Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery) (10 page)

“Nancy?” he called out.

The stockroom was empty. Hank’s street clothes were hanging on the rack where he’d left them. Several new stacks of boxes rose in the center of the floor.

Liv was beginning to think that the business of locked doors was more good intention than truth. And if that was the case, anyone could have slipped in, nabbed the Santa suit, and gotten away. They could be stealing inventory right now.

“Nancy?” Hank called in his rumbling voice. He passed Liv, pulled aside the madras curtain, and opened the door. Liv followed him into the store.

Nancy Pyne stood at the counter with the deliveryman, running down the items of the packing list. “See. Here’s the discrepancy. There should have been two boxes of one hundred twig bird nests each. There’s only one.”

She was frowning when she looked up and saw Liv and Hank; she stiffened in surprise and a momentary unease, then pushed the packing slip at the deliveryman.

“Would you mind taking another look for the second one on the truck? They’re usually very good about shipping everything at once.”

The man grumbled but took the slip and returned to the stockroom. As soon as he’d left, she turned to Hank. “Is everything okay?”

“Back door was open,” Hank said. “You oughta be more careful, especially since . . . you know.” He nodded his head so strongly that it set his pom-pom to swaying.

“Oh dear.” Nancy started to move.

“It’s okay. We closed it.”

Nancy sighed. “It doesn’t close sometimes. I try to keep the hinges oiled, but it’s an old house. Thank you both, anybody could have come in and—” She broke off as she realized the implication. “Oh, Hank, I’m so sorry. This business is all my fault.”

“No, no. Now, don’t you feel like that. I’ll take a look at the hinges, maybe get some replacements. And as far as that other business goes, it’ll all be cleared up soon enough.”

Not soon enough for Liv.

“Some burglar saw an opportunity and took it. Bill Gunnison will catch him, and when he does, he’ll throw the book at him.”

Nancy flinched. “I should have checked to make sure the door caught, but I get flustered when the trucks come, trying to watch the front while overseeing the deliveries.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I can’t seem to be in two places at once.”

“Now, now,” Hank said. And Liv suddenly wondered if there was a little mutual liking going on between the two of them.

“Why don’t you hire someone to help you?” Liv asked, dragging her mind from the possible relationship between Santa and Earth Mother.

“At these rents, I just can’t afford to.”

Liv remembered Miriam saying the same thing. Were rents too high, or was the economy still faltering? The town certainly looked like it was doing a healthy business; the number of visitors was up according to Ted and the board, but maybe sales were still flat. She’d have to check into it.

A loud thump sounded from the back room. Nancy jumped, and Hank rushed out to see what it was. Liv and Nancy were right behind him. The door was open. One of the stacked boxes had fallen to the floor.

They all looked wildly around.

A blur of orange streaked past their feet and slinked through the crack in the door to the outside.

Liv’s breath whooshed in relief. “It’s Grace Thornsby’s cat. I wondered if it would show up again.”

“She came to the door last night as I was leaving. I fed her and let her stay. I always keep a bag of sand in my car for traction. It’s perfect for kitty litter, and much healthier for the environment than chemicals. I figured it was better to keep her inside than take a chance of her freezing during the night.”

“Thanks for that,” Liv said. “I was feeling a little responsible for letting her escape last night. And Grace was asking about her this morning.”

“As if she cares about the poor creature,” Nancy said.

The deliveryman shouldered his way through the back door carrying a large cardboard box. “You were right. I found this in the back with the shipment to Nature’s Nurture over in Plattsburg.” He put the box down and pulled out his signature pad for Nancy to sign.

She followed him to the door, looked out before shutting it firmly behind him. “I guess the cat will be okay,” Nancy said. “I hate to leave it out in the cold.”

“I’m sure she knows where to come if she needs a friend,” Hank said.

Nancy gave him a look that dispelled any question Liv might have about the woman’s feelings for Hank.

“I brought a thermos of vegetable soup that I made last night. Would you like some for lunch, Hank?”

“Thanks, I would.”

“How about you, Liv? Would you like to join us?” She was being polite, but Liv could tell she’d rather have a soup tête-à-tête with Hank. And that would put a bit of a damper on Liv’s ability to ask Hank the questions she had in mind.

“Thanks, but I can’t stay. I want to drop by A Stitch in Time and compliment them on their sewing skills. It’s a great suit, Hank.”

“Yep, we’re real lucky to have all these folks who’ll pull together to see each other through times like this.”

Liv nodded. Like BeBe helping Penny out with a few weekend hours, and Hank hiring Jason and giving him a place to live. And Nancy opening her store, and possibly her heart, to the town Santa.

It was enough to give a person a little holiday glow.

Liv let herself out. Made sure the door was latched, then stepped out into the alley. The truck was gone, and she had a clear view all the way down to the other end of the block. Her holiday glow withered into a bit of holiday speculation.

There were clusters of trash cans at the doors of several stores. There were two Dumpsters, one at the far end and one between Nancy’s and the Trim a Tree store; and two openings to the parking lot, one by the pedestrian walk and the other across from the Pyne Bough. Either one making for an easy getaway.

As Liv pondered this idea, several people came from the parking lot. They stopped at the pedestrian walk and looked down the alley, pointed at the door of TAT. They huddled together talking and looking and pointing, then continued between the buildings to the street.

Word was out.

“Well, Liv,” she told herself. “It is Celebration Bay.”

Most thieves waited until late at night to break in, when no one would be about. Though maybe this one had thought it would be safe to attack when the stores were empty except for a skeleton crew waiting for the light cue, and everyone else’s attention would be on the tree lighting.

It would take guts, or desperation, she guessed, to steal a Santa suit and march down the alley to Trim a Tree when latecomers rushing to the tree lighting might see them. The murder had taken place somewhere between four o’clock when Penny left and around seven o’clock when they’d discovered Phil’s body.

Liv looked around. It had been dark by four o’clock, but even so, the alley was fairly well lit, as was the parking lot. She could see the tops of the floodlights over the stockade fence that lined the alley. Anyone could have seen the killer walking down the alley. But he would be just another pedestrian. And if he were wearing the Santa suit before he entered TAT, everyone would assume it was Hank.

And maybe it was.

He might hold a grudge against his ex-wife, but why murder the fake Santa? Hank had been angry in Liv’s office the day he told her about the second Santa, but his anger had been aimed more at Grace than the poor guy who now lay dead, just for doing a good deed and letting Penny go to sing at the tree lighting.

That was so not right—to die for a good deed. Especially to die violently. And it was hard for Liv not to feel responsible. She knew she wasn’t, but she also knew the town was looking toward her, not only for their livelihoods, but also for their safety.

So far she was failing miserably.

She looked back at the alleyway. She walked over to the first Dumpster, wondering if a person could have stolen the suit, then changed in and out of it without being seen. She turned around and had a clear view from the Dumpster to the street.

Something rolled beneath Liv’s feet; she looked down. Cigarette butts. Lots of them. Several were crushed beneath her boot; more littered the packed snow around the Dumpster. Several packs’ worth. All with the same filter. Someone had either missed the Dumpster or stood smoking cigarette after cigarette, not more than twenty feet from the delivery door of the Pyne Bough. Nancy must have really hated that.

Liv walked down the alley toward the pedestrian walkway, finding the occasional cigarette butt, but not so many as at the other end of the alley. But she noticed that most of them were the same brand or at least had the same filter.

She slowed as she passed the Trim a Tree store. The door was still sealed. There was no sign of the cat. When she got to the pass-through, she turned back to look down the alley. No one could move from store to store without risking being seen when it was daylight. But what about when it was dark? There were lights, yes, but how many shadows? Could someone sneak from store to store avoiding the light?

Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.

She’d have to come back at night just to satisfy her curiosity. But for now she had to be content to peruse the alley in daylight. Liv knew she wouldn’t find any clues the sheriff and his team had missed. But she couldn’t just ignore the fact that while she’d been waiting expectantly for her first Christmas success, someone was sneaking down the alley to commit murder.

And she didn’t like it one bit.

There was a note on Liv’s desk.
We had a few errands to run, your lunch is in the fridge.
Liv wondered what errands but knew Whiskey would be happy as a clam to explore new vistas with his pal and fellow yodeler.

She was deep into lunch and paperwork when she heard the outer door open and the tapping of doggie paws on the hardwood floor. Whiskey shot through the open door to her office and skidded to a stop at Liv’s feet.

He had a Christmas tree biscuit between his teeth. Liv sighed. People just couldn’t stop feeding him. “Because you’re just so cute,” she said.

Whiskey danced in a circle.

“And wait until you hear this,” said Ted. He lifted his arms like a conductor.

Whiskey dropped the tree and sat.

“For we like sheep,” Ted sang in a clear tenor.

“Aar-roo-roo-roo,” Whiskey sang back.

Liv groaned. For a monosyllabic vocabulary, Whiskey did a pretty good job of mimicking whatever Ted taught him. But no way was he taking her dog to the
Messiah
sing-along.

“Do you know what the reaction will be if you show up to the
Messiah
with a singing dog?”

Ted grinned wickedly. “We’d probably get a solo.”

“You’d probably be shown the door, punctuated by a swift kick, and followed by you being blackballed from the community choir.”

“Nah. We just need a little more practice.”

*

Liv spent the next hour listing security questions to ask A.K. Pierce. By the time he arrived, precisely at three o’clock, she was ready.

Ted ushered him in, or followed in his wake, it was hard to tell. The man had a presence.

He strode across the room, emanating authority. He was in his late thirties or early forties, tall, wide-shouldered, strong. Straight nose, firm jaw, shaved head. Not unpleasant to look at. But it was the don’t-mess-with-the-ex-marine demeanor that would make someone think twice about causing trouble. It was part of the reason Liv had hired him.

But only part. She was savvy enough to know that looks and charisma were only part of success. The services his firm offered were the ones that most closely meshed with the town’s needs. He was precise and ran a tight organization; he was a perfect blend of intimidation and approachability. His team of twenty were instructed to be friendly but firm. Just what she had envisioned for a security hire: a deterrent to anyone planning mayhem, but friendly enough that children wouldn’t be afraid to go to them for help.

Bayside Security cost a bit more than some of the others she had vetted, but the expense would be worth it if A.K. Pierce turned out to be what he promised. The fact that a murder had been committed on his watch was troublesome, but she hadn’t hired him to prevent murder, just to protect the crowd.

He stopped at her desk.

Whiskey jumped up, stood stiff legged, ears pricked, on the alert.

Pierce slowly turned his head to look at him, but before Liv could command Whiskey to stay, Whiskey trotted over to be petted, which the security head did before returning his attention to Liv.

“Good afternoon,” she said, standing to meet him.

He nodded brusquely and handed her a brown accordion folder. “The preliminary report for the first twenty-four-hour period,” he said by way of explanation and stood at ease.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Pierce.”

A.K. Pierce sat down, feet planted on the floor, forearms resting on his knees.

“Ted?”

Ted lifted an eyebrow and sat.

Liv untied the closure and pulled out several copies of the report. She handed one to Ted. It was clear and detailed, with color-enhanced graphs and charts.

She was impressed. The trustees should be pleased. On the surface of this report she would be inclined to hire his firm on a regular basis. She wished she had the funds to keep them year-round.

“Excellent,” she said. “I must say you and your men and women covered a lot of ground.”

“Any time you have a crowd of this size—we estimated upward of a thousand—you invariably attract pickpockets and petty thieves, underage drinking, standard drugs, mainly marijuana. Some rowdiness. All in all it was a pretty standard night—except for the murder.”

Liv winced.
Except for the murder.
That was pretty major.

“I don’t think my crew, or any crew, could have prevented it, unless maybe by chance.”

“Why is that?”

He hesitated. “I’ve already discussed this with your sheriff.”

“I realize, and I don’t expect you to divulge any classified information. However, I would like your professional assessment.”

She saw Ted cover a grin behind his hand.

“I told the sheriff that I was contracted to perform certain duties for the town, and since Bayside Security was hired by you, I was bound by that contract to apprise you of certain information.”

Liv nodded seriously, though in the back of her mind she was thinking of what Chaz Bristow would think of the conversation. Each sentence more formal than the last. But formality worked for her, and evidently it worked for A.K. Pierce, too.

“I identified your Santa.”

Liv forgot about Chaz.

Ted scooted his chair closer.

“At the crime scene,” he clarified. “I didn’t see him before he was found. Didn’t know he was here until he was dead. But I knew him—well, was acquainted with him. He’s an area private investigator.”

Liv tried to keep her mouth from dropping open.

“Moonlighting for Christmas money?” Ted asked.

Pierce switched his attention from Liv to Ted. “Possibly. He’s not, shall we say, the best nor the most efficient investigator. He may be tight for cash. I don’t keep tabs on most of these guys; the fringe PIs, who spy on spouses, search for missing relatives whether they want to be found or not, and chase money, two-bit stuff.

“Phil Cosgrove was one of them. His cases were hit or miss with a lot of miss. And we don’t necessarily work the same circuit, if you know what I mean.”

At least now they knew his full name. Cosgrove. Phil Cosgrove. “Working as a Santa at Trim a Tree seems like an odd choice of jobs even if he were strapped for money,” Liv said.

“I agree. It would be more likely, as I told Bill Gunnison, that he’d been hired to keep an eye on someone. Maybe they caught on to him and decided to eliminate the problem.”

“So you’ve ruled out robbery?” She had, but she could always hope.

“It hasn’t been ruled out, but at this juncture, it’s unlikely. From what we saw initially, though I wasn’t in on the official CSI, it didn’t appear to be robbery. It’s possible Cosgrove interrupted the thief before he got that far.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?”

“Possibly.”

“But not probably,” Liv said.

Pierce shook his head slowly. “I think Cosgrove got too close to whatever he was looking for. He wasn’t very smart. He might have tipped his hand.”

“Do the police know who hired him?” Ted asked.

“Not yet, as far as I know.”

“Someone who wanted to watch Grace. Her husband?” Liv asked.

“That would be the most obvious conclusion but not necessarily the right one. Cosgrove could have been investigating anyone who frequented the store, or one of the nearby stores.”

Liv’s mind began to race.
Penny, Miriam Krause, BeBe—

“Or a regular customer.”

Did Grace have any regular customers?

“Actually the Santa gig gave Phil a reason to hang around town without being conspicuously out of place. It might not have had anything to do with the store itself. Or as your assistant here said, he could have just been moonlighting.”

“How did you show up so quickly? I mean, I’m glad you did, but I was surprised.”

“I just happened to be standing by when the sheriff got the call, and he asked me to ride shotgun.”

“Did they find the murder weapon?”

“That’s classified.”

“His throat was cut.”

A.K. Pierce’s eyes opened marginally wider. “I’m not a cop. I’m not privy to classified information.”

“But it had to be a knife or something like that.”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” He shot her a smile that was so fleeting, Liv was sure she had imagined it. “Bill said you would try to pump me for information.”

“I—”

Pierce’s back straightened a millimeter. “I know my job, Ms. Montgomery. Don’t bother trying.”

Chagrined, Liv didn’t even bother to deny the accusation. She’d have to find out more from Bill, who wasn’t nearly as good at keeping his mouth shut as A.K. Pierce.

“So . . . in your experience, if this doesn’t look like a robbery gone bad, was it a random act, or was Phil Cosgrove killed because of what he was, or at least might have been, investigating?”

“As far as the investigation goes, it could be any of those situations. Then again, it might have been something else entirely.”

“Like what?”

“Name something. People get killed every day over things most of us wouldn’t think twice about.”

Liv sighed. “So I don’t guess that we can ensure that it won’t happen again.”

“Ma’am, you put enough people together in a small space and you’re bound to have trouble. It’s just the nature of the beast. People get drunk, get angry, get stupid, do stupid things. Do god-awful things. Best thing you can do is to be prepared for it. Which you did by hiring Bayside Security.

“You read my report. All in all it was a successful night. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have assignments to detail.” He reached across the desk and shook her hand. His hand was big, with fingers that could crush hers if he’d wanted. Fortunately, he just smiled and let go.

“Ms. Montgomery.” He let Ted show him out.

“Well, that was one smooth sales pitch,” Ted said when he returned.

“I know. He made it sound like if we hadn’t hired Bayside Security, there would have been riots in the street, drunken orgies on every corner, and Celebration Bay would become a den of drug-addicted thieves.” Liv slumped in her chair. “They did do a great job, but I wish he could have managed to stop just one killer.”

“There is that.” Ted sat down and crossed one foot over his knee. “A private investigator. Who would have thought it?”

“That puts a whole new spin on things, doesn’t it?”