Foul Play at the Fair (32 page)

“People didn’t really look at him; they didn’t want to stare. You could see them avert their eyes when he was around. I did it, too.”

Bill shook his head. “He was here in plain sight every year and he never said anything. Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him that. Dolly asked him and he just said that he couldn’t.”

“He didn’t say why?”

“No. But I don’t think he killed Pete, even though he had every right to.”

“Liv, no one has the right to exact that kind of vengeance, even if it’s deserved.”

He was right. But she was still glad Pete Waterbury had gotten his just deserts, no matter who had been the hand of justice.

“Well, let’s get up the hill. I’d better accompany them and make sure nothing untoward occurs.”

The police cars were driving away when they reached the trailer. The two detectives were standing by the campfire while Anton gestured wildly in the firelight. Georgi and Serge stood directly behind him. A united front.

“Enough, old man. We’ll get to you later.”

“Junior did not kill that man. I did.”

“Sure you did. Nice try, but you’re in enough trouble. Harboring a felon. Aiding his escape. Don’t worry. We’ll be back for you. So don’t think about leaving town.”

Ignoring Bill and the others, he walked back to his car. Detective Pollack made an apologetic grimace before following him.

“Ugh,” Liv said. “He’s been watching too many bad cop shows.”

“He’s an egomaniac and his partner is an imbecile. This was their last case to see if they could redeem themselves after a long line of mishandled cases. Pollack might get a desk job if he’s lucky, but that so-and-so Devoti is about to get drummed out.”

“Good. He’s awful.”

Another truck was making its way toward them.

“Andy,” Bill said, and turned to wait for him.

The cab door swung open; Andy Miller jumped down and ran toward them. “What’s the commotion? What were those police cars doing here?”

“They have arrested Junior,” Anton said.

“What? No. They can’t.” He looked at Bill. “He’s innocent.”

“I hope so,” Bill said. “Did you know he was Victor Gibson?”

Andy’s eyes slid away.

“For how long?”

“A few days. A week, maybe.”

“You never recognized him all the years they camped out here?”

Andy’s mouth trembled. “He never got close enough for me to see. I guess he was afraid. And he was my friend.” He scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “All those years.” He drew himself up. “I think I should—”

From the corner of her eye, Liv saw Anton give one, barely perceptible shake of his head.

Bill had seen it, too. Maybe he wasn’t as slow as Liv thought. But what did it mean?

“I think I’d better get back to town and oversee the arraignment.”

“We will raise the money for bail,” Anton said.

Bill shook his head. “If the judge grants bail at all, it will be more than you probably have.”

“I’ll see to it,” Andy said. “And we can count on Joss, too, if need be.”

“I don’t think they have enough to hold him. They were a bit too quick on the trigger. Let’s just wait and see.”

“I do not want him locked up,” said Anton. “He will be afraid away from the family.”

Bill’s mouth tightened. “I’ll see what I can do. But…” He looked around the group, his eyes resting on each one of the men. “Do not interfere. Understand?”

Anton and Andy nodded. Even Liv nodded. Serge and Georgi just looked on and scowled.

Bill pointed at the two of them, then said to Anton, “Don’t let these two hotheads do anything rash. Come on, Liv. Where’s your car?”

He dropped her and a very dirty, wet Whiskey off at her car. Waited for her to start the engine, then drove away.

She jacked up the car’s heater, but couldn’t move any farther, just sat there, close to tears as the enormity of what she’d unleashed took hold. Fought a losing battle against tears. Brushed them away with an impatient hand. Noticed the residue of rust across her palm. Damn machine. Damn detectives. Damn everything.

She rubbed her hands on her jacket and drove back to town.

Everyone had already left and she was alone on the road. A metaphor for her life in Celebration Bay. She brushed away another tear. She had caused a whole lot of trouble for nothing. Unless Victor really was guilty. It didn’t make her feel better that she might have helped catch a killer.

Liv drove right up to her door, grabbed Whiskey, and hurried inside before the Zimmerman sisters could stop her to ask what was going on. She ran into the little bathroom to get towels to dry him off, but Whiskey disappeared under the bed.

She didn’t blame him; she felt like crawling under there with him. She went back into the bathroom. Turned on the water and filled the little lavatory with warm water.

She pulled a clean washcloth from the bar and saturated it with water, then pressed it to her swollen eyes. Stood there breathing and letting the warmth seep into her skin. She dropped it back into the water and stopped.

Looked. Looked again. The rust, which had been dark orange on her hands, had turned to splotches of red on the cloth and had tinted the water pink. She looked down at her hand. A rusty red streak spread across her palm. Disbelieving, she slowly looked into the mirror, a smear of red across her cheek.

Blood. It had to be. She must have cut herself when she
fell over that stupid farm machine. She inspected her hand, then her face, but found nothing.

Whiskey must have cut himself in the woods. She grabbed a towel and hurried into the bedroom, dropped to her knees by the bed, and peered beneath it. Whiskey was curled up in the far corner.

“Come here, boy,” she coaxed. Whiskey just looked at her. “I’ve got a treat.”

Slowly, Whiskey crawled out. She grabbed him by the front paws and pulled him out from under the bed. Sensing betrayal and no treat, he wriggled to get away, but Liv held fast, inspected his ears, his muzzle, legs, body, and found nothing but a brush of pink where she had held him and a lot of burrs and mud.

She sat back on the floor. After a poor-me look, Whiskey skulked away to the kitchen. Liv made a note to call the groomer in the morning and went back to look at the stained washcloth.

Junior? But she hadn’t touched him, or anyone else for that matter. What else had she touched besides the farm equipment in Andy’s barn? An idea was pushing at her brain but she didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to be any more involved in this whole mess than she already was. But it wouldn’t go away.

Blood. She forced herself to go back into the bathroom. She lifted the washcloth out of the water and wrapped it in her shower cap. Then she carried it to the kitchen and removed it to a freezer bag, sealing it tight.

Looking at it long and hard, she tried to make that niggling suspicion go away. So what if the blood was on the machine? Farming was a physical business. The farmhands were bound to get cut and scraped. She was probably blowing this all out of proportion.

Like you’ve been doing ever since they found Pete Waterbury’s body.

Hey
, she argued with herself.
I haven’t blown this up. If
anything, I’ve sped along the investigation.
Much to her chagrin and guilty conscience. And she couldn’t ignore the stains on the washcloth. Or the pink-tinged water. Or the blood across her face.

But she also couldn’t go running to Bill or anybody else with the information. She was also responsible for Victor’s arrest; she wasn’t going to endanger anyone else.

At least not until she had more information. And until then she was just going to pray that one of Andy’s employees would be sporting a big, big Band-Aid.

“Emergency,” Liv said when Sharise Lee opened the door to the Woofery the next morning.

“Good heavens, what happened?”

“He went for a dip in the lake.”

“Well, we’ll fix you right up, won’t we, sweetie,” Sharise cooed and took Whiskey from Liv.

“Thanks. I hope it doesn’t put too much work on you today.”

“I never have too much work,” Sharise said. “I’ll have him finished and smelling sweet as a Westie terrier by six.”

“Thanks.” Liv speed walked across the green. She considered going straight to work and letting Ted pick up their morning drinks. She was sure everyone had heard the news of Victor’s arrest, and she wasn’t looking forward to taking the fallout.

Suck it up, Liv. The sooner you face it…She went into the bakery.

Dolly didn’t mention the arrest. She barely exchanged a word with Liv while she bagged two sour cream pecan muffins.

BeBe was more sympathetic. “I know you had to do it, but I hope he’s not guilty. From what everyone has said, that Pete was a snake.”

Ted just gave her a look and took the drinks tray and bakery bag from her.

“It’s not like I set off to entrap him,” Liv said as soon as Ted carried the tea tray into her office.

“No one said you did.”

“Dolly hardly said a word to me this morning.”

“Dolly has a soft spot for the underdog. And people are already asking her if she knew he was Victor and that’s why she let him sweep out the bakery.”

“So what if she did?”

Ted shrugged. “Doesn’t matter in the least. Just something to talk about. You’re the only person in town who’s upset about Dolly. We’re good at putting on events, but what we’re really good at is making something out of nothing and talking about it to everyone. It’s what we do. Now, drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

“Ted, he’s your nephew.”

Ted put down the muffin he’d been about to take a bite of. “I am well aware of that. And I’ll do anything I can to help him. But no, I didn’t recognize him, either. He was probably ten when I saw him last. I was away most of those years.” He paused, gave her a considering look. “We all have a lot to answer for.”

“Especially me. If I had made sure we were alone when I confronted him. If I hadn’t made the connection at all. If I had minded my own business. I didn’t intend to tell the police—at least not until I was sure—Why are you smiling?”

“You’re an organizer, a planner, a problem solver. That’s what makes you a good event planner. No one expects you to turn that off when you step out of your professional mode. The people to blame for Victor’s arrest are those two dingbat detectives and the person who spied and told. Actually, we should thank you for seeing things we were too dense to see.”

“Thanks, but it doesn’t make me feel better.” Liv leaned forward on her desk. “Do you know who overheard us and called the police?”

“No, and I wouldn’t tell if I did. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for what might happen to that person now that Junior’s true identity is known.”

“Can we blame this on Janine, too?”

“Sorry. She’s spending a few days with friends in New York.” He suppressed a grin. “She doesn’t know that the buzz about her arrest has been supplanted by something much more interesting. And nobody seems to be in a hurry to tell her.”

“Have you talked to Bill?”

“Actually, I did. Last night at the station and again this morning. He called to let me know that he made a few calls. Bill may be slow and a bit stuck in his ways, but he gets the job done and he has friends. I don’t think those two detectives will be bothering us for much longer.”

“But the damage is done.”

“Listen to you. What if Victor is guilty? That would make you a hero.”

“That would make it worse.”

Ted chuckled. “Well, I guess that makes you one of us, then.”

That should make her feel better, being accepted as one of them, but it just made her feel worse, like it doubled her betrayal of Victor Gibson.

She had considered telling Ted about the blood and the washcloth that she’d placed in her refrigerator. But after that affirmation, she decided she’d better keep it to herself. She forced herself to work all morning, but she went out at lunchtime. Straight to the
Clarion
office.

“Nice bit of investigation,” Chaz said, when she finally woke him up.

“I feel awful.”

“Good. You should.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said miserably, and sat down on the ancient couch beside him.

“And you banged on my door and woke me up because…”

To tell you that I’ve got a bloody washcloth in my fridge at home?
The old Chaz might be intrigued, but the Chaz she knew would just scoff at her. “I don’t know. Misery loves company? I thought you might have some words of advice.”

“That would make you feel better? Well, I don’t.” Chaz heaved off the couch, yanked up the coffeepot, and disappeared into the bathroom. Liv listened as he emptied the pot and filled it up again.

He was taking his time. Waiting for her to leave? She should. She didn’t even know why she’d come. If she thought he would be sympathetic, she was dead wrong.

He returned with the filled carafe and poured it into the coffeemaker. Measured grounds while Liv watched.

When the coffeemaker began to make popping noises, he turned on her. “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of this?”

“I don’t recall those exact words.”

“And you, of course, would.”

“I’m meticulous and I wasn’t trying to investigate. I was picking up my dog from the groomer’s. He got out when another customer came in, and he took off for the cemetery. I followed him right to Junior—Victor—who was standing near a grave. We walked out together, and okay, I’m guilty of doubling back and taking a look at the grave.”

“And it belonged to Eleanor Gibson.” Chaz blew out a long hiss of breath.

“There was a bouquet of wildflowers on it. It was so—” Liv’s voice cracked.

“Oh God, don’t lose it. I haven’t had my coffee.”

Liv sniffed. “I never lose it.”

“No, of course not. You probably never have a moment’s lack of emotional control.”

Ouch.
“Oh shut up.”

“Look. Here’s the deal. If you play in scum, you get dirty.” The coffeemaker beeped. “You want coffee?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Liv, shit happens. Sometimes it’s better not to look too close.”

He turned back to the coffeemaker and Liv slipped away.