Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay (20 page)

Liv shivered in the cool night air. “Do you think this case might be one of them?”

“I sure as heck hope not.”

“Bill?”

Bill stopped at the door. “Yes?”

“Janine isn’t right, is she? That murders never happened here before the festivals got so big.”

“Of course not. We’ve always had murders and manslaughters, they just didn’t get much attention. We didn’t have so many tourists or the publicity we get now. So don’t even think it’s the Events Office’s fault. We had them. Same as any town.”

“So you think our security program is good enough?”

“Yep. You just keep doing what you’re doing. Now, get some sleep.”

Feeling slightly uneasy, she closed the door behind him. Was he just reassuring her? Or was he giving her free rein to investigate?

She went back to the living room to clear away the dishes and wait for Ted to come retrieve the sleeping newspaper editor.

“You need to make sure they explain to Leo what’s happening.”

Liv screeched and almost dropped the coffeepot.

“I thought you were passed out.”

“I wish.” Chaz straightened up. “You can’t just shuffle Leo around like he’s a piece of furniture. He’ll get confused.” Amazing how he suddenly could make himself understood.

“Maybe you should have told Bill that while he was here.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me right now. He’ll listen to you.”

“I understand your point, but you can’t expect Pastor Schorr to fend off that bunch of hooligans. I think the church probably frowns on their preachers getting in fistfights.”

“Not the Weavers. The killer.”

“But Leo didn’t recognize him. He thought he was the ghost.”

“But the killer doesn’t know that.”

“He might come after Leo, just in case?”

“I would.” He winced. His words were getting sluggish again. The cut in his lip had reopened. She should probably get more ice, but she wanted to question him while she could still understand what he was saying.

“But where will he be safe if they don’t put him in custody?”

“Somewhere.”

“I realize you’re not at your best right now. But can you be more specific?”

Chaz closed his eyes. “Not at the moment.”

When Ted returned from the Zimmermans’ and he and Liv had poured Chaz into the front seat of Ted’s SUV, Liv went back inside and straight to bed. Pulled the covers up, and relaxed for the first time in days.

She closed her eyes, but her brain wouldn’t shut off. She’d forgotten to tell Bill about Pandora’s box. It might have some bearing on the murder. Leo said they’d suddenly stopped looking for the treasure. Pandora’s box, Henry had told him.

Something that would cause trouble if it were opened. Gold? Greed was a popular motive. Or some kind of document, the other possibility. But if it were a document and proved Old Gallantine’s innocence, why would he have called it Pandora’s box?

But if it had proven his guilt? It wouldn’t change anything. Centuries had passed. Did anybody really care?

Stupid question. In Celebration Bay? They could argue over anything. But Liv couldn’t see them turning against Henry Gallantine because his ancestor had sold out a troop of patriots. They’d either ignore it and carry on as before, or merely change the presentation to include his perfidy, and have a great time doing it.

Ted had told her that at one time they’d reenacted his hanging, but had gotten so many complaints from parents of frightened children that they had stopped after the first portrayal.

Maybe Henry would feel a little embarrassed, but would people really hold it against him in everyday life?

Of course, some might. Every town had a few.

And she noted with another yawn, she’d just inferred herself into a mental corner.

Why was the gardener dead?

Unless…

Just as she fell asleep her cell phone rang.

At first she considered letting it ring. It was after one o’clock. Then good sense reared its ugly head. Late-night, or in this case early-morning, calls were either wrong numbers or emergencies.

Please let it be a wrong number
. She reached for her phone. It was a local number, but one that she didn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Montgomery?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“You said to call no matter what the time.”

“Hildy?”

“Yes, you need to get over here right away.”

Liv sat up. “What’s happened?”

“I can’t tell you. Please come.”

“Hildy, are you in danger? You should call nine-one-one.”

“No, not now. If you won’t come… I shouldn’t have bothered you. But don’t you dare call the police.”

“Wait. I’ll come. Five minutes.”

It was closer to seven minutes by the time Liv dressed, got the car out of the garage, and drove across town. She deliberated about calling Bill. But she didn’t think Hildy had lured her out in the middle of the night for some nefarious purpose and would be waiting with a kitchen knife.

The woman sounded frightened and distraught. Not in danger now. Hopefully that meant the danger was over. And hopefully not because Hildy had used the kitchen knife on whatever or whoever the danger was.

She pulled up to the front of Gallantine House in darkness. No porch light. No lights from any of the windows she could see from the street. And Liv was sorry that Whiskey was still at the rectory and she would be doing this solo.

She pressed Redial.

Hildy answered immediately. “What?”

“I’m outside. Why is the house dark?”

“Just is. I see you. Turn off your car lights. I’m coming to the front door now.”

Liv turned off her car lights. Put her keys in her hoodie pocket, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway. Checked her other pocket for her small canister of Mace. And hurried up the brick walk.

As soon as she reached the porch, the front door opened and Hildy motioned her inside with a frantic wave of her hand. And practically fell against the door as soon as Liv was through.

Hildy, dressed in an old full-length bathrobe, her hair in pin curls tied up in a nylon scarf, scowled at her.

“What is it, Hildy?”

“He ain’t dead.” Hildy lumbered past her toward the parlor. Liv followed; she didn’t have much choice at this point.

Two table lamps were all the light in the room. The curtains were pulled across the windows, preventing the light being seen from the street.

A man was kneeling by the fireplace; another sat on the floor, head between his knees and a white towel pressed to the back of his head. It seemed to be a night for ice packs.

They were both barely silhouetted by the two lamps.

“She’s here,” Hildy announced from behind Liv in a voice that made Liv jump.

The kneeling man rose. She recognized him immediately, though the light exaggerated the planes and valleys of his face. He looked older than the last time she’d seen him. Medium height, hair graying at the temples, a Hollywood face—lined with age and worry? An aging matinee idol, dressed in pajamas and a silk bathrobe.

“Mr. Gallantine,” Liv said. “We’ve wondered where you were.”

“So I’ve been told. Hildy, please see to Mr. Grossman.”

“Grossman? What’s he—? Have you called the EMTs?”

“No. No one, including Mr. Grossman, wants that.” Henry walked over to an old-fashioned drinks cart. “Would you care for a sherry or a brandy?”

Liv nearly laughed out loud. Had she stepped into an old movie? A locked-room mystery? “No, thank you. But go ahead.”

She
even sounded like she was reading a script. She pulled herself together.

Grossman was struggling to get up off the floor. Hildy leaned over and hauled him to his feet.

He stumbled and grabbed a side table for support, jostling a wooden box that sat open on top of it.
Just like a miniature treasure chest from a pirate map.

Hildy grabbed his arm, maneuvered him past the table, and dumped him onto a wing chair with the admonition not to bleed on the upholstery.

And that’s when Liv saw the rectangular opening in the wall where a section of wainscoting had been. A secret hiding place. Pirate chest or Leo’s Pandora’s box, it was just large enough to house the chest that was now sitting open on the table.

Could this really be the reason someone, possibly one of the three people in this room, had killed Jacob Rundle? If an evil twin had jumped down from the rafters, she wouldn’t even have been surprised.

Liv hoped she wasn’t about to be in really deep trouble.

Henry Gallantine poured out two brandies and carried one to the museum curator.

“Would anyone like to tell me what happened here?” Liv asked. “And why Hildy called me and not Bill Gunnison?”

Hildy scowled at her, then at Henry. “Go on and tell her before they come knocking down the door. You know they will. Nothing stays quiet in this town.”

Henry sighed. Gestured for Liv to sit down on the overstuffed couch.

“Hildy told me about Jacob Rundle,” he began in a soft, mellow baritone. “I had no idea he was dead. Though I’m afraid it is all my fault.”

Liv stiffened. Was he about to confess?

“As you know, I always give the signal for the Battle of the Bay to begin.” Henry grimaced.

“Only, this year, something came up, and I wasn’t able to be here. Since I—well, to tell the truth, it’s a delicate matter, and I didn’t want to make my absence public knowledge… .”

What in this day and age could be a delicate matter? Prostate problems? Even the general had to abandon his post for an emergency pee. A disgruntled lover? Something financial? A little nip and tuck? Or merely an alibi for the time when a murder was committed?

Henry stared into his brandy, seemingly lost in thought.

At this rate Liv would have to go straight to work from here. Though she took his sense of timelessness as a good sign that he wasn’t about to murder them all.

Grossman looked out from under his makeshift bandage.

“And what are you doing here?” Liv asked.

He made a movement that Liv supposed he meant as a shrug.

“Not good enough, Mr. Grossman. Daniel Haynes forbade you to be on the property until Mr. Gallantine’s return.” She switched her attention to Henry. “Did you give him permission to be here?”

“Not I.”

From across the room, Hildy shook her head.

“So he was trespassing?”

Hildy nodded. “And not just trespassing, but breaking and entering.”

“I didn’t break and enter—” Grossman’s sentence broke off in a moan.

“Breaking and entering,” Hildy repeated.

“No. The door was unlocked.”

Hildy’s mouth opened in outrage. “Not by me.”

“Now, Hildy,” Henry began.

“Don’t ‘Now, Hildy’ me. He broke in.”

Sensing an impasse, Liv jumped in with another question. “Did you hit him over the head?”

Hildy turned her outrage on Liv. “I did not, but if I’d known he was in here snooping around, I’d have got my shotgun after him.”

“My protectress,” Henry said with a wry smile.

“Well, somebody’s gotta look after you.”

“And I appreciate it, Hildy. I too would like to know why you are here, George.”

Grossman took a sip of his brandy. “You know why.”

“I understand your impatience with the sale in abeyance, but really, was it necessary to search my house in the middle of the night?”

“Yes, if you must know. And if you hadn’t hit me over the head, I would have had my proof and been out of here with no one the wiser.”

“Your proof?”

Grossman clamped his lips together.

“You mean it wasn’t about cataloguing the contents but about finding proof? Proof of what?” Henry put his snifter down. “You were not really interested in the purchase of Gallantine House?”

“Of course I was—am—the research is just a personal hobby of mine.”

“Well, I might as well tell you. The house is no longer for sale.”

“What? We had a handshake deal.”

“Yes, well, circumstances have changed, and I no longer intend to sell.”

“Onyx will not be pleased with this.”

“I’m sorry you went to all this trouble, but there it is. You can take it up with my attorney when you’re feeling better.”

Henry sat there with his brandy at his elbow, his legs crossed at the knee, looking comfortable, charming, and so at ease.

His movements and demeanor were so polished and inappropriate to the situation that Liv had to fight the urge to yell, “Take two!”

The sophisticated landlord, the bumbling thief, Mrs. Danvers in pin curls just itching to pick up her shotgun. All they needed was a thunderstorm and the real murderer breaking in with a pistol in his hand.

That image was a little too real for Liv and she pulled her exhausted mind back to the problem at hand.

“So you broke in here to steal the chest that’s on the table?” She’d tried for serious but ended up sounding like the clueless detective in the same movie.

Grossman remained stubbornly silent.

Exasperated, Liv blurted, “Will someone tell me what’s going on? A man has been murdered. Someone masquerading as the ghost is tormenting Leo. Grossman here broke into the house. Did you hit him over the head?”

“Certainly not,” Henry said. “I heard a noise down here and came to see who it was. I found him sprawled on the floor. And the safe empty.”

The safe wasn’t very safe as it turned out.

“So if neither Hildy nor you hit him, who did?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Henry said.

“Whoever it was, he got away with whatever you had in that chest.”

Henry chuckled.

Liv’s patience began to fray. She was tired, body and mind, and she was sitting here with three potential murderers who were carrying on like they were acting in a comedy of manners.

“See what I mean?” Hildy strode across the room and stood next to Liv. “I told him the police would be looking for him. They were asking all sorts of questions. They think you killed Jacob and if you don’t stop playacting, they’re going to arrest you.”

For a second Henry’s urbane façade slipped. “I didn’t kill Jacob. I—I was called out of town.”

Hildy fisted her hands on her hips. “That don’t cut it. When did you go, and can you prove it?”

Henry looked at the tips of his bedroom slippers.

“Well?”

“Out of town.”

“Where out of town?”

Henry’s head hung even lower. He mumbled something.

“Where?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles? What kind of business would you have there?”

Liv sat back. Hildy was a better interrogator than a housekeeper. She’d missed her calling.

But Henry turned recalcitrant. The body language of a trained actor. Arms crossed, lips tight. He didn’t want to tell. And why would that be?

Something to do with business or “the business”? He hadn’t been in the movie business in decades. Was he planning a comeback after all this time?

“Mr. Gallantine.”

“Call me Henry, please.” Followed by his charming, sophisticated smile.

“Henry. This is serious. A man has been murdered. Leo Morgan is being hounded by someone dressed up as the ghost. Some people are even blaming him for Rundle’s murder. Everyone here needs to start telling the truth.”

“Hildy told me about Leo wanting to ask the ghost for the treasure.” He smiled. “A very altruistic thing to do, no matter what Hildy says.”

“Plain stupid thing to do, filling that boy’s head with stories, and look where it led.”

“Yes, well, perhaps you’re right about that,” Henry said, looking properly chastised, as a small boy might. Or an actor.

Was he playing them all? Had he really murdered Rundle and then left town for LA? It should be an easy thing to check.

“You really need to explain this to the sheriff. The sooner he can check out your whereabouts, the sooner you can be eliminated from the person-of-interest list.”

Henry chuckled. “I noticed that you managed not to say ‘suspects.’”

Liv caught Hildy’s eye.

“See what I have to deal with?” the housekeeper said.

“Do you think I could have some aspirin?” Grossman, looking very pale, mumbled from the wing chair.

“Lord spare me.” Hildy stomped away to get it.

“I think I must confess,” Henry said. “I wouldn’t have Leo hurt for the world. He’s my best bud.” He smiled sheepishly. “The only person who takes the same delight in…” His face fell, and for a minute he looked like a tired middle-aged man. “On reliving my life. I wouldn’t jeopardize his well-being for the world. Yes, I think it’s time to call the sheriff.”

“No.” Grossman put up a hand.

Henry looked from him to Liv.

Liv handed him her cell phone. She felt a little qualm about waking Bill in the middle of the night, but she didn’t see that she had much of a choice.

Henry took it, held it. “What are we going to do about him?” He flicked his eyes toward Grossman, who had once again buried his head in his hands.

“Let Bill handle it. He did break in, right?”

“No, I didn’t. The door was unlocked.”

Liv looked at Henry for confirmation.

Henry nodded. “Hildy isn’t the most fastidious of housekeepers, but her husband, Albert, was a gem. Gardener, landscaper, could fix anything with an engine.” He glanced toward the door. “I couldn’t not take care of her.”

“So Rundle wasn’t always your gardener?”

“Heavens, no. He was the handyman. And not a very good one. I let him live over the garage because he was such a stock character that I thought he would be entertaining. That was a big mistake. By the time I realized that, I couldn’t figure a way to gracefully get rid of him.” He stopped. Looked startled. “That didn’t come out quite the way I meant it.”

“I’m relieved,” Liv said.

Hildy returned with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water, which she begrudgingly shoved at Grossman.

“I suppose Gunnison will have to check my alibi?” Henry asked.

Liv nodded.

He hesitated then, looked at the phone, and Liv was afraid he was going to hand it back to her.