Foul Play at the Fair (27 page)

“Oh,” Liv said, and cut her eyes toward BeBe, who was fighting to keep a straight face.

“It’s about time he was getting married, but not to someone like Janine Tudor. But to someone to be a helpmate, like our BeBe here.”

“Don’t look at me,” BeBe said.

“Or Liv,” Ida said.

“Don’t look at me, either,” Liv said. She wasn’t interested in Chaz. But it did bring up an interesting question. Janine had to be in her forties regardless of what she did to fight it, but she might be able to persuade a single man to do things he wouldn’t normally do. Like kill Pete Waterbury? Or at least help her dump the body.

“Liv, hon? Are you ready to go?”

“Oh, yes. See you later BeBe, Dolly.” Liv followed the sisters out of the church and across the street to the car.

“So how is the investigation going?” Edna asked when she stopped at the corner of Main Street.

“Investigation? I don’t have an inside track.”

“Well, everyone knows that you and Ted went to see Bill Gunnison, and don’t say it was on another matter. Because Thelma Jenkins saw you all leave together, and Earl Weaver saw you at the Waterburys’. And his brother saw you and Ted leave and Bill leave with Joss’s lawyer a few minutes later.”

Liv stared at Edna. Amazing what the sisters had learned in less than twenty-four hours, and to Liv’s knowledge they hadn’t even left home.

“So who saw Pete Waterbury being killed?” Liv asked, only half facetiously.

“Exactly what we’ve been asking ourselves,” said Edna.

“Except he was probably killed when everyone was at home in bed,” Ida said.

“He was,” Liv said without thinking.

“Do tell.”

“That’s all I know. I saw the brothers at ten o’clock when they closed up for the night. And he was dead when I saw him at six the next morning.”

Ida shuddered. “You might have been the last person to see him alive.”

“Oh no,” said Liv. “He drove away with the Zoldoskys.” At least, she supposed he did; she hadn’t really noticed him.

“Everyone will be happy if one of them killed him,” Edna said.

“Indeed,” Ida said. “But only if they’re guilty.”

They turned into the drive and returned the car to the garage.

“Would you like to come for lunch?”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll go over to the
Clarion
office. See if Chaz Bristow has a few decades of
Clarions
lying around.”

She changed into jeans, dropped Whiskey off with the sisters, and casting a look at the sky, set off at a brisk pace toward the center of town. She felt the first raindrop as she passed the Woofery; by the time she passed the now-empty First Presbyterian Church and graveyard, a light drizzle had begun to fall.

She sprinted the last block and a half to the
Clarion
office and jumped onto the porch just as the sky fell.

And saw the sign. Gone Fishing.

Fishing? It was raining. Though he might have been out all night. And now she was stuck on his porch in a monsoon. Grr. She kicked the door in pure frustration and turned to go.

A gray pickup passed by, and Liv took an involuntary step back against the door. Were the Zoldoskys following her? They’d probably realized by now that someone had been rifling through their trailer. Their suspicions would naturally fall on Liv. She should have explained to them when they’d caught her, but at the time her only thought was escape. She would make a point to explain to them as soon as possible.

A figure was sprinting down the sidewalk cuddling a brown grocery bag. Chaz Bristow was back from fishing. He ran up the short walk to the house and leapt onto the porch. He shoved the grocery bag at her and shook the rain off.

“I hope these aren’t fish,” Liv said, holding the bag away from her.

“Fish? No, it’s breakfast. Oh, the sign. Nah. I just use that when I don’t want to be bothered.”

“It’s afternoon. A little late for breakfast.”

“I was up late.”

Liv lifted both eyebrows. Not fishing and hopefully not doing the after-dark tango with Janine.

“You’re cold. Come on in. I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I’m not cold.”

“Then why did you shiver?”

The thought of you and Janine?
The thought of Janine and anybody.

“I was just remembering your coffee.”

Ignoring the Gone Fishing sign, he opened the door, which Liv noticed was unlocked. She followed him to the kitchen, which was as bare as the office was cluttered. Chaz Bristow must eat a lot of takeout.

Then Liv had a horrible thought. What if whomever he was buying all those bagels for was still there? How embarrassing. She listened for sounds of someone else in the house.

Chaz nudged her with a bagel.

“No, thanks.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who only eats lettuce.”

“I’m not. It’s just that I came here on business.”

“I didn’t think I’d gotten lucky.” He sliced a bagel and spread a glob of cream cheese over one half. “They’re still hot. Not New York, but pretty damn good.” He passed the bagel half under her nose and her stomach growled.

“Oh, all right. Thank you.” She took the bagel half.

He spread another half for himself and perched one hip on the kitchen table. “Okay, shoot.”

She wiped a smear of cream cheese off the corner of her mouth.

He smiled. She frowned. “I was hoping to see some back issues of the paper.”

“Checking up on whether I ran your ads or not?”

“No. Much further back.”

His eyes narrowed. “How much further?”

She shrugged. She didn’t think she could fool him for a minute. After all, he was—had been—a world-class investigative reporter. “Say the eighties?”

His mouth tightened.

She jumped in before he could say no. “I was hoping you had computer files, microfilm, microfiche?”

“I got boxes.”

“Boxes?”

“In the basement. Years and years of them.”

Good grief. Boxes of newspapers. A dirty and tiring afternoon awaited. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

He shrugged, walked past her to the hallway, and opened a door. “After you.”

She stepped into the doorway. Below her was a pitch-black hole.

Chaz leaned over her to flick on a wall switch. Yellow light dimly lit a forest of cardboard boxes stacked almost to the ceiling.

“Go for it. Just don’t leave a mess.”

Jackass
, Liv thought as she carefully made her way down the stairs. There was barely room to stand up at the bottom and only a few narrow alleys between the cardboard towers. There were probably bugs and no telling what else down here.

Dates were handwritten on the side of each box. The latest ones were the closest to her, naturally, which meant she could spend hours just getting to the eighties.

Which she did. Two hours later, she found 1990, and
twenty minutes after that, the eighties. At the very top of the stack was 1989. She read down until she got to the bottom box—1985. She was going to have to move all these out of the way to get to 1982, the year Pete Waterbury had left home.

She sneezed for at least the fortieth time that afternoon. She was covered in dust just like the boxes; her hands were filthy, her throat was parched, but she’d be damned if she’d ask Chaz for a glass of water. He could have offered to help. Though she really hadn’t expected him to.

She wondered how he could stand looking through archives. Because someone
had
been looking. A number of the boxes showed less dust than the others.

She stretched her aching back and pulled the box from off the top of the stack. Dust and dirt particles fell on her head; she dropped the box to the floor, and another cloud of dust assaulted her nose.

She pulled the second box down and a third. There was an open space behind it, just large enough for someone to stand in to search through the files. She pulled the third box away and climbed over the rest. There were the remaining eighties and—hallelujah—this stack was shorter than the others and less dusty.

She wanted to crow with success. 1984, ’83, ’79. What? She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked again. The first three years of the eighties were not there. She turned around in her little column of space, checked the stack behind her: ’78, ’77…She pulled those boxes away and found a stone wall. The three boxes she needed were missing.

Missing. And she bet dollars to doughnuts where they’d gone.

She climbed back over the boxes and stomped up the stairs. And found Chaz Bristow right where she knew she’d find him. Asleep on the couch.

Her fingers itched to grab him by his faded, torn shirt and throw him on the floor. But being a rational person, she jabbed him in the ribs.

“Wha-a?” He bolted upright and blinked at her. “Oh, it’s you. Find what you’re looking for?”

“No. I did not,” she said, her teeth clenched so tightly she could hardly form the words. “Where are they?”

“Where are what?” With his hair sticking up and that surfer smile, he was darned charming, and she wanted to slap him.

“Nineteen eighty through ’eighty-two.”

“You didn’t find them?”

“You know I didn’t. You sent me down there knowing I wouldn’t find them. You jerk. You let me waste a whole afternoon looking for information you knew I wouldn’t find.”

Chaz shrugged. “You’re kind of cute when you get all riled up.”

“You haven’t seen riled. I’m just getting started. You think you’re so clever? Well, let me tell you, you lazy, conniving, unmitigated chauvinist throwback—”

“Even cuter when you use all those big words.” He grinned unrepentantly at her.

“Ugh. Thanks…for nothing. I’ll see myself out.” She stormed toward the front of the house, knowing full well he was following her.

She reached for the doorknob, but his hand enclosed around hers. “Maybe you should give this up.”

Liv stilled, her anger gone. His statement, his tone of voice. Was that a warning or was he threatening her? Even though she’d flirted with the idea of him and Janine as a Bonnie and Clyde duo, she hadn’t really thought that either of them would actually murder someone. Now suddenly it seemed all too possible.

“Fine. Whatever you say.” She tried to turn the knob, but he held it fast.

And being a New Yorker with a black belt in karate, she did what she was trained to do. She stomped on his bare foot, clipped his chin, and ran like hell.

She’d run two blocks before she realized that one, no one was following her, and two, the rain had stopped. She slowed down to a fast walk. It was getting pretty dark, and she fought the urge to look behind her.

But Chaz wouldn’t be chasing after her. He wasn’t a killer, and she doubted that Janine was, either. A wave of contrition swept over her. She really hoped she hadn’t broken his foot. She’d
way
overreacted.

She was such a dope. Now she’d have to apologize. She started trotting toward home, where she would take a hot shower, wash her hair, and pull the covers over her head until she could pretend she hadn’t just made a fool of herself.

She hadn’t left the outside light on, but the Zimmermans’ back porch light was on and it was just enough to see by. She reached in her pocket for her house keys. A shadow stepped out of the bushes. Liv let out a screech.

“Jeez,” she exclaimed. “What do you want?”

But it wasn’t Chaz. As the figure stepped into the semi-light, she recognized Anton Zoldosky.

“I have been waiting for you,” he said ominously.

“Me?” she squeaked.

“I want to ask you why you were searching our trailer yesterday. What was it that you hoped to find? You are not a thief.”

“I can explain.”

Anton grunted and crossed his arms. She wondered if her landladies were watching from their window. If they would call Bill. Because Liv couldn’t run; there was nowhere to go but home.

Whiskey began to bark on the other side of the door.

“I am waiting.”

Liv took a calming breath. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“No, actually, I was stopping…someone who was searching your trailer.”

“Who was doing that?”

“It doesn’t matter. I was on my way to talk to Andy Miller. I saw a car at your trailer, but I had seen your truck in town, so I went to check it out.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter, truly. They were looking for a check they had written to Pete Waterbury. Pete was blackmailing he—them. But the police had already confiscated it.”

“Who is this person?”

“I can’t tell you. But, perhaps, can you tell me who Pete was blackmailing?”

“I know nothing about blackmail. He was a hired hand. Kept to himself.”

“Did you see him talking to anybody in town?”

Anton’s brows dipped. Liv hoped that meant he was thinking. “No. No one. Ah. To a young girl. I told him none of that.”

Roseanne
, thought Liv.

“And one other. A man with silver hair.”

Ted. She had seen the fight, but she hadn’t seen Anton watching. Had Pete and Ted met a second time?

“Do you remember when he talked with this man?”

“The evening before he died. We were waiting to pack our things. In the parking lot for the workers.”

The vendors’ parking lot. So Ted must have gone back to continue his argument with Pete. Something he hadn’t bothered to share with her.

“And you are sure this person took nothing else?”

Liv thought back. She hadn’t searched Janine; that would have been ridiculous. But what else could she have been looking for? “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything. I made her—them—leave. Are you missing something?”

Anton scowled but didn’t answer. Then he slowly shook his head. “You stayed behind.”

“To make sure the person left. I was leaving when you came.”

“This is true?”

Sort of.
“Yes.”

“Anton?” A brother stepped out of the shadows. He was followed by Serge.

“You were to wait in the truck.”

“We were worried.” Serge glared at Liv. “Why did you break into our home?”

“We don’t appreciate thieves,” the other brother said, and curled his lip.

In a moment of sheer insanity, Liv wondered what his name was. “I’m not a thief. I was explaining this to your brother.”