A Catered Fourth of July (25 page)

“I think I'd rather have a MINI Cooper,” Bernie said.

“I'd like to have anything that doesn't eat gas,” Libby replied. They were almost at their van when she turned and asked, “Did that really happen?”

Bernie glanced up. She'd been fishing around in her bag for the keys. “What are you talking about?”

“The boyfriend thing.”

Bernie looked puzzled.

“The story you told to Gail. Is that true?”

Bernie laughed. “God no. Don't be ridiculous. I made that up.”

“But it sounded so real,” Libby exclaimed.

“That's because I'm a good liar.”

“Frighteningly good.” Libby didn't know whether to be impressed or scared. She decided she was a little of both.

T
he next morning, A Little Taste of Heaven was jammed with people wanting to hear all the details of Rick Evans's arrest served up with their coffee and muffins. Even though the story hadn't made it into the local newspaper, that paper being a weekly, the gossip grapevine had gone into full activation mode and cell phones had been ringing all over town. The story promised to be the scandal of the week, maybe even the year, especially since everyone in town knew the players or knew someone who knew the players.

“I can't believe it,” everyone who came into the shop kept on saying to one another, as well as to Libby and Bernie. “Rick Evans is such a nice man, so responsible, so civic-minded.”
As opposed to Jack Devlin
remained largely unsaid.

Well, Libby and Bernie didn't think that Rick Evans was nice or civic-minded, not that they would say that to any of their customers. When one was in retail one learned to keep one's opinions to one's self. Although they were certainly glad that Marvin was off the hook, there were still things that worried them, things that Rick Evans's guilt did nothing to explain.

Things like how Devlin had gotten the musket in the first place. That was a niggling issue. It was something they pushed to the back of their minds, something they told themselves would no doubt be explained in the weeks to come. They told themselves their job was done and they should be happy with the result. Marvin certainly was.

By the time Whitney Peters and Holly Roget walked into the shop at ten-thirty, Libby and Bernie were heartily tired of discussing the particulars of the case. Not that they would ever say that, being extremely mindful of the fact that the new faces in the shop were there to hear all the details, details that they would then repeat to their nearest and dearest. Instead, both women smiled at Holly and Whitney and prepared themselves for another recital of the facts as they knew them.

“I heard about Rick,” Holly said as she ordered a coffee with cream, two sugars, and a chocolate raspberry muffin. “Unbelievable. It shows you never know a person.”

“But you must be happy,” Whitney said to Libby after she'd ordered a mint tea and a toasted corn muffin with store-made strawberry jam and butter fresh from Blueberry Hill Farm.

“I am,” Libby replied.

“I never thought Marvin did it in the first place,” Whitney replied.

“No one did. People are too quick to judge,” Holly said as she handed Libby her credit card. “My treat,” she said to Whitney. To Libby she said, “Gail must be devastated. It's true we didn't have a good view from the rose garden. But still. ”

“We saw enough,” Whitney replied, taking the tea that Bernie was holding out to her. She watched as Bernie took a corn muffin out of the display case, sliced it, and put it through the toaster. “I love those muffins. I think it's the corn and cheddar you put in it. And something else?”

“Fresh ground black pepper,” Bernie replied while she took the corn muffin out of the toaster, slathered it with butter, wrapped it up, and handed it to Whitney.

“What do you mean, you saw enough?” Libby asked her.

“Well, we heard the scream and we saw all the people running to poor Jack,” Whitney replied.

“It was very disruptive. We were trying to invoke the Great Mother to manifest an Aga and then that happened.” Holly shook her head. “We couldn't concentrate after that. We all tried, but it wasn't any good. Maybe that's why Juno hasn't gotten her stove yet. ”

“No,” Whitney corrected. “She hasn't gotten her stove yet, because she wasn't there.”

“That is not true. Marie says you don't have to be as long as you have a substitute.”

“Obviously, she's wrong, Holly. I told Juno from the beginning that this would happen. I said I guess you don't want the Aga that badly then.”

“Excuse me,” Bernie said as she handed Holly her coffee and muffin. “But I thought Juno was there.”

“She was in the beginning. Then she left.” Holly furrowed her brow. “She came back a little later.”

Libby leaned forward. “How much later?”

Holly turned to Whitney. “Did she come back before that thing with Devlin happened or after? I don't remember.”

Whitney shook her head. “I think right before, but I can't be certain. Things were so confusing.”

“Why did she leave?” Bernie asked.

“She said was worried about the pig,” Whitney recalled. “That she'd be too hot or something so she went to check on her.”

Bernie wiped a drop of spilled cream off the counter while she processed what she was hearing. “But Hilda was under the Rose of Sharon bush. Samuel Cotton put her there. I know because I saw him, but I definitely didn't see Juno . . . and she'd be hard to miss.”

Whitney shrugged. “What can I tell you? I'm just repeating what Juno told me.”

Libby raised another objection. “But there were nine people in the circle.” What Whitney was saying made no sense to her. “I remember counting them. If Juno wasn't there, there would have been eight.”

Holly took a sip of her coffee. “Well, Gail took over for a little while so the circle wasn't broken if that's what you mean. The number isn't as important as the fact that once you start the chant you keep it going.”

Libby leaned forward. “You mean Gail took Juno's place?” she asked incredulously.

“Exactly.” Whitney rolled her eyes. “That's what I've been saying.”

“She just walked in?” Bernie asked. “Just like that? What was it? Some sort of happy coincidence?”

Whitney shook her head. “No. Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Gail was there so the circle wasn't broken. At least, I assume it was.”

Holly took a sip of her tea. “Although Juno's choice surprised me.”

“Gail?” Libby inquired.

Holly nodded.

“How so?” Bernie asked.

Holly nibbled on her muffin while she thought of how to frame her answer. Finally she said, “Because she's so . . . so . . . not like us. I mean, I think she is one of the most unspiritual people I've met.”

“Besides,” Whitney said, “Gail and Juno aren't exactly best friends. But maybe she couldn't get anyone else.”

“So,” Bernie reiterated, “this whole thing was set up in advance?”

Whitney took a sip of her coffee. “That's what I've been saying. Juno came to me a couple days before the ceremony and told me she might need to switch out with someone for a little while. She'd seen the weather forecast and was concerned about Hilda. In fact, she told me she was setting up a bed for Hilda in the shed just to be on the safe side.”

The sisters exchanged glances.

“Really?” Bernie said.

“Yes,” Holly said. “She's very devoted to Hilda. I mean breaking the circle isn't the best thing, but sometimes one has to make do.”

“One certainly does,” Bernie replied.

The sisters exchanged another glance. As soon as Holly and Whitney walked out the door, Bernie said, “I have an idea.”

“So do I. You first.” After Bernie spoke, Libby said, “I'm thinking that, too.”

“It's a stretch,” Bernie said.

“More like a giant leap,” Libby said. “You want to go see anyway?”

“Definitely,” Bernie said. “I'll call Clyde and let him know what we're thinking.”

“What did he say?” Libby asked after Bernie had finished talking.

“He said he'd meet us there.”

“Cool beans.” Libby told Amber to hold down the fort and got their dad to man the cash register.

“Cool beans? What does cool beans mean?” Bernie asked as they jumped into the van.

Libby shrugged. “I don't know. I just like the way it sounds.” She was quiet for a moment then said, “If the musket is there, why hasn't anyone found it yet?”

“Maybe they weren't looking in the right place,” Bernie said, keeping her eyes on the road.

“I can't believe that Juno and Gail switched places,” Libby said after another minute had gone by.

“I can't believe that we didn't see that. Okay, they pretty much are the same height and weight, but their builds are different.”

“Both of them have brown hair.”

“I guess, when it comes down to it, everyone looks the same in a gown and wings.”

“We should have talked to Holly and Whitney earlier,” Libby said.

“Not our finest hour.”

Both sisters were silent for the rest of the trip. There really wasn't any more to say.

E
verything was as it should be when Libby and Bernie pulled into the Deitrich Rose Garden parking lot. The roses sparkled, the bees buzzed, and an occasional butterfly flitted through the air. Groups of people sat on the benches eating early lunches or simply sunbathing. A young woman and her toddler ambled down the paths between the flowers. Every now and then, the woman would hold a flower down for her child to sniff. A little farther on, an elderly lady dressed in a pink sheath, pearls, and yellow high-tops was pruning the roses, while in the next row over, three teenage girls in shorts and tank tops were taking pictures of the flowers.

“We should come here once in a while,” Bernie said as she parked the van.

“You're saying we should take time to smell the roses?” Libby asked.

“Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying.” Bernie looked around the lot. “Clyde isn't here yet.”

“I'm not waiting,” Libby uncharacteristically declared.

“I didn't ask you to,” Bernie replied, although she didn't think it would be a bad idea.

Libby got out of the van and headed to the shed. It was strung with yellow crime scene tape, which made it look rather festive in an odd sort of way. Bernie was right behind her. Libby hesitated for a moment before pulling the tape away and breaking the seal on the door.

“Lucy is going to have a fit,” Bernie noted as she watched her sister at work. Usually Bernie was the one that engaged in questionable activities.

“It's not as if I'm going to tell him I'm responsible.” Libby opened the door. It creaked because the hinges needed oiling.

“You're going to tell him you found it this way?”

Libby grinned. “Yup. Coming?” she asked as she stepped inside.

Bernie followed her in. “Wouldn't miss it.”

Libby bit her cuticle. “What if we're wrong?”

“Then we're wrong, Not a big deal.”

The two women looked around. Nothing had changed since the last time they had been in there. The shed was still dark and musty with cobwebs strewn across the ceiling beams. It vaguely smelled of mouse droppings and old cut grass. The only light came from the opened door and a small dirty window located on the left side of the building. On the right side of the shack were three rows of shelves, empty except for a few boxes of fertilizer and assorted gardening tools. That was where Marvin had stored the cartons filled with muskets and Revolutionary War costumes.

A rusted push mower stood under the window as did a wooden ladder, a couple blue plastic tarps, some peat pots, and a bag of rose food. The far end of the shed had a built-in cabinet bisecting its wall. Libby approached it, opened the top, and looked inside. The first thing she saw was a muddle of torn white sheets and bundles of newspapers.

She leaned in, grasped one of the sheets with the tips of her fingers and pulled it back. Nothing was there except a column of small black ants carrying a dead mosquito back to their nest. She let out a gasp of disappointment. “I was positive it would be here.”

Bernie sighed. “So was I.”

Libby frowned. “Maybe I'm wrong.”

Bernie shook her head. “No, you're not. It's here. It has to be. It's the only thing that makes sense.”

Libby made a gesture that took in the entire room. “But where?”

Bernie set her jaw. “Good question. Let's find out, shall we?”

While Libby watched, Bernie began looking on the shelves and in the cabinet. She lifted the tarps and peered in the corners. When she was done with that, she began tapping on the walls and the floorboards.

“You don't honestly expect to find anything doing what you're doing, do you?” Libby asked.

“Yeah I do. Otherwise, I wouldn't be doing it.”

“It's not as if there's a secret compartment in here,” Libby observed. “It's not a castle or anything. It's a friggin' garden shed.”

“I know what it is.” Bernie heard a car outside and came to a standstill. “Jeez, I hope that's not Clyde, because I'm going to feel like a fool if it is.”

Libby popped her head out to take a look. “Nope. It's a family. But he should be along any minute.”

Bernie brushed a cobweb off her cheek. “Maybe the musket is outside.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Libby objected. “Of course, nothing about this thing has made sense.” She turned to her sister. “What are we going to tell Clyde?”

“I don't know.” Bernie bit her lip and glanced up. Then she grinned. “We're not going to tell him anything. We're going to show him.”

“What do you mean?”

Bernie pointed to the ceiling beam.

“I don't see anything,” Libby said.

“Look harder,” Bernie instructed.

Libby tried again. A moment later, she did see it. The musket they'd been looking for was lying on one of the rafters. In the gloom, the colors blended together making the rifle extremely difficult to spot. The only reason Bernie had seen it was because a ray of sun had reflected off her watch face.

Libby let out a sigh of relief then went over and got the ladder. She steadied it while Bernie climbed up and brought the musket down. It looked exactly like the ones the reenactors had used.

“So we were right,” Libby said.

“About what?” Clyde asked as he came through the door.

Bernie showed him the weapon. “This. I'm betting this is the one Devlin was supposed to use.”

“And the one that Devlin did use?” Clyde said. “Where did it come from?”

“I'm betting the Musket and Flintlock Club,” Bernie said.

“Why do you say that?” Clyde asked.

“Because it looks exactly like the one I used at the club,” Libby said.

“You shot a musket?” Clyde asked, surprised.

Libby drew herself up. “You sound as if you don't think I'm capable of doing that.”

“Given the way you feel about weapons, I'm just surprised is all,” Clyde replied. “Good work.” He reached for the musket.

“Not so fast,” Bernie told him, taking a step back and bringing the musket down to her side. “We have an idea.” She told him what it was.

Clyde shook his head. “I don't know if I can do that. What you're asking is highly irregular.”

Bernie gazed up at him and fluttered her eyelashes. “Not even for truth, justice, and the American way . . . not to mention three peach and blueberry pies.”

The corners of Clyde's mouth went up. He could never resist Sean's girls. On the other hand, charm and good baking only went so far. “I could get fired.”

“Or you could get rewarded,” Libby said.

“Anyway,” Bernie said, “do you really want those two running around?”

Clyde's eyes darkened. “No. I most definitely do not. There has to be another way.”

“Like what?” Bernie asked.

“The right way. We could drag everyone down to the station.”

“And beat them till they confess?” Bernie said. “Probably not.”

“They'd be lawyered up in a heartbeat,” Libby added. “You know they would be. Do you really think they'd say anything down there?”

“No,” Clyde conceded after a moment's thought. “I don't.” He pondered the problem for another moment. “How do you know they'll both be there?”

“Because I'm going to call and arrange a meeting,” Bernie told him.

Clyde lifted an eyebrow. “How are you going to do that?”

“I'm going to tell them I have something to show them.”

“And if they won't come?” Clyde asked.

“Then I'll think of something else. So are we on?”

Clyde nodded. “I'll need at least an hour.”

“And I'll need some fancy wrapping paper, a bow, and an oversized gift bag,” Bernie said.

Clyde shook his head. “I'm not even going to ask.”

Bernie smiled. “It's probably better not to.”