Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery) (21 page)

Ted fought not to smile.

Liv closed her laptop.

“Fine. I knew this was a waste of time, but hope springs eternal. But not anymore. I’ll just ask Bill myself.”

“Aw c’mon, Liv. Don’t get all pissy. We were just having some fun.”

“A man was murdered. No one has assured me it won’t happen again. And you sit there laughing.” She struggled back into her coat, slipped her laptop into the case with trembling fingers. She was so angry she could hardly see. How could someone who was supposed to be good at what he does—did—be so uninterested?

She stopped in front of him where he’d returned to slouch on the sofa. “So, Mr. Editor, if you wake up from one of your many naps and are bored, maybe you could look at some back issues of the
Tribune
, around Arbor Day nineteen sixty-nine. Maybe you can figure out what Phil Cosgrove was researching the day he was killed.”

Chaz’s eyes sparked momentarily.

She didn’t give him time to come up with something snipey to say, but flounced out of the room. Immature and girly as it was, she didn’t care. She needed to get away from this hyena before she burst from suppressed anger.

Ted caught up with her on the front porch. “What an exit.”

“Don’t,” she said. “You may think he’s funny, but I think he’s selfish and coldhearted and—”

“And has seen things you’ve never dreamed of. Cut the guy a break, Liv.”

Liv’s anger dissipated like a leaky balloon. “You mean he’s lost his nerve?”

“I mean he came here to fish and run a local paper. I think we should respect that.”

Liv flushed. “I just wanted his expertise.”

“You’re not responsible for the investigation. That’s why we have a police force. Bill is slow but he’s thorough and he and his detectives will figure it out.”

“I know. I know. I don’t even want to think about the investigation.” She and Chaz weren’t that far apart in their feelings about that. “But the weekend is coming. Thousands more people will come pouring into town during the next few weeks. I—we need to be able to guarantee their safety.”

“And the police and the security agency will.”

“I still want to talk to Bill.”

“Fine.” Ted reached for his cell. “And then you can tell us both about Phil Cosgrove and Arbor Day nineteen sixty-nine.”

*

Bill arrived at the Events Office thirty minutes after Ted and Liv. He looked tired, and Liv reminded herself not to be impatient. There were people at work on the case that she didn’t know about. Fine. She got that. She just wanted to know . . .

How much longer it would take?
Fat chance of getting an estimate.

If the town was safe from further attacks?
No one could promise that.

If they’d hired enough extra security or if the extra presence was even doing any good? She could start there and hope Bill had some good news. Even if just a little.

She did.

He didn’t.

“Not much to tell,” he said. He leaned forward and rubbed his lower back.

Liv sent a silent prayer to the chiropractic fairies that he’d catch the murderer before his sciatica returned.

“I’m keeping Penny and Jason at the station until someone can corroborate Jason’s story. I’ve got a call in to the Good Samaritans’ office.”

“You don’t think Penny and Jason really stole Grace’s money?” Ted asked.

Bill shrugged.

“Unbelievable,” Ted said. “Grace just noticed this morning that her register had been cleaned out? Any normal proprietor would put the till in a safe overnight.”

“Well, it wasn’t the register,” Bill admitted.

“Not the cash register?” Liv half stood from her chair. “Oh no.”

Both men turned their attention to her.

“What is it?” Ted asked, looking concerned.

“We all just assumed. I am such an idiot.”

“What?” Bill asked.

“When I got to the store that morning, Hank was carrying on about the cash register. But she was talking about one of those canvas money envelopes that the banks use, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe I missed that. Clarence Thornsby took it. I saw him drop it in the alley after the meeting.”

“Why didn’t you say so then?”

“I didn’t think about it. It was dark. At first I thought it was a book, but it was soft like a bag. I even thought at the time he was taking money to the bank. It would be a perfectly normal thing to do: close the store, take the money to the night deposit. Besides, I was sort of caught up in the domestic drama.”

Bill pulled out a notebook from the police jacket he’d hung over the back of his chair. “Go on. Tell me to the best of your recollection, everything you saw and heard. Everything.”

Liv thought back. “I was checking the lighting in the alley, like I told you. Then Clarence and Grace came out of the shop, and I ducked behind the Dumpster. Well, I didn’t want it to look like I was spying on them.”

Ted made a noise in his throat and covered his mouth.

“I wasn’t spying on them . . . not at first anyway.

“They were arguing.” Liv closed her eyes, tried to bring back the scene: hunched behind the Dumpster, holding Whiskey close so he wouldn’t give them away. “She accused him of trying to kill her. But more like she was pushing his buttons than being afraid.

“Then . . . she grabbed his arm and a folded newspaper he’d been carrying fell to the ground. He stepped toward Grace so that she had to step back. And he—I was afraid he was going to hit her, but that wasn’t it. Now I realize he just didn’t want her to see whatever had fallen to the ground.”

Liv took a long breath while she conjured the scene. “When she turned her back to lock the door, he picked up the newspaper and the money pouch. Then he quickly slipped both of them inside his coat.” She glanced at her laptop open on her desk. She’d just told Chaz and Ted about Cosgrove and the
Trib
. “Or maybe there was something in the newspaper he didn’t want Grace to see?”

“Possibly both.” Bill sat up suddenly alert. “Grace didn’t see it?”

Liv thought back. “No, and I was so caught up in their argument; the implications of his actions just didn’t register.”

“Not your job. Then what happened?”

“Then Chaz grabbed me from behind and scared the bejeezus out of me. And I didn’t see what happened next.”

“Did Chaz see?”

“I doubt it. He was too busy being obnoxious.”

This time Ted chuckled out loud. Bill shook his head and kept writing, but it didn’t totally hide his smile.

Liv shot Ted a warning look.

“Sorry, but really, the two of you could be a stand-up comedy act.”

“That was not my fault. If Nancy hadn’t come out with that stupid cat, we might have learned a lot more. No. It is my fault. I know the importance of details and I missed them. Events have floundered on less inattention.”

“Don’t blame yourself. You shouldn’t even have put yourself in possible danger.”

“I didn’t mean to. Do you really think he was taking the money without telling Grace?”

Bill shut his notebook. “I’ll certainly be asking him.”

“Why would he do something like that?” Liv asked.

He pushed himself up from the chair. “Possibly because he needed the cash. Clarence Thornsby just declared bankruptcy.”

“So why did he buy out the Newlands and open this store if he was in that much financial trouble?” Liv asked. “Hank said he cheated them, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“I think he genuinely wanted to help them,” Bill said. “He’s only a cousin, but around here family is everything.”

Liv was learning that the locals stuck together, protected their families and their property. It took years and years before a newcomer was accepted totally. BeBe had lived here twelve years or so, and she was accepted. Nancy Pyne had been here only eight or nine years, and she was a member of the merchants’ commission, though Liv suspected that if that bond was ever tested, blood and longevity would win out.

Liv liked it here. People seemed to like her; she had helped to rejuvenate the economy. But she wasn’t so smug as to think they wouldn’t turn on her if she didn’t live up to their expectations or if she became a threat to one of them.

“Uh, Liv?”

“Sorry, Bill, my mind was off on a tangent.”

“Did you think of something?”

“Nothing valid. But there is one thing, probably unrelated.”

“Just tell me and I’ll decide.”

“Did you talk to Lola Bangs?”

“The librarian? Yes, she called to tell me that Cosgrove had been looking up things in the library.”

“Newspapers,” Liv said. “From nineteen sixty-nine. Maybe Cosgrove had left the newspaper for Clarence and he was trying to hide that as well as the money.”

“A paper from nineteen sixty-nine?” Ted asked.

“No, of course not. But maybe there was something in a recent newspaper that made him look up those dates.”

“More likely there was an announcement of his bankruptcy.” Bill scratched his head. “I don’t suppose that you were able to see which newspaper?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Not to worry. I’ll call Clarence then put someone on the newspaper angle. Well, I’d best be going.” Bill lifted his police jacket off the back of the chair. “Sometimes this job gets to me, you know? Here it is Christmas and we should be full of good cheer, and I got a murder on my hands. And the worst part of it is, the victim had done all his Christmas shopping. His trunk was full of bags. He’d bought something from A Stitch in Time, the Bookworm, Bay-Berry Candles, the Pyne Bough, and a bunch of other places.”

“An equal-opportunity shopper,” said Ted.

Bill frowned. “Either way. He bought them for someone. And we don’t even know who he was planning to give them to. Kind of depressing.”

“That is sad. His family maybe?”

“Doesn’t have any—not that he’s in touch with, anyways.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not according to the secretary.”

“So what are you going to do with them? Are they evidence?”

“Nope, but we can’t release them until any potential heirs come forward. So they’ll go into storage.”

Liv tapped her pen on the desk blotter. “I don’t suppose you can tell us what was in Cosgrove’s notebook?”

Bill had been shrugging into his police jacket, but he stopped. “We didn’t find a notebook.”

Liv and Ted exchanged looks.

“Maybe he left it in his apartment or office,” Ted offered.

“They were searched.”

“TAT?”

“Thoroughly. What do you know about this notebook?”

“Ted and I saw him after we told Grace she had to deep-six the Santa. He was out in the alley smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell. He seemed to be reading out of this little black notebook.”

Ted nodded. “I figured he was already looking for a new job. Of course, we didn’t know he already had a job. Hmm. Maybe he was reporting in to Clarence.”

“I’m telling you there was no notebook. I’ll have to call Clarence and ask him if he knows anything about it.”

“Maybe the killer took it,” Liv said.

“I wasn’t going to mention that,” Bill said. “I should know better than to try to keep anything from you. You’re always thinking, aren’t you?”

Liv wasn’t offended. “It’s part of my job.”

“You sound like you’re not liking it much right now.”

“I do. It’s just, well, this looked like a holiday that after the Celebration of Lights would run itself. Now it feels more like a game of dominoes.”

“Everything is running smoothly,” Ted assured her.

Liv was barely listening. “Bill, did you book Miriam Krause for murder?”

“Of course not. Anyone could have put that box cutter in her store; there was a drawer full of them. There were traces of blood, which I figure you’ve already guessed, but one of her employees may have cut a finger. She’s probably already back at work.” A reminiscent smile passed over his face. “She was mad as all get-out, though, once the shock of riding in the back of a police cruiser wore off.

“I apologized and gave her a ride back to town. Don’t worry about Miriam.”

“I’m not worried, I was just thinking about dominoes.”

“What?”

“Liv’s mind works in mysterious ways,” Ted intoned. “What about dominoes?”

“Well, think about it. Someone kills the private investigator. Penny was supposedly the last person to see him alive and the first person to see him dead. She’s taken down for questioning. Hank’s missing Santa suit is found in the Dumpster, covered in blood. He’s taken down to the station. It’s all circumstantial—isn’t that what they call it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then money goes missing from the Trim A Tree store. Grace accuses Penny and Jason. They’re taken in for questioning.

“Then the possible murder weapon shows up in A Stitch in Time’s stockroom. And Miriam gets taken in.”

The tips of Bill’s ears turned pink. “For questioning. Nobody got arrested. It’s what the police do in an investigation.”

“I know, Bill. I didn’t mean to insult anybody. But doesn’t it seem there are almost too many clues in too many places?”

Ted moved to the desk and propped one hip on the edge. “Something’s not adding up here.”

Bill sat down again, rubbed his temples. “Or too much is adding up. And the bitch of it is—oh, sorry, Liv.”

She waved away his apology. “What I mean is, there are too many clues. Some of them might be coincidence, like the money. The suit and the box cutter may be involved in the crime. Cosgrove’s notebook could be either. Which we won’t know unless we—you—find it.

“If Grace found out he was paid to spy on her, she might have lashed out—”
Literally, with a utility knife.
Liv couldn’t suppress a shiver.

“She might,” Bill agreed. “But she has an alibi. Though I wonder if the boyfriend will change his story when he discovers that his cash cow just went dry.”

“But how would she have gotten the suit and had the time and the opportunity to plant the box cutter in Miriam’s store? Someone was bound to see her.”

“I don’t know yet. But I’m beginning to think this wasn’t just an unplanned act of passion or a robbery gone wrong. We might just have a cunning killer on our hands. Now, I’d better get going. I have a few more questions that I need to ask.”

Bill left, and Ted and Liv spent a long moment staring at the door. Then Ted turned to her and said quietly, “I don’t envy him.”

“Me neither. Do you think he can find the killer?”

“I do. Like I’ve told you before: slow and steady. But he’ll get the job done. Now, back to priorities. We missed lunch.”

“Did we?” Liv checked her cell.

“And we’re about to miss dinner. It’s almost five. Let’s call it a day.”

Always alert, even in sleep, Whiskey jumped up and trotted to the door.

Ted chuckled. “How does he understand these things?”

“Just smart, I guess.”

“Like his mistress. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They packed up. Liv clipped on Whiskey’s leash. Ted turned off the lights and locked the office door.

They stopped on the steps of town hall and looked out over the square. White lights twinkled in the trees. The shops and restaurants were open, and the warm yellow light coming from their greenery-framed windows was cheery, a soft glow of welcome in the middle of a black night. It looked like a peaceful Victorian town enjoying an old-fashioned Christmas.

Marred only by an old-fashioned murder.

“You all right?” Ted asked.

“Yes, just thinking.”

“Well, stop it. Do you want a ride?”

“Thanks, but we’ll walk. I could use the exercise. Maybe I
should
join the gym.”

“Not until this murder has been solved, you don’t. I’d rather you fat and out of shape than stalked by some steroid-pumped potential killer.”

“Am I?”

“Not even close.”

Liv sighed. “You know what the saddest part of this is?”

“What?”

“That poor man’s presents left in the trunk of his car. He was planning to have a nice Christmas with someone, friends or family, or both. They won’t even know what’s happened to him. They’ll never know he’d thought of them.” Her voice cracked. She shook herself. “Maudlin.”

“’Tis the season. Go home. Have some eggnog. Play some carols. Maybe Whiskey will sing along with you.” Ted gave her a quick, one-armed hug.

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Ted touched the brim of his hunter’s hat and took off toward the employee parking lot behind the building.

Whiskey tugged at his leash.

“Are you cold? I told you, you should wear those cute little booties I bought you.” She stepped off the curb. “My feet are perfectly warm in my boots.” Even if Chaz made fun of them.

Which sent her mind on a different path of what had happened to Chaz Bristow that made him so—she couldn’t even think of a word. He was smart, good-looking, if a bit scruffy. He’d had what looked like a brilliant career. And he’d given it all up to come back to a little country town to run the family paper and report on 4-H fairs and fishing conditions.

Whiskey wasn’t cold. He just wanted to climb a mound of hardened snow left by the snowplow and anoint the edge of a parking meter. Then he was ready to cut through the park toward home.

It was still early in spite of the dark. And as Liv passed the houses along her way, she thought of the families who lived in them. Some still at work, some retired, children and parents and pets, all getting ready for the holidays. Some grieving but carrying on for the sake of others, some giving in to despair—the loneliest time of the year for some.

She was feeling pretty down by the time she came to the Zimmermans’ Victorian, lit up like there was no tomorrow. She could see the big spruce through the front window.

Liv had a wreath, but the rest of her house was bare of decorations. And she’d forgotten to get a tree—again. No matter what happened during the night, first thing tomorrow morning she was going to do some Christmas shopping, then drive out to Dexter’s to get a tree.

She unlocked the door, and Whiskey shot in, stopped on the mat to dry his feet, then trotted to the little kitchen at the back of the house. Liv fed him and changed into sweats and a sweatshirt that Miss Ida had bought for her at the Baptist Christmas Bazaar. Actually, Miss Ida had bought three—one for herself, one for her sister, and one for Liv. Liv’s had angels on hers.

She hadn’t worn it outside her own house yet. It was festive, but more like something Ted would wear.

She heated a can of tomato soup, poured it into a mug, and took it into the living room, where she curled up on the couch and reached for the remote. At least she had cable. Hearing the television, Whiskey trotted into the room and made a couple of attempted leaps to the couch.

Liv put down her soup and lifted him up. He waited for her to pull a throw rug over her feet and retrieve her soup before he burrowed a place next to her and settled down for a long winter’s nap.

It only took once through the stations to find three holiday movies. The first sounded too sappy, the second, too sad, but the third seemed safe. A movie with Whoopi Goldberg as Santa Claus. That should lift her spirits and make her laugh. She was crying in the first three minutes.

Whiskey snuggled closer. He was used to her blubbering over movies. But tonight he must have sensed more than Liv’s compassion for a fictional child who had stopped believing in Santa.

But she was soon rooting for Santa to make the adult believe again. Whoopi had just discovered that the Santa hat lit up when she wore it and was dancing around her apartment, when Liv saw a light of her own. The headlights of someone pulling into the driveway and stopping near her door.

Whiskey slid off the couch and raced to the window to peer out. A car door slammed; there was a knock at the door.

Whiskey ran to the door. His tail was wagging, but since he was Mr. Congeniality, Liv was taking no chances. She wiped her eyes, smoothed her angel sweatshirt, and peeked out the window. A Jeep. Just about everybody in town had a Jeep, truck, or SUV. But she recognized this one. It belonged to Chaz Bristow. What was he doing here?

Another knock.

She padded over to the door, running fingers through her hair.