A Catered Birthday Party (10 page)

“It’s okay,” Libby reassured him. “It’s hard to stop looking at them.”

“They’re not real, are they?”

Bernie laughed. “Not unless women are born with the potential to grow rocket cones.”

“That’s what I thought,” Marvin said as he ran a finger around the collar band of his shirt. “I wonder why someone would do something like that to themselves?”

Libby smiled sweetly. “So people like you can stare at them.”

Marvin looked even more uncomfortable, if that was possible.

“Do you think I should get a pair like that?” Libby continued. “I mean, I could if I saved up enough money.”

Marvin hemmed and hawed.

“Listen,” Bernie went on. “The hell with her boobs. The bigger question is: What is Joanna doing here? I mean, this isn’t exactly her type of place. The Four Seasons, yes. Leon’s, no.”

Libby took a sip of her soda. “It’s another fish-out-of-water deal. Like Denny’s.”

“That’s certainly so,” Bernie commented. “And what is it Dad always says about broken patterns?”

“That they’re significant,” Libby said. “A change is a signifier. Whether it’s a signifier of something large or small is what a detective has to find out,” she said, paraphrasing her dad as she fiddled with her straw. “If I had to guess, I’d say that Joanna is here to see Rick Crouse.”

“Why Crouse?” Marvin asked. “I don’t get the connection.”

“It’s a little tenuous,” Libby admitted.

“Yeah,” Bernie chimed in. “And I have a feeling that the relationship you’re referring to in this case isn’t the incorporeal kind, if you get my meaning.”

“You mean you think they’re sleeping with each other?” Marvin asked Bernie. He wished that she’d stick to five-cent words instead of the dollar ones.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Libby replied for her sister. “Of course, I thought Richard and Joanna were an item.”

“They probably are. One thing doesn’t negate the other,” Bernie observed.

“True,” Libby said. She was slightly ashamed to admit she hadn’t even thought of that possibility.

Marvin looked from sister to sister. “Well, if Rick Crouse and Annabel had something going on, that would give Joanna a good reason to kill Annabel, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

“One of the oldest reasons in the book,” Bernie said. She ticked them off on her fingers as she said, “There’s money, sex, and revenge. Take your choice.”

“So which one do you think is operating here?” Marvin asked.

“Good question,” Bernie replied. “Don’t know. Could be any of the three.”

“Or none,” Libby said. “Maybe Joanna being here really is totally random. We could be absolutely wrong.”

“Maybe,” Bernie conceded. But she didn’t really believe that and she was pretty sure that Libby didn’t either, that she’d just said it for the sake of argument.

She and her sister weren’t big believers in coincidence or random events. Neither was her dad. He subscribed to the old theory that if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it is a duck.

“Maybe Rick Crouse was involved in Annabel’s death,” Marvin suggested.

Bernie brushed her bangs out of her eyes with the tips of her fingers while she thought about Marvin’s suggestion. “Could be,” she conceded. “Although I don’t see how. He wasn’t there when Annabel got poisoned.”

“True. But he could have come in earlier and put the poison in the wine,” Marvin said.

“Anyone could have, for that matter,” Libby said. “The wine was sitting out,” she observed. “Anyone could have come along, put something in the bottle, and then resealed it.”

“How could they have resealed it?” Bernie asked.

“I don’t think it’s that difficult,” Libby said. “But you do need special equipment and time to do it.” She mused, “Of course, most actors do spend most of their working lives as waiters or bartenders. Still, I think it’s a long shot.”

“Maybe Rick and Richard were in cahoots,” Marvin said.

Bernie wrinkled her nose. “Rick and Richard? Sounds like a bad TV show. Why would they be in cahoots?”

“I don’t know,” Marvin said. “I guess Richard could have paid him.”

“Why? Especially because Richard could have done it himself,” Bernie said. “In my humble opinion, this is not the kind of task you want to turf out if you don’t have to. At least, I wouldn’t want to.”

“True,” Marvin agreed.

Libby rubbed her hands. There was a draft blowing in on her feet and it was making her cold all over. She picked a spot of pumpkin pie filling off her sweater. How she’d gotten it on there she didn’t know.

“I agree with Bernie,” Libby said. “First of all, Richard just doesn’t strike me as the delegating type. Second of all, I don’t see Richard and Rick Crouse doing anything together. They’re both way too egotistical. On the other hand, I can see Rick Crouse and Joanna getting together.”

“Now, I’m totally confused,” Marvin complained. “That makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Libby argued. “Think about it. Let’s suppose Bernie is right and Rick Crouse is sleeping with both women….”

“I didn’t say he was,” Bernie objected. “I suggested it.”

Libby waved her objection away. “Fine. Let’s say hypothetically speaking, if that makes you happy. As I was saying, Joanna wants to get rid of Annabel because she’s jealous, so she gets Rick to help.”

“That’s certainly a plausible scenario. The problem is that there are too many plausible scenarios, way too many,” Bernie said. She took a sip of her beer and made a face. How she had drunk this swill when she was in college was beyond her. “In any case, we should still definitely talk to Rick Crouse. One way or another I’m betting he’s involved.”

“Because of what that girl Sam said she saw?” Marvin asked.

Bernie nodded. “That and the fact that Kevin O’Malley pointed us in his direction.”

And they settled down to wait for the cast to come in.

A
t eleven-thirty the cast and some of the crew of
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
straggled through Leon’s door. There were Brick and Maggie, Big Momma and Big Daddy, the brother and sister-in-law, and some of the running crew. The doctor, the “no-neck monsters,” and Samantha were missing from the group.

As Bernie watched them come in, she reflected that she was glad her father hadn’t gone to the play. The performances the actors had given were mediocre at best, the staging was clumsy, and the miking made it difficult to understand what the actors were saying in several key scenes. For the next several months, her dad would have been complaining about being made to sit through the play.

By now Joanna had been sitting at the bar for a little over ten minutes alternately looking at her watch, tapping her fingers on the counter, and taking perfunctory sips of the beer she’d ordered.

Watching her, Bernie couldn’t help but think that Libby was correct in her assessment. Joanna had to have a compelling reason for being here. This was a woman who drank pomegranate martinis, not Bud Light out of a can, glasses being considered an unnecessary frill at Leon’s. And if Libby was correct, Joanna had a good reason for getting rid of Annabel.

Nothing like a little rivalry to get someone’s homicidal juices going. Or maybe Joanna killed Annabel because Annabel had found out about Rick Crouse and was going to tell Richard, thereby cutting short Joanna’s employment. Or maybe…as she had said to Libby, there were simply too many maybes. Until she had some facts, there was no point in jumping to conclusions. As some Shakespearian somebody had said, “That way madness lies.” Or words to that effect.

And then Bernie stopped thinking about Joanna and concentrated on watching Rick Crouse walking through the door. She had to admit he had something. He’d gotten two women to meet him in places where they didn’t usually go. But maybe that was part of the attraction. Maybe Annabel and Joanna had been looking for a change.

At the moment, he was chatting with the actress who played Maggie the Cat. She was looking up at him with adoring eyes.
He really is handsome
, Bernie decided. He had the cleft chin and the blue, blue eyes going for him. She wondered if his eye color was real or if it was courtesy of contact lenses. She was betting on contact lenses.

Rick was all smiles until he saw Joanna. Then the smiling stopped. One thing Bernie was sure of as she watched him: Judging from the expression of anger on his face, this was not a man who, in Marvin’s words, had colluded with Joanna about anything. In fact, it looked as if he’d like to wring her neck. And take a long time doing it.

“He doesn’t look happy to see her,” Libby observed as they watched Rick stride over to where Joanna was seated.

“That’s for sure,” Marvin replied. “I wonder what they’re saying?”

“Whatever it is, it isn’t good,” Bernie commented.

Even though Bernie couldn’t hear the conversation, it was obvious to her from their body language that Rick and Joanna were “having words,” as her mom had liked to say. Rick was shaking his head from side to side and holding his hands out in the air as if he was denying everything. Meanwhile, Joanna was jabbing her finger at him accusingly, stopping just short of poking him in the chest. Bernie thought that if she did do that Rick would probably snap her finger off.

The whole interchange between them took about a minute. Bernie thought Rick told Joanna to go screw herself, but she couldn’t be sure. In any case, it was enough to make Joanna practically run out the door. Bernie noted that her hands were clenched at her side.

Rick started to go after her, but the woman who played Maggie took hold of Rick’s arm. He spun around with his arm raised, his hand in a fist, then realized what he was doing and dropped his arm back down to his side. He could have shaken the woman off if he had really wanted to, but he allowed himself to be pulled back. The woman started talking to Rick really fast. Bernie wondered what she was saying because his face cleared and she could see the tension flowing out of his body.

“Hey,” Bernie said to Libby and Marvin. “You stay here and talk to Rick Crouse. I’m going to see what I can find out from Joanna.”

“Talk to Rick Crouse how?” Libby asked.

Bernie watched as Rick went over and talked to each of the four men sitting at the bar. They all shook their heads. He turned and studied the rest of the room. She was willing to bet he was looking for them.

“Wave,” she told Marvin, “so he can see you.”

“I don’t want to wave.”

“You have to,” Bernie insisted.

Marvin looked at Libby. She gave a reluctant nod. Marvin waved. Rick kept looking around.

“Wave again,” Bernie told Marvin, “and make it more enthusiastic.”

This time Rick caught sight of Marvin. His eyes lit up.
I’m right
, Bernie thought.
Sam told Rick about Marvin being an agent
.

“I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about making conversation,” Bernie said as Rick started toward them. “I think he’s going to do all the talking. Just remember you’re with…”

“I know,” Marvin said. “ICBM.”

Bernie groaned. “No. ICBM means intercontinental ballistic missile. You’re with ICM,” Bernie told him. “That’s International Creative Management. You’re from their New York office.” And with that she took off after Joanna.

Marvin and Libby watched Rick advance on their table with a determined stride. Any trace of the anger he’d shown to Joanna was erased from his face. Instead he was beaming with eagerness and goodwill.

“Hi,” Rick said when he got to the table. Ignoring Libby, he leaned over, grabbed Marvin’s hand, and pumped it till all the feeling in Marvin’s fingers had disappeared. “I’m Rick Crouse. I understand you’ve been asking about me.”

“My hand?” Marvin said weakly.

Rick laughed. “Sorry,” he said, letting go of it.

Marvin rubbed his fingers to get the circulation going.

“My friends tell me I tend to get a little overenthusiastic about things.”

“Not a problem,” Marvin said.

“So what did you think?” Rick asked him.

“Think?” Marvin repeated, wondering if Rick had done permanent nerve damage.

“About my performance. What did you think about my performance?”

“Good. Very good,” Marvin stammered. What else could he say?

Rick beamed. “You don’t think I made Brick a little too disaffected? A little too working-class James Deany?”

“No. No. It was perfect,” Marvin lied. He hoped Rick couldn’t tell he was lying, because he wasn’t a very good liar, a fact that had caused him a significant amount of trouble in the past one way or another.

But Marvin decided that Rick couldn’t, because his smile grew even broader—if that was possible. “Super.” Rick steepled his fingers together. “I wanted him to be emblematic of modern man facing this vast array of technology. I know that’s not what Williams wrote, but I felt it was in the character waiting to be drawn out.”

Is that what that was?
Marvin wanted to say, but instead he came out with, “You did a very good job.”

“Thanks,” Rick said. “I like to think that if Williams were alive today he would be pleased with my interpretation. I feel that as an actor one has a responsibility to push material in new directions, ones the playwright might not have consciously been aware of when he was writing.” He pointed to the open spot in the booth where Bernie had been sitting. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all,” Marvin said.

Rick nodded. He waved to the woman who had played Maggie the Cat and pantomimed getting him a beer and bringing it over to where he was sitting.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this opportunity,” Rick confided when he was done. “I’ve been down in the city for four years now. My ex told me I was crazy to go—well, actually she said something less polite—but I told her that if I did the work, opportunities would follow, and they have. I mean, you’re here, right?” And he gave Marvin a playful jab on the shoulder.

Marvin experienced a sharp stab of pain where Rick had punched him. “Yes, I am,” he managed to get out.

“I mean, when you’re bit by the acting bug, you gotta go with it, right?”

“Right,” Marvin repeated as the woman who played Maggie the Cat approached their table with two beers in hand.

“No matter what the consequences are, correctomundo kemosabe?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Marvin replied absentmindedly, because he was distracted by the woman approaching the table.

She looked so familiar. There was something about her mouth, the way the tip of her nose turned up, and the slight overbite. And then Marvin had it. My God. It was Priscilla Edwards, the niece of Michael Edwards, the man they’d buried two days ago. She’d gotten lost on her way to the bathroom and ended up in their storeroom.

Marvin slumped down in his seat. Maybe she wouldn’t recognize him. Maybe he could plead a severe bout of a gastrointestinal illness and leave. Or maybe he could faint. Oh my God. Why hadn’t he recognized the woman earlier? Why had he dozed throughout the performance? Why hadn’t he read the program more carefully? If he had he might have recognized her name.

“Here he is,” Rick said as Priscilla put the beers down on the table. He gave Marvin a slap on the back that sent him forward. “This is the guy Sam was telling me about. This is the agent from ICM. This is the guy who is going to make me rich and famous. Who is going to put me on the map.”

Priscilla looked at Marvin and then she looked again. Her eyes narrowed.
She knows
, Marvin thought. Marvin tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get his mouth to open or his limbs to move. He felt like a pinned butterfly. Libby saw Marvin’s panicked expression and tried to think of something to do, but glancing at Priscilla’s face she knew it was too late. Why did she listen to Bernie? That was the question.

“Really?” Priscilla said to Rick. “He’s an agent? Interesting. Very interesting.”

Rick looked from her to Marvin and back to her again. “What do you mean?” he asked.

She pointed an accusing finger in Marvin’s direction. “He isn’t an agent,” she stated. “He’s the son of the guy who owns the funeral home where we held my uncle’s wake. He was standing by the door greeting everyone and directing traffic when we arrived. He even went and got extra chairs.”

Marvin began to feel decidedly sick.

“Are you sure?” Rick asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” Priscilla said. “I’ve got a good memory for faces.”

“Fuckin’ great,” Rick said. “Mercury is retrograde. I should have known something like this was going to happen.”

“Listen,” Marvin began. “I’m really sorry. I just want you to know…”

But he never got to finish his sentence because Rick stood up, drew his arm back, and punched him in the jaw before walking away.

“Nice,” Marvin heard Priscilla say as she caught up with Rick.

Marvin wiggled his jaw from side to side. Nothing seemed to be broken. He ran his tongue over his teeth. They were all there. Nothing was loose. So that was good.

“Look on the bright side,” Libby said.

“There’s a bright side to this?” Marvin asked.

Libby thought for a moment. “Not really,” she finally said.

Marvin gestured to his jaw. He could feel it starting to swell. By tomorrow it would look…well, actually he didn’t know what it was going to look like tomorrow because something like this had never happened to him before. But one thing was for sure: it wouldn’t be pretty.

“How am I going to explain this to my dad?” he asked.

“Good question,” Libby said. All she knew was that it was going to have to be an excellent story. Then she wondered how well Bernie’s foundation could conceal the bruise.

By the time Bernie got outside, Joanna was already in her car.

“Wait!” she cried as Joanna started up her Miata.

Joanna turned and stared at her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“That guy you were talking to in there?” Bernie said.

“What about him?” Joanna asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Who is he?”

“Why do you want to know?” Joanna demanded.

There was something in Joanna’s face that made Bernie think she didn’t wish Rick Crouse well.

“I’m here to repo his car,” Bernie said.

“Funny,” Joanna said. “Are you adding that to your catering as a sideline?”

“Exactly,” Bernie said. “Cook by day, detective/repo woman by night.”

Joanna laughed. “I’d love to see my ex’s car towed away.”

“You were married to him?”

“Yeah. I lent him thirty thousand dollars so he could buy into a Pita Pit franchise with it. You know what that son of a bitch did? I’ll tell you what he did. He ran off to New York with it. To study
acting
…” Joanna practically spit the word out. “He told me he doesn’t have to repay me because he considers the money an investment in himself. He calls himself the business. I may barf.”