Trick or Deceit Read online

  Liv snorted out a laugh. “No, you don’t. You just want to be first on the gossip mill. Well, there will be nothing to gossip about tonight. I have a position in the community to consider.”

  Ted gave her a look. “You’re the only woman in town who seems to be concerned about her reputation.”

  “It’s not my reputation so much as how relationships complicate things and invariably screw up your work, especially work that’s carried on in the public eye.”

  “Surely you can make room for both.”

  “I can have my share of fun. Just not where it interferes with my position as event coordinator. Are you asking me if I plan to yuk it up with the foundation rep?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then what’s troubling you, Ted?”

  Ted pulled up his chair and sat down. Steepled his fingers.

  Liv waited, but she felt a cold chill creep up her back.

  “Ruth saw you and Jon drive by Dolly’s today.”

  Liv rolled her eyes and relaxed. “Yes, so what scurrilous tale is Ruth conjuring now?”

  “She says that Jon’s Mercedes is the same car she saw driving back and forth to the fish camp Friday night.”

  “How can she be sure? You know how many Mercedes, BMWs, Lincolns, and other upscale cars we get during an event. Besides, Jon didn’t arrive until Monday.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t here earlier? Amanda got into a silver Mercedes Friday night.”

  “Possibly. Does it matter?” Of course it did, what was she thinking. “I’ll ask him tonight at dinner if it will make you feel better.”

  But Ted didn’t look satisfied. “There’s one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Lola Bang’s cat got out Friday night. It woke her up fighting around two thirty a.m. She lives next door to the movie house, and when she looked out her window trying to coax the cat back in, she saw a silver Mercedes parked outside of Barry’s.”

  Liv stood. “This has to be Ruth’s doing. Did she coerce Lola into giving a statement?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her. But Lola would never agree to say something that wasn’t true.”

  “How certain can she be? It was dark, could she really tell if it was silver and not gray or white? All the time while she was looking for her cat? Frankly, I couldn’t tell the difference between a Mercedes, a BMW, or a Ford at three o’clock in the morning. I doubt if a nearsighted librarian could.”

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Sorry, but this just reeks of Ruth’s meddling. So help me, if she wrecks our chances of getting that grant because of malicious gossip, I’ll—I’ll probably do something that will land me in jail.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Liv was still upset as she dressed for dinner with Jon. Upset and angry—and if she was honest, there was a little niggle of doubt. But she tried to convince herself that the doubt was based on things Jon hadn’t said, not any lies . . . if the rumor was even true.

  He hadn’t told her in advance that he knew Amanda Marlton-Crosby. But then why would he? Just because Celebration Bay was a small town was no reason to infer dastardly underpinnings to his omission.

  Liv twisted her hair up, changed her mind, brushed it out until it hung shiny below her shoulders, pulled up one side with a clip, then twisted it to the top of her head again.

  She was suddenly indecisive about how to look. She had never second-guessed herself in Manhattan, rarely second-guessed herself in Celebration Bay, but ever since her two lives began to overlap, she had been playing a guessing game.

  And it all centered around her appearance.

  “You’re nuts, Liv,” she told her reflection. “Totally nuts.”

  She reached for her mascara. Leaned into the mirror to get a better view. She’d perfected putting on mascara without moving her mouth since an old boyfriend told her that models didn’t look like a cow chewing cud when they were applying makeup.

  Well, Liv wasn’t a model, and he didn’t stay her boyfriend for long. Still, she took his statement to heart.

  She blew out a long breath. She was acting like this was something more than a business dinner. She’d sat through hundreds of them, some more challenging than this.

  It must be Lucille Foster’s murder that had her on edge. Things just seemed out of hand. Bill didn’t appear to be doing anything, though she knew he had to be.

  She’d already decided to just ask Jon if he’d arrived in Celebration Bay before he appeared at her office on Monday morning. There was no harm in that. Maybe he just wanted to spend a few days with a friend without being accosted by people who wanted money. Maybe he just needed a rest. Maybe he came to see the town for himself without an escort who had an ulterior motive. He probably did that in a lot of situations.

  She wasn’t offended. But she’d better not catch Ruth Benedict gossiping and starting up speculation that Jon, a stranger in town, was involved in Lucille’s death. Because she knew that would be the next step. Ruth saw his car, or had seen a similar car over the weekend. Lola Bangs also claimed to have seen a silver Mercedes, maybe, parked at the museum on the night of the murder. Therefore, the outsider must be the guilty party.

  And on top of that, secondary situations were taking up her brain capacity. The Doomsday Man and the witches, plus Amanda and her trophy husband, and somehow the two separate situations were weaving into one.

  She screwed the top back on her mascara. Enough already.

  The last decision besides what to eat for dinner would be which shoes to wear.

  Ankle boots with conservative heels? Or should she go all out and spring for stilettos?

  Shoes, she thought as she reached in the back of her closet for a pair of heels. How did Lucille’s body end up in one place and her shoes in another? If she was killed at the museum, why would the killer have carried her shoes to dump in Ernie’s yard? Assuming Marla Jean could be believed and she’d actually found them in the yard and not in the vacant lot with the body. But why?

  Liv slipped her feet into her own shoes. They were tighter than she remembered. Probably because her feet had spread from wearing sensible shoes for a year.

  Maybe Lucille’s shoes had fallen off in the struggle—if there had been a struggle. Liv hadn’t even thought to ask Bill because she’d been so caught up with her grant proposal.

  And if they had fallen off, then that meant Lucille could have been killed at Ernie’s, though what she would be doing there was a mystery.

  Had she gone over to make up with Ernie? That seemed unlikely. Though why did Ernie think she’d promised him he would win? When had the two of them even crossed paths except during the judging? The entrants hadn’t even been allowed in the building while the judges were discussing them.

  Liv smoothed down the skirt of her little black dress, something else she’d hardly worn since moving to Celebration Bay. She usually left the overdressing to Janine and Lucille and their guild friends.

  But not tonight.

  She clicked down the hall to the living room and sat down at the computer. She had a few minutes before she needed to leave for the inn to meet Jon. She pulled up her spreadsheet of possible suspects and motives.

  Janine—Rumors that Lucille caused her divorce. Implication being Lucille was having an affair with Janine’s ex. The coroner had found death by strangulation, but he’d also found a bruise on Lucille’s forehead. Strangling would have taken a good bit of strength, and Janine wasn’t particularly strong. But if whatever caused the bruise had knocked her out, strangulation could have been accomplished with more ease.

  Liv added Fingernails—real or tips. Not that she really thought Janine capable or murder—just being a pain in the butt. It probably was totally useless, but at this point, she didn’t intend to leave any stone unturned, no matter how likely.

  Ernie needed the
prize money, but killing Lucille wouldn’t have gotten him the money. Had Lucille witnessed him vandalizing Barry’s Museum of Yankee Horrors, confronted him, and he killed her? Or had he made some arrangement that Lucille reneged on, and Ernie killed her in a moment of rage?

  Carson Foster had accused Barry of killing Lucille because he blamed Carson for his failed finances. Which seemed convoluted. Liv would have been inclined to kill Carson if he’d screwed her out of a lot of money—not his wife. Not that Liv was inclined toward killing anyone.

  And what about Carson? Didn’t detectives always suspect the spouse first? There hadn’t been much talk about Carson Foster. Bill hadn’t seemed to consider him a viable suspect at all. He was well-respected in the community. Someone had called him likeable, but Liv wondered how many others besides Barry had suffered from one of his bad investment schemes.

  And maybe it had nothing to do with investments. Even Ted had said that Lucille had a roving eye and more. Maybe Carson just got sick of her playing around on him. Maybe he caught her playing around and killed her.

  With Barry? Was that why her body was found on Barry’s property? Then why were her shoes found at Ernie’s?

  Liv huffed out a sigh. There was something missing here. Someone. Some reason. There was a part of this puzzle that they hadn’t discovered.

  And now this thing about the silver Mercedes.

  Liv looked at the spreadsheet. Typed in Jon’s name. But Jon didn’t even know Lucille.

  He knew Amanda, a little voice whispered.

  “That’s different.” But was it, really? Well, she wasn’t going to jump to that conclusion until she asked Jon point blank. She deleted his name. Pressed save and went to get her coat.

  • • •

  Liv drove to the inn and parked in the lot. It was fairly crowded. Weekday evenings were still hard to fill but the inn’s reputation was growing and it was beginning to attract diners from surrounding towns even when the tourists were scarce.

  Jon was waiting for her in the lobby. He was wearing slacks and a black pullover under a tweed deconstructed jacket. He looked like a million bucks.

  He smiled when she came in, kissed her on the cheek, and took her coat, which he handed off to the coat check girl.

  They went into the dining room. Corinne Anderson, who owned the inn and restaurant with her husband, had a knack for design. She managed to make the dining room seem cheery in the morning, streamlined but charming for lunch, and elegant in the evenings. All with lighting, linens, and table settings.

  The hostess led Jon and Liv to a table for two by the windows that looked out over the lake. A candle was lit in the glass hurricane lamp on the table. And lights embellished the small pier and shrubs, created an inviting ambiance.

  Jon seated Liv, then sat across from her, smiling. She smiled back and it was just like the old days.

  They discussed a choice of wine, ordered, then settled into a comfortable conversation. Nothing about business. It was the way things worked. And Liv was determined not to bring up the subject of the Mercedes until at least dessert.

  She did want to talk to Jon. Actually, maybe she wanted to warn him. She didn’t think for a moment that he killed Lucille. It wasn’t fair that just because he was an outsider, everyone seemed so eager to accuse him.

  The waiter brought the bottle of wine and opened it for them. Poured a tasting for Jon, who nodded, then poured Liv’s and then filled Jon’s.

  Liv realized how much her life had changed. Most dinners that she ate out, and there weren’t all that many, were usually at Buddy’s or maybe the inn’s bar. There was pizza and Chinese and the deli; and the Corner Café that stayed opened for dinner on the weekends and evenings during the height of tourist season.

  But she’d only dined at the inn’s restaurant a handful of times with BeBe or Ted.

  She was beginning to enjoy herself, was leaning in to hear something Jon said, when her eye caught a party of diners entering the restaurant.

  She straightened up.

  “What is it?” Jon asked.

  “Don’t look now, but my colleagues have just come in.”

  “Oh.” Jon frowned. “Should we invite them to join us?”

  “God, no. If anything we should tell them to butt out.”

  “Oh,” Jon said. “Are they protecting your virtue?”

  Liv gave him a look.

  “Well, nothing would surprise me. After learning that you have a hunting hat, I figured anything goes. But Liv, you have to admit, it’s awfully quaint.”

  He didn’t know the half of it. And when he found out he was the object of speculation not only for his relationship to Liv, but as a possible murder suspect, he’d probably drive his Mercedes right out of town, never to return.

  “Dare I turn and look?”

  “No. I could kill them.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Three. Ted, Chaz—the newspaper editor you met—and A.K., my security guy.”

  “I don’t guess it could be coincidental?”

  “Not likely. I’ve only seen Chaz in a suit once at a funeral, and I’ve never seen A.K. in a suit at all.” Not that he was actually wearing a suit. A black turtleneck and a gray jacket that looked like it had been found at the last minute. He looked uncomfortable and out of place.

  Well, good, he should be. She could imagine something like this from Ted and Chaz, but not A.K. He and Chaz didn’t even like each other. She was going to let them have it so bad the next time she saw them.

  Fortunately Jon was a master at keeping a person at their ease, charming and entertaining, with just the right amount of warmth that made a person relax, lean a little closer, listen a little more attentively.

  And soon Liv had managed to successfully put the trio of chaperones out of her mind. She and Jon reminisced and laughed and dessert came without either of them mentioning the grant or the murder. Liv just hoped the spies were having a terrible time.

  Jon suggested a brandy in the bar. “That way maybe we can ditch them,” he said.

  “Or stick them with our bill,” Liv suggested.

  Jon chuckled, “You are something else. But a bit extreme.”

  “Right now, I don’t really care.”

  They left the table and walked toward the door, neither of them looking in the direction of the other table. Jon’s arm slipped around Liv’s waist and she leaned into him. It was more enticing than she’d considered and she almost forgot that it was just for show.

  They sat at a table at the far end of the bar, out of sight from the door.

  When the trio didn’t follow, Liv relaxed. She shouldn’t have.

  A few minutes later, Bill Gunnison walked through the door, looked around the bar, and headed their way.

  Liv felt the brandy burn a hole in her stomach.

  Bill walked straight up to their table.

  “Evening, Liv.”

  Liv didn’t say anything.

  “Mr. Preston?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Sheriff Gunnison. Is that your silver Mercedes parked outside?”

  Jon glanced at Liv. “I have a silver Mercedes parked outside.”

  Liv glared at Bill. He ignored her.

  “We have information that a car fitting that description was seen at a crime scene on Friday evening. Could you tell me where you were on Friday night?”

  “Bill!” Liv exclaimed.

  “I was visiting friends.”

  “All night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you mind if we search your car?”

  “Bill.”

  “Sorry, Liv. Sir, do you mind?”

  “No. Go ahead.” Jon reached in his pants pocket and handed Bill a set of keys.

  “If you’d come with us to sign the requisite papers.”

 
; Jon sighed, looked at Liv, and followed Bill out of the bar.

  Liv followed after them.

  Jon signed the paper and stood on the porch while Bill and his officers began a search of his car.

  Ted, Chaz, and A.K. stood on the far side of the parking lot, hunched together like the traitors they were.

  Liv stood next to Jon, in case anyone wondered where her loyalties lay.

  “Did you know about this?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “What crime am I supposed to have committed?”

  “Somebody said they saw a silver Mercedes at the Museum of Yankee Horrors on the night Lucille Foster was killed.”

  “Murder. That’s serious. I suppose I should call my lawyer.”

  “Jon, I’m so sorry. It’s stupid, just a stupid mistake, and they—” She was interrupted by a flurry of activity around the trunk of Jon’s car.

  After a few minutes Bill walked back toward the porch. Several people had gathered on the porch to watch, among them innkeeper Corinne Anderson.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Liv.

  “They think someone might have stolen Jon’s car, you know, for a joyride or something.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Not from our parking lot?” Corinne looked worried.

  “No, while I was staying at friends on the outskirts of town.”

  Liv shot a glance at Jon. So he had been in town for the weekend.

  “Oh, that’s just awful. We do have a few kids hot-wiring cars for joyriding.”

  “Hmm,” Jon said. He was watching Bill walk back toward the porch. He didn’t look happy.

  “Is there someplace we could talk, Mr. Preston?” Bill said. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “You can use my office,” Corinne said.

  “Thanks.” Bill gestured Jon toward the office. Liv glared at Bill and linked her arm in Jon’s. She heard Bill’s sigh as he followed them into the inn’s office.

  Bill sat at Corinne’s desk with Jon and Liv on a settee across from him.

  “I’d just like to ask you a few questions.”