Chapter 9
S
ean didn't say anything when he and his daughters went upstairs. He didn't say anything when Libby went to get Bernie an ice pack and she and Bernie something to eat. He didn't say anything until after his daughters sat down on the sofa and Bernie put her foot up on the coffee table and draped the package of frozen peas over it.
“Feel better?” he asked Bernie.
“Yes, thank you.”
Sean gave a curt nod. “Good.”
“Can I get you anything?” Libby asked her dad. “A brownie? There are a couple of pieces of rhubarb pie left.”
Sean shook his head. “No. Nothing.”
“Coffee?”
Sean glared. “I said nothing.”
Libby shrugged. “I was just asking.”
She and Bernie exchanged a glance. Their dad was talking a little, but he wasn't eating. What did that mean? This was a new one on Bernie and Libby. He'd never, ever said no to something they'd made.
The atmosphere in the room was glacial. No one said anything. Five minutes went by. Libby watched the second hand of the clock on the wall going round. She listened to its ticking and the occasional car going by outside. She could hear Bernie shifting around, trying to get comfortable, and her father tapping his fingers on the arm of his easy chair. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She leaned forward.
“Dad,” she began. “We're sorryâ”
Which was as far as she got before Sean cut her off.
“You're sorry?” he asked, each word encased in a block of ice. “You're sorry?”
Libby and Bernie looked down at the floor. They felt as if they were ten again.
“You could be sitting in jail right now. You could still be sitting in jail. That's a real possibility because you're not out of the woods on this yet. Not by a long shot.”
Bernie looked up. “It's my fault.”
Sean shook his finger at Bernie and then at Libby. “No. It's both of your faults. I expected better from both of you. Neither one of you should have touched anything. You know not to. You should have called the police as soon as you walked into the room and saw that man lying on the bed. Then you should have gone outside and waited for them to arrive.”
“What about Ellen?” Bernie asked.
“What about her?” Sean threw back. “You should have dragged her out with you.”
“Hey, you haven't always followed the straight and narrow,” Bernie pointed out indignantly.
Sean glared at her. It was a glare that in Sean's day had reduced the men under his command to quivering lumps of Jell-O.
“Okay,” Sean said slowly. “If that's the tack you're taking, we don't have to talk about this at all. Good luck. Let me know how it all turns out. I'm going to bed.” And he started to get up.
“No, no,” Bernie said quickly. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”
“We're sorry,” Libby amended. “For everything.”
Sean's expression softened. “As well you should be.” He lowered himself back down.
Bernie bit her lip. “We were wrong. We shouldn't have done what we did.”
“So why did you?”
“I just . . .” Bernie waved her hand around while she thought about how she was going to frame her next sentence. “I guess . . . things got away from me.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Really?” His tone was not congenial.
“We were surprised,” Bernie explained.
“Stunned really,” amplified Libby.
“Everything happened so fast. We got Ellen's phone call and ran over there. . . .”
“And then we saw the body on the bed,” Libby added. “It was the first thing we saw and then Ellen was crouched down by the bed, half hidden. We didn't see her immediately, and when we did, we thought she'd been hurt.”
Bernie shifted the package of frozen peas on her ankle. “We didn't know what to think.”
“I see,” Sean said. But he didn't. Not really. By the time he'd gotten to the Riverview, the man's body had been bagged and tagged and in the ambulance and the CID squad was working the room. “You're talking about the body Ellen claims to know nothing about, correct?”
Bernie nodded. “Correct. And Ellen was hysterical.”
“She really was, Dad,” Libby reaffirmed. “We couldn't get anything out of her.”
“She's always hysterical.”
Bernie left off with the peas. “That's exaggerating a little, don't you think?”
“Really?”
Bernie leaned over and rubbed her ankle. “Okay. It's not.” If Ellen wasn't a total Drama Queen she was pretty close to it. “But not like this.”
“So her plan didn't exactly work out, did it?” Sean continued.
Bernie licked her lips. “No, it didn't,” she allowed.
“Well, she did want attention,” Libby observed.
“Yeah, but she didn't get the kind she was aiming for,” Bernie replied.
“Amazing,” Sean said. “Truly amazing.” He tut-tutted. What people came up with never failed to amaze him.
“Ellen probably thought Bruce was going to break down in tears or something when he got to the motel room and found out she was okay,” Libby observed.
Sean thought of his response if his wife had pulled a stunt like that. Breaking down in tears would most emphatically not have been what he would have done. Wringing her neck would have been more like it. “She's definitely living in a fantasy land, I'll say that for her.” Sean leaned back in his chair. “Why would Ellen do something like that?”
Bernie repositioned the frozen peas. “Because she felt neglected. She felt that no one in the family paid any attention to her.”
“Couldn't she find something a little less dramatic to make her point?” Sean asked. “Your mom used to order pizza from Domino's when she felt like that.”
“Oh,” Bernie said. “I thought that was a treat.”
Sean laughed. “I know Ellen gets worked up over things, but talk about exercising bad judgment. I gotta say this is really high up on the list of the stupidest things I've heard of, and I've heard of a lot of them.”
“Ellen told me she'd tried everything else, but nothing worked.” Bernie thought of her and Ellen's conversation in the park. “I should never have said what I did.”
“Someone who wasn't off somewhere in la-la land wouldn't have taken your suggestion and run with it.”
“And then when we were looking at the body she told us she had to go to the bathroom and she took off,” Libby said. “We tried to catch her, which was another mistake.”
“I think she overheard us talking about calling the police and got spooked,” Bernie added. “We probably should have talked outside.”
Sean massaged his temples. “Leaving Ellen's craziness aside, the thing that interests me is the body on the bed. Who is he?”
“We don't know,” Bernie replied. “He didn't have any ID on him. We checked.”
“And Ellen said she didn't know who he was or how he got there?” Sean continued.
“That's what she said,” Libby responded.
“And you believe her?” Sean inquired.
“I want to,” Bernie said.
“That's different,” Sean pointed out.
“I know,” Bernie said.
Sean turned to Libby. “And where do you stand on this?”
“With Bernie,” Libby said.
“This makes no sense at all,” Sean observed. Then he reached for the remote and turned on the TV. The sound of
Law and Order
filled the room. “I'll tell you one thing though,” he said. “I'm going to enjoy being on that fishing boat. At least it'll be peaceful there.”
Chapter 10
I
t was a little after six-thirty the next morning when the doorbell of the Simmons's flat started ringing.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Libby said, stifling a yawn as she looked out the living room window and saw Ellen Hadley's sons standing outside. She automatically pulled down the hem of the oversized T-shirt she had been sleeping in, the one that was from the gristmill down the road, and sighed.
She was exhausted, as was her sister and her dad. They'd all fallen asleep late. It had been a little after three in the morning when Sean had finally calmed down enough to be able to drift off, while Libby and Bernie had come up from downstairs after two-thirty, which was when they had finished boxing up the macaroons. Even though they'd both had trouble keeping their eyes open, they couldn't fall asleep and, once they finally did, they had both tossed and turned in their beds for the rest of the night. Neither one could get the picture of the dead man lying on the bed out of their minds. There was something about him, both sisters agreed, something nibbling at the corners of their minds. But what it was neither Libby nor Bernie knew.
RING. The doorbell went off again. Libby could see Ethan, Ellen's youngest son, pushing on it.
“What is going on?” Sean barked as he stalked out of his bedroom.
Libby explained.
“What the hell do they want?”
“I'm guessing to talk to us about their mom,” Libby replied.
“Well, I don't want to talk to them,” Sean declared. “Tell them to go away or I'll come down and shoot them.”
“I don't want to talk to them either, Dad, but I think we have to.”
“I'm serious,” her father said.
“So am I. I'll ask them to come back later.”
“You do that.”
“I will.” Libby had too much to do to deal with Ellen Hadley's children right now, especially with Bernie semi-out of commission. She had to start prepping for Mother's Day. She had to slice up the bread, start it soaking, sauté the spinach, and cube the Gruyère for the strata. Then she had to make the filling for the chocolate babka: roll out the babka dough, put the filling in it, roll it back up, braid it, and allow it to rise for another hour before she put it in the oven.
Lastly, she had to make the Grand Marnier syrup and slice the navel oranges that would be served with it. Libby loved the dish. It was truly beautiful. The oranges looked like cut glass, but she wished she wasn't making it today because julienning the rind was extremely time consuming. This, of course, was in addition to all the rest of her prep. In fact, just thinking about everything she had to do before they opened the shop made her feel like going back to bed and putting her head under her pillow.
Well, she couldn't do that, but she could wake Bernie up and have her peel the potatoes for the Spanish sausage and potato omelet they were serving. Libby was just about to knock on Bernie's door when her sister came out of her room.
“Who is making all that racket?” Bernie demanded.
“Ethan,” said Libby.
Bernie flipped her hair out of her eyes. “Ethan?”
“Ellen Hadley's son,” Libby explained. “The youngest one.”
“God, I hope everything is all right.” Bernie tied her bathrobe sash. Her bathrobe was a peach-colored silk and matched her nightgown. She'd gotten it on sale from one of the fancy lingerie stores on Madison Avenue and it was still one of her favorites.
Libby snorted. “Not in this case. They probably dragged Ellen off to jail. Or maybe she's found another body somewhere and she wants us to come over and dispose of it.”
“That's rather harsh, Libby.”
“Given last night, I don't think so, Bernie.”
Sean smoothed his hair down with the flat of his hand. “Well, all I can say is one of you better go down and tell Ethan to stop making so much noise before he wakes up the neighborhood.”
Ethan leaned on the bell again.
Bernie pointed to her ankle. “I'd go but . . .”
Libby held up her hand. “I know. I get it.”
“It's not my fault,” Bernie protested.
“Actually, this
is
your fault,” Libby countered.
“I don't care whose fault it is,” Sean snapped. “One of you needs to get down there pronto.”
“I'm going,” Libby said, never mind that she was so tired that her bones were aching. She went into her bedroom and put on her bathrobe.
“Libby, be nice,” Bernie said to her sister as she went by her.
“Nice? At this time of the morning? I wouldn't count on it if I were you,” Libby replied as she opened the door to the flat and headed down the stairs.
How did people exist on three or four hours of sleep a night anyway? she wondered. She certainly wasn't able to. In addition to her back bothering her, her head was hurting and each ring of the doorbell was like a sharp knife through her eyes. Boy, she wished they were closed on Sundays like they usually were, but they made too much money on Mother's Day not to stay open.
“I'm coming,” she cried as she descended the stairs.
The ringing continued. She got to the door and jerked it open. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Don't you know what time it is?”
Ethan jumped back, looking, Libby decided, like a surprised deer.
“Ah,” he stammered. “Sorry.” He swallowed and looked down at the floor. Skinny, all hands and feet, and the youngest of the three, he was still in his pajama bottoms and a Batman T-shirt and looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed. Which he probably had.
His two older brothers standing a little ways behind him didn't look much more put together. Matt, the seventeen-year-old, had on a pair of stained khaki cargo shorts and an old stretched-out T-shirt that read
Mets Forever
, while fourteen-year-old Ryan, the blond wannabe gangsta of the group, was wearing baggy pants and an oversized white T-shirt. They both looked as if they'd been up all night.
“Sorry about my little brother,” Matt said, reaching out and lightly cuffing Ethan on the top of his head. “I told him to ring once, but he never listens.”
Libby highly doubted that, but she wasn't about to get into a debate. “I don't care. You guys have to go home.”
“Please,” Ryan said, stepping forward. Libby thought he looked as if he'd been crying. In fact, all three of them looked as if they had been. Ryan held out a heavy plastic bag. “You have to help my mom.” He nodded toward the bag. “There's three hundred and seventy-five dollars in there, in quarters. That's all we could come up with on short notice.”
“But we'll mow lawns,” Matt said.
“And I can walk dogs,” Ethan added.
“So we'll get more.” Matt nodded toward the bag. “We know this isn't enough, but we'll come up with more. We promise.”
Ethan raised his right hand. “I swear.”
“We all do,” Matt said, looking like twelve instead of seventeen.
“Take it,” Ryan told Libby, placing the bag in her hands. It was so heavy she nearly dropped it.
Ethan's voice cracked. “Mom said we should talk to you. She said you'd know what to do.”
“Did she? Well, she was wrong.” Libby held the bag out to Ryan. “Take it.”
Ryan backed away. “No. No. It's for you and your sister.”
“I don't want it,” Libby said.
“You have to take it,” Ryan insisted. “My mom said you and your sister would know what to do, and my dad said it too.”
“Your dad?”
That's not what he said last night
, Libby recalled.
“Definitely,” Ryan said.
“No, he didn't,” Matt said.
“Yeah he did, dodo,” Ryan answered. “He was yelling that she should go ask her friend Bernie to figure it out since she was so smart.”
Matt looked disgusted. “He was being sarcastic, moron.”
“Shows you how much you know,” Ryan told him.
Libby interrupted. “So if your mother wants to talk to us how come she's not here?” she asked, figuring the boys
would say “because she's in jail,” but they didn't.
“Because when my dad wouldn't let her drive his car, she locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out,” Ryan explained.
“Seems to be a pattern,” Libby cracked.
The boys looked at her.
“Forget it,” Libby said, regretting her comment. “Go on.”
“The money's our idea,” Matt continued. “We know you and your sister do this kind of stuff and that you do it for money, so we got all our spare change together.”
“We don't know what's going on,” Ethan said. He screwed up his face. Two tears trickled down his cheeks. “Except it's really, really bad.”
“Don't be such a wuss,” Ryan said, cuffing Ethan on the head again. “She'll be fine.” But to Libby's ears he didn't sound convinced.
Ethan reached up and rubbed the spot Ryan had hit. “Stop it. That hurts. I'm gonna get brain damaged from you.”
“You can't,” Matt responded, “because you already are.”
“Ha-ha, Matt. Very funny.”
“No, Ethan. True.” He turned to Libby. “Please,” he said. “We have no one else to go to.”
Libby sighed. Before she knew what she was saying, the word
yes
had fallen from her lips. Looking at the pleading expressions on their faces had done her in. “All right,” she conceded. “Come on up.”