A Catered Birthday Party (7 page)

Libby tapped her fingers on the counter. “I wonder if Richard did let everyone go. That would certainly be interesting if it’s true.”

Bernie grinned. “I was thinking of the cats in heat part myself.”

“Well,” Libby said, thinking back to their other cases, “it always seems to come down to sex or money, doesn’t it?”

“Or revenge,” Bernie said. “Don’t forget revenge as a motive for murder.”

“I wonder which one it’s going to turn out to be in this case?” Libby said.

“I guess we’re going to have to wait to find out, aren’t we?” Bernie replied. “Although what about fashion as a motive? There are shoes I would die for.”

Libby opened her mouth and closed it again. On this subject she had nothing to say.

T
rudy watched Bernie with a great deal of interest as Bernie cleaned the floor.

“You’re a bad girl,” Bernie told her.

Trudy wagged her tail. Bernie laughed. She really was hard to resist.

“You know what I’m betting?” Libby said as Bernie straightened up and dropped the towels in the wastepaper basket. “I’m betting that Rita, or whatever her name is, is referring to Joanna and Richard. It’s the classic man meets secretary, man falls for secretary, man kills wife so he can have the money and the secretary.”

“Personal assistant,” Bernie interjected. “People don’t have secretaries anymore. They have personal assistants.”

“Whatever,” Libby said. “We could ask Bree.”

Bernie shook her head. “I don’t think she knows. I think if she did, she would have told us.”

Libby nodded. Her sister was right. “She must be losing her touch.”

“It would seem so,” Bernie continued. “However, we could ask Kevin O’Malley. He might know.”

Kevin O’Malley was the owner of Smithfield and O’Malley, an upscale grocery store that most of the wealthy households in Longely patronized. He pretty much knew everything about everybody in those circles. Even better, Libby and Bernie knew just where to find him.

“What would Kevin know?” a man’s voice behind them demanded.

Libby and Bernie spun around. Richard was standing behind them. They’d been so intent on their conversation they hadn’t heard him come in. Trudy scratched Libby’s leg and she bent down and picked her up.

“He’d know whether we could get peaches that are decent tasting this time of year,” Bernie ad-libbed, wondering as she did how much of their conversation Richard had heard.

Evidently judging from his expression he’d heard only the last part, which, given the circumstances, was a good thing. Richard grunted. Then a puzzled expression crept over his face as he looked around the kitchen.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked.

“Sam?” Libby and Bernie repeated.

Richard gave an impatient wave of his hand. “Sam. Samantha. She was supposed to help with the dishes and the serving. I know she was here a moment ago.”

“She left,” Libby said.

“Left?” Richard echoed.

“Yes, left. As in walked out the door. She said you didn’t have any food,” Bernie said.

Richard gave a sigh indicating suffering on a par with Job. “Of course I have food. O’Malley delivered the platters this morning.”

Good call, Bernie
, Libby silently thought.

“It serves me right for hiring her,” Richard grumbled. “By now I should know better. She’s a total nut job. Comes from living with that mother of hers. No basis in reality whatsoever. No. If you want something done professionally, hire a professional.”

“Who is she?” Libby asked.

“Sam’s one of my friend’s kids. She’s living at home while she studies acting. Her father is trying to teach her the value of work, but he’s not having much success.”

“Seems to be going around,” Bernie said as she recalled the array of college kids they’d employed over the years at A Little Taste of Heaven. “So where’s the rest of the staff?” she asked, thinking that it would be interesting to be able to talk to them and hear what they had to say. “I would think that a house like this would require six live-in help—at least.”

Richard favored her with a wintry smile. “Perhaps in the nineteenth century that was the case, but since we’re in the twenty-first, and there are a multitude of labor-saving devices at one’s disposal, that is not true. Surely even you recognize that?”

“That’s funny,” Bernie said. “Because I distinctly remember Annabel telling me she’d given the staff the day off for Trudy’s birthday party.”

Richard gave a snort of disgust. “Annabel likes…liked to play the part of the English country lady. She was fixated on the idea actually. Not that it’s any of your business, but we don’t have any staff. We have people coming in as needed.”

“Like the tooth brusher for Trudy,” Libby said.

Richard frowned and rubbed his hands together. It was obvious from the expression on his face that he found the topic of Trudy and the tooth brusher distasteful.

“I came in to see whether you two are all right. I thought maybe you were having trouble finding your way back,” he told the girls, ignoring Libby’s last comment.

“You have such a magnificent house,” Bernie gushed. “I’d love to see it.”

Richard gave her a look that suggested she had a better chance of seeing the inside of the private vault of the queen of England. Instead of replying he just grunted and stood there with his arms crossed over his chest while Libby and Bernie unwrapped the food they’d brought and set it up on platters. When they were done he escorted them into the sunroom, where everyone else was sitting.

Interesting, Bernie thought. Most people would have taken five minutes and given them a quick house tour. Clearly he found the idea distasteful. Why? Was it them? Was there something he wanted to hide? Or did he just have an overdeveloped sense of privacy? Or all three?

“I found them,” he announced to the room as the other pugs ran over to sniff Bernie’s and Libby’s feet.

Libby put Trudy down. She expected her to run over to the other dogs, but she stayed at Libby’s side.

“Good,” Joyce said. “We were afraid you’d lost your way.”

“Spiritually or spatially?” Bernie quipped.

No one replied, which, Libby reflected, might be a good thing, considering the possibilities. Then she lost her train of thought as she contemplated the room she was standing in. It was truly spectacular. The walls and the ceiling were made of glass panels joined together with copper strips. It was like being outside, only better because the center of the room was filled with five extremely large potted palms that towered over everything.

Various types of ferns lined the periphery. The floor was ornately laid in a complex pattern of blue and white mosaic tiles, while the furniture was wicker with sky blue cushions. She felt as if she’d been transported to a solarium in an English country estate.

“This is wonderful,” Libby commented as she thought of all the English mysteries she’d read as a girl. All that was missing was a white-gloved butler serving tea and scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam.

Richard shrugged. “Annabel insisted we build this after we came back from England. I don’t know why. She called it her folly, and it certainly is. It takes an enormous amount of gas to heat this thing.”

Bree picked up Rudolph. “She certainly had a vision of how she wanted things to be.”

Bernie unbuttoned her cardigan. It was almost oppressively warm in here, but she supposed it had to be for the palms.

“I wouldn’t know I was in Longely being here,” Bernie said.

“I believe that was the general idea,” Joyce said dryly. “Anyway, you’re here and that’s the important thing.”

“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “It’s easy to lose your way in a house like this.”

“Not if you’re careful,” Ramona chimed in.

Joyce lifted an eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melissa demanded.

“Nothing,” Ramona said. “Absolutely nothing.”

I’m missing something here
, Bernie thought as she listened to the conversation. She didn’t know what these people were talking about, but it definitely wasn’t about the house’s floor plan. She could see from the expressions on Bree’s and Libby’s faces that they didn’t think so either.

“Now that you’re both here,” Richard said, “and since Sam’s departed, I wonder if I could possibly impose on you to serve some tea.”

“Not at all,” Bernie said, thinking that that would allow her a little time for a quick examination of the house.

But that didn’t happen. For all intents and purposes, Richard never let them out of his sight all the time they were there.

And neither did Trudy, who followed the girls around as if she were glued to them.

Maybe Sam was right, Bernie thought. Maybe she shouldn’t have fed her the piece of bread after all, but not for the reasons that Sam thought.

L
ibby took a sip of her Guinness and settled in on her bar stool. She didn’t know why she was drinking this—she really didn’t like beer, and she wasn’t keen on being here either. She’d rather be home baking bread and watching television. It had been a long day and she wanted to go to bed early, an unlikely possibility the way things were turning out.

It was nine o’clock on a Wednesday night at R.J.’s and she, Bernie, Brandon, and Kevin O’Malley, the person they’d come to talk to, were the only souls in the place. Usually the place was packed, even during the week, but a winter storm advisory had kept anyone with any sense snugged up in his or her house. She and Bernie would be at home watching TV with their dad if Brandon hadn’t alerted them to Kevin O’Malley’s presence.

Kevin O’Malley was a man of regular habits. Even the promise of a nor’easter wasn’t enough to interrupt his midweek stint at R.J.’s. At first Libby hadn’t minded going because Marvin was going to meet up with them. She hadn’t seen him in three days. Unfortunately, on the way over he’d called, said he had an emergency, and would be there later if he could. Which, in a word, sucked. Libby took another sip of beer and pondered how a funeral director could have an emergency, but then she decided she didn’t want to think about that and ate a peanut instead.

For the life of her she could never understand how people, specifically Brandon, could say stout had a chocolate undertaste. Beer tasted like beer, and chocolate had nothing, absolutely nothing in common with beer whatsoever.

“Try it,” Brandon said for the third time as he pushed a bottle of the stout across the bar with the tips of his fingers. “If you like chocolate you’ll like this.”

“I already told you I won’t.”

“How do you know if you don’t try it?”

“I just know,” Libby snapped.

Brandon shrugged and left the bottle where it was. “In case you change your mind,” he said.

“God, you’re persistent,” Bernie told him.

Brandon smiled. “That’s how I got where I am.”

“Which is?” Bernie prompted.

“Being the sexy red-haired bartender every girl wants, but you are lucky enough to have.”

Bernie laughed. “I believe sexy men are described as tall, dark, and handsome, not tall, redheaded, freckled, and handsome.”

Brandon pounded his chest with his fist. “You have cut me to the quick.”

“I figured.”

“Fortunately, I have a robust ego.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Brandon leaned over and gave Bernie a quick kiss. “I can get off early tonight. Mick’s coming in to close. Unless the storm gets here first. Then
I
get to close early.”

“He would actually close because of a storm. He’s getting soft in his old age.”

Brandon patted his gut. “It happens to all of us.”

“What time were you thinking?” Bernie asked.

“Eleven o’clock.”

Bernie checked her watch. That was a little under two hours from now. “That’s the veritable shank of the evening.”

Brandon picked up a glass and started wiping it. “What does that mean?”

“Haven’t got a clue,” Bernie admitted. “I just like the way it sounds.”

Brandon put the glass down and picked up another one. “So eleven is good?”

“Eleven is perfect,” Bernie allowed. “Unless the storm blows in.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I must be getting old too. Getting in at three and getting up at five to shovel a path to the store just doesn’t excite me as much as it used to.”

“You mean I’m not worth it?”

Bernie gave him The Look.

“How about if I helped shovel?”

“That might be feasible,” Bernie conceded. “Not that you will.”

Brandon wiggled his eyebrows up and down. Bernie couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

Brandon plunked his elbows on the bar. “See, Libby,” he said. “I’m just an irresistible force of nature.”

“You’re something,” Bernie told him. “That’s for sure.”

Libby smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. Marvin could at least call.

“Don’t you worry,” Brandon said, reading her mind. “He’ll be here soon. Go on and have a sip of the stout. It’s the sovereign cure for what ails you.”

“I thought that was chocolate.”

Brandon pushed the bottle closer to her.

This time Libby took a sip.

“Not bad,” she said grudgingly.

“Not bad?” Brandon yelped.

“Okay,” Libby conceded. “It’s good. But it still doesn’t taste like chocolate.”

“How can you say that?” Brandon protested.

Before Libby could answer, Bernie held up her hand. “Enough,” she said. “It’s time to do what we came here for—talk to Kevin O’Malley.”

Brandon shrugged. “You can try, but as I told you on the phone, he likes to drink alone.”

Bernie fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m hoping to change his mind.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work, babe,” Brandon said. “Not that you don’t have…um…great lashes, but Kevin used to run a strip club and has become immune to feminine wiles. Unlike me.”

“Hmm,” Bernie replied. “Strip club to a fancy food store. That’s an interesting leap. I wonder how he did it.”

Brandon shrugged. “I heard that his dad died and left him some money and he did this because it was as far away from a strip club as he could possibly get. But I don’t know for sure. He isn’t a real chatty kind of guy. He likes to be left alone and have his three shots of Black Label. So that’s what I do. I don’t think you’re going to have much luck getting him to talk about the Colbert household.”

Bernie shrugged. “I know it’s a long shot, but I figure anything that we learn is better than nothing. Right now we don’t have much.”

“We don’t have anything,” Libby interjected.

Bernie cracked open a peanut. “Except for what Annabel said.”

“To which no one is paying any attention,” Libby observed.

“And they may be right,” Bernie said. “Who knows? She might have staged this whole thing herself. According to Dad, that’s the latest theory going around—no doubt suggested by her husband.”

“He suggested what?” Libby practically yelped.

Bernie took a sip of her Brooklyn Brown. “Didn’t I tell you? The new scenario is that Annabel poisoned herself out of spite, so Richard would then get arrested for her murder.”

“I gotta say, that would be quite a grudge she was carrying,” Brandon said. “Talk about not being clear on the concept.”

Libby turned to her sister. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

“Obviously not,” Bernie told her.

“Me neither,” Libby said. “But it’s a very…”

“Seductive explanation,” Bernie supplied.

Libby nodded. “Exactly.”

Brandon refilled the plastic bowl in front of Libby and Bernie with shelled peanuts. The peanuts were R.J.’s trademark. Usually the floor was littered with the shells, which crunched when people stepped on them, but tonight the only piles were around Bernie’s and Libby’s feet. Not only did the peanuts add a little local color, but they were cheap, and they absorbed the alcohol so people could drink more.

“I thought you guys weren’t going to take this on?” he said. “How come you changed your minds?”

Bernie lifted up her hands and brought them down. “What can I say? Our consciences got the better of us.”

“I hate when that happens,” Brandon said. “But deathbed promises are hard to ignore.”

“It wasn’t a deathbed promise,” Libby said. “It was more like a dining room table promise.”

“You don’t have to be so literal,” Bernie retorted.

“I was just being accurate,” Libby rejoined. “You always tell me my speech is sloppy.”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” She picked up her drink and walked over to where Kevin O’Malley was sitting.

He didn’t look up. Not promising, Bernie thought as she sat down next to him.

“The answer is no,” he said, before taking another sip of his drink.

“No to what? I haven’t even said anything yet,” Bernie protested.

“No. I’m talking about Annabel Colbert’s business.”

“How do you know that’s what I want?”

He gave her a look. “I’m not stupid. This is a small town. What else could you want?”

“Well, I could want to know how much you’re selling your mangoes for.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

“Or your hothouse peaches. Or how you price your platters. Richard Colbert was especially pleased with the feta, grape leaves, and olives. The garnish was quite nice. I’ll have to try the three different types of radishes myself.”

“By all means do,” Kevin said.

“I was thinking of doing more veggie things. What do you think?”

“I think that you’re perfectly capable of adding some new items to your menu without my help, so you can can the charm.”

“That’s rather rude,” Bernie said.

Kevin took a sip of his Scotch. “It was meant to be.”

“So,” Bernie said, trying again. “When did Richard Colbert order the platters to be sent to his house?”

Instead of answering, Kevin laughed and rubbed his finger around the top of his glass. “Do you know why I’m successful?” he asked.

“Good hygiene?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay. Because you stock good products. Because you offer good service. Because you have good suppliers.”

“Besides that.”

Bernie thought for a moment. “Good word of mouth.”

Kevin nodded. “Exactly.”

“I’m still not seeing where this is leading,” Bernie said.

“It’s really simple. I’ve targeted my business to the rich, the superrich, and the merely well-off.”

Bernie nodded.

“And one of the things people like that appreciate is discretion.”

“You run a grocery store, for heaven’s sake.”

“Then why are you talking to me now?”

Bernie fell silent.

“Exactly. You’re talking to me because you want to know all the latest gossip that I’ve heard. Well, I don’t do that. I don’t do that because it would lose me customers. I have keys to my customers’ houses so I can go in and put their orders away before they come home from vacations. That way there will be food in the house when they get in.

“I wouldn’t have that level of trust if they didn’t know I was discreet. That is the foundation I’ve built my business on. There are lots of fancy grocery stores. My discretion is my ace in the hole. And in any case there’s nothing to say about Annabel Colbert. Her death was an accident. Everyone says so.”

“Especially her husband.”

Kevin inclined his head but said nothing.

Bernie thought for a second. Then she said, “But if you were going to tell me something, what would you say?”

Kevin laughed again. Bernie noted that his teeth were small and pointed and very white.

“I would say you should go see
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
at the Longely Playhouse. I think you’ll like Brick.”

“That’s it?” Bernie said.

“That’s it,” Kevin replied. “And now, if you’ll pardon me, I’d like to finish the rest of my drink in peace and quiet.”

“By all means,” Bernie said, and she returned to her stool.

“But what does that mean?” Libby asked when Bernie told her what Kevin had said.

“I have no idea, but I think we’d better check it out,” Bernie told her.

Libby groaned. “Like I have time to go to a play.”

Brandon grinned. “There’s always time for culture.”

Libby laughed. “Like what? Fantasy Football?”

“Exactly.” He cocked his lead. “Listen,” he said.

“Listen to what?” Bernie asked.

Then she heard it. Something was flapping outside. A moment later there was the unmistakable sound of hail hitting the roof.

“I do believe the nor’easter has arrived,” Brandon loudly announced.

Down at the other end of the bar Kevin O’Malley lifted his glass. “Then I’d better have another quick one before I go.”

“I’m just glad we got new tires on the van last week,” Libby said. The old ones had been so threadbare the van probably would have slid all the way home.

Bernie was just about to tell her that she worried too much when the front door banged open and Marvin came stumbling in. He shook his head and brushed off his coat. Little snowflakes danced to the floor. He gave Libby a hug and a kiss.

“Boy it’s really starting to come down,” he said. “It’s not much fun out there. It’s not much fun at all.”

Which turned out to be an understatement.