Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay (13 page)

“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.

Ted leaned closer. “Well, well, well. It seems that not only does George Grossman represent Onyx Conservancy, he
is
Onyx Conservancy.”

• • •

A few minutes later, Ted and Whiskey left for the Buttercup, and Liv pulled up her spreadsheets for the Independence Day weekend. Looking further into Onyx’s legitimacy would have to wait. She needed to prepare for that night’s meeting. The committee heads would turn in written reports the following week. Tonight would be mostly verbal reporting. A few energetic committee heads would have completed reports, but this weekend had been too busy. The reenactment, the murder, the parade, the return of Chaz Bristow, the Leo situation, and now the possible sale of the reenactment site had put her and probably others way behind schedule.

She stopped mid-thought. Had she really just lumped murder in with the other events of the weekend? That could not be good, to take something so awful in stride. And what was she going to tell the committee heads tonight?

She knew no more today than she had Friday night at the police station. Maybe A.K. could fill her in on the nonconfidential aspects of the case. At least enough to assuage the residents’ fears. Murder was definitely something they did not want to schedule into the upcoming festivals.

Attendance to the town’s activities was skyrocketing. That was a good thing. But a lot of aspects of the organization of the events were lagging way behind. At the end of less then a year, Liv was at the point where she was actually considering taking on support staff if the council would approve the salaries. Just someone to do paperwork and make phone calls would free Ted and her up for more hands-on work.

She also needed to consult A.K. about the security situation. She knew his people were efficient and effective. Up to a point. She needed to hire more of them, but they were expensive.

The town was certainly making more than they had been when Liv arrived last September. But some of the trustees had taken a wait-and-see attitude. They didn’t want to get overextended only to see the economy drop off again.

Liv wondered just how much the council was willing to allocate to the Events Office.

Ted returned with their drinks, and Liv stopped thinking or planning long enough to enjoy her latte. She was just finishing it when A.K. arrived for his meeting with her.

Liv felt a little rush of adrenaline as he stepped through the door. She quickly wiped her lip in case she was sporting a latte mustache and dropped her cup into her wastepaper basket before she stood to greet him.

He always startled her: tall, strong, intense. Today he was wearing a black T-shirt that stretched across his well-developed chest and hugged his biceps in a way that made Liv stop to enjoy the view.

“Come in and have a seat. Would you like water or…” She didn’t have anything else to offer. Maybe she should consider keeping stores of coffee and tea for meetings.

“No, thanks.” His deep voice rumbled across the desktop at her, catching her off guard like it always did.

Seemingly unaware of the effect he had on her, he sat down and opened a leather briefcase. He pulled out several manila folders, which he pushed across the desk to her. He brought out a similar set of folders, which he kept.

The first thing she saw was the fee they owed him. It made her gulp. Not that she hadn’t been aware of it before, but once overtime was added to it, it barely left her enough to pay for the day-to-day operations and the smaller upcoming events that would need less security.

But they would need security. She turned the page. A breakdown of the duties and hours of each operative. One thing about A.K. Pierce—he was thorough in everything he did. Well, at least everything she knew of.

She nodded. “Good.” She closed that folder and reached for another. A report of crimes committed and crimes prevented. Which ones the police were involved in and which ones the agency had deflected.

It seemed like a lot to Liv, even after all the events she’d organized in the last nine months. In her former career, the police only had to be called when some dignitary’s car was towed for parking in a no-parking zone, or the bride or groom’s brother, cousin, best man, friend—or, occasionally, sister—got snockered and started a brawl.

Taking care of a whole town was a new experience: pickpockets, random fights, shoplifting, petty thefts, panhandling, fender benders, accidents that might become potential lawsuits, not to mention the standard injuries, illnesses, and episodes of normal groups of people.

“This looks impressive,” Liv said. “Just out of curiosity, how many of the incidents go unreported or unnoticed?”

A.K. thought about it. “Generally ten to thirty percent. Sometimes people don’t notice their wallet missing or the dent in their car until they get home. Those trickle in after the fact, if they choose to report them to the authorities. Some are never noticed or reported.”

“That seems like a fairly wide range.”

“Depends on the event. The more contained, the easier it is to patrol.” He shifted in his seat and leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms. “For example, when we’re escorting, say, a public figure—rock star, athlete, politician—we have a tight target. We get the random crazed fan or drug overdose. Occasionally a death threat, but the whole event is easier to cover, close to a hundred percent secure.”

Liv pulled her attention away from his arms and nodded. “But in a less-controlled event it’s higher.”

“Yes, and when the event meets in several different venues, sometimes simultaneously—or runs several days and nights, as this past weekend did—the odds are that you will miss a good amount of minor infractions.” He frowned at her. “It doesn’t matter how many security people you hire. Stuff happens. It’s human nature.”

Liv swallowed, resisted the temptation to push her chair farther away. He was impressive. And she was a little intimidated—even while she was slightly attracted to him and not guilty of any crime. “And murder?”

He gave her one of his fleeting smiles. “Like I said, human nature.”

Liv guessed he was right. But it seemed so depressing to take murder in your stride. She hadn’t forgotten his words when they’d found Leo crouched against the parapet on Friday night. He thought Leo had killed Jacob Rundle.

But he didn’t know Leo. Well, she didn’t either, really, if it came to that.

“Can I ask you something?”

One of his eyebrows quirked, a physical reaction, she thought, rather than a thoughtful one. “Do you still think that Leo Morgan killed Jacob Rundle?”

“You know, Ms. Montgomery—Liv—I’m a fair man. I can even be sympathetic on occasion. But I look at the facts, what I see, hear, smell. What I saw that night was a frightened young man holding a bloodied bayonet near a man who was killed with a bayonet. No one else around. We didn’t pass anyone coming to the roof. My men didn’t see anyone leaving the house. There may be another explanation, but the most valid one at this point is that we caught him before he had time to flee.”

“But he wasn’t trying to flee.”

“Not when we finally saw him. It would be a natural reaction to being cornered. Fight or flight or… fright. Like a trapped animal.” He held up a hand before Liv could protest. “I’m just saying that’s a possibility. Not that it is what actually happened. But based on the evidence in situ… I think the police have a decent case.”

Liv was afraid he was right. And if they thought they had the murderer, how hard would they look for the real one?

Mayor Worley was waiting in the outer office when Liv saw A.K. to the door. Liv smiled in passing and hightailed it back to her office.

Gilbert was right on her heels. Behind the mayor, Ted lifted his hands in a gesture that said he was not responsible.

She’d barely made it back to her desk before Gilbert said, “I just got off the phone with Hildy Ingersoll. I told her you would be accompanying Mr. Grossman on his tour of the house.”

“Me? But I have the roundup meeting tonight.”

“This is more important. I told him you would meet him at the mansion at ten thirty.”

She glanced at the time. Her meeting with A.K. had taken exactly an hour. That gave her half an hour to plan the meeting for tonight and then get over to Gallantine House, which was a good ten- to fifteen-minute walk.

The mayor rushed ahead. “He wasn’t happy, but since Bill had the good sense to tell him he had to be accompanied by a town official—”

Liv opened her mouth to say she wasn’t exactly an official. She needn’t have bothered.

“Purely to cover our legal responsibilities.” He sucked in air. “God forbid the man should fall or have a heart attack. Or worse, if something went missing.”

Hopefully the mayor hadn’t mentioned that last possibility to Mr. Grossman when he’d been explaining the rest. He’d practically just accused him of stealing. That should make for a fun afternoon.

On the other hand, Liv wouldn’t mind taking a good look at the inside of the mansion. Her curiosity was piqued. Besides, it would give her a chance to further observe the crime scene surroundings and get to know Hildy a little better. Woman to woman, not sheriff to witness.

“And you can take the opportunity to convince him to keep the town’s lease in operation.”

“He seemed pretty anti–Battle of the Bay.”

The mayor wrung his hands. It was becoming a habit with him lately. And there was increasing gray in that shiny hair of his. Politics was taking its toll on the Celebration Bay mayor. “If anybody can convince him to honor our agreement, it’s you.”

“Thank you, I think.” Liv glanced at the clock on her computer screen again.
Twenty-five minutes.

“Well, I’d better get a move on.” Liv stood.

“Thank you. Be sure to tell him how important it is to the town and how the reenactment would be good for the museum, too.”

“I will.”

“And you’ll let me know how it goes as soon as you get back?”

“Of course.”

“And—”

“She knows exactly what to do,” Ted called from the outer office.

“Right, well. Okay, then.” And with a final, quick scrub of his hands, he hurried away.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Ted broke into a wide grin.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Liv said drily.

“Go forth and investigate. And I
really do want to know everything. You can censor it for the mayor.”

Liv checked the battery life on her iPad mini and returned it to her bag. “Might as well get some work done while I’m there.”

“Or jot down some notes about the crime scene?”

“I won’t be going to the roof if that’s what you mean. I can’t imagine Mr. Grossman would need to go up there.” She paused. Smiled. “But you never know.”

She grabbed her bag and, after a quick cleanup in the ladies room, she started for the Gallantine mansion.

Liv wasn’t sure how it happened that she had become the town “official” to get stuck spending the day with a museum photographer who hated their battle reenactment.

She really needed to be prepared for tonight’s meeting. It would be hard enough just keeping it on track once the news of the murder got out. And she was sure it was already out and being embellished as the day went on. And everyone would want answers and reassurance from her.

She didn’t know why, but since she’d become the town’s event coordinator, the town tended to look to her to solve a multitude of things, some that were unassociated with events. Like listening to disputes, solving murders. Not that she could do much about either. Still, they sought her out, like people who told their innermost secrets to bartenders.

Trouble was nothing new to Celebration Bay. The locals enjoyed a good argument almost as much as they enjoyed a good tractor pull, a spirited fistfight as much as a spirited charity auction. And even though some people—Janine, to name one—swore the town had never had a murder until Liv moved there, Liv knew it wasn’t true.

Not content to believe the word of her neighbors, Liv had looked at back newspaper reports and even at county records. It seemed to Liv that the residents of the area had been committing crimes like every other community in the country.

The crimes just hadn’t attracted much notice, because the town hadn’t been a successful event town until the last few years, during which attendance had nearly doubled.

Liv would just have to remind everyone of that when they asked their questions tonight. For there would be questions, there always were, and there would be heated arguments, especially if Janine was there to incite their emotions.

It had grown muggy in the few hours she’d been inside, but at least the walk toward the lake sent an occasional breeze her way. Most of the town was close enough that she didn’t really need her car most of the time, but it was times like today when she contemplated buying a bike, maybe a mountain bike.

Within a few minutes she had reached the brick wall that surrounded Gallantine House. The street was clean and the vendors were gone but George Grossman was there, waiting by the front gate, camera bag and tripod hung over one shoulder.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” Liv said. “The mayor just asked me to join you.”

He gave her a sour look and opened the iron gate for her to go through.

Not friendly, but at least a gentleman. Liv wondered how long that would last once he confronted Hildy. They walked up the brick walk to the front door, and Grossman rang the bell.

Hildy met them with a scowl and an extra tightening of her lips for Liv. “Come on in. Don’t suppose I can keep you out. Don’t mess things up and don’t break anything. Come on, I can’t leave him alone for a minute.”

Him? Had Henry Gallantine returned? Now there would be a welcome event. He could clarify why Rundle had been on the roof, could deal with George Grossman, and Liv could return to the duties she was paid to perform.

Hildy pushed the heavy front door closed, then hurried past them into the front parlor with efficiency if not grace.

The front parlor was a large square room with high ceilings and was filled with exotic furnishings. Gallantine had a penchant for the Orient in a thirties-movie way. A camelback sofa and two chaises were upholstered in red velvet and finished with gold braid and tassels. A wing chair was covered in a satiny fabric depicting peonies and golden dragons. A pair of swords hung on the wall above the mantel where a row of Fabergé eggs stood between two ceramic urns. There was a gap between two of them, and it took Liv a second to remember Hildy saying one of Mr. Gallantine’s fancy eggs had been stolen. Had anything else been stolen while they all had been searching for a killer?

And how would they know if more was missing? Dark carved furniture, chairs, tables, curio cabinets, and bookshelves filled the space. And every surface was crowded with objets d’art.

Liv felt a momentary sympathy for Hildy, who must have to dust each individual piece, as well as all the ornately carved furniture.

A tall man, dressed in jeans and a loose madras sports coat, was leaning over a table of curios. He straightened when they entered, and Liv saw that he was holding a porcelain figurine.

He was tall and slightly overweight, late thirties, Liv guessed. Light brown hair receded slightly from his forehead and his chin was covered by a puffy goatee that made Liv want to reach for a razor.

“Put that back,” Hildy said, and strode forward.

“Relax,” the man said, and turned back to the table to put the figure down.

Then he saw Liv and George Grossman, and Liv immediately saw his guard go up. It was a small change in his posture, a little narrowing of the eyes, but Liv dealt with people all the time, and she didn’t trust this one for a second.

He smiled, turning on the charm. “I’m Frank Gallantine. And you are?”

For a second Liv just stared. Then she remembered the name. Henry’s nephew, the one who hadn’t returned the sheriff’s call. The one with the gambling problem. She wondered if Bill knew he was here.

“
She’s
supposed to be here and
you
are not.” Hildy shoved her fists onto her hips and glared at him.

“You must forgive Hildy. She’s never been one for manners.”

Or housekeeping
, Liv thought. Every surface was covered in a fine layer of dust.

“Not for the likes of you.”

Ignoring the housekeeper, he shook hands with Grossman, then Liv, holding hers a little too long, which Liv thought he meant as a compliment. It just made her want to bring out the Purell.

“I’m afraid my uncle isn’t here at the moment.”

“We know that,” Grossman said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Do you know where he is?”

“No. I came the moment I heard he was missing. Poor man, I hope this halfwit who killed Mr. Rundle hasn’t killed the dear old man, too.”

Hildy snorted.

“No one has been taken into custody,” Liv informed him in her most officious voice. “Have you spoken with the sheriff?”

His smile slipped slightly before returning firmly to place. “Not yet, though I fully intend to. And I’m afraid I must ask you to leave… in view of the situation. Hildy will see you out.” Another smile. He didn’t come anywhere near lord of the mansion. More like a street thug.

“It’s you that will be leaving,” Hildy said. “I don’t know how you got in here, but you’re getting out now. Mr. G said I was not to let you in. Though I don’t know how I could keep you out when you sneak in like the thief you are.”

“Now, Hildy. You know that isn’t true.” He leaned over to Liv. “Hildy’s always been a little jealous of me.” He sighed. “Very well. But, Hildy, it won’t do to be so mean to me. Not in view of—” He stopped, sighed indulgently. “Very well. I’ll see the two of them out when I go.” He smiled and gestured Grossman and Liv toward the door.

Liv had no intention of leaving and neither had Grossman. He pulled his authorization letter out of his pocket and waved it at Frank. “I’m here by appointment. I have this authorization letter to prove it. So if you will excuse me I’ll start setting up my equipment.” He didn’t wait for an answer but carried his equipment across the room.

“Now, wait just a minute,” Frank began, but Hildy cut him off.

“He has a right to be here. You don’t,” Hildy said. “
I’ll
see
you
out, and if I catch you trying to sneak back in, I’ll call the sheriff.”

“Hildy, you can’t really keep me out. I am the heir after all.” Frank Gallantine, who Liv was already thinking of as Frankie G, winked at Liv, as if saying,
What can you do?
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Montgomery. I’ll let myself out.”

He sauntered across the room under Hildy’s alert gaze. But not alert enough. As Liv watched him go, she noticed a bump in the pocket of his sports jacket. She automatically turned to the table where he’d been standing; the figurine he’d been holding was gone. Only the clean circle in the dust remained, marking the spot where it had been.

So the nephew wasn’t just obnoxious; he really was a thief. And a brazen one at that. Was it possible that he was Hildy’s thief and not the teenagers like she’d thought? Evidently he knew how to get in without the housekeeper knowing about it, and he most certainly knew how to sneak things out.

Hildy finally remembered they were in the room. “A piece of work that one. Mr. G gave him and his mother everything they wanted. They always wanted more.”

And if Henry Gallantine was dead instead of just missing, they might have it.

The housekeeper seemed to recollect herself. “I suppose it’s okay to let you go on and do your picture taking. Mr. G didn’t tell me any different. Didn’t tell me you were coming back at all. Just don’t make a mess. I got my work to do, and I can’t stand here watching you.”

She frowned at Liv. “You just make sure nothing gets broke. I’m holding you responsible.”

“Thanks, Hildy.”

Hildy just grunted and left the room.

“Formidable woman,” Grossman said.

“Yes, she is,” Liv agreed.

“That nitwit is Henry Gallantine’s nephew?”

“Apparently.”

“I wonder if he really is the heir.” Grossman began setting up his gear, and Liv wandered over to the window to look out, partly so Grossman wouldn’t think she was hovering over him and partly because she wanted to call Bill.

She’d just give him a heads-up that the nephew, Frankie G, was in town. She deliberated on whether to tell him about the theft or not. She hadn’t actually seen him take the piece, but he had been holding it, then it was gone, and there was that bump in his pocket. Pretty damning.

But she didn’t want to make any accusations that might raise alarm and send Frankie running for cover before Bill had a chance to investigate him thoroughly. If he was pocketing things from this house, what else was he helping himself to? And how far was he willing to go to get it?

The sound of a vacuum drowned out that thought as well as any possibility of having a phone conversation. She’d have to wait for a more opportune time.

Liv sat down at a round Queen Anne side table in the window alcove to tweak her presentation for the committee meeting that night, but soon her eye wandered out to the lawn.

The bleachers had been removed. She’d have to send a special thanks to the cleanup crew. They’d done an excellent job. The lawn was as pristine as it ever was, except for a few gouges and trampled grass where Daniel Haynes’s horse had reared up as the general gave the order to attack. Thank heaven it hadn’t been a cavalry unit.

Grossman moved from place to place, taking long shots, close-ups, and making notes in a spiral notebook. Occasionally, he would pick up some chest or box to study it more closely.