Trick or Deceit by Shelley Freydont Page A

now, but if you decide you want to remount your museum, my small band of players is at your disposal. And we have a costume room and several sewing machines. Just give the word. We’ll be yours to command.”
    Barry just stared at him, and finally managed, “Thanks,” and with a half bow, Henry strode through the parking lot and down the street.
    Bill slowly looked back to Ted and Liv. Opened his mouth and shut it. Closed his eyes, opened them. Said, “I’ll see you two later,” and without a look, went back into the now not-so-empty lot.
    â€œWell, I guess I’ll drop by the theater,” Ted said. “See if we can at least get the rehearsal started, then let’s meet at the office for a little damage control. You want to pick up coffee?”
    â€œSure. I’ll just run home and get changed. See you in a few.” A few
if
she got home, showered, changed,
and
managed to get past her inquisitive landladies, the bakery, and the coffee shop before news got out about the murder.
    Not a chance.

Chapter Four
    Liv made it back to her carriage house unseen. She fed Whiskey and let him out while she showered and dressed.
    Less than half an hour later, they left for work—and had almost made it to the sidewalk when someone called, “Good morning, Liv.”
    Whiskey barked a greeting and dragged Liv over to Ida Zimmerman, one of Liv’s landladies. Miss Ida was holding a broom, but that didn’t fool Liv. She was out for information.
    â€œMorning, Miss Ida.” Both Ida and her sister, Edna, had been schoolteachers in town before retiring, and everyone called them “Miss.” They didn’t look at all alike: Miss Ida was small boned, demurely spoken, and tended to twinsets and sensible shoes. Miss Edna was tall and bigger boned, spoke her mind freely, and had hung up her twinsets the day she retired, changed into slacks and pullovers, and had never looked back.
    They were both dears and they’d taken a shine to Whiskey and, by association, Liv. They, like most local residents, listened to the police band for their entertainment, enjoyed a little gossip, and were always ready to help with an “investigation.”
    The fact that Liv was an event planner and not a detective made absolutely no difference to them—or to anyone else in town. They expected her to do her part in bringing justice, and were more than willing to do their own parts to help.
    â€œI heard there’s a commotion over at Barry Lindquist’s new museum. Nothing was damaged, was it?”
    Liv was tempted to say she didn’t know anything about it. But that would be useless. Everyone would know all the details before Liv had paid for her coffee, and the sisters’ feelings would be hurt if she didn’t tell them first.
    â€œWell . . .”
    â€œWait for me, you two.” Miss Edna came barreling through the front door and down the front steps. “I just heard on the police band that the coroner was summoned,” she said. “Just what happened over there, Liv?”
    Liv gave up her last shred of hope that she would get away without revealing the whole story.
    â€œWhiskey and I were out running . . .”
    â€œAnd you found a body?”
    â€œNo, Whiskey found the arm of a mannequin in the weeds.”
    â€œYou clever little man,” Ida said. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a biscuit, which she gave to Whiskey.
    â€œBarry’s museum had been vandalized and there were mannequins all over that vacant lot next door.”
    â€œWe’ve been telling the trustees to have somebody clean up that lot for months now,” Edna said.
    â€œI called Barry, who came over, and sure enough, the place was wrecked.” Liv went through the morning, organizing facts as she spoke. She knew she’d be telling the story again. By the time she made it through town and to work, she’d have it down pat.
    Of course she