A Catered Tea Party (8 page)

“You know,” she began, “I think I remember hearing that Erin was engaged to this investment banker and that Zalinsky took her away from him.”

“That's funny,” Libby said, “because I heard she was going out with Jason and Zalinsky took her away from him.”

Bernie did a rat-tat-tat with her fingernails on the steering wheel. “We should find out.”

“Without a doubt,” Libby told her as Bernie shifted into drive and started toward the Longely police station.

“T
hat's the last time I ever do the police a favor,” Libby grumbled as Bernie pulled the van in front of their shop, A Little Taste of Heaven. “We should have kept the money.”

“It would be nice,” Bernie agreed, thinking of everything they could have done with it.

The transfer of the backpack to the police had not gone as smoothly as Bernie had anticipated it would. She'd figured she'd hand Zalinsky's backpack off to her Dad's friend Clyde, explain that she'd found it in the woods, and leave. Unfortunately, Clyde wasn't there. Lucy, aka Lucas Broadbent, Longely's chief of police and her dad's nemesis, was.

“Damn,” Bernie muttered when she saw him come out of his office. The Simmons family didn't like him, and he sure didn't like them. She knew he wasn't going to buy her story on general principles, but it was too late to leave now. “Looking good,” she told him. Actually, Lucy had gained even more weight since she'd seen him last. Between that and his bald head, he looked like an egg.

“Ah, the Simmons sisters.” He rubbed his hands together. “Seeing you just makes my day. Why are you here?”

So Bernie told him.

“How do I know this isn't a setup to divert suspicion from your friend Casper?” he'd demanded.

“Brilliant deduction. Yeah, I always have twenty thousand dollars in cash, gold coins, and diamonds hanging around the flat,” Bernie had replied.

“Maybe you do,” Lucy had said, at which point Bernie had rolled her eyes, which had just pissed Lucy off even more. He'd then spent the next half hour asking Bernie and Libby where they'd found the backpack.

Bernie kept repeating the same story. She said they'd gone for a hike in the woods, and Lucy kept saying that he didn't buy it.

Finally, he'd pointed at her clothes and said, “Where were you hiking anyway? A mud pit?”

“We fell,” Bernie had told him.

“Both of you?” he'd asked. “At the same time?”

“No,” Libby had said. “Bernie fell first, and I tripped over her. Is there a law against that?”

“No, but there's a law against lying to the police,” Lucy had replied.

“We're not lying,” Libby had asserted.

“You know what I think,” Lucy had begun.

Bernie yawned. “No, but I'm sure you're going to tell us.”

Lucy had ignored her and continued on. “I think you found the backpack somewhere else. I think you're trying to muddle up the crime scene.”

“The crime scene is at The Blue House,” Libby said. “How did we get muddied up if we found the backpack there?”

“I know where the crime scene is, thank you very much,” Lucy had snapped.

At which point, Libby decided she'd had enough. She was tired and dirty and hungry, and she wanted to go home, clean up, and have something to eat. “This is ridiculous,” she said, standing up. “We're leaving.”

Lucy had glared at her and told her to sit back down, but Libby had glared right back and said that as far as she knew she was free to go. There was nothing Lucy could say because it was true.

“This isn't going to help your friend,” Lucy had told Libby as she and Bernie had walked toward the door. “There's still the threatening note Cumberbatch left on Zalinsky's table . . .”

“He didn't write that,” Bernie objected.

Lucy went on as if Bernie hadn't spoken “. . . the anonymous letter we got, not to mention the suspect's whereabouts at the time of Zalinsky's death.”

“He's Bernie's friend, not mine,” Libby had retorted for want of something better to say.

That had silenced Lucy long enough for her and Bernie to walk out the door. On the way home, they stopped at the supermarket to get food for their cat and bought two five-pound bags of lemons because they were on sale.

“I'm thinking lemon chicken,” Libby said once they were back in the van.

Bernie nodded. It was always a good seller for them. They spent the rest of the ride back discussing tomorrow's lunchtime specials. They'd settled on five dishes in addition to the lemon chicken: a cold poached salmon; a BLT made with farm-cured bacon, avocado, local beefsteak tomatoes, and butter crunch lettuce served on a store-baked baguette slathered with homemade mayonnaise; a corn, tomato, and feta cheese salad; a watercress, arugula, walnut, and goat cheese salad; and fresh peach ice cream. They were almost in front of the shop when Bernie cursed and slammed on the brakes.

“What's the matter?” Libby asked.

Bernie pointed. Their cat, Cindy, was sitting in the street right by the curb. Another minute and Bernie would have run over her.

“Oh, my God,” Libby cried as she unbuckled her seat belt and dashed outside.

Bernie was right behind her.

“You could have been run over,” Libby told Cindy as she scooped her up in her arms and pressed her against her chest. Their main street was full of fast-moving cars and was distinctly not a cat-friendly place.

Cindy meowed a response.

“How'd you get out?” Bernie asked her.

Cindy looked up at Libby and meowed again. Then she began to purr.

“That was close,” Bernie said as she reached over and rubbed the tips of Cindy's ears. Cindy purred louder.

Bernie shuddered as she thought about what could have happened to the cat if she hadn't been paying attention. Loath as she was to admit it, she'd become quite fond of Cindy since she'd been foisted on them last year. The fact that she was a good mouser didn't hurt either. Bernie was about to suggest to Libby that she take Cindy upstairs, while she went into the shop and talked to Amber and Googie when Amber came running out of the store.

“Thank God you're here,” she cried.

Chapter
15

“A
mber, what's the matter?” Libby asked as their counter girl headed toward them with all the fervor of a homing pigeon heading for its coop, not that Libby was too alarmed since Amber tended to be dramatic.

As Libby watched Amber approaching them, she remembered the first three months she'd worked in the shop. One day Amber would show up as Marilyn Monroe, the next day she'd be Goth Girl, and the day after that she'd be imitating a beatnik. Not knowing what Amber would look like when she came to work had driven Libby crazy, but the customers had loved Amber's chameleon act, and after a while Libby had too. Now she looked forward to seeing what Amber was going to look like when she walked through the door.

Today she was impersonating a twelve-year-old with her purple braids, Frozen T-shirt, pink wraparound skirt, and numerous multicolored bangles on her arms.

“I like the hair,” Libby said as she watched Amber bearing down on her and her sister. “So what's up?” she asked, as she scratched Cindy under her chin.

“I am so sorry,” Amber told her as she clasped Bernie's hands to her bosom. “I tried to call you, but it went straight to voice mail.”

“That's odd,” Bernie told her as she gently worked her hands free. That's when she remembered. She'd turned off her phone's ringer when she and Libby were hiding in the closet, and she'd never put it back on.

Amber turned to Libby. “I tried yours too,” she said reproachfully. “But I couldn't even leave a message. Your voice mail is full.”

“Sorry,” Libby said. Her phone was in the van's glove compartment. She hadn't glanced at it since last night. She really had to get back in the habit of checking her messages.

Amber looked close to tears. “I didn't know what to do.”

“Tell us what's wrong,” Libby said. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine what was so bad. There was no fire truck, no ambulance, no police car parked outside the shop. Maybe the credit card machine was down or the cooler was failing again, but neither of those warranted tears.

“It's Michelle,” Amber said.

“What about her?” Libby asked.

“She's in the back.”

“You mean the back of our shop?”

“Yes.”

Cindy hissed, and Libby realized she'd tightened her grip on her. “Where?” she asked again, hoping she hadn't heard right.

“In the back,” Amber repeated.

“That's what I thought you said,” Libby replied. To say this made her unhappy was a massive understatement.

Amber bit her lip. “I tried telling her you didn't like anyone who doesn't work in the shop back there, but she said that you said it would be fine.”

“Really?” Libby said. “Is that what she said?”

Amber shrank back at the ice in Libby's voice. Bernie patted her arm.

“It's okay,” she reassured Amber. “It's not your fault. It wasn't your place to stop her.”

“I tried,” Amber said. “But she went right by me.”

Bernie patted her arm again. “Don't worry. It's not your responsibility. I'll go talk to Michelle,” she said, turning to Libby. “You take Cindy upstairs.”

“No. We'll both go talk to Michelle,” Libby replied. She wanted to hear what Michelle had to say for herself. This was not a conversation she was going to miss.

Bernie looked at her sister. If she didn't like Michelle, Libby absolutely loathed her. “I'd like to keep the conversation civil, if you don't mind.”

“Why would I mind?” Libby asked, for the moment the personification of reason.

“It was a figure of speech,” Bernie told her.

“I know that. Anyway, I'm always polite.”

Bernie rolled her eyes.

“I am,” Libby insisted. “You're the one with the big mouth.”

“Not in this case,” Bernie told her. “Just don't say anything. I want you to leave the talking to me.”

“I won't say a word,” Libby replied.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Libby said. “Anyway, I really want to hear what she has to say about the cat.”

“How do you know that she had anything to do with the cat?” Bernie asked.

“I don't know. I'm just connecting the dots.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, how else did Cindy get outside? It's not as if she opened the door by herself.”

“Maybe it was the FedEx guy.”

“We're not expecting a delivery.”

“Maybe Dad ordered something.”

Both Libby and Bernie turned to Amber.

“I didn't see the truck,” she told them. “Not that that means anything. I could have been waiting on a customer.”

“How was lunch, by the way?” Bernie asked.

“Good,” Amber answered. “Lunch was good. We had a run on the gravlax, and we're out of pumpernickel and the three-bean salad. Oh, and we're going to need some more French roast soon.”

Bernie nodded. She made a note to speak to Mike over at Joe's Brew and see if he'd give them a discount if they bought in larger quantity. “I'll pick some more up later today,” she assured Amber. Then she turned, and the three of them headed into A Little Taste of Heaven.

Bernie reflexively inhaled as she walked into the shop, drinking in the scents of fresh coffee, butter, vanilla, basil, and toast. Then her eyes took in the sparkling counters, the display cases filled with freshly made salads, local cheeses, and store-made baked goods, and the small tiled tables and wire chairs where the local moms came to sip coffee and chat after they'd dropped their kids off at school.

Three years ago, she and Libby had repainted the walls a pale blue and the ceiling a mint green, and the combination worked. Then she and Libby had hung large photographs of Longely that they'd reproduced from snapshots they'd found in the Longely Historical Center on the walls. Her mom had created a warm, inviting place, and Bernie was proud of the fact that she and her sister had continued the tradition. No matter what the problems were, she was always glad to walk into the shop. It was home.

Bernie looked over at Libby. She could tell from Libby's expression she was feeling the same way—maybe even more so. That's what made Michelle's being in the back so galling. It was an invasion, and if there was one thing she knew about Libby it was that she didn't do well when someone barged into her home without an invitation. And then there was the matter of the cat. If Michelle did have something to do with Cindy getting out, that was worse than being in the back without permission.

“Do you want me to take Cindy upstairs?” Amber asked.

Libby shook her head. Cindy didn't like Amber very much and would probably scratch her, then Amber would drop her, Cindy would run away, and they'd be back where they started. “Thanks,” she told Amber, “but we'll manage.”

Bernie bit her lip. “Are you sure you won't let me handle this?” she asked Libby.

“I'm absolutely positive,” Libby replied. “How long has Michelle been in the back?” Libby asked Amber.

“I'm not sure,” Amber replied. “Maybe a half hour. I'm really, really sorry,” she said for the third time.

Bernie patted Amber's arm again. “You did good,” she told her, looking around.

At least A Little Taste of Heaven was empty. The last thing they needed if there was going to be drama was a shop full of customers. That kind of thing was most definitely not good for business. Right now they were in a lull, and they'd be in a lull until four, when people would start coming in to pick up dinner. Then, at seven, business would drop off to zero. You could set your clock by it. They had three rushes a day, and the rest of the time the shop was empty. At first, the pattern had bothered Bernie, but she'd come to realize that that was why they were able to run their shop with the crew they had.

On their way to the back, Bernie and Libby stopped for a moment to exchange a few words with Googie, their second employee. Unlike Amber, he had no interest in Michelle, no interest in any of the gossip that swirled through the shop. He was totally focused on his job, and that was it, which was one of the things Bernie liked about him.

Plus, he was good with machinery and never panicked, no matter what the circumstances. He was the cool to Amber's hot. At night, he performed with his group, The Wolfmen, and Bernie had to say she thought they were pretty good. One of these days, Bernie knew that both he and Amber would leave, a thought that filled her with sadness, but today wasn't the day.

Bernie was thinking about what she'd do when that happened while she walked into the kitchen. Michelle was standing in the middle of the room, with her arms folded over her chest and a triumphant expression on her face. Clearly she'd heard them coming and had prepared herself.

Not even a shred of guilt on her face,
Libby thought as she followed Bernie in.
Amazing
. Then she noticed that the door to their office was slightly open. She was positive she'd closed it before she and Bernie had left.

“Hello,” Bernie said to Michelle.

Michelle smiled. “Nice day.”

Not even a hint of a fluster,
Bernie thought.
She thinks she has this all sewn up
. “Can I help you with anything?” she asked.

Michelle laughed. “No. I'm fine.” She gestured to a tray on the nearest prep table. “I was just fixing your father a little snack.”

“Really?” Libby said. She was going to say more, but Bernie gave her a warning look, and remembering her promise, she shut up.

“Amber is perfectly capable of doing that,” Bernie said, taking over the conversation. “And anyway, Dad doesn't like Camembert on pumpernickel. He likes Brie on a baguette, and he prefers nectarines to peaches.”

Michelle laughed. “That's not what he told me. I just thought it would be nice if I got something for Sean, especially with you two running around and playing detective.”

“Playing?” Bernie echoed. She could feel her hackles rising.

Michelle tittered. “Sorry if I offended you, but you're not licensed, are you?” She leaned toward them. “Confidentially, I think your dad is feeling a little neglected.” She went on before Bernie could reply. “I love your setup here. My prep room is much smaller. I don't even have an office.”

“Do tell.” Bernie folded her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” Michelle continued. “I hope you don't mind that I peeked inside yours.”

Bernie shot Libby a sideways glance. Her sister was getting ready to lose it. Not that she blamed her. All their recipes, the list of vendors they used, their financial info, were in there. She was furious too.

“Actually, I do mind. I mind a lot,” Bernie told her, which was a massive understatement.

“I'm sorry,” Michelle said, though she didn't sound sorry at all. Then Michelle looked down at the cat in Libby's arms and made a pronouncement. “You know, cats really belong outside,” she said.

“Not this one,” Bernie replied as Libby clasped Cindy a little more tightly to her chest.

“I think she likes being outside,” Michelle said. “All cats do.”

“And you know this how?” Bernie inquired in the quiet voice she used when she was really, really mad.

“They should be hunting mice in the barn,” Michelle blithely continued on.

“Well, we're not living on a farm, we're living in Longely, and Front Street is dangerous,” Bernie said. She could hear the edge in her voice as she spoke to Michelle.

“Wow. That's exactly what your dad said.” Michelle laughed. “Like father like daughter, I guess.”

“So you're the one who let Cindy out?” Libby asked, breaking her vow of silence. Actually, Bernie was surprised she'd been quiet for as long as she had.

Michelle straightened her shoulders. “She was mewing at the door. I could tell she wanted to go out.”

“So now you're gifted with cat ESP?” Bernie demanded.

“If that's what you want to call it,” Michelle replied sweetly.

Bernie took a deep breath and exhaled. “The cat stays in, understand?” she said through clenched teeth.

“Fine,” Michelle said. “If that's the way you want it.”

“That's definitely the way Libby and I want it,” Bernie told her, “because we don't want a dead cat. And next time, if we're not here, ask Amber to get Dad whatever he wants, although, truth be told, he's perfectly capable of coming down here by himself.”

Michelle sniffed. “I'm just trying to take care of Sean. I'd think you'd be happy to have someone who cares for your dad and wants to make him comfortable.”

“I guess that depends on who that someone is,” Libby told her, regretting the words the moment they flew out of her mouth.
Bernie was right,
Libby thought.
I shouldn't have come in.

“What are you saying?” Michelle demanded.

“What do you think I'm saying?” Libby challenged.

“You think you're so smart. We'll see just how smart you are,” Michelle rapped out. Then she picked up the tray with the food she'd prepared for Sean and flounced out of the room.

Libby turned to Bernie. “What did she mean by that?”

“I have no idea, but I don't think it's going to be good,” Bernie declared, hazarding a guess.

“I think you may be right,” Libby agreed. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Yes, you should have,” Bernie told her.

Five minutes later, Libby and Bernie found out how not good it was going to be when their father came storming into the kitchen and demanded they go upstairs and apologize to a weeping Michelle, who looked at Bernie and Libby and said, between sobs, words to the effect that she only wanted to do the right thing and was sorry if she'd caused them any problems.