeps him on. Oh, there he is. I must get this cleared up now. So nice to meet you, Ms. Montgomery. Gentlemen.” He touched his hat and strode across the lawn toward the gardener.

  “And we should be getting back, too,” Ted said. “Have a good rehearsal.” He took Liv’s elbow and steered her toward one of the gates in the wrought-iron fence that fronted the mansion.

  Once on the sidewalk, he slowed down. “Sorry, but if we didn’t get out of there, Roscoe would have finished his lengthy explanation of musket loading. Trust me, now is not the time.”

  Liv laughed. “They take this so seriously.”

  “That they do.”

  They both looked back at the lawn. Roscoe and Rufus had split up and were walking to their opening positions, but Daniel Haynes and the gardener were standing toe to toe and almost nose to nose.

  “Do you think we should go referee?” Liv asked. “After all, I am the coordinator.”

  Ted grabbed her elbow again. “Absolutely not. This happens every year. Rundle complains about the horse’s hooves tearing up the lawn, about the tire tracks the trailer leaves. He rants and raves.

  “And Daniel gets his way—every year. Nothing ever changes. Nothing much can go wrong.” He grinned. “But the parade tomorrow. Now, that’s a nightmare.”

  Chapter Two

  Out on the street, food and souvenir vendors were already setting up their vans and trucks. The lighting truck that was responsible for all the special effects until the fireworks took over was cordoned off by a barrier of orange sawhorses.

  Liv and Ted walked back toward town down streets with houses decorated for Independence Day. The whole town had been festooned in red, white, and blue since the day after the strawberry festival.

  The one-day festival had been a piece of cake—literally—and lots of fun. The day began with the Miss Strawberry pageant, a milder and pinker version of the beauty pageants that were shown on television. Afterward, there was strawberry ice cream, cakes, pies, shortcake, pancakes, Belgian waffles, jams, syrups, and ices. And when you tired of eating, there were strawberry-themed things to buy: pot holders, aprons, hats, and jewelry.

  But on the day after the Strawberry Fest, all the stores around the square pulled the pink from their windows and changed over to red, white, and blue. And the town became the epitome of the American Way.

  A Stitch in Time displayed freedom quilts, needlepoint flags, and eagle pillows. Bay-Berry Candles was all decked out in vanilla, cherry, and blueberry candles. The Bookworm New and Used Books displayed histories of the revolutionary period for all ages, from recent biographies for adults to classics for children, like Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes and The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.

  The tables outside the Apple of My Eye Bakery were covered by red-checked tablecloths topped by a centerpiece of carnations and little American flags.

  The square was filled with people. School had been out for several weeks, and families had poured into the area, staying at the local inn or the several bed-and-breakfasts in town. Others made day trips from nearby vacation spots.

  The weather was humid but not too hot and, if it weren’t for the mosquitoes, life would be perfect. Though Liv really couldn’t complain. She spent most of her days and nights inside working.

  Ted and Liv waved to locals and smiled at visitors as they walked along the east side of the village green. In front of Town Hall, a construction crew was building the grandstand where the parade would pass, and where the floats would stop long enough to be judged: Best All-Around, Most Patriotic, Most Colorful, Most Inventive.

  Everyone won something.

  The front door of Town Hall was draped in bunting of stars and stripes. As they climbed the steps, they met Mayor Worley coming down.

  Gilbert Worley had been mayor for three terms. He was short, fat, and friendly—especially in an election year—with graying brilliantined hair and a gold tooth that flashed when he smiled, which he did a lot—especially in an election year.

  Unfortunately it wasn’t an election year, and the mayor was frowning.

  “Afternoon, Gilbert,” Ted said

  “Ted, Liv, glad I caught you.” He glanced past them as if he was looking for someone else.

  He pursed his lips and stretched his neck, but since he was wearing a plaid shirt unbuttoned at the top, it couldn’t be that his collar was too tight. But he was definitely on edge.

  “It seems we have more than one ghost this year, and the latest one is causing trouble.”

  “What? More than the usual pranks?” Ted asked. “We have some fake ghost sightings every year,” he told Liv.

  “This wasn’t a prank. Evidently someone broke into Gallantine House last night.”

  “Mr. Rundle didn’t mention it when we saw him this morning,” Liv said.

  The mayor shot her an impatient look. “It was the housekeeper who reported it. She has rooms on the first floor. She called Bill Gunnison and he went over there. He didn’t find any evidence of a break-in, but Hildy swears things were missing. Some eggs or something.”

  “Eggs?” Liv asked a bit incredulously. Her neighbors liked a good tale and a bit of exaggeration, but to call the sheriff over eggs?

  “Maybe the ghost was hungry,” Ted said with a perfectly straight face.

  “Hildy thinks it was the kids who were helping clear out the underbrush. But Rundle says he saw the ghost running from the house.”

  Ted snorted. “You know you can’t place any dependence on anything Jacob Rundle says. If he’s not drunk, he’s just plain ornery. He told us he saw the ghost down by the lake.”

  “It’s a bunch of hooey, but Hildy’s on her way over here to complain about the sheriff not taking her seriously. Awful woman.”

  “And you have urgent business elsewhere?” Ted asked.

  “Yes. Oh Lord, here she comes now.” The mayor practically jumped to the sidewalk and took off down the street in the opposite direction.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so fast,” Liv said as she watched the mayor sprint around the corner.

  “We should have joined him. And we don’t even have the intrepid Westie to warn her off. Tomorrow you bring Whiskey to work.” He turned and smiled. “Hildy. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Well, I never.” Hildy Ingersoll was several inches taller than Liv, at least five nine or ten, built along Valkyrie lines, with gray hair tied back so tightly that Liv was surprised the woman’s face moved at all. She was dressed in a gray cotton dress and orthopedic shoes. She held a black purse clutched tightly in the crook of her elbow.

  She took a moment to suck in several quick breaths. “Government officials drinking on the job. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I have a good mind to report you to Mayor Worley, but don’t think I didn’t see him running off down the street.”

  “He had to see to some urgent business.”

  Hildy snorted.

  “And you heard Ted saying I should bring Whiskey to work,” Liv added.

  Hildy shook with indignation and turned to Ted. “That’s what happens when you start bringing sinners from the big city into town. We’ll all be going to hell in a handbasket before you know it.” She glared at Liv. “You mark my words.”

  Ted didn’t make a move to explain.

  “Whiskey is my Westie terrier,” Liv explained. “He’s a sweetheart. We, of course, would never drink on the job.”

  Hildy sputtered, not at all mollified. “Stupid, heathen name to give to a poor, defenseless animal.”

  Liv had to force hersel
f not to roll her eyes. Sometimes she wished she’d named her dog Snowball instead of Whiskey. But in Manhattan, no one blinked at the name. It was a fine Scottish dog name and a fine Scottish liquor.

  “What brings you here?” Ted asked. “I heard about the break-in last night. There’s been no more trouble, has there?”

  “Nothing but.” Hildy pulled her purse closer, as if she thought Liv might snatch it and run. “It’s those kids. Have to keep an eye on them every second or they’d rob Mr. G blind. I told him. I said, ‘Mr. G, those kids will rob you blind while you’re not looking.’

  “But did he listen? No, he did not. And now look what’s happened.”

  “What has happened?” Ted asked innocently.

  “One of them Fabergé eggs Mr. G thinks are so pretty is gone. Keeps a whole row of them on the parlor mantel. They were all there when I was cleaning the other day. Now one of them’s gone.” She shook her head. “Mr. G took great store in those eggs. If you ask me, they may cost a lot, but they’re just plain gaudy. Them kids stole one of ’em right off the mantel.”

  Liv and Ted exchanged looks. Eggs. Of the Fabergé variety.

  “Are you sure it was the kids?” Ted asked. “It doesn’t sound like something they would take. Maybe it was the ghost.”

  For the first time Hildy hesitated. “Why would any ghost want one of them eggs?”

  Ted shrugged, looking serious. “I don’t know, but Jacob Rundle told us he saw the ghost down by the lake looking for… something.”

  Hildy frowned, chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought. “Can’t believe anything that Jacob Rundle tells you. Half drunk most of the time. Probably got the DTs or something. Got them pink elephants mixed up with the ghost. Don’t know why Mr. G lets him stay on.

  “It weren’t no ghost. I caught two of them kids red-handed in the larder yesterday. Ran off with two of the pies I was saving for the bake sale. They’ve been stealing stuff for I don’t know how long, but Mr. G, he just let’s them keep coming. Especially that Leo. The two of them act like a couple of children, all the time playacting. It ain’t healthy.”