Trawling for Trouble Page 8

  Being a family-friendly destination town, the inhabitants of Celebration Bay had the changeover from one holiday to the next down to a science. On September thirtieth, the Harvest on the Bay Festival transformed, literally overnight. Town-wide decorations of colorful leaves and fall vegetables turned into broomsticks and bats. Gourds and pumpkins were carved into grimacing jack-o’-lanterns. Bales of hay that had offered respite to weary tourists were now the property of skeletons and witches.

  They crossed the street and joined the scores of people headed toward the band shell at the far side of the village square where the mayor would shortly announce the winner of Celebration Bay’s first ever haunted house contest.

  “So who do you think will win Best Haunted House tonight?” Liv asked

  “I think Barry Lindquist’s Museum of Yankee Horrors takes the cake. My unofficial opinion, of course.”

  “It is pretty impressive,” Liv said. “I knew about Hester Prynne, Lizzie Borden, and the Headless Horseman, but there were a bunch of crimes I never realized took place in New England.”

  Ted coughed out a laugh, sending a cloud into the air. “In true Celebration Bay style, Barry played loose with some of the more sordid efforts. Al Capone? I mean, since when did Chicago belong to the Northeast?”

  “I did wonder about that,” Liv said. “Anyway I think it’s a toss-up between his museum and Ernie Bolton’s Monster Mansion.”

  “You screamed loud enough when that skeleton popped out of the coffin.”

  Liv grimaced. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “That’s the whole point. Now, do you want to find a seat or do you want to stand in the back surveying the assembly and looking for potential screwups, unexpected snafus, and sloppy crowd control?”

  “Let’s stand in the back, but only because I’ve been sitting all day.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ted maneuvered them to a place right behind the last row of folding chairs.

  “No, really. I’m going to delegate a lot more this year. And exercise more.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Liv pointed to the band shell where five chairs and a lectern had been set up and where a row of jack-o’-lanterns lined the front of the stage. “Are those electric or candlelit?”

  Ted shook his head. “Not to worry, they’re battery powered. The pumpkins are ceramic and were donated by the Garden Club last year.”

  “Oh.”

  “And the folding chairs passed state folding chair inspection just last week.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Relax.”

  “I am relaxed. Just vigilant.” It was her job. Event planners not only planned but were responsible for making sure that everything ran smoothly.

  Ted chuckled. “Here we go.”

  Five people came onto the stage and sat in the chairs without mishap.

  “See?” Ted said. “Safe and sound.”

  Liv rolled her eyes at him.

  As soon as they were seated, Mayor Worley joined them and stood behind the lectern. He held up his hands to quiet the audience, which didn’t have the slightest effect. It never did. He tapped on the microphone. A mechanical screech broadcast through the audience. They became quiet.

  Gilbert Worley had been mayor for at least ten years, mainly, Liv guessed, because no one else wanted the job. He was short, portly, with black hair gelled back from his forehead and showing gray at the temples when he was behind on his Grecian Formula touch-ups.

  He held up his hands again. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and ghouls . . .”

  The crowd groaned.

  “Isn’t that how he started last year’s speech?” Liv asked.

  “The last ten, at least.”

  The microphone squealed and the mayor stepped back. “Welcome to this year’s Halloween kickoff. Tonight we have a special honor to award and a surprise to announce.

  “As you know, the community center is in search of a new building, and the best way to ensure success is by a fund-raising campaign—”

  More groans from a few in the audience.

  “It’s for a good cause,” someone yelled.

  Most of the crowd agreed, loudly.

  The mayor looked at the lectern as if he might find his gavel there, but this wasn’t a town meeting; it just sounded like one.

  “As you know, our community center has lost its lease. The center provides an important service to our young people, families, and seniors. In order to keep the center functioning, the board has taken a three-pronged approach that will hopefully enable us to find a permanent building and organizational operating expenses that will include . . .”

  Beside her, Ted stifled a yawn.

  “Donations have already been coming in, and we’ve applied for a community improvement grant from the VanderHauw Foundation.”

  Ted leaned toward Liv. “Never amazes me how Gilbert manages to take credit for everything, even though your contacts and grant application were what got us on VanderHauw’s radar.”

  Liv shrugged. “As long as it gets the community center up and running, I don’t care who takes credit for it.”

  Mayor Worley cleared his throat. “In addition, the board came up with the idea of holding a contest to decide what design would become the official Celebration Bay Haunted House, whose official opening will kick off this year’s Halloween’s festivities. We had a whopping one hundred entries, with all entry fees going to the donation fund. A panel of five judges adjudicated every entry, no matter how small.

  “I’d like the judges to stand.” The mayor gestured to where three of the four town trustees—Rufus Cobb, Roscoe Jackson, and Jeremiah Atkins—were sitting in a row. As usual, the fourth trustee was AWOL.

  “Chaz didn’t even manage to get here for the community center?” Liv asked, disgusted.

  Ted looked over the crowd. “I expect he’s here somewhere. See? Over there, standing in the back, opposite us.”

  Liv looked to where Ted indicated and came eye to eye with Chaz Bristow, owner and editor of the Celebration Bay Clarion. Liv’s nemesis . . . and sometimes her reluctant partner in crime solving.

  He grinned at her and she looked away.

  “And two members of the business community.” The mayor gestured to two well-dressed women sitting side by side at the end of the row. “Janine Tudor and Lucille Foster . . . Ladies.” The two women waved.

  Chaz Bristow slipped up beside Liv.

  Liv felt the jolt of interest that she always tried to ignore when she was around him. He was too good-looking for his own good, at least according to Liv’s landladies, Ida and Edna Zimmerman.

  He was handsome, all right, with straight features, a firm if sometimes unshaven jaw, and blond hair that would be more appropriate on someone who lived outdoors in the sun instead of someone who preferred sleeping under a newspaper on the couch in his office.

  Tonight he was wearing a light hunting jacket, a plaid scarf, and no hat. His blond hair looked less groomed than usual in the uneven light. But there was definitely something charismatic about the man.

  He was infuriating; yo-yoed between out-and-out smarmy wastrel and intense, justice-seeking reporter, always with a serious surfer dude attitude. Infuriating, but appealing—

  Appealing? When she was out of her mind and hallucinating.

  Liv pulled herself together. “Why aren’t you up there with the other trustees?”

  “Three reasons.”

  “Really. What are they?”

  “Because I own and run the local paper. I can’t appear to take sides.”

  “Ha. You mean you just didn’t want to be bothered.”

  Chaz shrugged.

  “And the other two?”

  He nodded toward the stage. “You’re looking at them.”

  Liv frowned.

  Ted leaned over. “He’s talkin
g about Lucille and Janine.”

  “Yep,” Chaz said. “Amazing that the two of them can sit side by side without tearing each other’s eyes out. The mayor must have a death wish. I sure don’t.”

  “I take it they don’t like each other.”

  Chaz gave her a deadpan look.

  She turned to Ted.

  He managed an even more deadpan expression.

  “And now I’d like to introduce Lucille Foster, chairwoman of the judging panel. Lucille?”

  Lucille stood gracefully; Janine remained seated with a tight smile on her face. Lucille was tall and elegantly dressed, in an off-white Burberry trench coat with a burnt orange paisley shawl looped over her shoulder. And the highest heels Liv had seen—or worn—since Manhattan. Hers were now residing in the deepest, darkest corner of her closet.

  The highest and the most expensive, Liv thought as Lucille’s red soles caught the light.

  The chairwoman edged the mayor over and spoke into the microphone. “Thank you, Mayor Worley. I am so honored to be a part of this great fund-raiser. We here in Celebration Bay care about our town and about each other. That feeling is what makes us so special, and you’ve shown your caring by your donations to this worthy cause—the Celebration Bay Community Center.”

  While Lucille began explaining the guidelines of the contest and how the entries were judged, Liv looked over the crowd. It was small in the scheme of things. Mostly local people who supported the need for a new community center.

  Liv had hoped that Jonathon Preston, Director of Development for the VanderHauw Foundation, would make it for the ceremony, but as it was he’d had to sandwich them in between a trip to a day-care center in Thailand and an afternoon music program in Detroit.

  Too bad. Jon would have gotten a kick out of the spectacle. And Liv would have gotten a kick out of his enjoyment. Jon was a former colleague of hers from her Manhattan days, and they’d briefly been something more than friends. He was great to work with, indefatigable and energetic. They’d had some fun times, and Liv was looking forward to seeing him again.

  “. . . by the generous donation of . . .” Lucille Foster began to read off a list of names of people who had agreed to match the prize money offered to the winner of the Official Celebration Bay Haunted House. “All proceeds to go to the new community center. Already we have raised twenty thousand dollars.”

  Applause, and a few woots.

  “Ten thousand will go to the winner of the contest to help offset expenses and operating costs. All ticket proceeds for the first Halloween will go back into the community center donation fund. Each of the runners-up will win five hundred dollars to use as they see fit.

  “I want to thank everyone for their generosity and let you know that donations may be dropped off at town hall, sent to the mayor’s office, or dropped in one of the many receptacles around town. Now, Mayor Worley, if you’ll announce the three finalists.”

  The mayor stepped back up to the lectern as Lucille returned to her seat.

  Mayor Worley cleared his throat. “There is one more person I would like to thank particularly . . .”

  Lucille paused, then turned back to the lectern, her smile managing to appear gracious and humble at the same time. It was impressive.

  “Mrs. Amanda Marlton-Crosby,” the mayor continued.

  Lucille froze in place, her smile unwavering. Then, recovering herself, she smiled more broadly and sat down. Beside her, Janine Tudor didn’t even try to hide her surprise or her delight that Lucille had been superseded by another.

  “Amanda,” the mayor continued, “has generously donated the full ten thousand dollars for the prize money so that the community center can keep all of the proceeds gathered thus far.”

  Applause and whistles followed. The three male judges exchanged looks. Janine sat ramrod straight. Next to her, Lucille crossed her legs and continued to smile, but her foot jiggled with perturbation, the red soles of her expensive shoes blinking like a stoplight among the ceramic pumpkins.

  “Wow,” Liv said. “Why didn’t we know about this?”

  Ted shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “No. It’s just really a surprise.”

  “From the look of things,” Chaz said, “a surprise to the judges, too.”

  The mayor stretched out his arm. “Amanda? Will you come up and present the check to the winner?” The mayor applauded into the microphone and everyone joined in as Amanda Marlton-Crosby climbed the steps to the stage.

  She was in her thirties, Liv guessed, with spare, plain features and brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing slacks and a red plaid car coat. Not how Liv would have chosen to dress if she had been a wealthy heiress, especially next to Lucille and Janine, who always dressed for the occasion. Maybe Amanda Marlton-Crosby had gone for a totally different look knowing she couldn’t compete.

  The mayor adjusted the microphone so that Amanda could speak into it.

  “Thank you, Mayor Worley,” she said in a voice so low that the entire audience leaned forward to hear. The mayor moved her closer to the microphone. “It is my honor and my pleasure to be here tonight and to be able to support the contest and its admirable goal of aiding the community center.” She had none of the panache of either of the other two women on stage, but evidently she had money to spare.

  “But I know you’re all anxious to get out of the cold so . . . Mr. Mayor?”

  The mayor fumbled inside his pocket, checked another, and finally pulled out an envelope. “Had you going, didn’t I?” Chuckling, he opened the envelope.

  “The three finalists are . . . Patty Wainwright of Miss Patty’s Learn and Grow Center, for her Family-Friendly Ghosts and Goblins.”

  Cheers, whistles, and applause.

  “Ernie Bolton’s Monster Mansion.”

  More applause and several woots.

  “And Barry Lindquist’s Museum of Yankee Horrors.”

  “Way to go, Barry,” someone yelled, followed by more applause.

  The mayor smiled and nodded as the three finalists climbed the steps to the stage and stopped in a line, looking hopeful. All three were dressed in Halloween colors. Patty Wainwright wore a black skirt and a pumpkin-colored car coat, her hair plaited in two braids, Addams Family style; Ernie wore an orange and black striped sweater and bright orange earmuffs; and Barry Lindquist had added a jaunty orange tam to his dark green jacket and jeans.

  The mayor held up his hand for silence, which for once everyone obeyed. “And now . . . the winner of ten thousand dollars and the title of Official Celebration Bay Haunted House—”

  “Devil worshippers!”

  The mayor broke off mid-sentence. “Who yelled that?”

  “Repent, ye idolaters, or face eternal damnation!”

  Everyone looked around for the source of the rant.

  Off to the side, there was a discreet movement as three men dressed in plainclothes surrounded a man dressed completely in black.

  “Burn in—” The rest of the sentence was cut off as the men surrounded him and moved just as easily out of the crowd taking the miscreant with them. Shocked silence reigned.

  “They are efficient,” Ted whispered to Liv.

  “Very,” Liv agreed. Bayside Security. Liv had hired the security firm months ago on a permanent basis. They were good, inconspicuous, kept an eagle-eye watch over the growing crowds attracted to the town’s events, and worked quickly to prevent disruption and remove troublemakers.

  And with their military training, they had disappeared as quickly and as stealthily as they had appeared.

  “Shades of Big Brother,” Chaz intoned.

  Liv ignored him, but had to admit their efficiency sometimes bordered on the spooky.

  “Well, well.” Mayor Worley laughed nervously. “Some of our folks are starting trick-or-treating early this year.” The mayor clea
red his throat. “Now, where were we? Oh yes. And the prize of ten thousand dollars goes to . . .” He handed the paper to Amanda Marlton-Crosby.

  She leaned into the microphone. “Goes to Barry Lindquist for his Museum of Yankee Horrors.”

  Applause, whistles, and yells followed.

  Barry Lindquist stepped forward, bowing and smiling. The mayor stood by as Amanda presented Barry with an envelope.

  “Congratulations, Barry,” the mayor said, pumping his free hand. “The Museum of Yankee Horrors is Celebration Bay’s official haunted house.”

  The mayor announced the second and third place winners and presented them with checks.

  “And now Joss Waterbury of Waterbury Orchards is serving free hot cider and donuts on the town hall steps.”

  While the mayor and Amanda Marlton-Crosby congratulated Barry and posed for publicity photographs, the other two finalists left the stage and the crowd began to disperse. A few people stopped by the stage to offer congratulations.

  “Why aren’t you taking photos for the newspaper?” Liv asked.

  Chaz shrugged. “Oh.” He looked around like he’d misplaced his camera, then reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He held it out toward the band shell and snapped a photo. “There,” he said, and slid it back into his pocket.

  Liv cut a look to Ted.

  “When are you going to learn? He’s probably already set up something with one of the other photographers.”

  “You’re no fun,” Chaz said.

  “Let’s go congratulate the winner and the finalists and thank Mrs. Marlton-Crosby.”

  By the time they reached the front, a crowd had gathered around the winners. The judges were chatting with the mayor and Amanda Marlton-Crosby.

  Patty Wainwright was accepting congratulations for third place. “Isn’t it neat? I’m going to keep the Happy Haunted House open for the younger kids. They need a fun, less scary place to celebrate Halloween.”

  Ernie, however, stood off to the side where he was clenching and unclenching his fists and glaring at the judges, Lucille in particular. He seemed hardly aware of the people who stopped to congratulate him on a job well done.