A Catered Mother's Day (17 page)

Chapter 33

T
he Roost, popularly referred to as Ed's after its owner, was a strictly-for-the-locals kind of bar. Situated at the wrong end of Main Street, it was a small place with windows that were so crusted over with dirt that you couldn't see through them and a neon sign that had lost all but two of its letters years ago. There were iron bars on the front window and the door, and when you opened the door the odors of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and unwashed bodies drifted out.

There was a pool table in the back that no one used and a foosball table next to it that was similarly ignored. It was dark inside, the TV being the only spot of color in the place. Mostly everyone who came in during the weekdays sat at the bar watching the flickering image on the TV while engaging in some serious drinking. The decorations on the walls, coated with smoke and grime and grease, had faded long ago, becoming virtually invisible over the years. It was one of those places that should have been torn down but somehow never was.

“At least Ed's is empty,” Libby said, as she parked on the street in front of the place. On the weekends, the sidewalk out front was jammed with motorcycles, the beer flowed, and the police were called so often they might as well have had a station there.

“Thank God for small favors,” Bernie commented as she put up the hood on her raincoat and got out of Mathilda. She wasn't in the mood to deal with members of the Riders at the moment.

She and Libby ran for the bar. They could see Jeremy Stone sitting at one of the tables across from the bar nursing a beer when they walked in. They took off their rain gear and hung their coats on the coatrack next to the door. As she did, Bernie decided Jeremy looked as out of place here as an Hermès bag in Walmart. He was wearing an Armani suit, a blue shirt with a white collar and matching French cuffs with gold cuff links in them, handmade Italian loafers on his feet, and a Rolex on his wrist.

Bernie and Libby nodded at him and went up to the bar. The bartender, a woman named Sandra, watched them from the stool she was sitting on. She was stringy skinny, had a face that had seen way too much of the sun, and bleached hair that looked like straw and was held back in a ponytail with a rubber band.

She didn't get up when the sisters approached, not that Bernie had expected her to. This was the kind of place where the regulars got good service and everyone else waited. Finally, after two minutes had gone by, she reluctantly put the magazine she was paging through down and strolled over.

“Yes?” she asked in a voice telegraphing a two-pack-a-day habit.

“Two beers,” Bernie said. “Anything in a can.” She didn't trust the glasses in this place.

Sandra shrugged, walked over to the cooler, got two Budweisers out, and sent them flying down the bar. Bernie caught them before they went over the edge and landed on the floor.

“Seven bucks,” Sandra said.

Bernie fished a ten out and handed it to her. Sandra put the ten in the register, took out three ones, folded them up, and slid them down the front of her shirt into her bra.

“Yes?” Sandra growled at Bernie, who was staring at her. “You have a problem with something?”

“No,” Bernie said. “Not at all. I'm just admiring your mind-reading ability.”

Sandra frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning how did you know I was going to tip you three bucks?”

“Why?” Sandra asked, shoving the money down further into her bra. “You want it back?”

“No,” Bernie hastily told her. “I definitely do not.”

Sandra smirked. “That's what I thought.”

“I figure you need all the help you can get.” Then before Sandra could answer, Bernie grabbed the two beers and brought them over to the table where Libby and Jeremy were sitting. “Why did you pick here?” she asked Jeremy as she set the cans down.

“I liked it. It has a certain . . . ambience.” Jeremy smiled. “And Sandra has my back, don't you, honey?”

“Sure do, Mr. Stone,” Sandra said perfunctorily as she raised her eyes from the magazine she'd gone back to leafing through.

Or maybe Sandra doesn't have your back after all
, Bernie reflected as she studied the expression on the woman's face.

“See,” Jeremy said. “She's tough, you know.”

“Of that,” Libby said, throwing Sandra a look, “I have no doubt.” In fact, she reminded her of a girl called Barbara Nelson who used to pick on her in third grade. “So are you two friends?”

Jeremy's answer was vague. “Something like that.” Then he leaned forward. “I called because I want to get some things straight with both of you,” he said, changing the subject.

“What a coincidence,” Libby said, also leaning forward. “We want to get some things straightened out with you too.”

Bernie popped the tab on the top of her Budweiser beer and took a sip. She made a face and put the can down. Now she remembered why she didn't drink this stuff anymore. It tasted like warm piss. She'd definitely been spoiled by the microbrews.

“Indeed we do,” she said, seconding Libby.

“Such as?” Jeremy asked.

Bernie extended her hand palm up and inclined her head. “Age before beauty.”

Jeremy ran his finger around the top of his beer can. “Fine. If you insist, I will. First off, I don't know where Ellen gets off saying her husband and my wife were hooking up.”

“I take it Lisa told you?” Bernie asked.

“She picked up the phone as soon as you left,” Jeremy replied.

Bernie could imagine the phone call. “So, it's not true?” she asked.

“What do you think?” Jeremy replied, narrowing his eyes.

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

Jeremy clenched his fist. “Why would my wife hook up with someone like Bruce?”

“I don't know. Because she was attracted to him?” Bernie said.

“She can't stand the man,” Jeremy hissed.

“Maybe Lisa did it to piss you off,” Libby replied. “Or maybe she wanted to get Ellen back for something.”

“Ab-so-lu-te-ly not,” Jeremy replied. He sat back and took a deep breath and let it out. Libby could see him calming himself down. “My wife and I have an excellent relationship.” Jeremy took a sip of his beer, made a face, and set the can down.

“So if we ask the neighbors we wouldn't hear any stories about fights between you and Lisa?” Libby asked, fishing around.

“Of course you would. Everyone has fights now and then.”

“I think my sister is talking about the kind the police are called in on,” Bernie said.

“Don't be absurd,” Jeremy scoffed. “It's true Lisa and I have had some problems in the past,” he admitted. “But we've put those behind us. I'll take an oath on that on my mother's grave.”

“That's a little extreme,” Libby replied.

“Why would Ellen say something like that?” Bernie asked.

“Because she's delusional,” Jeremy said. He downed a big gulp of his beer. “The woman is crazy.”

“Maybe a little emotional, a little overreactive,” Bernie allowed, defending her friend, “but not crazy. Usually she has a reason for what she says. She doesn't make things up out of whole cloth.”

“She did in this case,” Jeremy said. “I can assure you of that.”

Bernie decided not to argue the point.

Jeremy smiled a tight little smile and moved his Rolex up and down his wrist. The motion seemed to calm him. “I want to make sure you understand that, because I don't want that rumor spread around town.” This time his tone was sincere.

“Then you should talk to Ellen,” Bernie told him. “She's the one who's saying it, not us.”

Jeremy shook his head. It was a more in sorrow than anger gesture. “I realize that. My wife always said she was a little too tightly wrapped. I know she doesn't like me. I know she's mad at Lisa, but this . . . this goes beyond the pale.” He turned his hands palms up and held them out. “God only knows who else she's told.

“This is a small town and Lisa and I have to live in it,” Jeremy continued. He stabbed the tabletop with the tip of his finger. “I live on my reputation.” He stabbed the table with his finger again to make his point. “The last thing I need is for my name or my wife's name to be the target of salacious rumors.”

“Salacious. Nice word,” Bernie commented.

Jeremy colored a little. “I'm serious here.”

“We can see that,” Bernie said, referring to herself and her sister.

“And while we're on the subject, I also don't want to be dragged through the mud of a murder investigation by you guys.”

“Dragged through the mud? Wow,” Bernie said.

Jeremy leaned back. “I don't want you guys going around to our neighbors and putting ideas in their heads.”

“And if the police talk to your neighbors?”

“That's not going to happen.”

“But if it does?” Bernie persisted.

“I'll deal with it then.” Jeremy smiled a real smile for the first time since Bernie and Libby had walked into the bar. “Good. I'm glad that's settled,” he said, even though from Bernie's point of view nothing had been. He began to stand. “Then we're all through here.”

“Not quite,” Bernie countered.

Chapter 34

J
eremy Stone glared at Bernie and Libby.
This,
Bernie thought,
is a man who is used to getting his own way.
She gave him her most charming smile.

“Now, it's my turn,” she said.

Jeremy's expression darkened. “I thought we were done.”

“And we will be soon,” Bernie cooed. “But we have some questions—just a few—we need answered.”

“And if I don't want to answer them?” Jeremy said.

Bernie leaned back in her chair and continued smiling. “One thing about our shop. Every time there's a homicide in Longely our business goes up. Do you know why?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Should I care?”

“Indeed you should. Here's the thing. People want to know what happened,” she said. “Think of us as Twitter with coffee and muffins.”

“Is that a threat?” Jeremy demanded.

“No,” Bernie said. “It's a fact. People ask questions; they want answers. When they don't get them, they make up their own explanations.”

Jeremy drummed his fingers on the table while he thought. “Okay,” he said after a slight pause, while he perched on the edge of his chair. “I get it. What do you want to know? Within reason, of course.”

“Good.” Bernie ran her finger around the top of the beer can. “First off, we want to know about your sister, Daisy.”

“What about her?” Jeremy demanded.

“Well, she was married to Manny, right?” Libby asked.

“A long time ago,” Jeremy conceded.

“And then they got divorced?” Libby continued.

“So I was informed by a neighbor,” Jeremy said.

Bernie leaned forward again. “Your sister didn't tell you?”

Jeremy shook his head. He looked sad. “My sister and I haven't spoken to each other for years and years.”

“Why?” Libby asked.

Jeremy looked down at the table and back up. “We had a really bad fight before she ran off to Colorado. I reckon we haven't spoken more than once or twice since then.”

“Do you know where she is now?” Libby asked.

Jeremy shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don't have the foggiest idea.”

“Would anyone in your family know?”

“I'm it,” Jeremy said. “My mother and father died years ago, and since they were only children, there really isn't anyone else.” Jeremy took a sip of his beer and put his can down. “You still haven't told me why you want to know about Daisy.”

Bernie took the beer tab from her can and started spinning it on the table. “We want to talk to her. We were hoping she could tell us a little more about Manny.”

“Doubtful,” Jeremy said. “From what I can gather, she and Manny haven't talked to each other in years. I was told it was a nasty divorce.”

“Who told you?” Libby asked.

“The same person who told me they'd gotten divorced.”

“Can we speak to him or her?” Bernie asked.

Jeremy shook his head, “I'm afraid not. He passed on a number of years ago.”

“I see,” Bernie said. “You know,” she continued, “given the circumstances, I find it a little odd that Manny came to talk to you.”

“I thought it was a bit odd too,” Jeremy allowed. “But then Manny and I had a much better relationship than my sister and I did, not that that's saying much. Frankly, I was surprised to see him. I'd heard he'd died in a car crash.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. “Is this helping at all?”

“A little. At this stage every crumb of knowledge helps.” Bernie put the beer tab down.

Jeremy put his hands palms down on the table. “Are we done yet?”

“Not quite,” Bernie said.

Jeremy tapped his watch face. “I have things to do.”

“So do I,” Bernie told him.

“Important things,” Jeremy said.

“Fine,” Bernie said. “But think about this. The more information we have, the faster we can wrap up this investigation.”

Jeremy started drumming his fingers on the table again. “And I should care about that . . . why?”

“You should care about it,” Bernie informed him, “because as much as you dislike Ellen”—she held up her hand—“and don't bother to deny it because it's obviously true—it's still in your interest to get Ellen off the hook and out of the limelight. I don't wish to point out the obvious, but you just told me you didn't want your family name dragged through the mud, and Manny
did
work for your wife's business. It makes people wonder. Need I say more?”

“Do the police know that?” Jeremy asked, looking a little more concerned.

“That he worked for Arf? Not unless Lisa told them.”

“She didn't,” Jeremy stated. “Have you?”

“Hardly,” Libby replied. “Otherwise, you would have gotten a call from a detective by now. But it's probably only a matter of time before they find out.”

Jeremy started twisting his Rolex around his wrist again.

“Good thing that's real,” Bernie said, pointing at the watch. “Otherwise you'd have worn the plating off by now.”

Jeremy sighed. After a minute of mulling things over, he said, “Fine. What are a few more minutes in the scheme of things anyway? There's really not much to tell. Manny looked me up because he was hoping I could find him a job . . . which, as you know, I did.”

So far, Libby thought, Jeremy and Lisa's stories jibed, not that that was surprising. They'd probably talked things over by now.

“Simple as that?” Bernie asked.

“Yes,” Jeremy replied. “As simple as that. Manny called up and said he wanted to talk to me. Like I said, I was pretty surprised to hear his voice after all this time. Anyway, I took him to lunch down at Dad's Diner . . . I certainly wasn't taking him to the club. He looked in pretty bad shape when he walked into the place. In fact, I didn't recognize him at first, he'd gained so much weight.”

“So then what?” Libby asked.

“We sat down and had a couple of sandwiches and he asked me if I knew of anyone who was hiring. I told him about Arf and he seemed to be all right with it, so later that evening I talked to Lisa and arranged for a meeting between the two of them.”

“What else?” Libby asked.

“Nothing else. Then we ate lunch.”

“What did you talk about?”

Jeremy scratched his chin. “Now that I come to think of it, we really didn't. He thanked me and told me he was going through a rough patch. By that time the waitress came with our sandwiches and we finished them and left.” Jeremy thought for a moment. “I doubt we were in Dad's for more than half an hour. The service there is pretty fast, which was just as well because Manny seemed uneasy, like he wanted to get out of there.” Jeremy drained his glass and stood up. “And that, as they say, is all she wrote. So, ladies, I bid you a farewell.”

“One last question,” Bernie said.

“Oh for God's sake, what?” Jeremy cried. “Enough is enough.”

“We just want to know how Bruce reacted when you told him about Ellen's plan,” Bernie said.

Jeremy shot his cuffs. “I wouldn't know because I didn't tell him.”

“But Lisa said you did,” Libby objected.

“That's because I lied,” Jeremy said. “When it came down to it, I couldn't do it. I figured it really wasn't my place. I just told Lisa I had to keep the peace. But he might have known anyway. It was just a feeling I got when we were talking.”

“How would he know, if you didn't tell him?” Bernie asked.

Jeremy shrugged. “Who knows who Ellen told? She could even have told Manny.”

“Manny?” Bernie protested. “That makes no sense at all.”

Jeremy shrugged again. “Maybe I'm wrong. Anyway, isn't it up to you two to make sense out of everything?” Jeremy asked Bernie and Libby before he walked out the door.