Foul Play at the Fair (21 page)

Chaz snorted and kept up.

“What? The fight wasn’t enough? You have to come along to bad-manner me to death?”

He laughed, a big belly laugh that sent shivers through her nervous system. And she found herself smiling in spite of herself.

She pulled herself together. They’d arrived at the Quickie Mart and she shoved her end of the leash at him. “Make yourself useful and watch my dog while I’m inside.”

She didn’t wait for an answer but went through the glass door, bought a half gallon of milk and a small box of dog bones.

When she came back outside with her purchases, Chaz was resting on his haunches. Nose to nose with her dog.

“I won’t even ask,” she said and held out her hand for the leash.

“I’ll walk him,” he said. “I have to mend my tarnished hero image.”

“Oh,” she said, letting him keep the leash. “Did you ever have a hero image?”

He looked straight ahead, and she prepared for his next retort.

“No.” He kept walking, staring ahead.

That one word left a gaping hole in the air around them. She had inadvertently stumbled onto the dark side of Chaz Bristow. It made him a hundred times more interesting than the superficial clown.

Clown. Jeez. Stay focused, Liv.
She had an agenda here. She’d made a decision while in the Quickie Mart. He might be incorrigible, he might be totally lazy, a lothario, and a fashion nightmare, but he had expertise that could help her and the whole town, and it was time he came on board.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He slowed down, turned to look at her. His eyes were deep and unreadable. His expression grave. Then he ruined it all by smiling.

“I’m listening, but I gotta warn you, I only accept propositions that include clean sheets and breakfast in bed.”

“That’s not the kind of proposition I was talking about.”

“Too bad…for both of us.”

“Speak for yourself.” She picked up her pace, fuming. If she thought she could get her dog back without participating in a tug-of-war that would make them both appear ridiculous—or more ridiculous than they already were—she’d do it.

He didn’t speak. He started whistling an off-key tune she didn’t recognize, and she knew he was doing it just to irritate her.

“Don’t you care about anything but fishing?” she blurted out, then could have bitten her tongue. She was playing right into his calculated apathy. It had to be faked. He’d had an exciting career. It didn’t make sense. “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to what the proposition is?”

The whistling petered out in a sigh. “Like I said: sheets and breakfast.”

Liv bit back a growl of frustration. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why?” he asked, turning his blandest expression on her.

“Because this is your town as much as everyone else’s. And this murder is about to tear it apart.”

“Murder does tend to do that.”

“But don’t you want to do something about it? Help figure out who really killed Pete Waterbury?”

“Nope. It’s a police matter. That’s what we pay taxes for.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “In case you’re wondering, I do pay taxes.”

“You don’t know how that relieves my mind.”

“You better put some ice on that hand.”

“What?”

“Your hand. The one you’re holding against your side.
You probably bruised some knuckles. I doubt if you broke anything. Not even Cliff’s nose.”

“At least I did something.” She stopped and frowned at him. Slowly he turned to look at her. “Would you have really stood there and let those three men beat the crap out of that poor man?”

“We’ll never know, will we?”

“What happened to you?”

“Well, I was having a beer, and—”

“Stop it.” For some reason she felt close to tears. Of rage, probably. “Something must have happened. Because you used to care.”

“Look, Liv—you don’t mind if I call you Liv?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“You can call me Chaz.”

“So you said.” They’d come to the Zimmermans’ old Victorian. “Well, thanks for holding the leash. I can make it from here. Good night.”

“You live in the carriage house, right?”

“Yes, and I can make it down the driveway without you, but thanks.” She reached for Whiskey’s leash, but Bristow took off down the drive, while Whiskey, happy to be home, trotted ahead.

Liv had no choice but to follow them.

He was the most infuriating person she’d met since her arrival in Celebration Bay. Janine’s antics didn’t hold a candle to Chaz Bristow’s lack of interest. Janine was just a jealous, vindictive real estate agent with too much time on her hands.

Chaz was doubly infuriating because he had the expertise to help catch the killer, and he refused to help. He knew the
town, the people. He hadn’t lived here all his life, so he didn’t have strong, if any, loyalties. Not like Bill Gunnison, who must be desperately trying to look the other way.

But the simple depressing fact was that Chaz Bristow, ex–investigative reporter and current bum with a newspaper, didn’t care.

Her right hand had stiffened up during the walk and she fumbled with the keys. He lifted them out of her hand, chose the correct one, and opened the door. He swung the door open and let go of the leash, and Whiskey bounded inside.

Chaz dropped the keys into Liv’s outstretched hand.

“Ice,” he said.

“Good night.” Liv stepped inside and shut the door on his infuriating smile. For a moment all she could do was lean against the closed door, fuming.

“Good night, Liv,” he said through the door.

“Grr.” She spun around, made a face at the door, and heard him whistling that same off-kilter tune as he walked away.

“Grr.” Liv dropped her keys in the bowl on the entry table and took her groceries to the kitchen. She had to open the dog treats with her left hand. Whiskey sat patiently until she managed to extract one of the pieces and licked her hand before he plucked it from her fingers.

“He’s a no-good, self-involved, useless…ugh,” Liv complained, pacing the kitchen. Whiskey followed her on her first two passes, then lost interest and padded away to the living room where he could enjoy his treat in relative peace.

“Fine.” Liv gesticulated to the fridge. “If he won’t help and Bill won’t act, I’ll do it myself.” She held up her swollen hand. If she could prevent three hooligans from hurting Junior, she could figure out just what was going on in her new hometown.

She opened the freezer, poured ice cubes into a bowl, and filled it with water. Then she sat down at the kitchen table to soak her bruised knuckles.

Tomorrow morning she was going to have a little chat with Dolly. First about the state of the Halloween food preparations and then about what Junior Zoldosky was doing at the bakery after hours. It probably had nothing to do with the murder, but Liv had to do something. This investigation was going nowhere fast, and time was running out on Haunted October.

She felt a wet nose nudge her ankle, then two paws on her thigh. Whiskey looked up at her with his big questioning eyes and snuffled. She picked him up and returned her hand to the bowl, while he settled himself in her lap.

“We’re in big trouble here, buddy,” she said, absently pulling his ears with her free hand. “Big trouble. And I don’t have a plan.”

“Arf.”

“I know. I always have a plan. Plan A, plan B, even sometimes a plan C. Best-laid plans, contingency plans…” Her hand and her mind were numb. “Let’s just worry about it tomorrow.”

But worry followed Liv to sleep, and she tossed and turned until daybreak, when she finally gave up and got up. She looked over at Whiskey, curled up on his plaid doggie bed, snoring peacefully in his sleep. He loved it here with a yard and plenty of people who gave him attention. She loved it here, too. And she’d be damned if she’d let some murderer destroy her future in Celebration Bay.

As soon as she got to work, she was going to call Bill and put her plan of hiring a security firm in motion. And then she was going to jump-start Haunted October.

It was only six o’clock when she left the house. BeBe wouldn’t be open for another hour, but Dolly would be finishing up the morning baking, and Liv was determined to talk to her even if she had to do it without caffeine.

Liv stepped outside to frost-covered grass and a biting wind. Winter was stampeding toward them. She shoved her
hands in the pockets of her jacket and wondered if she would have to buy a down coat.

The bakery was dark, but she could see an aura of light coming through the curtained doorway that led to the back kitchen.

She knocked on the glass. Listened. Knocked again. Dolly’s head appeared at the edge of the curtain. She saw Liv and her eyes rounded. Then she pushed the curtain aside and came to answer the door.

“Liv, you’re up early this morning. I was just about to open.” Two creases appeared between her eyebrows. “Nothing else has happened, has it?”

“No. I’m just getting a jump on the day. The first weekend of Haunted October is barely a week away.”

“Oh. Is it still on? Janine said the council had decided to cancel.”

“Janine was premature. They haven’t made a final decision, and until I hear otherwise we’re proceeding as planned.”

“Oh, good. It would be a shame if we had to cancel.”

“So to that purpose…” Liv stifled a smile, thinking of what Chaz would say about her stilted language. “How are food preparations coming along?”

“Oh.” Dolly wiped her hands on her ruffled apron, leaving a wrinkled patch in the middle of the starched fabric. “Genny and I had made initial plans, but when all this happened we just sort of let it slide. I mean. It’s just so…awful. And if they arrest Joss for the murder, then where will we be?”

Good question
, thought Liv. “I wish I knew. We just have to keep going and hope they’ll find the real killer.”

Dolly practically levitated off the floor, not an easy feat for the well-padded baker. She began to rearrange the items in the display case. “Maybe you and Ted would like a couple of these carrot raisin muffins. Raisins aren’t a favorite of Ted’s but he’ll eat them with cream cheese icing. I can put a little extra on his. I’ll just take one back to the kitchen and…”

“Dolly?”

The muffin flew out of Dolly’s hand. “Oh dear.” She leaned over to pick it up.

“Forget the muffin for a second. I need to ask you something.”

Dolly froze with the squashed muffin in her hand. “Something about the food committee?”

“No, about Junior Zoldosky.”

Dolly’s full lips pulled into a straight line. “What about him?”

“I saw him leave the bakery late last night.”

“Oh, that,” Dolly said, her relief palpable. She leaned over the display case and said in a low voice, “I let him sweep out the back at the end of the day. Pay him a little and give him whatever didn’t sell that day to take home. If you can call that trailer ‘home.’ I feel bad for them, stuck out there at Andy’s and not being able to make any money. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around. Some people aren’t feeling very kind toward those men.”

“I know. I was out walking last night and saw him leave. I also saw three men come out of the pub and attack him.”

“Oh no. Those damn fools. Junior never did harm to anyone. Was he hurt?”

“No. But I had to practice a little persuasion.” She held up her hand.

Dolly’s eyes widened at the sight of the ridge of red knuckles.

“You got in a fight? You? With a bunch of drunks? Oh my Lord, Liv.”

“It wasn’t really a fight. One fell over my foot and I gave the other one a bloody nose, but it was pure dumb luck. I’ve been taking these karate classes for years. It works off stress. And it actually worked.”

“I can’t believe it. That’s amazing.”

“Before you get all excited, I don’t plan to ever have to use it again. I scared myself.”

Dolly smiled briefly. “Did you know them?”

“No. One of them was called Cliff.”

“Cliff Chalmers. Useless troublemaker. The other two were probably the Weaver brothers, good boys but completely loyal to Joss. If we’re lucky, you scared them into shutting up. We’ve got trouble enough without them riling up everybody.”

“Is everyone riled up?”

“There’s been some talk. People are afraid. We don’t have too many murders. The last one was one of the hill folks that came into town looking for trouble and shot his cousin by mistake. But not out-and-out murder.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you took on that bunch of hotheads.”

“I think surprised is more accurate.” Liv decided not to tell Dolly about Chaz’s noninterference. Everyone seemed to take his blasé attitude in stride. Dolly was looking at her in admiration and Liv hated to destroy this step toward acceptance, but she didn’t have a choice.

“Dolly, what’s going on?”

“Just some talk; nothing will come of it.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Liv paused, then, choosing her words carefully, said, “I know you’re upset about something.”

“Who wouldn’t be? The Peeping Tom and the murder. Those detectives arresting Joss. It’s just got me spooked.”

“I think you recognized your Peeping Tom.”

“I didn’t.” Dolly shook her head vigorously and began to knead her hands, then realized what she was doing and dropped them to her side. “Really.”

“If you know something, you should tell the detectives, or Bill.”

Dolly grabbed Liv’s sleeve. “No. No, not Bill.”

“But you know something that you’re not telling.” Liv lifted Dolly’s hand from her arm and held it with both of hers, a gesture that both consoled and trapped.

Dolly’s gaze slid away.

“Dolly, you know I would never ask for confidences. I’m not being nosey. We need to get to the bottom of this before it kills the town’s economy, its reputation. The detectives don’t seem to have a clue or care that much. Bill isn’t answering his calls.”

“That’s because he’s been taken off the case.”

“Officially?”

“Evidently. They said he had a conflict of interest and pulled him right off. And they’re throwing their weight around, practically accusing us all of killing Pete.”

That was bad news. Now Bill wouldn’t even have access to evidence or knowledge of how the case was proceeding. Bill’s words rang in her head.
They’ll tear this town apart.