A Catered Birthday Party (5 page)

Clyde nodded. “That’s my thinking too.”

Sean paused for a moment to eat the last bit of his pancake. Then he said, “Almost too hasty, unless you’re an orthodox Jew, if you ask me.”

“It’s downright unseemly, to my mind,” Clyde agreed.

“Well,” Sean rejoined, “I hate to state the obvious, but it is hard to run a tox screen on ashes.”

“Yup. Can’t exhume a body when there’s no body to exhume,” Clyde said.

“Can’t someone stop Richard?” Libby asked.

“On what grounds?” Clyde responded. “There’s no legal basis. We need a reason.”

“But that’s going to end the possibility of any investigation,” Bernie observed.

“Not necessarily,” Sean said.

Clyde nodded. “Back in the day we used to get a fair number of convictions without any of that fancy equipment they have now.”

“Yes,” Sean agreed. “It’s amazing what one’s powers of observation and a little common sense can produce.” He looked at Bernie and Libby. “I’ve found that funerals can be especially interesting places to people watch. Deaths do not necessarily bring out the best in everyone.”

Bernie nodded. “That’s what I was just thinking.”

“Me too,” Libby agreed. “We should probably offer to take a plate of something over to the grieving widower as well.”

“If he’s not too busy to eat because he’s being consoled by another member of the fairer sex,” Bernie replied. “I’ve been told by reliable sources that on occasion sex is seen as the antidote to grief.”

Libby threw up her hands in feigned horror. “Why, Bernie,” she cried. “What a wicked thing to say.”

Bernie grinned. “I know. I’m truly repentant.”

Libby turned to her dad. “You were right. A promise is a promise. We swore to Annabel that we’d find her killer and we will.”

Sean beamed. He felt blessed to have two such wonderful daughters. Not that he would ever say that to them. At least not in those words. But he suspected they knew how he felt anyway.

“Mom would have had a fit,” Libby said suddenly.

“This is true,” Sean agreed. His wife had never approved of his career in law enforcement and would certainly never have sanctioned her daughters’ involvement in such activities. But they loved it, so what could he do?

“Of course, she had a fit when you put cumin in the beef stew,” Bernie pointed out.

Sean rose to her defense. “She was a good woman.”

“We never said she wasn’t,” Libby and Bernie said simultaneously.

“She loved you both.”

“We know,” Libby said.

“She was just a little bit conservative,” Sean observed.

Everyone fell silent. But a moment later Clyde brought up Annabel Colbert’s funeral and they were off and running again.

L
ibby reflected that given Annabel Colbert’s social standing her funeral was extremely modest by any standards. Marvin had told her that last night when he’d dropped by to retrieve his gloves. He’d said he’d heard that her husband had chosen the cheapest route possible. But it was one thing to hear it and another thing to see it.

The service itself was a graveside affair that took place in the Oakwood Cemetery, which was over in the old part of the town. Even though it had once been the final resting site of the Longely elite, these days anyone who was anyone was buried in the Mission Cemetery over in Pine Haven.

Although it was never explicitly stated, it was common knowledge that the Oakwood Cemetery was now reserved for the middle and lower-middle classes. It seemed to Libby that Annabel Colbert, a woman who practiced the art of social climbing in all its myriad forms, would have been extremely unhappy if she had known where she was being laid to rest. In fact, she would have considered it a direct slap in the face by her husband, which was probably what he had intended.

There had been no obituary in either the local paper or the
New York Times
, another glaring omission by her husband. This was probably why there were a small number of people attending her funeral—that and the fact that she was an unpleasant person, although that never stopped people from showing up if the unpleasant person was sufficiently financially well endowed. In any case, Annabel would have been furious.

She would have wanted hordes of people pouring out of black limos, she would have wanted hundreds of roses covering her coffin, she would have wanted to be the center of attention at her last biggest event, but that’s not what she got. No indeedy. The only people in attendance were the minister, the people who had been at the dinner Bernie and Libby had catered, their dogs, and Bernie and Libby themselves.

Richard had dressed Trudy in a little black shrug and a matching black leather collar for the occasion. Melissa’s and Joyce’s dogs were also wearing black, while Bree’s dog, Rudolph, was wearing sunglasses, a biker’s hat, and a small black leather jacket with chains. Bree, on the other hand, was dressed in her usual pink Chanel except for the addition of the huge fuchsia Prada bag slung over her shoulder, which Bernie decided was almost worth killing for.

“I know Rudolph looks a little distingué in his leathers, but Annabel loved this outfit, so I thought seeing it would give her a lift wherever she is,” Bree confided to Bernie and Libby as they trooped up to the grave site together.

She’d looked slightly surprised to see them when she’d pulled up behind Libby and Bernie’s van, but so far she hadn’t commented on their being there, which Bernie thought was a good thing. It meant that she didn’t disapprove of their presence at the funeral. There was really no reason that she should, but with Bree you never knew.

The day was overcast. Even though this February had been atypically mild up till now, it was more than cold enough for Libby, who wound her scarf more tightly around her neck to ward off the chill. During the spring, summer, and fall, the old oaks and trembling aspens that dotted the landscape lent shade and color to the cemetery, but in midwinter their bare branches gave the place a melancholy air. But then maybe that was the point.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Bree said as she paused to button the blond, full-length shearling coat she had on. “You should have called. We could have ridden together.”

So you could have pumped us for information
, Libby thought uncharitably as she apologized for their oversight.

Bernie pulled the heel of her boot out of the semifrozen ground before replying. She kept forgetting that stilettos were not a good shoe to wear in this weather. “Well, since we were there when it happened,” she explained, leaving the “it happened” conveniently vague, “we thought we should be there at the end.”

Bree didn’t look convinced. “How did you find out? This is a private affair. There’s going to be a memorial service for everyone in a couple of months.”

“Really,” Bernie said. “How odd.”

She didn’t mention that she and Libby had gotten all the details from Marvin last night. His dad may not have been handling the funeral, but that didn’t stop him from knowing everything.

“Not really,” Bree replied. “It’s the way it’s done these days. Especially when the mourners are prostrate with grief. At least that’s what Richard tells me.”

Had Bree actually rolled her eyes when she’d uttered that sentence? Bernie wasn’t sure. She’d have to ask her sister later.

Bree turned to Libby. “Who knew?”

“Not me for sure,” her sister replied.

“Speaking of which,” Bree said, “does Richard know?”

“That we’re coming?” asked Bernie.

“No, Rudolph, that’s rude,” Bree said to her dog as he stopped to pee on a grave marker before turning her attention back to Bernie. “What else would I be talking about?”

Libby put a gloved hand to her mouth and feigned wide-eyed innocence. “Oh dear. Do you think he’ll mind?”

Bree swallowed. Libby knew Bree wanted to say something on the order of
Tell me you’re kidding me
. But she didn’t. Instead she cast her gimlet eyes on her and said, “You girls aren’t thinking of investigating, are you? After all, you did promise Annabel that you would.”

“Oh no,” Libby said. “Perish the thought. We just said that so we could call the ambulance.”

“What’s to investigate?” Bernie added. “Annabel’s death was declared an accident.”

“Yes, it was,” Bree agreed. She paused for a moment while she considered her conversational options. Libby could see that she was having trouble finding a way to say what she wanted to. Finally, she came out with, “I know Annabel could be a bit overbearing from time to time, a bit hysterical, but I always admired her spirit.” She paused again and fiddled with the brown leather buttons on her coat. “She was a go-getter and I can relate to that.” She looked down at the ground for a moment before fixing her gaze on Bernie and Libby. “I understand that investigations can be…reopened…from time to time if sufficient reasons are found.”

“So we’ve been told,” Bernie said.

“Good reasons,” Bree reiterated.

“Very good ones,” Bernie repeated.

Bree nodded. “Of course one has to tread carefully where the superrich are concerned.”

“Especially when they’re one’s bread and butter,” Bernie said.

“There is that,” Bree said.

Bernie nodded. “Makes sense to me.”

Bree bent down and picked up Rudolph. “I thought you would understand,” she replied. “What does your dad say?”

Bernie scratched Rudolph under his chin. He snorted in pleasure. “He says that mistakes have been known to happen. They’re not anyone’s fault. It’s just the way things occur.”

The three women exchanged looks.

“Good,” Bree said briskly. “Let’s join everyone, shall we? I believe the service is about to start.”

Bernie could tell from the scowl on Richard Colbert’s face that he was not pleased to see them. Not pleased to see them was probably an understatement. And really, why should he be? she reflected. Essentially, they were crashing the funeral.

But before he could say anything, Bree chirped, “Look who I met walking up. Isn’t it sweet of the girls to come and pay their respects?”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Libby said.

“Mind?” Richard’s laugh at the absurdity of the notion was less than convincing. Bernie wondered if anyone there believed him as he continued. “Why should I mind? What a silly notion. It just never occurred to me that you’d be interested in coming.”

“When we heard we just decided to come over,” Bernie told him. “If you’d like we can leave.”

“No. No,” Richard said in an insincere-sounding voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re having a bite after the service. I know you girls are terribly busy and probably don’t have the time, but I know Annabel would have adored it if you could join us.”

“We’d love to,” Libby and Bernie said in unison.

“We brought some food,” Bernie said.

Richard looked even unhappier, if that was possible.

Libby took up the conversational baton. “It’s nothing much. Just some homemade bread, a couple of roast chickens, and a tossed salad. No one should have to cook at a time like this.”

It was with great difficulty that Richard managed to get out the words “Great” and “You shouldn’t have” as he turned to the minister.

“He was definitely not pleased,” Libby told her dad later.

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “He expected us to take the hint and leave.”

Sean smiled. “Well, given the circumstances, of course he wasn’t pleased to see you. If I were him, I wouldn’t be pleased to see you either.”

“Neither were the other guests,” Libby recalled. “I got the feeling we were as welcome as a…a…”

“Weevil in a cotton field?” Bernie suggested.

Libby nodded. “Exactly.”

“And no doubt for the same reason,” Sean said.

“Which is?” Bernie asked.

Sean smiled. “That you’re going to cause a lot of trouble and be hard to get rid of.”

L
ibby and Bernie both agreed that the funeral itself was extremely brief. The phrase “pro forma” occurred to Bernie frequently. A small hole in the ground had already been dug by the time everyone had arrived. It was covered with a green mat, which reminded Bernie of cheap indoor/ outdoor carpet.

The only thing cheaper than going this route, according to Marvin, was not having a service at all and scattering the ashes, a practice he pointed out that was both illegal and unsanitary. Libby was thinking about that when the funeral director and his assistant arrived bearing Annabel’s ashes in a dull-looking metal container.

“Annabel would have wanted an urn from Tiffany at the very least,” Bernie whispered in Libby’s ear.

“I don’t think Tiffany’s makes urns,” Libby whispered back.

Bernie indicated the urn with a nod of her head. “Maybe not, but I think someone makes something better than that.”

“According to Marvin, that urn is the bottom of the line,” Libby replied sotto voce.

Then she fell quiet because the minister began to speak. The service consisted of the Lord’s Prayer and a few generic words out of Funeral 101 along the lines of “Annabel was a fine lady who will be missed, and she is no doubt going to a better place.” When he was done Joyce stepped forward and recited “Trees,” which she claimed was Annabel’s favorite poem—a claim Bernie was sure Annabel would have been mortified to hear if she had been there.

Throughout the proceeding Libby watched Richard, who was fidgeting and could hardly hide his impatience with the whole thing. One thing was clear to both Bernie and Libby: he was definitely not prostrate with grief. In fact, Bernie said later that she’d seen people show more emotion over the loss of a favorite pen.

No one else said anything after Joyce was finished except for Trudy, who barked at a passing squirrel. The people seemed disinterested and the dogs seemed restless and anxious to leave.

Libby was reflecting that she hoped she had a better sendoff when Melissa’s dog squatted and pooped on Annabel’s grave.

Joanna glared at Melissa. “Have some decency,” she cried, pointing to what Melissa’s dog had done.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Melissa demanded.

Joanna’s white skin looked almost translucent in the thin winter light. “It means that I’d like to think you’d have some respect.”

“Respect? What does respect have to do with it? Of course I have respect. My pugkins has been having stomach problems recently.”

Joanna snorted.

Melissa pointed to the little pile of poop. “Are you saying
I
made her do this?”

“No, although I wouldn’t put it past you. I’m saying you should clean it up.”

“I will clean it up. I always clean up my own messes, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Meaning?” Joanna demanded.

“Meaning you’re one to talk. If anyone around here should be cleaning up their own messes it’s you.”

“I already have, thank you very much. At least I don’t go around shoving things in people’s faces.”

Melissa took a step toward her. “And you’re saying I do?”

“Judge not lest you be judged.”

“Oh,
puh-leze
,” Melissa said. “Spare us that nonsense.”

Joanna put her hands on her hips. “Now let me get this straight. Are you saying the Bible is nonsense?”

“No. I’m just saying your quoting the scriptures is laughable.” By now Melissa was nose to nose with Joanna.

The irises of Joanna’s eyes went from brown to black. She stuck out her chest, which, Bernie reflected, looked even larger than it had the day before—if that was possible. Joanna opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Richard grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her away. Bernie watched as she and Richard talked. Or maybe
talked
wasn’t the right word. It was like watching a handler calm down a nervous filly.

Joyce coughed and everyone turned to her. “I’m sure Annabel wouldn’t have wanted this,” she said. “She would have hated to see her nearest and dearest fighting.”

“I don’t think that’s how she thought of us,” Ramona pointed out.

She had on sensible shoes, jeans, and a hoodie. She definitely hadn’t dressed for the occasion, Bernie thought.

“You know how she got when she was upset,” Joyce persisted. “She said things she didn’t mean.”

“If you say so,” Ramona said. Her expression showed that this clearly wasn’t the case at all.

Trudy started to whine.

“And you’ve got Trudy all upset,” Joyce continued. “She doesn’t like discord, you know. Richard, why don’t you pick her up? She’s cold.”

Richard pretended he hadn’t heard.

“I would,” Joyce said, “but I’m afraid Conklin will get upset.” Conklin didn’t look as if anything would upset him—besides not being fed—but that was just Libby’s view.

Finally Bernie went over and lifted Trudy up. Despite the cashmere sweater Trudy had on, the pug was shivering from the cold.

“I think it’s time we went back to the house,” Richard said.

It was a sentiment that Bernie and Libby heartily agreed with.