A Catered Birthday Party (3 page)

Great, Libby thought. Host and hostess fighting. Dogs running all over the place. Probably on the table. Despite what Bernie said, in Libby’s humble opinion the prognosis for this event was not good. She wondered how bad things were going to be as she watched a woman she presumed to be Trudy’s tooth brusher come down the stairs and go out the side door. If she was done, that meant that Annabel and Trudy would be in the kitchen soon.

Libby could wait. But as she looked on the bright side, they’d already been paid enough to cover their materials and time. Even if worse came to worse and they didn’t get their 20 percent, they’d still be ahead of the game. It would just be a trying couple of hours. Libby would remember that thought frequently in the days ahead.

T
hree-quarters of an hour later, Bernie and Libby heard the doorbell in the mansion chime, “How much is that doggie in the window?” That in turn was followed by footsteps, voices, barks, and squeals of laughter.

“The guests have arrived,” Bernie said as she put slivers of tomato on the plate containing the goat cheese toast points, a last minute addition.

“At least they’re on time,” Libby noted.

It was especially bad when they were serving something like a roast, and guests were half an hour or more late. You could keep things warm, but the taste really suffered. At least here they were serving steaks, which were a lot less tricky. Libby was thinking about the timing when the kitchen door was flung open and Annabel and Trudy strode in followed by three women and a knot of snuffling, snorting pugs.

Trudy was dressed in a mink stole and pearl choker, while the other three pugs had on a tux and top hat, a pink tutu and tiara, and a fireman’s coat and hat. Clearly, Bernie thought, Trudy was the grande dame of the group. As the sisters watched, the pug in the tux and the top hat ran over to the kitchen table, lifted his hind leg, and peed on one of the legs.

“Conklin,” the tall, thin lady in frayed Chanel and black slacks shrieked as she scooped him up. “That was very, very naughty of you.” She turned to Annabel. “I’m just mortified.”

“Joyce, it’s perfectly fine,” Annabel said, even though her expression said that it wasn’t. “Conklin is just a tad overexcited.”

“If you ask me, he’s a tad undertrained,” an overly made-up woman dressed in jeans and a clean white T-shirt declared.

“Melissa, that is not true,” the fireplug of a woman standing next to her snapped.

“That certainly is, Ramona. As well you know.”

Ramona sniffed. “I know nothing of the kind. Conklin is one of my star pupils. I’m very proud of him. We’ve worked extremely hard to overcome his deficits.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Deficits. Deficits?” she repeated in a louder voice. “That’s a good one. My dogs don’t have deficits. Every single one is a paragon of its breed. As my record attests to.”

“Really,” Ramona said, picking up the pug in the pink tutu and yanking its tiara back in place.

“Yes. Really,” Melissa replied.

“What about the disqualification at the Hartford dog show last year for poor dentition?” Ramona asked. “That was your pug, wasn’t it?”

Two spots of color appeared on Melissa’s cheeks, but before she could answer Annabel stepped in and clapped her hands. “Ladies, ladies,” she said. “Please. This is a special day. Let’s maintain a festive mood.”

Melissa swallowed. “By all means let’s,” she said with a notable lack of enthusiasm.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ramona added.

Were those notes of sarcasm Bernie detected? Yes indeedy. The two women looked as if they’d prefer to be having a root canal. The third one didn’t look much happier, Bernie decided. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes weren’t going along with the program. But if Annabel noticed her guests’ reactions she gave no indication of that fact.

Instead she pointed to Libby and Bernie and said, “These are the wonderful people who are catering this little soiree for me. And they’ve made sure that everything being served today is both dog and human friendly, because as everyone here knows, I make it a point of pride to never feed Trudy anything that I wouldn’t eat myself.”

Then Annabel made the introductions. The woman whose pug had peed on the kitchen table was her best friend, Joyce; Melissa Geist owned Precious Pug, the kennel the redoubtable Trudy had come from; and Ramona was Trudy’s trainer.

Everyone murmured polite, uninterested hellos, while the pugs ran around the kitchen looking to lick up any odd bits of food that had fallen on the floor. Trudy was in the middle of trying to hump the dog in the pink tutu when Annabel announced they’d start with the hors d’oeuvres in the Eaton room.

“Now there’s a jolly little group,” Bernie said when everyone was out of earshot.

“Add Richard, Joanna, and Bree and it’s going to be a long two hours,” Libby observed.

Bernie put a sprig of parsley on one of the plates. “I think it’s going to be an interesting two hours.”

“But not in a good way,” Libby countered.

Bernie picked a speck of cheese off of her blouse sleeve. “I’m wagering there’s going to be lots of drama.”

“And it’s not going to be the baked Alaska supplying it,” Libby replied, not that they were serving that particular dish. It had just seemed like a good thing to say.

However, despite the sisters’ misgivings, the appetizers went smoothly. Everyone seemed to like the toast points, the pugs particularly liking the bacon and peanut butter canapés.

Libby started to relax a little. Things were going to be all right after all.

Then they served the first course and everything went to hell.

Libby and Bernie had just put the soup on the table. As per Annabel’s instructions, they were serving the beef bouillon in the Limoges soup bowls. The bouillon was decorated with egg custard cutouts in the shape of half-moons and a sprinkling of chopped sorrel.

Both sisters were silently congratulating themselves on how well everything was going. Everyone, human and canine, was sitting in his or her chair. Everyone, human and canine, seemed to appreciate the soup. The humans were using their spoons, and the pugs, perched on baby booster seats, were using their tongues. Interestingly, Bernie noted that the rate of consumption for both groups seemed to be the same. She and Libby were turning to go back into the kitchen when Annabel stood up and lifted her wineglass.

“I have two announcements I’d like to make today. Firstly, I’d like to propose a toast to my new product, Trudy’s Treats,” she said. “It’s the first organic, venison and veggie-based, nongrain dog treat on the market.”

Everyone stopped talking, although the dogs kept lapping.

Annabel lifted her glass higher. “To my new product. Trudy’s Treats.”

“Trudy’s Treats,” Annabel’s best friend, Joyce, cried. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted this to be a surprise,” said Annabel.

Libby and Bernie agreed later that judging by everyone’s expression it was.

“I am hoping that, as befits Trudy, they are truly the best dog biscuit in the world,” Annabel continued.

Joyce glared at Annabel. Later, both Bernie and Libby agreed that if looks could kill, Annabel would have dropped dead then.

“You’re kidding, right?” Joyce growled.

Annabel lowered her glass slightly. “What a thing to say.”

Joyce’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not kidding.”

“Obviously,” Annabel retorted.

“What recipe are you using?” Joyce asked.

“A good one,” Annabel said.

“Is it mine?” Joyce demanded.

“Of course not. I would never do something like that,” Annabel shot back, but Bernie didn’t think that Joyce looked convinced. “First of all,” Annabel went on, “I want to thank all of you for taking time out of your busy, busy schedules”—here she glared at Richard—“to honor me with your presence this afternoon. Secondly, I want to thank everyone here for accompanying me on this leg of the journey. I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve made me stronger. You’ve made me the person I’ve become.”

There were some unenthusiastic expressions of “hear, hear” as Libby leaned in to Bernie, covered her mouth with her hand, and whispered, “It doesn’t sound as if she means that in a good way, does it?”

“Nope. It sure doesn’t,” Bernie whispered back.

Annabel grimaced although Bernie was sure she meant the grimace to be a smile. “I’ve learned a lot from you. I’ve learned the meaning of backstabbing, for example.”

Everyone froze. Ramona dropped her spoon, Joanna’s eyes flitted from one person to the next, while Bree stifled a yawn.

“It’s true,” Annabel continued. “It’s true for every single one of you. You thought I wouldn’t find out about everything. But I have. And I’m making changes. Lots and lots of changes. Yes. Indeed.”

Annabel turned a shade paler and ran her tongue over her lips. Her eyes glowed with hate. She raised her glass still higher. A drop of wine slipped over the side and slid down her arm. She didn’t appear to notice. “Here’s to treachery in all its many forms. What did Mach…Mach…whatever his name was say? Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. I’m tired of doing that. It’s a waste of my time.” No one at the table moved, except for Trudy, who’d decided to climb up on the table and investigate the butter dish. Annabel burped. “Oops,” she said and giggled. “What? No one wants to drink with me?”

“Annabel,” Bree said, “I think you’ve had enough.”

“For your information I haven’t had anything to drink yet. I’m drunk from watching the expression on your faces.”

“I don’t believe that,” Melissa said.

“Too bad for you,” Annabel retorted, making a slight curtsey. “Here’s to me and my new ventures and to hell with all of you. I don’t know where any of you are going, but if I had to guess I’d have to say to the bad place, and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Annabel raised her glass to her lips and drank the wine down. A strange expression came over her face. Her eyes widened. Her hand went to her throat. “I’ve been poisoned!” she cried. “Someone has put something in this wine!”

“Now, dear,” Richard said. “I’m sure you’re fine. You know how you tend to exaggerate.”

“Are you calling me a liar?!” Annabel screamed. “Are you telling me I don’t know what my wine should taste like? For God’s sake, call a doctor.”

Trudy started barking. The other dogs joined in. The noise was deafening.

Richard made no move to get up. Instead he yelled, “No, darling, I’m not saying that you’re lying! I’m simply saying that you tend to over dramatize certain events. Witness the little scenario you just pulled.”

“It’s true,” Annabel’s best friend, Joyce, said. “Remember when you thought that someone had put salmonella in your tomatoes and it turned out you had a bad case of the stomach flu?”

“Yes,” Melissa chimed in. “How can you say what you just did after all the time I’ve put in on Trudy? If that isn’t being paranoid what is?”

Annabel clawed at her throat. “Call the doctor,” she whispered.

“I will,” Bernie and Libby both said together.

“No. No. Not you.” She waved her hand at them. “Don’t leave. I want you to promise me…” She paused to gather her strength. “I want you to promise me you’ll find out who murdered me.”

“Annabel!” Richard cried. “Now, you’ve gone too far.”

“Promise me,” Annabel said.

“You’re probably having a heart attack,” Bernie suggested. “Let me call the ambulance.”

“She does have arrhythmias,” Ramona said as she moved to round up the dogs and take them into the other room. “Bad ones.”

“Promise me!” Annabel cried, ignoring what Ramona had just said.

“But,” Libby said as Ramona chased the dogs around the dining room table.

The color was draining from Annabel’s face. “I won’t let you call the ambulance till I have your solemn promise.”

“Fine,” Bernie said. “I swear to find your killer if you die.”

“Me too,” Libby added. “But you’re not going to die. You’re going to be fine.”

“Put up your hands and say you swear to do this before God,” Annabel said.

Bernie and Libby looked at each other. Bernie wanted to say,
We get it. You’ve made your point
. But she didn’t. Obviously Annabel was in some sort of distress and needed to be seen by a doc. Pronto. So she and Libby would do whatever it took to get Annabel there. Bernie put her hand up and swore. Libby followed.

“Now can we call an ambulance?” Libby asked when they were done.

“Yes. Now you can call the ambulance,” Annabel replied.

Bernie was reaching for her cell when Annabel’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and she fell face forward into her soup.

“I told her she needed to eat more,” Joanna observed.

“So did I,” Joyce said.

“Why wasn’t she eating?” Libby asked.

There was an awkward pause and then Melissa said, “She thought someone was trying to poison her. I told her she was crazy and she needed to get to a doctor. I wish I had been more insistent about it. She needed to be on serious meds.”

“Maybe,” Bernie told her as she dialed 911, “she wasn’t so crazy after all.”

“No. She’s nuts,” Richard said as he stared down at the top of his wife’s head.

On reflection, Bernie thought it was interesting that no one rushed in to help. It was Libby who rushed over and picked Annabel’s head up so she wouldn’t drown.

Unfortunately, Annabel Colbert had nothing to say about anything. She was unconscious and she remained so until the moment of her death two days later.