A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) (23 page)

“S
o you’re telling me that the woman lied to me,” Matt said. He’d been on his way to sign out when Libby and Bernie flagged him down. “And that she was the one who caused the accident?”

“Do you have another explanation?” Libby inquired in turn.

Instead of answering, Matt took a sip of his coffee. “How did you find me, anyway?” he asked Libby.

“Denise,” Libby replied.

“I’m going to have to give her a good talking to,” Matt said.

“It’s not her fault,” Libby said. “Bernie told her it was an emergency.”

Matt scowled. “If she’s going to marry a cop, she’s going to have to learn to be a little more closed-mouthed.”

“So,” Bernie said, “we were wondering . . .”

“The answer is no,” Matt said.

“To what?” Bernie asked, interrupting. “I haven’t asked you anything.”

“Yet.
Yet
being the operative word here. I’m saving you the trouble. I’m being proactive. I’m not giving you the driver’s name.”

Bernie put her hand to her chest. “I would never ask you to do that. That’s confidential information. You could get in trouble for telling me that.”

“Exactly,” Matt said.

“
If
anyone found out. But they won’t,” Bernie said.

“You know this how?” Matt demanded.

“Because we won’t tell anyone, will we, Libby?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Libby said.

“Absolutely not,” Matt said.

“Don’t you want to right a wrong?” Libby asked.

“No. I want to get home, change, and go bowling.”

“Millie really was killed, you know,” Bernie said. “Maybe on purpose, maybe not. But the event that caused the accident was engineered.”

“We’ve been over this before. You have not one shred of proof to support your allegations,” Matt replied.

“What about the woman who called in the accident not being where she said she was?”

“What about it?” Matt retorted. “Maybe she was having an assignation with someone. Maybe she’d gone to buy dope. Maybe she was running away from home. There are lots of reasons she could have lied to me.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Bernie asked.

“Yes. As it happens, I do,” Matt replied.

“I’ll give you three pies,” Bernie cooed.

Matt snorted. “You think I can be bought for a pie?”

“Okay,” Libby said, upping the ante. “Then how about I cater a dinner for you and Denise?” She could see Matt was weakening. “A romantic dinner. She loves our chocolate mousse.”

“So you’re bribing me?” Matt said. “I want to be clear about this.”

“I like to think of it as a mutually beneficial exchange of services,” Bernie said. “And,” she added, “what if Bernie and I are right? What if this person did have something to do with Millie’s death?”

Matt thought that over for a moment. Maybe Bernie
was
right. “Fine,” he said.

“Fine, what?” Bernie asked.

“You win.” The moment Matt said those words he regretted them, but it was too late to take them back.
What have I done
, he thought as he gave Bernie and Libby the witness’s name, address, and phone number. “But this information didn’t come from me,” he warned.

“Absolutely not,” Bernie said.

“Never,” Libby said.

“Because if this comes out, I’ll have you arrested,” Matt told them.

“For what?” Bernie demanded.

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “But trust me, I’ll think of something.”

“Roberta T. Hall,” Bernie said, repeating the name Matt had given them. “Does it ring any bells?”

Libby shook her head. “Not with me.”

“Me either. Well, let’s see what Ms. Roberta T. Hall has to say,” Bernie said as she pulled out onto the road and drove in the direction of the address Matt had given her.

Five Weatherford Lane was located close to the Thruway, two miles outside of Longely.

“I feel like I’m back in San Francisco,” Bernie commented, looking at the row of Victorian mansions nestled together. “They look like Painted Ladies.”

The houses all had wreaths on their doors and candles in their windows, and the block blazed with light in the gray afternoon. Bernie parked in front of 5 Weatherford, and she and Libby got out, walked up the carefully shoveled walk, and rang the bell. A few minutes later, a pleasant-looking lady dressed in an obviously hand-knitted sweater answered the door.

“Yes?” the woman said, over the strains of Handel’s
Messiah
.

Bernie smiled at her. “We’re sorry to bother you, but we’re looking for a Roberta T. Hall.”

The lady looked confused. “Who?”

“Roberta T. Hall. We were told she lived here,” Libby said.

The woman shook her head. “Sorry, but you must have made a mistake. There’s no one here by that name.”

“Are you sure?” Bernie said. “We need to talk to her about a family matter. It’s important.”

The woman smiled. “I’m positive. The only person who’s lived here recently was a boarder, and he moved out five months ago.”

“Is it possible that you took in the woman we need to speak to before that?”

The woman shook her head. “Oh no,” she said. “You see, I never take in girls. They’re just too much trouble. These days they’re wilder than the boys. Now, if there isn’t anything else . . .”

Bernie shook her head, and the woman closed the door. “What do you bet that the cell number that Matt gave us doesn’t work either,” she said to Libby while they walked back down the porch steps.

“I’m not betting,” Libby said as she watched her sister dialing the number.

“It’s been disconnected,” Bernie announced.

“Now there’s a surprise,” Libby said as they reached the van. “What now?” she said as she got in.

“Good question,” Bernie replied. She sighed. She didn’t want to face Amber.

“What are we going to tell Amber?” Libby said, echoing her sister’s thoughts.

Bernie sighed. “I wish I knew.” Then she had an idea. “This woman’s last name is Hall, right?”

“So?” Libby said.

“Maybe she and Alma Hall are related.”

“Bernie, do you know how many Halls there are around here?”

“A lot, Libby. But do you have a better idea?”

Libby admitted that she didn’t.

“I mean,” Bernie continued, “maybe she knows who this woman is.”

“I guess it’s worth a try,” Libby said doubtfully.

“It’s better than calling all the Halls in the phone book,” Bernie commented as she drove off to Alma’s house. “Which we can’t even do anymore since most people don’t have home phones,” she added.

B
ernie and Libby pulled up to Alma’s house twenty minutes later, parked, and knocked on her door.

“We’re just about to eat,” Alma said when she answered.

“I just have a quick question for you,” Bernie said.

Alma glared at her. “Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

“Damage?” Bernie asked.

“Yes, damage. Going about highlighting all these issues that people have forgotten about.”

“I’m sorry,” Libby said. She didn’t want to stand here and debate the issue. “Do you know a Roberta T. Hall by any chance?”

“No,” Alma said. “I don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Bernie asked.

Alma snorted. “Of course, I’m sure.”

“Maybe she’s a second or third cousin?” Libby asked. “A distant relative?”

“The only relative I have is my nephew.”

“Is he here?” Bernie asked.

“Yes, he is,” Alma answered. “As a matter of fact, he lives over the garage.”

Bernie was just about to ask Alma if she could speak to him when she heard a door slam. The noise sounded as if it had come from the back of the house.

Alma spun around. “Robert,” she cried. “Did you just go out? Dinner’s going to be on the table in a second.”

Bernie and Libby looked at each other. The same idea occurred to both of them. Robert. Roberta. This was too much of a coincidence, and like their father, neither of them believed in coincidences.

“Your nephew must have heard us talking,” Bernie said. “Guess he doesn’t want to meet us.”

“I certainly can’t fault him for that,” Alma told them stiffly.

“What’s your nephew’s middle name?” Libby asked Alma.

“Terry,” Alma replied. “Why? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Terry Hall,” Bernie said. “He went to Longely Central, didn’t he?”

“For a while. And then he moved down to Charlotte with my sister,” Alma said. “Why?”

Bernie held up her hand. “Bear with me for a second. Does he have a twin sister by any chance?”

“No,” Alma told her.

“Are you sure?” Libby asked.

“Of course, I’m sure,” Alma told them.

Bernie looked at Libby. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“I certainly am,” her sister replied. She turned to Alma. “We need to speak to your nephew.”

Alma looked totally bewildered. “What are you talking about?” Alma said to Libby. “I was just about to put dinner on the table.”

“That might have to wait,” Bernie said to her. Then she turned to Libby. “I bet he’s heading toward the garage,” she said.

“I think so too.” She and Bernie turned and sprinted toward it.

They arrived just as the garage door was going up. From where they were standing they could see that the vehicle lights were on and the engine was running.
God, I hope he doesn’t run over me,
Bernie thought as she ran around the car and yanked the driver’s side door open.

The man who was sitting behind the driver’s wheel bore a remarkable resemblance to Penelope’s assistant, Terri.

Except for the sex and the fact that his head was shaved, that is.

“Get out of the car,” Bernie ordered.

He hesitated. Bernie could see from the action of his hand that he was about to shift into reverse. So could Libby.

“Don’t do it,” she cautioned. “You’ll just make things worse.”

Alma’s nephew laughed harshly. “How can things be worse?”

“Believe me, they can be. We know you didn’t mean to cause Millie’s death.”

“I didn’t,” Alma’s nephew said.

“That’s why you came back, isn’t it?” Bernie said, handing him a way out.

He nodded. “I didn’t mean for things to come out the way they did. I really didn’t. But at least I called the police. That should count for something.”

“It will,” Bernie said encouragingly.

“Penelope says I shouldn’t have done that. She says I was a fool.”

Alma came up behind them. “What’s going on here?” she asked after she’d paused to catch her breath. “I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps Terry will explain,” Libby said. “That’s Terry with a
y
instead of an
i
, correct?”

“What do you mean, ‘Terry’? His name is Robert. Terry is his middle name. I already told you that,” Alma said. Her voice had begun to quaver.

“I go by Terri with an
i
, Auntie,” Terri said gently.

“But that’s a girl’s name,” Alma objected.

“I know,” Terri replied. He took a deep breath and let it out. “I wanted to tell you before, but I didn’t know how, so I’m saying it now.”

Alma clutched at her cardigan. “What are you saying now?”

Terri closed his eyes. “I’m a transvestite,” he said, the words coming out in a rush.

“Oh, dear,” Alma said before she fainted dead away.

“I
don’t get it,” Amber said.

It was the afternoon after the
Baking for Life
contest had taped, and she, Bernie, Bree Nottingham, Libby, and Sean were sitting in the apartment above the shop, nibbling on Millie’s Majestic Meltaways.

“These really are good,” Sean said as he helped himself to another one. “Millie would have been proud of you,” he told Amber.

Amber brightened. “You think so?”

“Definitely,” Libby said. “Using one hundred percent virgin coconut oil for the shortening is brilliant.”

“They were the best cookies in the contest,” Bernie said.

“You won fair and square.”

“But Rose is contesting the results. She says that she should have won, and that this whole thing was rigged,” Amber cried.

“Well, in a sense it was,” Sean said as he added a little more cream to his coffee. “But it doesn’t matter because your cookies were still the best.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Amber told him. “I don’t understand anything,” she added plaintively.

“What’s there not to get?” Bernie said. “The whole thing is perfectly straightforward. Not.”

Libby put her hands on the small of her back and pushed. She’d been rolling out pie dough for the last four hours, and her lower back ached.

“From what’s come out, the whole thing was Penelope’s idea,” Libby said. “Like she told us. She wanted to increase ratings, and she figured this would be the ticket.”

“But why pick my aunt?” Amber asked.

“Ah,” Bernie said. “That’s where things begin to get tricky. Evidently, Terri told her boss the story about Alma trying to get Millie to stop driving, and that gave Penelope the idea.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Sean murmured.

“Exactly,” Bernie said.

Amber wrinkled her nose. “It gave her the idea for the deer target? She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would know about that sort of thing.”

“Ordinarily you would be right,” Libby said. “But she’d just finished shooting a program about bow hunters, and the production company had a couple of extra ones lying around. So Penelope told her idea to Terri and he, being the ambitious, favor-currying person that he is, figured out where to put it. After all, before he got a job with the production company, he lived here.”

“At 5 Weatherford Lane,” Bernie interjected, taking up the narrative. “Terri was the detail man. He knew from his aunt that Millie got easily rattled. Maybe she’d withdraw from the competition and his aunt would win. From his point of view, it was a win-win situation all the way around. He’d get props from Penelope, maybe even a promotion, his aunt would have a better chance at winning the contest, and Millie would get paid back a little of what she deserved.”

“Only things didn’t work out that way,” Sean observed.

“No, they didn’t,” Bernie said. “Terri called Millie earlier and told her her cookies didn’t have a chance of winning—he was just letting her know on the QT, as it were. Naturally, that got Millie really upset. Then Penelope called and said she was just making sure that Millie was leaving because she didn’t want her to be late. Which infuriated Millie. And then Terri went out and set up the deer target and pulled off to the side of the road and waited.

“He heard the crash,” Libby continued as Bernie paused to eat a small piece of the lemon bar that Alma had baked. “According to him, he waited and he waited and when he didn’t hear anything, he went to check on Millie. She was passed out.”

“So he took the cookies,” Amber said.

“And hid the deer target in the woods,” Bernie added.

“Why didn’t he take it home with him?” Amber asked.

“It was quicker for him to drag it into the woods than to take it apart and load it in his trunk.”

“Then he called 911?” Amber asked.

Libby nodded. “And waited for the police to come. He told me he didn’t want anything like this to happen, and I believe him,” Libby said to Amber. “The fact that he stuck around and waited for the cops to come proves it. He said he just wanted to make sure that Millie was all right.”

“It really is a pity, and so unnecessary too,” Bree said, breaking her silence. She took a sip of her coffee and delicately replaced the cup on its saucer.

“I’m not sure I’d use that word,” Libby said.

“Unnecessary in the sense that Stanley told Penelope this was the last season of this show unless the ratings picked up,” Bree explained. “She could have come up with a different strategy. This one was just nuts.”

“To say the least,” Sean said dryly.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Bernie asked Bree.

“Tell you what?” Bree inquired.

“What was going on,” Libby replied.

“But I did,” Bree protested. “At least I hinted.”

Libby gave her a puzzled glance. “If you did, I didn’t hear it.”

“Well,” Bree explained, “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure. I surmised what happened from a conversation with Stanley. But like I said, I did throw you a hint.”

“Which was what?” Bernie demanded.

Bree sat up straighter. “There’s no reason to take that tone with me. I was trying to help.”

Bernie apologized. “Sorry,” she said. “Go on.”

“I did try and tell you,” Bree insisted. “I mentioned the word
soul
, and
alma
is the word for
soul
in Spanish. I was trying to point you in the right direction.”

Bernie shook her head. She didn’t think she would have gotten that one in a thousand years. Maybe two thousand.

“So what’s going to happen to everyone?” Amber asked, interrupting Bernie’s thoughts.

“My guess,” Sean said, “is that Penelope will be tried on reckless endangerment charges, and Terri will be allowed to plead to a lesser charge since he gave Penelope up. He’ll probably end up with probation.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Amber said, “What’s going to happen to Terri?”

“My dad just told you,” Libby said

“With his aunt,” Amber explained. “About the whole . . . cross-dressing thing.”

“Well, she bailed him out,” Sean said, “so she obviously got over her shock.”

“But you told me she fainted when he told her that he was a transvestite,” Amber said.

“That’s true,” Bernie said. “But evidently Alma’s gotten over that.”

“Why do you say that?” Amber asked Bernie.

“Because she told me last night that she was taking Terri down to New York on a shopping trip. Evidently he likes my style, so she wanted to know where I buy my stuff. After all,” Bernie continued, “he is her only nephew. I guess,” Bernie said, looking at Bree, who was decked out in a black-and-white tweed Chanel suit, “clothes really do make the man. Or, in this case, the woman.”

Amber laughed. “I’ve always thought so.” She pointed to Millie’s recipe book. It had been lying on the doorstep of the shop when Libby had opened that morning. “I’m just really glad I got this back.” She turned to Sean. “Who do you think returned it?”

“Don’t know,” Sean said. “I suppose it could be any of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club ladies. Does it matter? Because if it does I . . .”

Amber interrupted. “No. No. It’s fine. Having the recipe book back is all I care about. Not that all of Millie’s recipes are that great, but they’re hers and that’s what counts. It’s a sentimental thing.”

“Amen to that,” Sean said as he ate another Meltaway.