Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery) (9 page)

“Just before you came.” Penny cocked her head. “It’s funny, but those are the same questions Mr. Gunnison asked me.” She sighed. “Except he asked me how well I knew Phil. And—and if
I
had any enemies.”

“You?” asked Liv incredulously as her mind began fitting the pieces together. Not robbery, then. There must have been another motive.

The front door opened, bringing a gust of frigid air and putting an end to their conversation.

“Let me take care of this customer, and then I’ll show you the ropes.”

Liv ordered a tea for Ted and said good-bye.

She stepped outside just as Dolly Hunnicutt came out of the bakery, carrying two bakery bags.

“I was just on my way over,” Liv said.

“I couldn’t wait. Fred just got back from seeing Grace Thornsby off to the police station. He said you were getting coffee, so I brought these over. You’re already leaving?” She sounded disappointed.

“I have to get to work.”

“Well, here are two cranberry orange muffins.”

Whiskey sat at attention.

“I’d never forget you.” Dolly rattled the second bag and said to Liv, “They’re candy canes. Well, I won’t keep you. I think I’ll just get Fred some coffee from BeBe.”

And a bit of up-to-date gossip
, thought Liv. She picked her way back down the sidewalk balancing drinks, bags, and leash while she attempted to avoid the melting ice.

Several people had stopped in front of TAT and were looking at the covered windows.

They nodded as Liv passed and went back to their conversation. “I heard it was some electrical problem.”

“It’s a wonder it didn’t go up in smoke with all those flammable trees inside.”

“Amazing the whole row of buildings didn’t burn down.”

“Yep. It coulda been a whole lot worse.”

Actually it was worse. A man was dead. And it was just a matter of time until everyone knew it. Now Liv had to figure out a way to get the town through Christmas without further mishap, and then she would banish Grace Thornsby and her ratty TAT from the future.

Ratty TAT. Liv smiled. It was Christmas. And it was going to be the best Christmas Celebration Bay had ever seen. Come hell or high water.

The mayor was waiting for Liv when she reached town hall. So while Ted and Whiskey went through their morning yodeling, Liv set the bakery goods and cardboard cups down on Ted’s desk and took the mayor back to her office.

Gilbert Worley had been mayor of Celebration Bay for the last eight years. He was planning to run for a third term, which made him a little nervous when things didn’t run smoothly. And a murder was enough to send him into a tailspin.

He was short, stocky, and friendly—except when he was worried about reelection, which was most of the time. Today, his graying brilliantined hair seemed a little grayer and there were more lines across his forehead. Politics could do that. Today, Liv didn’t think the trials of the office were making him old.

But murder was definitely taking a toll.

“This is just terrible,” he said before the door closed on “Jingle-Bells-Aar-roo-roo-roo.”

Liv didn’t think he was referring to the man-and-dog racket that was occurring in the outer office.

“How could something like this happen? And in the middle of the tree lighting with over a thousand people in attendance.”

“Have a seat, Mayor Worley,” Liv said in her calmest voice.

But the mayor just stood in the center of the office, wringing his hands.

“I’m sure this was an isolated incident. As far as I know, there was no robbery and no fear that it will happen again.”

“Again?” The word was a soprano squeak. “What about that crackerjack security firm you hired?”

“A.K. Pierce, the head of Bayside Security, is meeting with me later today to discuss what measures will be taken in—”

“A little late when the horse is out of the barn, so to speak.”

“A terrible thing to have happened. But at no time were any of the citizens or visitors in jeopardy.” At least she didn’t think so. It had happened when everyone was gathered in the square, except the store owners or their proxies who were inside waiting for their cue.

The mayor continued to wring his hands. “Did you talk to Bill yet? Does he have any suspects?”

“No I haven’t, and I don’t think he’ll be sharing any news with the rest of us until he has something definite.”

“Maybe not, but you always seem to know what’s going on. If you hear anything that might jeopardize—”

The door opened. Ted came in carrying a tray of muffins and cups. Whiskey trotted by his side, a red-and-white dog biscuit in his mouth. Liv did a double take at the red color, but knew Dolly would never use anything but vegetable dyes in any of her doggie products. People products? Liv was sure red dye number two was good enough for them.

Ted eased past the mayor, placed the tray on the table, and began arranging their morning meeting breakfast.

The mayor eyed the pastries suspiciously. “Do you two do this every morning?”

“Every morning,” said Ted, passing Liv her latte. “Have to keep on top of those financial reports. We call it Munch and Crunch.”

Liv had to bite her lip to keep from grinning.

“Humph,” the mayor said. “There won’t be any financial reports to crunch if people keep getting murdered.”

“Which might not happen if outsiders were properly vetted in all areas, like Liv suggested.” Ted pulled up his chair, sat down, and reached for the butter dish he kept in the portable fridge in the supply closet.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it,” Ted said, slicing his muffin and slathering it with butter. “Somebody is responsible for not insisting the Thornsbys conform to the one-Santa rule. Liv had to go tell them to cease and desist. They didn’t. If they had, there would be no dead Santa, now would there?”

“Oh.” The mayor stopped wringing his hands long enough to pull his palm across his mouth. “This is just terrible. I’ve called a trustees meeting for tonight. And I’ve invited a few local businessmen—businesspeople—to attend. I’d like you both to be there.”

Ted stopped with the butter knife poised in midair. “For the purpose of?”

The mayor flinched and eyed the knife. “Tonight, seven o’clock. Now, I really have to run. Busy day.” He scooted past Ted and hurried out of the office. They heard the outer door close.

“Oh, Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert,” Ted said and finished buttering his muffin. He handed Liv the butter.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“What?”

“Brandish that butter knife at the mayor?”

Ted smiled. “Would I do that? Now, let’s eat and pretend like it’s a Merry Christmas before the accusations start flying.”

Liv reached for her latte, which was quickly growing cold. “This isn’t like you.”

“I get cranky when people start calling useless meetings during my favorite holiday.”

“He’s concerned about safety.”

“My dear Pollyanna, he’s worried about the next election. And we can be sure Janine will be there to stir the hysteria. Same old, same old—and to make matters worse . . .” He stopped.

“What?” Liv asked, bracing for the worst.

“I’ll have to miss choir practice.”

“Really? Choir practice?”

“Really.”

“So all the nonsense about the
Messiah
sing-along wasn’t a joke?”

Ted shook his head.

“I can go to the meeting by myself.”

“And let you face a boring two hours by your lonesome? What kind of assistant would I be?”

“A happy one?”

Ted grinned. “Oh, I plan on being happy with both barrels. I’m not going to let you have all the fun. Now, didn’t you say something about writing an article for the
Clarion
?”

“Yes and the sooner the better.”

Ted cleared the breakfast things and went back to his office. Whiskey curled up on his doggie bed and was soon snoring peacefully. Liv opened a new document on her computer and began to write.

An hour later she had a nice succinct article about how the town all came together for Christmas. Chaz would laugh, but surely he would run it. His livelihood depended on the success of the town, too. It took money to run a newspaper, even a weekly rag like the
Clarion
. The paper didn’t have a wide distribution, and his secondary job as fishing guide could hardly support Chaz and the newspaper, both. Liv guessed that advertising must go a long way toward keeping him in ink and night crawlers.

She downloaded the article onto a flash drive and dropped it into her canvas bag.

Whiskey roused himself, yawned a yawn big enough to belong to a larger dog, and got to his feet. “You’re going to stay with Ted for a bit. I have a lot of running around to do.”

True to form, at the word “running,” Whiskey shot across the room and hid beneath her desk.

Liv stopped by Ted’s desk. “I may be gone for an hour or two.”

“Not to worry, we’ll amuse ourselves.”

Liv had no doubt they would. “No feeding the d-o-g.”

Ted toodled his fingers at her.

“I mean it.”

“No feeding. Got it. We’ll bring something back for you.”

She had to be content with that. One of the hardest parts of her life in Celebration Bay was preventing everyone from feeding Whiskey and feeding her. It was a show of affection, she knew, but with these winters, it was hard to get any exercise in at all, for either of them.

She put on her coat and scarf and pulled her hat down over her ears, something she would have scorned to do in Manhattan. Fortunately, in Celebration Bay hat hair was a fait accompli. The winds off the lake could be fierce.

*

Chaz Bristow couldn’t even claim hat hair for the way he looked when he opened the door of the
Clarion
office, which Liv knew was also his home. He was wearing a ratty T-shirt and checked flannel pants that Liv assumed were his idea of pajamas.

“Oh God, it’s you,” he said and pushed his fingers through hair that was already standing on end.

“Are you busy?” She’d thought about calling first, but she didn’t want to give him time to escape. He was one of the least cooperative people in town. Fortunately for Chaz, he seemed to get away with it on good looks and occasional charm.

His height, his build, his blond hair—he could have been a beach bum in another life. Instead, he was a former investigative reporter who was content to fish and churn out a few pages of local news each week.

She didn’t get him, and for some reason it just made her angry every time she got near him.

“If you can spare the time, I have something for you.”

He grinned at her, white teeth flashing from a day-old growth of blond beard.

“An article I want you to run.”

His face fell ludicrously.

She shook her head and pushed past him into the dim, neglected foyer. It was too bad. At one time, the
Clarion
office had been a charming clapboard bungalow. The rooms were square and still had the original details. But the inside was a pigsty.

Liv resisted making an analogy between the house and its owner.

Liv groped her way through the murky parlor to the “newsroom,” once a bedroom or second parlor. She went straight to the window and raised the venetian blinds. Light washed over piles of paper, books, computers, and printers that littered several fairly flat surfaces.

Liv sat down at the nearest computer, pulled off her hat, unbuttoned her coat, and inserted her flash drive, while Chaz rummaged for the coffeepot, then took it into the bathroom for water. When he returned, she had the article on his screen.

He measured coffee and started the machine, then came to stand behind her, one hand resting on the back of her chair, the other on the desk.

“Huh,” he grunted.

“I need you to run this on the front page. Not too splashy but big enough to catch the eye. You can change the wording as long as you keep the goodwill of Celebration Bay paramount, and do not under any circumstance mention what happened at TAT.”

“Huh.”

She would have spun around to glare at him to drive her point home, but he held her trapped in her chair.

“What happened to
Good morning, Chaz. Here’s the coffee and bagel I thought to bring you when I have a favor to ask
?”

“Good morning, I have a favor to ask.”

“You’re getting closer.” He leaned over her, ostensibly to read the article. Liv suspected he was just trying to crowd her space.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s a good thing you decided to go into party planning.”

“Event planning.”

“Because your journalistic skills are less than—”

“Chaz, will you please just do it?”

He lifted one shoulder and began looking for a clean cup.

Liv held on to her temper. “I don’t suppose you were sleeping in this morning because you were up late surfing the Internet for Phil the Santa and the Thornsbys and have come up with a theory of why someone killed the man?”

“Nope.”

“Well, do you have any theories?”

“Nope.”

“Aargh. How can you just walk away from all the good you did as a reporter and be content with fishing news? You could help Bill if you wanted to.”

“Well, there’s the rub. I don’t want to. But I’ll print your article. Now go away.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll let myself out.”

She’d reached the door when he called out. “The sooner you give up on me being a productive citizen, the sooner we can be friends.”

She didn’t want to be friends. She wanted someone who cared enough to help catch a murderer.

The cold caught her off guard and she had to stop at the corner to button her coat. She yanked on her knit hat and marched toward the town green. Breakfast with Santa would be over by now. She’d meant to look in on it, just to see that everything was okay. Since she hadn’t received any emergency calls, she would assume it went as planned.

Which meant Hank should be at Santa Village. She had time to make a quick visit before she prepared for her meeting with A.K. Pierce and then came up with a strategy to calm people at the meeting that night.

She turned right at the First Presbyterian Church and hurried toward the square.

Kids and their parents were already lined up along the sidewalk that cut through the park, waiting for Santa to open the doors for Christmas in Celebration Bay. The tree lighting and the Pancake Breakfast had just been preludes to Hank’s real work. From now until Christmas Eve, he’d be ensconced in Santa Village taking Christmas wishes, hearing Christmas secrets, being sneezed and coughed on, having his beard pulled, and who knew what else.

The man could demand hazard pay, and yet he volunteered each year.

Santa was housed at the end of a row of colorful alpine chalets. One was a Santa-themed gift shop with inexpensive pencils, puzzles, and other things that might catch children’s eyes as they waited in the cold.

Next to the shop was the North Pole Canteen where Donnie and Roseanne Waterbury were helping their father dispense hot cider and donut holes. The line entered the third chalet and cut through the next to Santa’s throne, offering some respite from the cold. Two sides were lined with benches for weary parents and sleeping tots as they waited their turn to sit on Santa’s lap.

Behind the chalets, porta potties were camouflaged as reindeer stables. Liv had to hand it to the residents; they knew how to carry out a theme. What they had needed help with was coordination and organization, and how to actualize germinating ideas in a creative and cost-efficient way.

It was the perfect job for Liv. And she really resented people killing each other on her turf.

She stopped at the North Pole Canteen to say hello to the Waterburys. Roseanne handed her a cup of cider. “Hey, Liv.”

Joss Waterbury, tall, broad, and barrel-chested, said, “That’s Ms. Montgomery to you, miss.”

“She said I could call her Liv, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Liv said. “If it’s okay with your dad. We kind of bonded over the last few months,” Liv explained. Because the girl had come to her, a stranger, for help. She’d thought that since Liv was from Manhattan, she would know how to solve a murder.

It was flattering but totally off base. Liv had never even been close to a murder before moving to this peaceful country community. Go figure.

“Well, I guess it’s okay. My little girl’s growing up.” Joss tugged at the braid that ran down his daughter’s back.

Roseanne rolled her eyes. “Da-a-ad.”

Joss grinned at Liv. “She’s my last. Donnie here’s graduating from high school in June and going over to the aggie school in Cobleskill.” He smiled proudly at his son, standing next to him, a spitting image of a younger Joss. “Though I spec he’ll be back to get a good home-cooked meal and do his laundry.”

“Which is why he’s gonna ask Santa for a car,” Roseanne said.

“Am not,” Donnie said. “I already got some money saved.”

“Then
I’ll
ask Santa for a car.”

Joss wagged his finger at her. “You won’t be driving for real for another couple of years, Rosie.”

“Yeah,” Donnie said. “You better ask Santa for some help with your algebra.”

She stuck out her tongue.

Joss shook his head, but he was smiling affectionately. “Better watch that or you’re liable to bite it off.”

“Thanks for the cider,” Liv said and tossed her empty cup in the trash can. “Just what I needed. Is Santa here yet?”

“Been here since ten. He don’t ever stay for the whole breakfast. Talks with the folks a bit, then comes on over here to set up. In fact, it’s almost time for his break. Donnie, go put up that sign.”

Donnie disappeared from the counter and came out to pull two posts, connected by a red velvet cord, across the sidewalk. A sign hung in the center.
Santa is feeding the reindeer, back at
—A clock with movable hands was affixed to the right, and Donnie checked his watch and changed the hands to two o’clock.

Liv looked at her own watch. It was past noon. Where had the morning gone?

She said good-bye and went to see Hank. She’d wait for his break and then would ask him a few more questions of her own. She stood just inside the door watching him chat with the child on his knee, then pose for a picture taken by a local photographer dressed as an elf.

Hank handed the kid a candy cane and then welcomed the next. He moved through the next few children efficiently without seeming to hurry. Some cried before they reached him, but they all seemed to leave happy.

He was a gentle giant, pleasant, friendly, and he seemed to genuinely like the children. He even laughed a big-belly “Ho, ho, ho” when one of them pulled his beard. And Liv just couldn’t imagine him killing someone, even in anger. Of course, she’d only seen him mad in her office. His temper might be a lot worse than she knew.

It was only a few minutes before the last family left, and Hank stood and stretched. “Ms. Montgomery.”

“Liv, please.”

Hank nodded. “What can I do for you? The ladies did a good job, didn’t they?” He spread his arms and gave Liv a full view of the suit. It was pretty impressive. The velvet, which would be a cleaning nightmare, was beautiful. Just like you’d imagine the real Santa would wear. The fur trim looked real, though Liv had seen it up close the night before and knew it was some kind of poly-something. The hat was jaunty and sported a huge white pom-pom at the point.

“I’m on my way over to the Pyne Bough for a couple of hours. Can I walk you somewhere?”

“Actually I wanted to ask you a few things . . . on our way.”

But Liv didn’t have much success on the walk over. Everyone waved or yelled hello at Santa, and Hank nodded and waved and “ho, ho, ho’ed” his way across the park, around the corner, where he stopped to hand out candy canes to families leaving the Corner Café, and into the alley and to the back door of Pyne Bough Gifts.

A truck was parked outside. The back gate was open and so was the door to the Pyne Bough. Not wide open but ajar, as if someone had swung the door closed but the latch hadn’t caught.

Liv glanced at Hank to see if he’d noticed. He had and he returned Liv’s look before holding the door and following Liv inside.