Trawling for Trouble (6 page)

“So we're minding our own business,” Seamus said.

Gus nodded from where he was sitting at the dining table with an ice pack on the bump on his head.

They all had been sent there while Officer Meese supervised the cleanup detail, the gathering of the diamonds, and the return of the frozen food to the basement freezer.

Now Officer Meese stood nearby taking notes. A.K. Pierce, who had arrived in time to oversee the transportation of the perpetrators, was standing in the doorway, his eyes on the two veterans.

As far as interviews went, it was pretty informal. After Manny and the two thugs were taken off to jail, Edna insisted that everyone else sit down for coffee and cookies.

“Besides, we want to know what's going on,” Ida said, getting out the tea china. White with deep red roses around the edges.

“Really, Bill,” Edna said. “It isn't fair that you'd take Seamus and Gus away without letting us hear their story. After all, Chaz and Liv overcame the bad guys and Liv was the one who found the diamonds hidden in the fish.”

Liv started to protest that her finding the diamonds was just the outcome of braining the bad guy with the frozen fish, but she might as well have saved her breath. The sisters had their own version of the story—one where Chaz and Liv were the heroes and Ida and Edna mere supernumeraries.

Bill caved, as everyone in Celebration Bay always did with the sisters. They all remembered being Miss Ida and Miss Edna's students, and they were still in the habit of doing whatever their teachers said.

Bill cleared his throat. “Let me get this right. You and Gus were minding your own business, anchored in a cove on the Canadian border.”

“Fishin's real good there,” Gus offered.

“Uh-huh. Was that before or after you exchanged goods and money with your contact there?”

Seamus and Gus looked blank.

Bill sighed and dropped that subject. “Then what happened?”

“We were shoving off and this guy comes running out of the woods.”

“Down the street,” Gus broke in.

“Oh yeah, down the street. There were a lot of trees though,” Seamus said. “Anyway, this guy comes running down to the water, yells at us that he wants to hitch a ride.”

“We thought it was kind of funny since he didn't know where we were going, but then he said he could pay, and well, what the hey, we let him come aboard. He sat down on the bench on deck and we made for home.”

“He didn't ask where you were mooring?”

“Nope,” Gus said. “Just said he had an angry husband after him. So we thought, least we could do, ya know?”

Neither Bill nor A.K. answered.

“Anyway. We shoved off and came home. He just sat on the deck, didn't talk or nuthin'. But when we docked here, he just keeled over. That's when we saw he'd been shot.”

“More than once,” Gus added.

“And he was deader than a doorknob,” Seamus said. “We didn't know, honest. He didn't say nothing, didn't moan, didn't even ask for a drink. Just keeled over right when we stopped at the pier.”

“So you searched him and decided to steal the diamonds?”

“No man, we looked in his pockets for some identification. You know, so we could notify the next of kin.”

“And where is this ID now?”

“That's just it, he didn't have any.”

“Didn't have no money, either,” Gus added.

“That's right,” Seamus said. “He stiffed us.”

“But you did discover the diamonds.”

“They were in a pouch in his pants pocket. And, well, finders keepers.”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “We found them, so they're ours.”

“They are stolen property. And the people who shot Jimmy were the people he tried to double-cross.” Bill looked seriously from one to the other. “And you don't want to mess with those guys.”

Seamus shook his head.

Gus shook his, too, but reluctantly. “Sure would have liked to keep them.”

Bill looked over to Meese. “Are the officers satisfied that we've recovered all the diamonds?”

“We did a thorough sweep of the room,” Meese told him.

Bill turned back to Seamus. “You didn't keep any for yourself before you hid them in the fish, did you?”

Seamus shook his head slowly.

Gus shook his head even more slowly.

A.K. shoved away from the door frame. Crossed to the two men. And held out his hand to Seamus. “Hand it over, Sergeant.”

Seamus looked at A.K.'s hand, screwed up his mouth. Looked over to Gus. Who in turn looked back at A.K.

Seamus leaned on one hip while he searched his trouser pocket—and came out with a clear, faceted stone. He looked at it longingly and dropped in into A.K.'s palm.

A.K. nodded to Seamus. He turned to Gus and went through the same ritual he'd just gone through with Seamus, until Gus reached in his pocket and handed another diamond to A.K..

“We only kept them for good luck,” Seamus explained.

A.K. nodded. He opened his palm, displaying two diamonds that looked very small in his palm. “We appreciate you giving them back. Good work, soldiers.” A.K. spoke to them, but he was looking at Bill.

“I imagine there will be a reward,” Bill said. “Not as much cash as you'd get on the black market for the diamonds, but it will be safer, and it will buy a lot of fishing gear.”

Seamus and Gus looked at each other, then nodded simultaneously.

Liv realized that they hadn't argued with each other once since she and Chaz had arrived at the Zimmermans' house.

Bill stood as A.K. led the two men out of the house. “Thank you, Miss Edna, Miss Ida, for the use of your house. Liv, Chaz, I'll talk to you later.” He left the room.

“What I don't understand,” Miss Edna said as she watched the men leave, “is how those thugs found out where the diamonds were.”

“Probably heard about the shooting on the news,” Chaz said. “Traced Jimmy to the marina and followed the note here. Or, more likely, followed Manny here. He knew something was up. We caught him searching Seamus and Gus's boat.”

“And that was my fault for putting your name on the note I left for Manny.” Liv sighed. “I led them all here.”

“It's not your fault, dear,” Miss Ida said.

“And you kept them from getting away and found the diamonds,” Miss Edna added. “My, what a morning. More coffee, anyone?”

When they were finished, Liv helped carry dishes back to the kitchen, then she and Chaz walked out the back door with Whiskey.

“Well,” Chaz said, looking up at the sky, “looks like it might be a nice day tomorrow. Want to give fishing one more try?”

“Fishing?” Liv crinkled her nose. “Thanks, but I don't think so.” She started down the back stairs.

“Oh come on, Liv. You didn't even get started good.”

“That was enough for me.”

“I'll bait your hook.”

“Yesterday we had lures.”

“I've got smashed peanut butter sandwiches.”

“Sounds wonderful, but I think I'll pass.”

“I can't believe you're wussing out on me after twenty minutes of fishing.”

“During which I caught a mafia bagman, was introduced to a band of smugglers, knocked a man out with a frozen fish, and discovered a cache of stolen diamonds,” Liv said. “No, tomorrow I'm going for that mani-pedi you kidded me about, and next year . . .” She hesitated. “I think I'll just go to the beach.”

Keep reading for a preview of the next Celebration Bay novel

TRICK OR DECEIT

Available September 2015

Liv Montgomery stopped at the bottom of the town hall steps to button her jacket. A year before, she'd moved to Celebration Bay, New York, from Manhattan, complete with a totally new “country” wardrobe of corduroy, plaids, comfortable shoes, even a hat with earflaps. Now she only brought out the earflaps when it was below ten degrees, which, being early October, it wasn't, and her jacket had finally lost its shiny, right-off-the-racks-at-L.L.Bean look.

And she was getting a lot fewer digs about being a city girl. Actually, since she'd taken over the duties of town event planner, attendance to activities had tripled, and she was becoming an accepted member of the community, most of the time.

Her assistant, Ted Driscoll, a tall, lean man of a certain age and an untalked-about past, tucked up his collar then took her elbow. Beneath the jacket he was wearing a black pullover with a bat knitted onto the front.

Ted loved his holidays, and the women at the Yarn Barn kept him in festive sweaters, scarves, vests, and hats. He had a good singing voice, adored Liv's white Westie, Whiskey, knew his way around a computer, and had nerves of steel.

In a word, he was the best assistant Liv had ever had.

It was late afternoon and already dark, except for the lights from restaurants and shops and the wrought iron lamps that lit the paths through the park.

Being a family-friendly destination town, the inhabitants of Celebration Bay had the changeover from one holiday to the next down to a science. On September thirtieth, the Harvest on the Bay Festival transformed, literally overnight. Town-wide decorations of colorful leaves and fall vegetables turned into broomsticks and bats. Gourds and pumpkins were carved into grimacing jack-o'-lanterns. Bales of hay that had offered respite to weary tourists were now the property of skeletons and witches.

They crossed the street and joined the scores of people headed toward the band shell at the far side of the village square where the mayor would shortly announce the winner of Celebration Bay's first ever haunted house contest.

“So who do you think will win Best Haunted House tonight?” Liv asked

“I think Barry Lindquist's Museum of Yankee Horrors takes the cake. My unofficial opinion, of course.”

“It is pretty impressive,” Liv said. “I knew about Hester Prynne, Lizzie Borden, and the Headless Horseman, but there were a bunch of crimes I never realized took place in New England.”

Ted coughed out a laugh, sending a cloud into the air. “In true Celebration Bay style, Barry played loose with some of the more sordid efforts. Al Capone? I mean, since when did Chicago belong to the Northeast?”

“I did wonder about that,” Liv said. “Anyway I think it's a toss-up between his museum and Ernie Bolton's Monster Mansion.”

“You screamed loud enough when that skeleton popped out of the coffin.”

Liv grimaced. “I wasn't expecting it.”

“That's the whole point. Now, do you want to find a seat or do you want to stand in the back surveying the assembly and looking for potential screwups, unexpected snafus, and sloppy crowd control?”

“Let's stand in the back, but only because I've been sitting all day.”

“Uh-huh.” Ted maneuvered them to a place right behind the last row of folding chairs.

“No, really. I'm going to delegate a lot more this year. And exercise more.”

“Uh-huh.”

Liv pointed to the band shell where five chairs and a lectern had been set up and where a row of jack-o'-lanterns lined the front of the stage. “Are those electric or candlelit?”

Ted shook his head. “Not to worry, they're battery powered. The pumpkins are ceramic and were donated by the Garden Club last year.”

“Oh.”

“And the folding chairs passed state folding chair inspection just last week.”

“Very funny.”

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed. Just vigilant.” It was her job. Event planners not only planned but were responsible for making sure that everything ran smoothly.

Ted chuckled. “Here we go.”

Five people came onto the stage and sat in the chairs without mishap.

“See?” Ted said. “Safe and sound.”

Liv rolled her eyes at him.

As soon as they were seated, Mayor Worley joined them and stood behind the lectern. He held up his hands to quiet the audience, which didn't have the slightest effect. It never did. He tapped on the microphone. A mechanical screech broadcast through the audience. They became quiet.

Gilbert Worley had been mayor for at least ten years, mainly, Liv guessed, because no one else wanted the job. He was short, portly, with black hair gelled back from his forehead and showing gray at the temples when he was behind on his Grecian Formula touch-ups.

He held up his hands again. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and ghouls . . .”

The crowd groaned.

“Isn't that how he started last year's speech?” Liv asked.

“The last ten, at least.”

The microphone squealed and the mayor stepped back. “Welcome to this year's Halloween kickoff. Tonight we have a special honor to award and a surprise to announce.

“As you know, the community center is in search of a new building, and the best way to ensure success is by a fund-raising campaign—”

More groans from a few in the audience.

“It's for a good cause,” someone yelled.

Most of the crowd agreed, loudly.

The mayor looked at the lectern as if he might find his gavel there, but this wasn't a town meeting; it just sounded like one.

“As you know, our community center has lost its lease. The center provides an important service to our young people, families, and seniors. In order to keep the center functioning, the board has taken a three-pronged approach that will hopefully enable us to find a permanent building and organizational operating expenses that will include . . .”

Beside her, Ted stifled a yawn.

“Donations have already been coming in, and we've applied for a community improvement grant from the VanderHauw Foundation.”

Ted leaned toward Liv. “Never amazes me how Gilbert manages to take credit for everything, even though your contacts and grant application were what got us on VanderHauw's radar.”

Liv shrugged. “As long as it gets the community center up and running, I don't care who takes credit for it.”

Mayor Worley cleared his throat. “In addition, the board came up with the idea of holding a contest to decide what design would become the official Celebration Bay Haunted House, whose official opening will kick off this year's Halloween's festivities. We had a whopping one hundred entries, with all entry fees going to the donation fund. A panel of five judges adjudicated every entry, no matter how small.

“I'd like the judges to stand.” The mayor gestured to where three of the four town trustees—Rufus Cobb, Roscoe Jackson, and Jeremiah Atkins—were sitting in a row. As usual, the fourth trustee was AWOL.

“Chaz didn't even manage to get here for the community center?” Liv asked, disgusted.

Ted looked over the crowd. “I expect he's here somewhere. See? Over there, standing in the back, opposite us.”

Liv looked to where Ted indicated and came eye to eye with Chaz Bristow, owner and editor of the
Celebration Bay Clarion
. Liv's nemesis . . . and sometimes her reluctant partner in crime solving.

He grinned at her and she looked away.

“And two members of the business community.” The mayor gestured to two well-dressed women sitting side by side at the end of the row. “Janine Tudor and Lucille Foster . . . Ladies.” The two women waved.

Chaz Bristow slipped up beside Liv.

Liv felt the jolt of interest that she always tried to ignore when she was around him. He was too good-looking for his own good, at least according to Liv's landladies, Ida and Edna Zimmerman.

He was handsome, all right, with straight features, a firm if sometimes unshaven jaw, and blond hair that would be more appropriate on someone who lived outdoors in the sun instead of someone who preferred sleeping under a newspaper on the couch in his office.

Tonight he was wearing a light hunting jacket, a plaid scarf, and no hat. His blond hair looked less groomed than usual in the uneven light. But there was definitely something charismatic about the man.

He was infuriating; yo-yoed between out-and-out smarmy wastrel and intense, justice-seeking reporter, always with a serious surfer dude attitude. Infuriating, but appealing—

Appealing? When she was out of her mind and hallucinating.

Liv pulled herself together. “Why aren't you up there with the other trustees?”

“Three reasons.”

“Really. What are they?”

“Because I own and run the local paper. I can't appear to take sides.”

“Ha. You mean you just didn't want to be bothered.”

Chaz shrugged.

“And the other two?”

He nodded toward the stage. “You're looking at them.”

Liv frowned.

Ted leaned over. “He's talking about Lucille and Janine.”

“Yep,” Chaz said. “Amazing that the two of them can sit side by side without tearing each other's eyes out. The mayor must have a death wish. I sure don't.”

“I take it they don't like each other.”

Chaz gave her a deadpan look.

She turned to Ted.

He managed an even more deadpan expression.

“And now I'd like to introduce Lucille Foster, chairwoman of the judging panel. Lucille?”

Lucille stood gracefully; Janine remained seated with a tight smile on her face. Lucille was tall and elegantly dressed, in an off-white Burberry trench coat with a burnt orange paisley shawl looped over her shoulder. And the highest heels Liv had seen—or worn—since Manhattan. Hers were now residing in the deepest, darkest corner of her closet.

The highest
and
the most expensive
, Liv thought as Lucille's red soles caught the light.

The chairwoman edged the mayor over and spoke into the microphone. “Thank you, Mayor Worley. I am so honored to be a part of this great fund-raiser. We here in Celebration Bay care about our town and about each other. That feeling is what makes us so special, and you've shown your caring by your donations to this worthy cause—the Celebration Bay Community Center.”

While Lucille began explaining the guidelines of the contest and how the entries were judged, Liv looked over the crowd. It was small in the scheme of things. Mostly local people who supported the need for a new community center.

Liv had hoped that Jonathon Preston, Director of Development for the VanderHauw Foundation, would make it for the ceremony, but as it was he'd had to sandwich them in between a trip to a day-care center in Thailand and an afternoon music program in Detroit.

Too bad. Jon would have gotten a kick out of the spectacle. And Liv would have gotten a kick out of his enjoyment. Jon was a former colleague of hers from her Manhattan days, and they'd briefly been something more than friends. He was great to work with, indefatigable and energetic. They'd had some fun times, and Liv was looking forward to seeing him again.

“. . . by the generous donation of . . .” Lucille Foster began to read off a list of names of people who had agreed to match the prize money offered to the winner of the Official Celebration Bay Haunted House. “All proceeds to go to the new community center. Already we have raised twenty thousand dollars.”

Applause, and a few
woot
s.

“Ten thousand will go to the winner of the contest to help offset expenses and operating costs. All ticket proceeds for the first Halloween will go back into the community center donation fund. Each of the runners-up will win five hundred dollars to use as they see fit.

“I want to thank everyone for their generosity and let you know that donations may be dropped off at town hall, sent to the mayor's office, or dropped in one of the many receptacles around town. Now, Mayor Worley, if you'll announce the three finalists.”

The mayor stepped back up to the lectern as Lucille returned to her seat.

Mayor Worley cleared his throat. “There is one more person I would like to thank particularly . . .”

Lucille paused, then turned back to the lectern, her smile managing to appear gracious and humble at the same time. It was impressive.

“Mrs. Amanda Marlton-Crosby,” the mayor continued.

Lucille froze in place, her smile unwavering. Then, recovering herself, she smiled more broadly and sat down. Beside her, Janine Tudor didn't even try to hide her surprise or her delight that Lucille had been superseded by another.

“Amanda,” the mayor continued, “has generously donated the full ten thousand dollars for the prize money so that the community center can keep all of the proceeds gathered thus far.”

Applause and whistles followed. The three male judges exchanged looks. Janine sat ramrod straight. Next to her, Lucille crossed her legs and continued to smile, but her foot jiggled with perturbation, the red soles of her expensive shoes blinking like a stoplight among the ceramic pumpkins.

“Wow,” Liv said. “Why didn't we know about this?”

Ted shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“No. It's just really a surprise.”

“From the look of things,” Chaz said, “a surprise to the judges, too.”

The mayor stretched out his arm. “Amanda? Will you come up and present the check to the winner?” The mayor applauded into the microphone and everyone joined in as Amanda Marlton-Crosby climbed the steps to the stage.

She was in her thirties, Liv guessed, with spare, plain features and brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing slacks and a red plaid car coat. Not how Liv would have chosen to dress if she had been a wealthy heiress, especially next to Lucille and Janine, who always dressed for the occasion. Maybe Amanda Marlton-Crosby had gone for a totally different look knowing she couldn't compete.