Shelley Freydont - Celebration Bay 03 - Independence Slay (2 page)

“For years. Rufus Cobb and Roscoe Jackson have been in charge of the patriots for at least a decade. Rufus is the left flank and Roscoe the right. They have their teams rehearsed and ready to go by the middle of June.

“Daniel Haynes, scion of General Delmont Haynes, who
was
a Revolutionary War hero, no question, leads the attack on horseback, just like he did at the Battle of Ticonderoga.”

“Which you neatly appropriated for the Battle of the Bay.”

Ted grinned. “If it works…” He shrugged. “Actually they should be showing up soon. Tonight’s dress rehearsal.”

“Are you participating?”

“God no. I’ll be sitting in the bleachers with a hot dog and a root beer.”

“And which unfortunate souls have to play the British?”

“Well, we don’t have any British. We used to when we first started doing the reenactment. But after a few drinks people forgot it was just playacting and the punches started flying. That’s when we came up with the idea of the ships.”

“Good thinking. Seriously, is it safe? There’s no chance of the ghost falling over the parapet?”

“Relax. They all can do this in their sleep. You have to earn your place in this patriot army. And the fireworks are handled by the same company that we’ve hired for the last five years. You worry too much.”

“It’s my job. Anyway, I don’t worry exactly, I just try to make sure all my bases are covered.”

Though Liv had to admit, she’d pretty much let Ted oversee the reenactment without her while she prepared for the parade and made the final security arrangements for the weekend. They were expecting record crowds, and her new security team would be out in full force.

A.K. Pierce, the head of Bayside Security, ran a tight-but-friendly ship. He’d hired extra personnel to cover the grounds and waterfront for the fireworks and would continue to supplement the police during the rest of the weekend. EMTs and ambulances were in position.

As for the safety of the fireworks, they were professionally rigged and set off behind the “British” ships moored out in the lake and couldn’t be reached except by boat. Ted assured her that none of the pieces would come near to falling on anyone’s head.

Liv had double-checked with the fire department anyway.

The entire event was ready to go.

The only thing, or rather person, who was missing was Chaz Bristow, the editor of the local paper, an avid fisherman who took out fishing parties to supplement his journalistic income.

He’d left town without warning right in the middle of his busiest fishing season. Not to mention the middle of the town’s tourist season. So instead of the
Clarion
publishing features and schedules of events, Liv had to print posters to display in the windows of restaurants and stores, and flyers to be handed out by volunteers at information booths at each corner of the village green.

Other than that, Liv didn’t miss him, exactly. He was obnoxious and lazy. He had the attitude and looks of a landlocked surfer dude: muscular, blond, really handsome—with a big attitude that needed some serious adjustment.

He could be annoying as all get out, but in spite of his outward laid-back persona, he still had the mind of the investigative reporter he’d once been in Los Angeles. Unfortunately he was very reluctant to get involved in any of the recent wrongdoings in Celebration Bay.

Maybe she did kind of miss him.

“Seen enough?”

“Huh? Oh yeah. No, wait. Are those two men in uniform Rufus and Roscoe?”

“In the flesh.”

The two council members strode toward Liv and Ted. They had to be sweltering in the top boots and breeches and the woolen coats of the American patriots. Each was wearing a black hat and had a powder horn slung across his chest. Roscoe also wore a heavy cape that he’d thrown behind one shoulder and held a musket that ended with a serious-looking bayonet. Rufus held a long gun that was almost as tall as he was.

“You two look great,” Liv said enthusiastically, though she couldn’t stop herself from casting a dubious look at their weapons. “Is that bayonet real?”

“Absolutely,” said Rufus, brandishing the musket over his head. “But we’re trained to use them safely.”

“Good,” Liv said, not entirely convinced.

Rufus chewed on his mustache. “It used to be that the first line actually shot.”

“With real bullets?” Liv asked, thanking her lucky stars there would be no real shooting that night.

“Not anymore,” Ted assured her.

“They didn’t use bullets in the Revolutionary War,” Roscoe said, “but powder and ball… . You see, you keep the powder in this horn, and when you’re ready to load, you pour the powder into the…”

“You had to ask,” Ted said under his breath. “Ah, here comes Daniel Haynes. I wanted Liv to meet him before tomorrow.”

Roscoe looked a little disappointed.

“But some other time I would love to learn how to load a musket,” Liv said, and turned to wait for Daniel Haynes to reach them.

He looked like a military hero, tall and lean, with longish dark hair graying at the temples and a neatly trimmed goatee streaked with white. Liv knew he was a local lawyer, though she’d never met him.

His uniform was a cut above the others, with tan breeches and shiny black boots. He wore one of those military hats whose shape always reminded Liv of a taco. He also wore a sword at his side rather than carrying a musket, though he might have one of those, too.

Ted made the introductions. Liv and the “general” shook hands. Daniel Haynes had a deep voice that Liv could imagine mesmerizing a courtroom—or leading an army of patriots. But he seemed distracted. Probably concentrating on getting into the part.

“Have you seen Rundle?” he asked. “He was giving the driver from the stables a hard time about where to park the horse trailer. We park it in the same place every year. And every year he complains. I don’t know why Henry keeps him on. Oh, there he is. I must get this cleared up now. So nice to meet you, Ms. Montgomery. Gentlemen.” He touched his hat and strode across the lawn toward the gardener.

“And we should be getting back, too,” Ted said. “Have a good rehearsal.” He took Liv’s elbow and steered her toward one of the gates in the wrought-iron fence that fronted the mansion.

Once on the sidewalk, he slowed down. “Sorry, but if we didn’t get out of there, Roscoe would have finished his lengthy explanation of musket loading. Trust me, now is not the time.”

Liv laughed. “They take this so seriously.”

“That they do.”

They both looked back at the lawn. Roscoe and Rufus had split up and were walking to their opening positions, but Daniel Haynes and the gardener were standing toe to toe and almost nose to nose.

“Do you think we should go referee?” Liv asked. “After all, I am the coordinator.”

Ted grabbed her elbow again. “Absolutely not. This happens every year. Rundle complains about the horse’s hooves tearing up the lawn, about the tire tracks the trailer leaves. He rants and raves.

“And Daniel gets his way—every year. Nothing ever changes. Nothing much can go wrong.” He grinned. “But the parade tomorrow. Now, that’s a nightmare.”

Out on the street, food and souvenir vendors were already setting up their vans and trucks. The lighting truck that was responsible for all the special effects until the fireworks took over was cordoned off by a barrier of orange sawhorses.

Liv and Ted walked back toward town down streets with houses decorated for Independence Day. The whole town had been festooned in red, white, and blue since the day after the strawberry festival.

The one-day festival had been a piece of cake—literally—and lots of fun. The day began with the Miss Strawberry pageant, a milder and pinker version of the beauty pageants that were shown on television. Afterward, there was strawberry ice cream, cakes, pies, shortcake, pancakes, Belgian waffles, jams, syrups, and ices. And when you tired of eating, there were strawberry-themed things to buy: pot holders, aprons, hats, and jewelry.

But on the day after the Strawberry Fest, all the stores around the square pulled the pink from their windows and changed over to red, white, and blue. And the town became the epitome of the American Way.

A Stitch in Time displayed freedom quilts, needlepoint flags, and eagle pillows. Bay-Berry Candles was all decked out in vanilla, cherry, and blueberry candles. The Bookworm New and Used Books displayed histories of the revolutionary period for all ages, from recent biographies for adults to classics for children, like
Johnny Tremain
by Esther Forbes and
The
Midnight Ride of Paul Revere
.

The tables outside the Apple of My Eye Bakery were covered by red-checked tablecloths topped by a centerpiece of carnations and little American flags.

The square was filled with people. School had been out for several weeks, and families had poured into the area, staying at the local inn or the several bed-and-breakfasts in town. Others made day trips from nearby vacation spots.

The weather was humid but not too hot and, if it weren’t for the mosquitoes, life would be perfect. Though Liv really couldn’t complain. She spent most of her days and nights inside working.

Ted and Liv waved to locals and smiled at visitors as they walked along the east side of the village green. In front of Town Hall, a construction crew was building the grandstand where the parade would pass, and where the floats would stop long enough to be judged: Best All-Around, Most Patriotic, Most Colorful, Most Inventive.

Everyone won something.

The front door of Town Hall was draped in bunting of stars and stripes. As they climbed the steps, they met Mayor Worley coming down.

Gilbert Worley had been mayor for three terms. He was short, fat, and friendly—especially in an election year—with graying brilliantined hair and a gold tooth that flashed when he smiled, which he did a lot—especially in an election year.

Unfortunately it wasn’t an election year, and the mayor was frowning.

“Afternoon, Gilbert,” Ted said

“Ted, Liv, glad I caught you.” He glanced past them as if he was looking for someone else.

He pursed his lips and stretched his neck, but since he was wearing a plaid shirt unbuttoned at the top, it couldn’t be that his collar was too tight. But he was definitely on edge.

“It seems we have more than one ghost this year, and the latest one is causing trouble.”

“What? More than the usual pranks?” Ted asked. “We have some fake ghost sightings every year,” he told Liv.

“This wasn’t a prank. Evidently someone broke into Gallantine House last night.”

“Mr. Rundle didn’t mention it when we saw him this morning,” Liv said.

The mayor shot her an impatient look. “It was the housekeeper who reported it. She has rooms on the first floor. She called Bill Gunnison and he went over there. He didn’t find any evidence of a break-in, but Hildy swears things were missing. Some eggs or something.”

“Eggs?” Liv asked a bit incredulously. Her neighbors liked a good tale and a bit of exaggeration, but to call the sheriff over eggs?

“Maybe the ghost was hungry,” Ted said with a perfectly straight face.

“Hildy thinks it was the kids who were helping clear out the underbrush. But Rundle says he saw the ghost running from the house.”

Ted snorted. “You know you can’t place any dependence on anything Jacob Rundle says. If he’s not drunk, he’s just plain ornery. He told us he saw the ghost down by the lake.”

“It’s a bunch of hooey, but Hildy’s on her way over here to complain about the sheriff not taking her seriously. Awful woman.”

“And you have urgent business elsewhere?” Ted asked.

“Yes. Oh Lord, here she comes now.” The mayor practically jumped to the sidewalk and took off down the street in the opposite direction.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so fast,” Liv said as she watched the mayor sprint around the corner.

“We should have joined him. And we don’t even have the intrepid Westie to warn her off. Tomorrow you bring Whiskey to work.” He turned and smiled. “Hildy. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Well, I never.” Hildy Ingersoll was several inches taller than Liv, at least five nine or ten, built along Valkyrie lines, with gray hair tied back so tightly that Liv was surprised the woman’s face moved at all. She was dressed in a gray cotton dress and orthopedic shoes. She held a black purse clutched tightly in the crook of her elbow.

She took a moment to suck in several quick breaths. “Government officials drinking on the job. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I have a good mind to report you to Mayor Worley, but don’t think I didn’t see him running off down the street.”

“He had to see to some urgent business.”

Hildy snorted.

“And you heard Ted saying I should bring Whiskey to work,” Liv added.

Hildy shook with indignation and turned to Ted. “That’s what happens when you start bringing sinners from the big city into town. We’ll all be going to hell in a handbasket before you know it.” She glared at Liv. “You mark my words.”

Ted didn’t make a move to explain.

“Whiskey is my Westie terrier,” Liv explained. “He’s a sweetheart. We, of course, would never drink on the job.”

Hildy sputtered, not at all mollified. “Stupid, heathen name to give to a poor, defenseless animal.”

Liv had to force herself not to roll her eyes. Sometimes she wished she’d named her dog Snowball instead of Whiskey. But in Manhattan, no one blinked at the name. It was a fine Scottish dog name and a fine Scottish liquor.

“What brings you here?” Ted asked. “I heard about the break-in last night. There’s been no more trouble, has there?”

“Nothing but.” Hildy pulled her purse closer, as if she thought Liv might snatch it and run. “It’s those kids. Have to keep an eye on them every second or they’d rob Mr. G blind. I told him. I said, ‘Mr. G, those kids will rob you blind while you’re not looking.’

“But did he listen? No, he did not. And now look what’s happened.”

“What has happened?” Ted asked innocently.

“One of them Fabergé eggs Mr. G thinks are so pretty is gone. Keeps a whole row of them on the parlor mantel. They were all there when I was cleaning the other day. Now one of them’s gone.” She shook her head. “Mr. G took great store in those eggs. If you ask me, they may cost a lot, but they’re just plain gaudy. Them kids stole one of ’em right off the mantel.”

Liv and Ted exchanged looks.
Eggs. Of the Fabergé variety.

“Are you sure it was the kids?” Ted asked. “It doesn’t sound like something they would take. Maybe it was the ghost.”

For the first time Hildy hesitated. “Why would any ghost want one of them eggs?”

Ted shrugged, looking serious. “I don’t know, but Jacob Rundle told us he saw the ghost down by the lake looking for… something.”

Hildy frowned, chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought. “Can’t believe anything that Jacob Rundle tells you. Half drunk most of the time. Probably got the DTs or something. Got them pink elephants mixed up with the ghost. Don’t know why Mr. G lets him stay on.

“It weren’t no ghost. I caught two of them kids red-handed in the larder yesterday. Ran off with two of the pies I was saving for the bake sale. They’ve been stealing stuff for I don’t know how long, but Mr. G, he just let’s them keep coming. Especially that Leo. The two of them act like a couple of children, all the time playacting. It ain’t healthy.”

“Can we help you, Hildy?” Ted asked.

“You can’t. I came to see the mayor to tell him that Bill Gunnison’s next to useless, but he goes running off. And the two of you standing here doing nothing. Not even five o’clock and already there’s nobody working.”

Liv forced herself not to tell Hildy Ingersoll just how hard they worked. That event coordinating wasn’t a nine-to-five, five-day-a-week job, but weekdays, weekends, all hours.

“Would you like to leave him a note?” Ted asked.

“I. Would. Not. I would like our elected officials to do the work our tax dollars pay them to do. And you can tell Gilbert Worley I’ll remember that in the next election. And it weren’t no ghost,” she repeated, only this time she didn’t seem too sure of herself. “This is just the beginning, you mark my words.” Then with a sharp dip of her chin, she turned and stormed off the way she had come.

“Shades of Mrs. Danvers,” Liv said.

Ted chuckled, and they went inside.

The telephone was blinking in the Events Office, and Ted sat down at his desk to listen to the messages. Liv put her bag on the floor and perched on the edge of his desk to listen.

Nothing seemed urgent, although there was a call from Bill that asked Ted to call him at his convenience.

“Tell me more about the ghost-sighting situation.”

Ted leaned back in his chair and stretched his hands behind his head. “Let’s see. Every year between the Strawberry Fest and the Fourth of July, people start seeing the ghost of Old Henry Gallantine. Some of the sightings are in the eye of the beholder—figments of over-imagination or too much hooch on a Friday night. Some are kids playing pranks. Harmless, and makes the ‘real’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“sightings all the more thrilling.” He shrugged.

“The real ghost?”

“The official ghost,” Ted amended.

“Oh.”

“Then there are others that are unaccounted for.”

He reached just the right tone to make goose bumps break out on her arms. Probably the air-conditioning.

“Not pranksters?”

Ted shrugged.

“So, does Jacob really believe in the ghost?” Liv asked a bit incredulously. Her neighbors liked a good tale and a bit of exaggeration. And Ted was the master of drawing out a story.

“Well, I’m guessing he was just trying to scare Leo and the other kids. But there are people who do believe. And there are others who would take advantage of them.”

“I take it that the current Henry Gallantine doesn’t dress up in a sheet and run into town scaring people.”

Ted shook his head. “Cuts out as soon as the signal is given and before the crowd disperses.”

“Does every generation of Gallantines name someone Henry?”

“I haven’t really looked into it, but my guess is that each had at least one, sometimes more than one. Don’t forget he was exonerated, and he was—before and after the scandal—a hero.”

“And does the current Henry have any offspring?”

“None that we know of. An old bachelor, though as to offspring…” Ted shrugged. “The Gallantines have always been a prolific bunch. Another trait they evidently inherited from the original Henry, who was the welcomed guest of many ladies up and down the thirteen colonies.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Probably saw it as his patriotic duty,” Ted said, fighting to keep a straight face. “Doing his bit to add to a growing country, and he probably convinced the ladies it was their duty, too.”

“That’s a come-on I haven’t heard before.” Not that Liv had been hearing any come-ons lately. She was a dedicated workaholic, even in idyllic Celebration Bay. She did get a little flutter whenever A.K. Pierce walked into her office, but since she’d hired him and she never, with a capital N, mixed business with pleasure, that was out of the question.

Her mind took a stupid turn toward Chaz Bristow before her good sense could stop it. But that would go nowhere. And really, did she have the energy or the patience to deal with the newspaper editor’s slovenly, complacent, lazy, unhelpful, snarky, annoying self?

But there was that smile. And that kiss at Christmas.

And the fact that he was missing in action. He’d left town sometime in the spring and hadn’t returned. The town had been without a local paper or a fishing guide ever since, and as much as she complained about the snail’s pace of getting things scheduled in the newspaper, it was worse not having it at all. She had no idea where he was and when or if he was coming back. If anybody knew where he was and why, they weren’t telling… her at least.

“So,” she said, drawing her mind back from that treacherous subject. “We have the reclusive Mr. G, the angry, avenging Hildy, and the rascally Jacob Rundle. Why on earth would people like that put up with hundreds of strangers on the grounds, plus a good fifty musket-toting reenactors, and someone on the roof wielding a lantern, not to mention all the fireworks?”

Ted gave her his driest look.

“Wait. I know. It’s their patriotic duty.”

• • •

It was six o’clock before they finally closed up for the day. Liv had learned no more about who the “official” ghost was. It was one of the best-kept secrets in Celebration Bay, where normally secrets made the rounds faster than the Indy 500.

Ted didn’t seem to be worried about the extra ghost sightings, so Liv let it go.

It was a warm but not uncomfortable evening, and she cut across the park on her way to her home, a delightful little carriage house behind her landladies’ big Victorian, several blocks from the center of town. Miss Ida and Miss Edna Zimmerman were retired schoolteachers, and they had lived their entire lives in their childhood home. Rumor had it that both their fiancés had died in the war—which war was rather vague—but Liv guessed the Korean one. Neither had ever married.

They were excellent dog sitters and loved Whiskey to the point of spoiling him. But tonight was their potluck night at the Veteran’s Hall, so Liv knew they would have left Whiskey in the carriage house, fed, pampered, and sleeping off a day of fun.