Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery) (24 page)

Grace was back to reading her magazine. She looked up. “Now what?”

Liv pushed her mouth into some semblance of a smile. “I was just wondering if you still have the Santa suit? Or if you returned it to the rental store?”

“That was no rental. I paid good money for it, though for what? To let it sit in my trunk for the last five days?”

“Oh. Did the police look at it?”

“I showed it to them. Don’t know why on earth they insisted on seeing it. He wasn’t wearing it when he died. It’s been in the trunk of my car since you created such a scene about it.”

Before the murder.
“And they gave it back?” Liv asked, surprised.

Grace gave her a how-stupid-are-you face. “Yes. And I put it back in the trunk. Do you want anything else, or did you just come back to chat?” She looked pointedly to her magazine. “I’m busy.”

“I thought you might want to sell it,” Liv said. “Since you won’t be needing it.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. It made her look perfectly malevolent. Liv couldn’t imagine her being young and flirtatious. “Why?”

“After what happened this past weekend, I’ve decided to purchase a backup suit. But if you’re not interested in selling, I’ll just go to one of my normal suppliers.” Liv started to turned away.

“Two hundred dollars.”

Liv looked back over her shoulder. “Get real.”

“It was an expensive suit.”

“It didn’t cost two hundred, it will have to be cleaned if there’s any chance of getting the cigarette smell out of it, and for all I know, he could have dribbled food down the front.” She stepped toward the door.

“One hundred.”

Liv turned around to face her. “Fifty. That’s my only offer.”

Grace huffed and pushed herself off her stool. “It’s in my car in the parking lot. I suppose you want it now.”

“I have the cash right here.” Liv patted her coat pocket.

Grace deliberated.

“I’ll even go get it. Or I can stay and watch the store while you’re gone.”

“You’re dressed. You get it. But don’t touch anything in that car but the bag with the suit in it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Liv told her. Much.

Grace handed her a ring of keys. “It’s the silver Mercedes. This opens the trunk. Bring it right back.”

“Of course. Can I go out the back?”

“Whatever. But it locks automatically. You’ll have to come back in the front.”

“No problem.” It would give her a chance to take a quick peek at whatever else was inside.

Liv let herself out the back door and walked down to the entrance to the parking lot. Stopped to look at the Dumpster from where she’d watched Grace and Clarence fight. While she stood there, the back door to the Pyne Bough opened, and Penny Newland hurried out, carrying two black garbage bags. She threw the bags in the Dumpster, saw Liv, and waved.

“Thanks so much. Hank told me how you got me these jobs. I really appreciate it.”

“It was nothing,” Liv called back. “Go on inside before you freeze. I’m coming by to do some shopping later, but tell Nancy that we have a backup Santa suit.”

Penny’s mouth rounded in an “O.” She pointed toward the back of TAT.

Liv gave her a thumbs-up.

“I’ll tell her. See you later.” She rushed across the alley to the Pyne Bough, and Liv stepped into the parking lot.

The Mercedes was parked by the fence several spaces down from the entrance. Instead of going directly to the trunk, Liv glanced to make sure she was alone and sauntered around the car, looking into the windows, which were only lightly tinted.

It was empty. Grace Thornsby must be one of those annoying people who kept their interiors spotless. Her cup holder had probably never seen a take-out latte. Liv looked anyway but didn’t go so far as to open the doors.

Feeling mildly disappointed, she walked around to the back of the car, beeped the trunk open. It lifted to reveal a perfectly neat trunk with one clear plastic bag enclosing the Santa suit next to a plastic folder from an Albany travel agency. It appeared Grace was planning a trip.

Cautioning herself not to overstep the line, Liv took the Santa suit, jostling the folder as she did. Oops. Several brochures slid out. They were all ads for the Caribbean. She slid them back into the packet and closed the trunk.

She walked around to the front of the store and went inside. She dropped Grace’s keys on the counter, took out fifty dollars from her wallet, and put it down next to the keys.

Grace took both without looking up from her magazine.

“I couldn’t help but see your travel brochures. Going to the islands?”

“Not that it’s your business, but yes. Tickets for two.”

Poor Jerry Esposito. He was in for a big surprise. And so, Liv guessed, was Grace.

Liv returned to the Buttercup, clutching the suit bag to her chest. And ran into A.K. Pierce just leaving.

“Mr. Pierce,” Liv said too brightly.

“Ms. Montgomery.” He glanced at the bag, then nodded and went out the door.

Liv watched him stride down the street, wondering if his shaved head ever got cold.

BeBe came up to her. “He’s kind of intimidating, isn’t he?”

“A bit,” Liv agreed. But also a little interesting.

BeBe noticed the bag Liv was carrying. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep. I just bought it from Grace Thornsby for fifty bucks.”

“God, she’d sell her soul. Did you open it?”

“Not yet. I thought we could do it now, but I’m warning you, it’s going to smell.”

“Take it to the back but stay by the door so I can watch the store while you search through the pockets.”

“You know me so well.”

They carried the suit to the back where Liv pulled open the plastic. She was hit by a miasma of stinky Santa suit.

“Whew. I can smell it all the way over here.” BeBe left the doorway and moved closer. “Okay, quick, I’m dying to see if you find anything.”

Liv dropped the plastic to the ground, shoved the coat at BeBe. “Look through this while I do the pants.”

“Haven’t the police already searched them?”

“Grace said so, but she also said the suit has been in her car trunk since last week, and that’s before Phil Cosgrove was killed.”

“If we can believe anything she says.”

“Probably not, but the police don’t have the notebook.”

“Notebook?”

“Yeah, Cosgrove had one. I saw him put it in his pants pocket. It’s probably not here, if the police actually searched it. But it won’t hurt to look again.”

BeBe began to rummage through the pockets. “Gum wrapper, crushed cigarette package, cheap pen . . . no notebook.”

Liv stopped with her hand in one empty pants pocket. “Well, it was worth a try.”

“Hold on.” BeBe rifled the other pocket. Patted the whole coat. “Nope. That’s all. How about you? Find anything?”

“Just the gum pack that your wrapper came from.”

BeBe handed the coat back to her, and Liv stuffed the suit into the bag and resealed it. She joined BeBe at the sink where they scrubbed their hands.

“Well, that was disappointing. Not that I really expected to find anything. I would like to have a backup suit, but I’m not even sure dry cleaning will get rid of that smell.”

“Well, come out front and have a latte on the house.”

While Liv drank her latte, she called Ted, gave him a condensed version of the morning’s events, updated him on the purchase of the Santa suit, and asked him if he needed her.

“Always, but shop. I’m leaving at four thirty. I’m not missing choir practice again.”

Liv laughed. “Even Bill was singing today.”

“Christmas is in the air.”

“And chestnuts are roasting on an open fire. And I have to get going.” But she leisurely finished her coffee.

Her first stop was the Bookworm. She stepped into the warmth and musty smell of the bookstore and immediately felt the weight of the last week slough from her shoulders. Quincy Hinks was standing on a stepladder dusting the bookshelves with a feather duster, which merely disturbed the dust motes until they settled back on the surfaces.

He was the perfect bookstore owner. Part tweed-jacket intellectual, part crusty New Yorker, part jolly elf for the children who came to the store for story time, and part cranky gnome for adults who were only interested in the latest best sellers.

He acknowledged Liv, made a final agitating sweep of the feather duster, and climbed down the ladder.

“So is it true? Are we getting rid of that eyesore?”

“Seems that way. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

“Well, someone should put it to Janine Tudor about leasing to inappropriate businesses.”

“I think, I hope, Janine understands that now.”

“Got her good, did you? Well, bully for you. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I’m just starting my shopping. My father is a big American history buff. Do you have anything particularly interesting?”

“What period?”

“I know he reads a lot of Revolutionary stuff and also New Deal–era books.”

“Sounds like an interesting man.”

“He is.”

Quincy thought for a second, nodded to himself. “I think I have just the thing.”

After twenty minutes, Liv left the store with several books on the founding fathers, a historic map, and a set of Beatrix Potter books for her niece. She hauled her shopping bags next door to the Buttercup.

“Ha, he got you,” BeBe said by way of welcome.

“Yeah, he’s good,” Liv agreed. “My dad’s set for Christmas, Father’s Day, and a couple of holidays in between. Can I please store these in back until I finish the rest of my shopping? I’ll pick them up later today.”

“Sure. Where are you going next?” BeBe asked as they lugged the heavy bags to a corner behind the coffee bar.

“Bay-Berry Candles. Then A Stitch in Time for those Moravian stars Penny Newland makes. I’m going to send some to my sister and save some for myself.”

“But you don’t have a Christmas tree.”

“I will.”

“When? For Valentine’s Day?” BeBe laughed. “You should get one of those artificial ones with the lights. The people next door to me have one. When it’s time to take down the tree, they just throw a sheet over the whole thing and carry it up to the attic.”

“Still decorated?”

“Yep, and the sheet keeps the dust off.”

“I think I’ll go for small and real. In fact, I plan to run out to Dexter Kent’s this afternoon. I’ll see you before then.”

Liv said good-bye and went to Bay-Berry Candles, where she bought a dozen candles scented in pine, cinnamon, and cranberry vanilla. Luanne Dietz, the candle lady, offered to box them and deliver them to the Events Office.

Liv thanked her and continued on to A Stitch in Time. The store was busy.

Miriam threaded her way through one particularly noisy group to get to Liv. “So I hear we’ll be getting rid of that Thornsby woman, though I also hear she won’t be a Thornsby for long. I’ll never forgive her for giving me the scare of my life. The idea of me killing that poor man. It’s downright heathen.”

“I’m sure no one ever suspected you.”

“Then they shouldn’t have hauled me off like a common criminal.” Miriam smiled suddenly. “Being arrested is not the way I would have chosen to get my fifteen minutes of fame, but I must admit it’s been good for business.” She gestured around the packed store.

“But not to worry. I put away ten Moravian stars for you. I kept three out in case other customers wanted to order them. Penny said she could start making more tonight after choir practice. She’s working over at Nancy’s this morning, she’ll do another full day there tomorrow, and she’ll come to me two nights a week to do the craft classes. She doesn’t know much about quilting, but she makes the cutest raggedy dolls. I don’t know why I didn’t think to ask her sooner.”

“I’m glad it’s working out,” Liv said. She ordered another ten stars and picked out a baby quilt for her newest niece, whom she’d only seen on Facebook.

She walked around the corner to the Pyne Bough. The tinkle of tiny brass bells greeted her when she opened the door, a far cry from the laughing Santa at TAT. Incense was burning from a brazier behind the counter. The room was a heady mix of crisp spice and mellow herb and exuded tranquility.

Penny Newland was rearranging figures on a wide shelf.

“Hi, Ms. Montgomery. Can I help you?”

“Hi, what are those?”

“Aren’t they the cutest?” She picked up one of the figures. “They’re little reindeer planters, made from slivers of driftwood. You put a little plant in the opening. Or lichen like the one here or . . . look at this.” She put the planter back and reached for a larger one, which was planted with multicolored grass.

“They’re really feathers,” Penny told her. “Isn’t this clever? They separate the barbs—that’s the individual strands of the feather,” she explained to Liv, the urbanite, “and surround it with down. I might have to try making one of these myself. Mom would love it. This one’s too expensive for me.” She immediately colored. “I mean . . .”

Liv took the feather planter and looked at the price tag.

“I know just what you mean.”

The storeroom door opened and Nancy wielded a large box through the opening. She put the box down, stopped when she saw Liv, then hurried over.

“Morning, Liv. Penny said you bought the Santa suit from Grace.”

“I did. It’s not nearly as nice as the one he has now, but I’ll feel better if there’s a backup.”

“Yes, that was just too much excitement. Is it in that bag?” She indicated Liv’s Stitch in Time bag. “Shall I hang it up in back?”

“Actually, no, this is from Miriam’s. I’m doing my Christmas shopping this morning. I left the suit at the Buttercup with some other packages. I’ll pick it up tonight and drop it off at the cleaner’s tomorrow. It reeks of cigarette smoke.”

“I don’t doubt it. If you change your mind, just bring it here. A little sage, baking soda, and fresh air, it will be good as new.” She smiled. “I’m sure Hank will be relieved to have an extra one.”

Liv smiled. Did Hank have any idea how eager Nancy was to please him? “You’ve already gone beyond the call of duty.”

“I was glad to help out.”

Penny’s lip quivered. “They still haven’t found the killer. I hope he’s long gone from here. So far that they never find him.”

“So do I,” said Nancy.

“Well, I hope they catch him. I will sleep better at night,” Liv said.

“Surely he won’t strike again,” Nancy said. “It must have something to do with that dreadful Grace Thornsby. Bad karma, that one.”

“I’ve never met anyone so mean,” Penny said.

“It’s the bitterness. Sad really . . .” Nancy trailed off.

“Well, I hate her.” Penny hung her head. “I shouldn’t say that.”

Nancy placed a hand on her shoulder. “Better to let it out than to let it fester inside you.”

Penny shook her head.

This shopping expedition was getting a little too philosophical for Liv. She eased away to look at what turned out to be a votive candleholder made of shells. Clever and beautiful. But she couldn’t think of a relative who would use it. BeBe didn’t have any candles that she’d seen. She had no idea what Ted’s house was like, since she’d never been invited. And it wouldn’t fit in with the Victorian décor of her landladies.

“At first I thought maybe Grace killed him,” Penny said. “What do you think, Liv?”

Reluctantly Liv turned back to the conversation. “I don’t know what to think, Penny.”

“It doesn’t do any good for us to speculate,” Nancy said. “Though it’s beginning to look like they’re going to question the whole town before they’re satisfied.”

“Doesn’t it?” said Penny. “Miriam said they found the box cutter that killed him in her store. It had traces of blood on it. But she didn’t do it. Miriam has been here forever. Everyone knows her.”

Liv smiled slightly. As if longevity had anything to do with innocence or guilt.

“I wonder how it got there.”

“I suppose anyone who had access to her store could have put it there,” said Nancy.

“But that could be just about anybody.”

“Just about.” Nancy opened the box and began lifting out packages of ornaments.

“The quilters? Or someone in the sewing class? I can’t believe it. Maybe someone sneaked in? But how? And why?” Penny’s eyes grew larger with each thought. “Do you think somebody wanted to frame Miriam?”

“Oh good heavens,” Nancy exclaimed. “You’ve been watching too much television.”

“I’m sure no one wanted to frame Miriam,” Liv told her. “They don’t know yet if the box cutter they found was the murder weapon. It has to be sent out for tests before they can be sure. It might be as simple as someone in class cut their finger and didn’t clean the knife very well.

“But I’m sure the police are working on finding out. They’ll probably question everyone.”

“Everyone?” asked Penny.

“Well, whoever might have been back there or . . .” Liv stopped.

“Or what?” asked Penny.

“Or whatever.” All those seamstresses the night of the murder. Any one of them under the guise of helping Hank could have slipped the box cutter in the drawer at A Stitch in Time or even into one of the many bags and boxes that traveled back and forth between the two stores that night.

Nancy carefully lifted something from the box, laid it on the counter, and began to gently unfold the surrounding tissue paper.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” said Penny. “Or Jason.”

“Not Hank,” the two women said together.

Liv shrugged. “I don’t think they can even be sure that it was somebody involved with the Thornsbys.” Liv watched Nancy untangle a jumble of delicate seashells and hold them up to the light.