A Catered Fourth of July (13 page)

D
avid Nancy bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Charmed as always, I'm sure.”

“Your wife told us you were in New York,” Libby repeated.

He shrugged. “So you said.”

With her middle finger, Libby pushed her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose. “Evidently, she lied.”

“
Lied
is a harsh word,” Nancy noted as he reached over and took a sip from the glass that was sitting on the table.

“But an accurate one,” Libby answered.

“It's not lying if it's in the service of a good cause.” He plucked an ice cube out of his glass and began sucking on it.

“That's a new one,” Bernie commented. “Tell me you don't really believe that?”

Nancy waved his hand in the air. “Okay. Bad sentence. She was protecting me.”

Bernie batted her eyelashes. “From us two poor helpless females?”

His smile was for real. “Helpless?” He chuckled. “That would hardly be the word I would use to describe either one of you.”

Bernie was going to ask him what word he would use, but Libby cut her off before she could. “Why did your wife cover for you?” she asked again.

“Because she is my wife, and that's one of the things wives do.”

“I wouldn't do it,” Libby told him.

“Maybe that's why you're not married,“ Nancy retorted.

Libby scowled and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose again. She really had to get another pair. These didn't fit right. But as Bernie had pointed out, what did she want from drug store sunglasses?

“Are you going to answer me or not?” she demanded.

“You want the truth?” he asked, parodying Jack Nicholson in
A Few Good Men.

“I want the truth,” Libby said, playing along.

Nancy sat forward and pointed at Bernie. “You want the truth?”

“I want the truth,” Bernie answered.

“You can't handle the truth,” he said then laughed. “Okay. Kidding aside. Like I just said, Cora lied to you because I asked her to run interference for me. My office is in the back of the house. I could hear your van pull into the driveway then you two talking when you got out, and I didn't want to be disturbed. I'm on an extremely tight deadline and I needed to get my work done.”

“You don't look as if you're on a tight deadline,” Bernie observed.

“That's because I just e-mailed my renderings off to LA and am waiting for approval before I continue. Not that it's any of your business.”

“So you have time to talk to us now,” Libby observed.

Nancy's affect changed. “No, I don't. I'm tired and I don't have the time or the energy to have a little chat with you. Have you guys not heard of calling ahead and making an appointment? And no,” he said before Libby could continue, “I didn't shoot at Marvin or kill Jack Devlin.”

“How do you know that's what we want to talk to you about?” Bernie asked.

Nancy snorted. “Well, I don't think you're selling Girl Scout cookies. Anyway, like I said, I could hear your entire conversation with my wife. One thing Cora was right about—you should talk to Samuel Cotton. He's the one you want.”

“Because he owns guns?” Bernie asked.

“That and because he and Elise Montague had a thing going and it ended badly.”

“I take it the ending badly thing had to do with Jack Devlin?” Libby inquired.

“As so many things around here seem to do,” Nancy noted. “Go ahead. Talk to Cotton.”

“Since we're here, I think I'd like to talk to you,” Libby said.

“One can't always have what one wants, can one, dear?” he asked in a smarmy tone of voice.

“Actually, one can,” Bernie told him.

“What's your heart's desire? Perhaps I can help.” He looked Bernie up and down.

Bernie played dumb. “Maybe you can. Maybe you can tell us who you were standing next to when you picked out your musket.”

Nancy chuckled. “I don't remember. The muskets were in a pile and I picked one up. If I remember correctly, I was busy trying to remember my lines.”

Just as Bernie was about to reply, he sprang out of his chair. “Do you hear that?” he cried.

“Hear what?” Bernie asked.

“My fax is coming through. Now go.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “I don't have anymore time to spare for you two.” At that point his cell rang. He picked it up and started talking as he made his way to his office.

They watched him step inside and shut the sliding glass door behind him.

“Come on,” Bernie said when Libby didn't move.

“Do you think there'd be a shell casing around if he took a shot at Marvin?”

Bernie considered the question. “No, I don't. I think he would have picked it up. I think he's too OCD not to. Now let's go. We've learned everything we can here.”

“And that is?” Libby demanded.

“Not much,” Bernie admitted. “Not much at all.” She put her hand on Libby's elbow.

After a moment, Libby allowed Bernie to lead her away.

Bernie had just finished backing out of the driveway when a green Miata roared past them and parked. As they watched, a skinny woman in a tank top, shorts, and flip-flops got out of the car and hurried toward the house. She rang the bell. A moment later, the door opened and she went inside.

“I wonder who that was?” Libby said.

Bernie shook her head. “Don't know. All I do know is that her thighs are as thin as my wrists.”

Libby fanned herself. “I don't even know her and I hate her.”

Bernie laughed and headed the van in the direction of the Longely Elementary School.

D
uring the school year, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the Longely Elementary School would be in a state of controlled chaos. Children would be pouring out of the building, police officers would be directing traffic, and minivans and school buses would be lining up to take the children home. But it was the beginning of July and day camp had let out for the day so the building was quiet. Just a few people, mostly mothers, lingered in the area talking to each other while their kids played quietly on the grass or ran beneath the sprinklers watering the lawn.

The school had been built in the fifties when land was cheap and plentiful. Surrounded by forsythia bushes and laurel hedges, the school presented a picture of a prosperous, well-tended place, the kind parents felt confident sending their children to.

Constructed of brick, the building sprawled across the lawn angling first this way and that. It boasted a gym, an auditorium, a library, a media room, an Olympic-sized pool, and a large outdoor play area. The last two features were situated in the rear of the school, which was where, for obvious reasons, the summer camp was located. Bernie followed the road around back and parked the van next to the two other cars that remained in the lot. She and Libby had just gotten out of the van and were heading inside when Samuel Cotton came out of the building. He was a tall, skinny, balding guy with a slight stoop to his shoulders and an unfriendly expression on his face.

Even though he was in his mid-thirties, Bernie could discern the seeds of the grumpy old man he was going to morph into in his sixties. Samuel Cotton, she decided, was one of those guys who had been born in a bad mood and had stayed that way.

He was wearing khaki cargo shorts and a bright yellow camp T-shirt that had the catch phrase L
ONGELY NOW
printed across its middle. The clothes were not flattering to him, not that they'd be flattering to anyone above the age of six.

The yellow T-shirt brought out the greenish tinge in his skin, while his shorts emphasized his knobby knees. Of course, the fact that he was wearing black socks and white sneakers didn't help in the appearance department. Samuel looked tired and harassed, although to give him his due, anyone dealing with small children would probably feel that way.

Bernie knew she was stereotyping him, but he didn't fit her image of someone who hunted. In her mind, those guys were big and burly and expansive, not tall, skinny, and nerdy-looking.

“Yes?” he said as Bernie and Libby came toward him.

“We'd like to chat with you for a moment,” Libby said.

“Chat?” His voice rose. “I don't chat. We're not in England. We're not sitting down to a nice, cozy cup of tea.”

“All right, talk then. My sister and I would like to
talk
to you.”

Samuel wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Can't it wait?” he asked plaintively. “I really need to go home and take a shower.”

“This will just take a minute,” Bernie reassured him.

”I don't care how little time it will take. I can't talk to you right now,” he whined. “It's been a long day and I need to get home.”

“This is about—”

He held up his hand and cut her off. “I know why you're here and you could have saved yourself the trouble of coming. I don't know anything about Jack Devlin.”

“Why do you assume that's what we wanted to talk to you about?” Libby asked.

“You are investigating the Jack Devlin incident, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“So there you are. This is a small town. People talk.”

“Which people?”

“People.” He ran his hand through his hair. His scalp was glistening with sweat. “The air conditioning broke in the building today.” He gestured toward the school. “Do you know what it was like in there?”

“I'm sure it was horrible.”

“Horrible,” Cotton cried. “I thought I was going to pass out in there! And now I'm told that the repairman won't be able to come until Friday. That's two days away! Two days in this heat! We're going to have to close the camp. It's a health hazard. It's amazing someone didn't faint.”

“So you were here the entire day?” Bernie asked him, trying to pin down his whereabouts vis-à-vis Marvin's shooting.

He snorted. “Where else would I be?”

“I don't know. You could have had a doctor's appointment.”

“Well, I didn't. I'm here when the little darlings come and I'm here when the little darlings go. That's why they pay me the big bucks.” He drew his lips back in a mirthless smile.

“Surely you must get lunch off,” Bernie said, thinking that it wouldn't take long to drive from the school to Cotton's house, fire off a shot, and come back again.

“Ha. Lunch off? Now that's a joke. The council is so cheap that they aren't paying the camp counselors anything. They're interns. They work for free. You know what that means, don't you? That means they don't care. That means I have to watch everything, oversee every single detail. No. I bring my lunch with me and we all eat together. Except on Fridays. Fridays is pizza day. We still eat together, but we have pizza and ice cream. The kids love it.”

“Listen—” Libby began when Cotton stopped to draw a breath.

“No. You listen.” He cut her off once again. His rant seemed to have taken the last bit of energy he had out of him, not that there had been that much to begin with. “I can't think.” He put his hand to his forehead then put it back down. “I bet I'm suffering from heat stroke. The last thing I need to do is answer some silly questions about Jack Devlin. I should probably be going to the hospital to get rehydrated.”

“We can drive you if you want,” Libby offered. “Right, Bernie?”

Bernie nodded. “Absolutely, Libby.”

Cotton looked from one sister to another then took a step back. “No no. That's very kind I'm sure, but now that I think about it, I'm positive that a cold shower and a long drink will do the trick.”

“This is not about Jack Devlin,” Bernie said in an attempt to clarify the conversation.

“I'm not talking about his girlfriends either,” Cotton announced. “I believe that everyone is entitled to their private lives, even if they are pathetic and degrading. And I don't gossip. Ever. About anyone. So there's no point in asking me any questions. I've already made my statement to the police and that's what I'm sticking with. Ask them if you want.”

Bernie took a swig from her water bottle and replaced it in her bag. “So I take it you talked to them about Elise Montague?” Her tone was conversational.

Cotton didn't reply.

“Because David Nancy says that you and Elise had something going on then Jack Devlin came along and poof.” Bernie made an exploding gesture with her hands. “All gone.”

“I don't know what you're speaking about,” Cotton said stiffly.

“If we talk to Elise, will she tell us the same thing?” Libby asked. “Will she tell us David Nancy was lying?”

It looked to Libby as if Samuel Cotton was swaying slightly on his feet, but maybe that was just a trick of the light.

“I have no idea what she'll tell you,” he said after a slight hesitation. “None at all. You'll have to speak to her.”

“We intend to,” Libby said.

“Because some people would consider that a motive for killing Jack Devlin,” Bernie observed.

“She isn't worth killing for,” Cotton blurted out. “You give your sex too much credit. Actually, no woman is, and that's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Fine,” Bernie replied. “Here's another question for you then. Maybe you can answer this one for me. Do you shoot guns?”

Cotton stared at her. “What do you mean?” he asked after a minute had gone by.

“It's a simple question requiring a simple answer. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Do you always answer a question with another question?” Libby said.

Cotton wiped his forehead with the back of his hand again. “Only if they're stupid.”

“Actually, I don't know why my sister is asking you that question,” Bernie said, “since we already know the answer.”

“We do indeed,” Libby said doing a good television game host show imitation.

“And that would be?” Bernie asked.

“That would be yes. Samuel Cotton knows how to shoot,” Libby replied in a bright, cheery voice. “So come on down Samuel Cotton and claim your prize.”

Cotton peered at her through his sunglasses. “Has the heat claimed your senses? I hear it does that to people.”

“Obviously you don't watch a lot of game shows,” Bernie told him.

He frowned. “I don't watch any. Now, what are you babbling about?”

“I'm talking about the fact that David Nancy said that you and Rick Evans go hunting.”

Cotton humphed. “That's not exactly a secret. We go deer hunting around Syracuse every year.”

“With what?” Libby asked.

“With rolling pins,” Samuel Cotton replied.

Libby frowned. She could feel a headache coming on. “Seriously.”

“We use guns. What did you think we used?”

“Well, it could have been bow and arrow,” Bernie countered.

“But it's not.”

“What kind of gun do you use?” she asked.

“A Remington Model 870 twelve gauge pump action shotgun that is equipped with a twenty-inch rifled slug barrel. Does that help?”

Bernie didn't say anything.

“No. I thought not. I bet you can't tell one gun from another.”

“This is true. But I bet the members of your gun club, the Musket and Flintlock Club, can,” Libby said.

“And your point is?” Cotton asked.

Bernie jumped in. “I think the point my sister is trying to make is that you most likely have the expertise to rig a musket.”

Cotton snorted. “Anyone with a lick of sense can do it. All you have to do is look on the Internet to find instructions. Ask anyone in the gun club and they'll tell you the same thing.”

“That was my next question,” Libby said.

Cotton's voice rose. “Are you suggesting that someone from the gun club did this?”

“Did they?” Bernie countered.

Cotton made a disgusted noise. “You really are nuts. For your information, everyone, except Marvin, in the reenactment belongs to that club and we are all law-abiding citizens. We pay our taxes. We sponsor safe gun classes. We hold charity benefits. We give back to the community.”

“So by definition you wouldn't have taken a shot at Marvin?” Bernie asked.

Cotton took a step back. “Someone took a shot at Marvin?”

“That's what my sister just said,” Libby told him.

“When?”

“Not too long ago.”

“You think because I know how to handle a firearm I shot at Marvin?” Cotton asked incredulously.

“That thought had occurred to us,” Bernie told him.

He started to laugh and ended up wheezing. “Allergies,” he explained between gasps. “That's beyond absurd,” he told Bernie when he could talk again. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you're mad at Marvin,” Libby said.

“Why would I be mad at him?”

“Because he killed Jack Devlin,” she replied.

He shook his finger at her. “According to you, I wanted Jack Devlin dead, so why would I be angry at Marvin for killing him? He would have done me a favor.”

“Maybe you wanted to kill him yourself,” Libby hazarded.

Cotton shook his head in disgust. “You ladies have not a clue. You should leave things like this to the authorities.”

“You don't like us, do you?” Libby asked.

“I don't like people who overstep their boundaries. Something you two ladies are doing in spades. That's how people get hurt, you know, doing what they don't know anything about, going where they have no business going.”

“Is that a warning?” Bernie asked him.

Cotton held his hand up to his chest. “Good heavens, no. It's an observation. I'm just stating a fact. I mean, look at what happened to poor Marvin. He sure isn't having a good week, is he?”

“No, he's not,” Libby agreed.

“I'm glad I'm not him. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I'm going to depart. My shower awaits.”

“One more question,” Bernie said.

“I think not,” Cotton responded. With that, he walked over to his vehicle, unlocked it, got in, and drove off.

“So what do you think?” Bernie asked Libby as they watched his vehicle disappear around the bend in the road.

“I think that he knows a lot more than he's telling,” Libby said. “I think he was warning us to stay away.”

“I think so too. We should have a chat with Elise.”

“And Rick,” Libby added.

“Definitely Rick.” Bernie looked at her watch. “But not right now.”

They had to get back to the shop and get to work prepping tomorrow's food.