Murder by Numbers (12 page)

Liza herself was checking out possible escape routes when the floating pier wobbled again, sending the truck rolling right into a camera.

The moment of impact was almost anticlimactic. Sure, the camera flew into the water, followed by the truck. But the weight of the vehicle, concentrated on one side of the pier, overbalanced the whole structure.

One side of the floating pier rose till it snagged on the chains and ropes holding it to the pilings set in the ground. So the people on the pier got flung up, then the footing beneath them didn't follow. A couple of people were thrown into the water, including a cameraman and his camera.

Liza staggered considerably, but managed to keep her feet. Even as the pier sloshed around, she ran for the end, where Jenny lay clinging to the wooden boards.

“Are you okay?” Liza yelled.

“Yeah, except I think I picked up a couple of splinters.”

Jenny glared at Olbrich, who crouched in a huddled lump near where the camera had been, his face slack with shock.

“Well, I guess that wasn't some crap
he
was pulling.” She aimed a wolflike grin at the shaken director. “Huh. When he probably thinks about it, he'll wish he'd gotten some footage of this.”

The film crew was making a lot of noise. People on the pier were calling to people in the water and vice versa, making sure that everyone was accounted for.

Guy Morton came charging onto the pier, heading for Jenny and Liza, moving a bit like a broken-field runner since the walkway was still sloshing around.

“Are you okay?” Guy had to raise his voice to be heard over the pandemonium.

Jenny told him about her splinters, but Guy wasn't going to get too excited about that. He laughed when Jenny made a jibe about Olbrich, who was only then getting to his feet. The director did a sort of belated double take when he realized there were no cameras around anymore.

“Well, it wasn't one of his fake outs,” Morton said. “What happened, did one of the drivers get drunk and try to bring his truck out?”

“Nobody was behind the wheel,” Liza said.

“You mean somebody just released the brake and let a truck roll down onto the pier?” Liza could hear the disbelief in Jenny's voice, but she wasn't particularly looking at the girl.

Her eyes were scanning the crowd that had gathered, some to gawk, some moving to help get people out of the water. And at the back end of the crowd, disappearing around the first intersection, she saw somebody in a hard-to-miss piece of clothing.

Even in Maiden's Bay, you didn't see a hat in hunter's orange on everyone's head. But a disreputable example of the type graced one native's head. Liza had seen it earlier, its fluorescent orange making an interesting contrast to the brick red of Deke Jannsky's furious face.

So
, she thought.
Does this mean one mystery down? It's almost too good to be true. Deke might as well have been carrying a sign saying, “Me! Me! Me!”

On the other hand, this was the criminal genius who had decided to threaten Liza right outside the local office of the county sheriff.

Guy had helped Jenny to her feet. The floating pier had stopped shifting so vigorously. Olbrich was standing on the side where the camera had gone overboard, in deep discussion with the dripping cameraman.

Liza took a look at Jenny's palm, where several good-sized slivers of wood had stabbed deep into the flesh. They weren't exactly life threatening, but Liza was sure they were pretty painful.

“Come on, let's get over to First Aid and see what they can do about those splinters.” She looked to where Olbrich still stared down into the roiled waters. “I'm pretty sure this will be the end of shooting for the day.”

The sound of sirens cut across the hollering and yelling. By the time Liza and her friends reached the boardwalk, the local volunteer ambulance had arrived, along with a police cruiser.

As Jenny's hurts were being tended to, Sheriff Clements arrived on the scene.

Liza watched as Clements listened to reports and supervised the scene. When things calmed down a little, he stood to the side, shaking his head—the image of a bear with a sore toe.

Taking a deep breath Liza walked over to him.

“Enjoying the show, Ms. Kelly?” the sheriff asked in an ominous voice.

“I was part of it,” Liza told him. “Although luckily I didn't end up treading water.”

“Well, that's one good thing.” Clements watched his deputies taking statements. “As if I didn't have enough balls in the air, juggling the murder and the nonsense on Main Street.”

“This is a lot more serious than some cut wires,” Liza said.

Clements nodded. “Damn right. This stupid stunt could have gotten someone killed.” He sighed. “It will certainly bring the news vans back to report the growing lawlessness in Maiden's Bay.” He glanced at Liza. “By the time this is over, we may need to hire you to win back the town's good name.”

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Things got pretty chaotic for a while. But I saw something I think you should hear about.”

Clements listened in silence as Liza described her glimpse of the figure in the distinctive hat.

“Deke Jannsky, huh?” he finally said. “Well, you'll make Ray Massini happy. He's been trying to install Jannsky as public enemy number one since he overheard us the other day.”

“Does the mayor have something against Deke?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

And he's shown he knows most of what's going on around town
, Liza thought.

“If it's not personal, why is the mayor so eager to get Jannsky arrested for something?”

“In your line, you've got to know that politics is just as much about perception as performance,” Clements said. “If the mayor can announce an arrest—for anything—people will think we're at least dealing with this sudden crime wave. And looking like we're doing our jobs will help get us reelected to do our jobs some more.”

Liza noticed that the sheriff had the honesty to include himself in that election campaign comment.

“But you're not happy to arrest Jannsky?”

Clements shrugged. “Let's say I'd be a lot happier if you had seen Deke Jannsky's face instead of his hat.”

With a nod to the sheriff, Liza went off to collect Jenny and Guy. The girl was looking in some annoyance at her right hand. Overly enthusiastic first-aid types had wrapped it in so much gauze that Jenny looked as if she were wearing a white mitten.

“You were right,” Jenny told Liza. “They've stopped shooting for the day. But I don't know if I can drive with this thing.”

“Just leave your car. I'll give you a lift,” Liza said.

“I think I'm going to stay in town for a while and celebrate,” Guy Morton said. “It's not every day you see a director manage to lose two cameras. Hmm…wonder if
Evening Celebrity News
would find this as interesting as I do.”

Liza and Jenny walked up Main Street, through the industrial area below the highway, using the pedestrian bridge to reach the business section of Maiden's Bay.

“My car's over by the café,” Liza said. “Let's make a stop at the pharmacy first, though.”

Liza just wanted some throat lozenges, but Nora Schilling went into full pharmacy mode when she heard about Jenny's injury. She even brought Gary out from behind the prescription counter to get his advice. The young pharmacist turned bright red at the prospect of talking to a pretty girl, but he and his mother agreed that careful washing, an antiseptic cream, and a much smaller bandage would suffice to protect Jenny's palm while it healed.

“Glad to hear it,” Jenny said. “I figured the continuity people would freak if I showed up on the set wearing this tomorrow.” She held up her heavily gauzed hand.

“That's right, you're in the movie,” Nora said. “We saw you standing outside on Main Street filming in front of the store here.” Her smile dimmed a bit as she glanced at the plywood blocking the store's window now. “I guess your continuity people would have problems with us now, even after the window gets replaced. We had the old flasks my husband's grandfather used in our display, but they were broken when the glass was smashed.”

“Now that's a shame,” Jenny said. “A window can be replaced, but a family heirloom—”

“We've got to be practical,” Nora said. “The whole pharmacy is an heirloom—an inheritance, from Grandfather Gustav, to my husband Matt, to Gary here.”

Jenny was subdued after they paid for their purchases and left. “I guess this movie is my big inheritance from UncleD.,” she said. “It's been the center of my life for the past few months—we haven't even straightened out the rest of the estate.”

“Have you been back to Derrick's house much?” Liza asked.

“Just a couple of whirlwind trips since the cops unsealed the place,” Jenny replied. “Otherwise—well, my mail is being redirected to the Killamook Inn.”

“What a surprise,” Liza said. “That's our next stop.”

They drove along the coast of the bay in silence for a while. Then Jenny said, “I'm glad you came to the set today. If I'd tried to tell you what Olbrich was doing, it would have sounded like whining.”

“Different directors have different methods,” Liza said carefully. “Some look on their work with actors as collaboration. Others feel they should definitely be the boss. Still others like to deviate from the script and encourage actors to improvise.”

“And others alternate between staring at us as if we were bugs and screaming at us.” Jenny shook her head. “All in all, I prefer the way Terence Hamblyn did things.”

“But being a professional means working with all these kinds of directors,” Liza said, “and others. Hang in there, Jenny. You handled what happened today—especially the truck—like a pro. That's what we'll be telling the media. I'm also going to make sure the inn screens your calls. If anyone gets through, you have no comment—refer them to us.” She grinned. “And take it easy. Tomorrow could always be worse.”

After dropping Jenny at her cabin, Liza arranged with Kevin to have the girl's incoming calls run through the front desk. On the way home, Liza used her cell phone to get hold of Michelle and bring her up to speed.

By the time she got to Hackleberry Avenue, Liza felt as if she'd gotten part of a job done right. As she parked the car, she saw that Mrs. Halvorsen was in her garden.

Liza walked to the fence and leaned over. “Hi, Mrs. H.”

“Hello, dear.” The older woman's round face had an unexpectedly serious expression. “Did you hear about what happened on the docks?”

“I was there.”

“My, my. Tell me everything, dear.” Mrs. H. smiled like a fisherman about to cast a line into a record salmon run.

Mrs. H. took an innocent pleasure in gossip, and Liza was glad to give her the straight eyewitness scoop.

Bet you Ava would like this story, too.
That annoying voice from the back of Liza's mind spoke up with the notion to phone the boss.

Liza resolutely paid no attention. She had other fish to fry with Mrs. H. “I hope Michael isn't being too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Halvorsen replied with a smile. “I'm working him like a slave. Who do you think weeded all the flower beds?” She complacently took in her pristine lawn. “He even agreed to do a little painting around the house. Such a nice young man.”

“Try living with him for a couple of years,” Liza muttered. Then she suddenly stopped and gave her neighbor a suspicious look. “You said Kevin was a nice young man, too.” Mrs. H. was an inveterate matchmaker. In fact, she'd schemed to reunite Liza with her former high school boyfriend.

“And so he is, dear.” Mrs. Halvorsen smiled and nodded. “But when it comes to nice young examples of the opposite gender, it doesn't hurt of have a selection. After all, Solomon had a collection of a thousand—seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines.”

Liza grinned. Mrs. H. was also a fervent student of the Bible, though she put her readings to somewhat unorthodox uses.

“I see you stopped off at Schilling's Pharmacy.” Mrs. Halvorsen nodded at the bag in Liza's hand. “I hope your cold isn't still giving you problems?”

“It was just an excuse to get Jenny into the place.” Liza went on to explain about the splinters and how Nora Schilling had made suggestions. “She really is a nice lady.”

“I expect she was well taught when she was younger,” Mrs. H. replied. “Nora was an heiress, dear—not at all like that dreadful Hilton girl, though. She was a Timmons—that was an important name in California once. They had ranches and orange groves where some of the big studios are now.” The older woman shook her head. “The Timmons clan went from owning land to having money—and they slowly lost it all to a bunch of bloodsuckers who wanted a share of it. Brokers and business advisors, entrepreneurs and out-andout swindlers—by the time they were done, Nora didn't have much of an inheritance left. She came here to make a new start.”

The older woman's smile mixed reminiscence with a bit of irony. “I was years older than she was, of course, but I still remember being a little jealous of her clothes. They were done by real designers, not these made-up names you find in stores today. Yes, Nora made a big splash in our little town. But she only had eyes for Matt Schilling, and her nest egg went into the pharmacy.”