A Catered Fourth of July (4 page)

E
veryone—the reenactors, the Wiccans, and the spectators—was gathered around the police and fire vehicles in a ragged circle with Marvin and Jack Devlin at the epicenter. Everyone that is, except Elise Montague. She was stumbling in the direction of the rose garden.

Bernie noticed her out of the corner of her eye and nudged Libby. “You stay here. I'm going to see what's up with Elise.”

Libby nodded then turned her attention back to Marvin. At the moment, he was her most important priority.

Bernie pushed her way through the crowd of people, and caught up with Elise at the base of the hill. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Elise nodded, but her breath was shallow and she looked as if she was going to pass out, a fact that surprised Bernie. Of all the people, she would have picked Elise as the last one to get the willies.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Bernie suggested.

Elise shook her head. “I just needed some air.” She pointed to the police. “I have to go back. They're going to want to speak to me.”

“They're going to want to speak to everyone. There's a long line in front of you.”

Elise didn't reply. She just stood there, swaying slightly, a fine sheen of sweat on her face.

“Let's go,” Bernie said.

When Elise didn't move, Bernie put her hand under one of Elise's elbows, guided her to a bench under an aspen tree, and sat her down. Then she went back to the gazebo, got two bottles of water out of the cooler, returned, and handed one to Elise. “Drink,” she ordered.

When Elise raised the bottle to her lips, Bernie noticed that her hands were shaking.

Elise took a long drink. “Thanks. I know you and I aren't exactly friends.”

“Not a problem.” Bernie wondered if she looked as shook up as Elise did.

“I just never expected . . .” Elise said.

“Expected what?” Bernie asked, opening her bottle and taking a gulp then another. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was.

“This.” Elise touched the spot of blood on her sleeve.

“I don't think anyone did.”

Elise ran her finger over the spot again. “That's Devi's.”

“I know.”

Elise's eyes began to mist up. “I suppose all good things must come to an end,” she murmured.

“Are you talking about Jack Devlin?”

Elise gave a sharp little laugh. “I suppose I am.” She took another gulp of water. “People said bad things about him, you know.”

“Indeed, I do,” Bernie replied.

“Very bad. But he was really a very nice man. Very sweet.” Elise looked up at Bernie. It's true,” she cried.

“I'm not disagreeing,” Bernie told her.

“Do you know that he was religious?”

“Now I find that surprising, given his conduct and all.”

“He believed in the creative principle.”

“Of course he did.” Bernie stifled her desire to laugh.

“It's true,” Elise insisted again.

Bernie made a calming gesture. “Hey. I believe you.”

“I should get back.” Elise started to stand up then abruptly sat back down. “Everything is spinning.”

“You're probably in shock. Try putting your head between your knees.”

Elise did. A moment later, she lifted it back up. “You know, I passed my test to be an EMT.”

“So I heard,” Bernie told her.

“But I don't think I'm going to do that. Seeing Devi like that . . . his face . . . his face all mashed up, I don't think I can do this kind of thing after all. Maybe I should go back to bond trading.”

“Maybe you should,” Bernie agreed.

“Or find something altogether different. Could you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know. Be an EMT.”

Bernie didn't have to think about the answer to that one. “Absolutely not.”

Elise stood up. Some of the color had come back into her face. “Thanks. I think it's time to go back and face the music.”

She passed Libby on the way down and they nodded at each other. Bernie walked over and Libby took the bottle of water out of Bernie's hand and drank. “The police want to speak to us,” she said as she handed the bottle back.

“Immediately?” Bernie asked.

“In a little while. They want to know if we saw anything.”

“Nothing that everyone else didn't see, I suspect.”

Libby nodded in Elise's direction. “What was that all about?”

“She felt faint.”

Libby snorted.

“She did,” Bernie insisted. “She was very upset.”

“That's a new one,” Libby noted.

“She said she didn't expect . . .”

“Devlin to look so bad,” Libby said, finishing the sentence for her.

Bernie shrugged. “I thought she was going to say she didn't think the sight of blood would upset her so much, but I could be wrong.”

“And frequently are,” Libby couldn't resist saying. “Do you believe her?”

“That she was so upset?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she certainly acted that way.”

Libby took the water bottle back from Bernie and took another sip. “I'm not sure I do.”

“Why?”

Libby shrugged. “No reason really. Just a feeling.”

“Maybe it's because you don't like her,” Bernie suggested.

“Me, allow my personal prejudices to cloud my judgment? Never.”

Bernie smiled.

Libby was about to follow up on her comment when she spotted Marvin waving to her. “Come on. Marvin wants us.”

“I'll be there in a minute. I just want to stay here, poke around a little, and see if I can find anything.”

“Like what?” Libby asked.

“Don't know. But I don't like the way this thing is heading.”

Libby frowned. “Me either.”

“G
ossip is a terrible thing,” Sean Simmons observed as he studied his daughters' faces. They both looked exhausted. It had been six hours since Jack Devlin had been shot and the family was finally sitting down to a light evening repast—leftovers from the picnic that had never happened—in the Simmons's flat. “Especially in a town this size.” He raised his voice so he could be heard over the clanking of the air-conditioner.

“Yes, it is,” Clyde agreed. A frequent visitor to the Simmons household, he was Sean's oldest friend. Unlike Sean, Clyde was still a member of the Longely police force, although he was thinking of retiring next year. He reached over and cut himself another sliver of blueberry tart, his third, and carefully conveyed it to his plate. “Remember the Clemson case?”

“Sure do,” Sean replied, nodding vigorously. “That was so sad.” Before his daughters could ask what had happened, he explained it to them. “I'd just been made police chief and there was a peeping Tom going around this neighborhood.”

“It created quite the uproar,” Clyde interjected.

“It certainly did,” Sean agreed. “This guy had been running around for a couple months when everyone, and I
do
mean
everyone
, settled on Bob Clemson as the culprit—probably because he was a little weird. There was no proof. In fact there was the contrary, but it didn't matter. Bob Clemson was the guy. I kept on getting calls asking me what I was going to do about the situation and I kept telling everyone I wasn't going to do anything because Clemson hadn't done anything to do anything about.”

Sean paused for a moment to take a sip of his lemonade. “In retrospect, I should have been more forceful. If I had been, maybe I could have headed off what happened next.”

“Which was?” Bernie asked after a minute had gone by.

Her father didn't answer. He seemed lost in thought.

Clyde took up the narrative. “A group of our ‘upstanding' citizens,” he bracketed the word
upstanding
with his fingers, “took it upon themselves to teach Clemson a lesson. Fortunately, your daddy got there before the beating had gone too far.”

Bernie ate another deviled egg. She'd used a little tarragon in them and decided the herb was a good fit. “So what happened?”

Sean straightened up. His expression was grim. “What happened was that I took everyone into custody and charged them, but the judge let them go. The DA wouldn't prosecute. The case never even went before the grand jury.”

“After he got out of the hospital, Clemson moved out of town,” Clyde said.

“Understandable,” Libby commented.

“Very. Last I heard he was out in Southern California. I don't think he ever got over what happened to him.” Sean took another sip of lemonade and carefully put the glass down on the table. “Three months later we caught the culprit, one Pete Morrelli, by accident. I think he served a year in jail. At most. And that as they say, is that.”

The room was silent for a moment as Libby and Bernie thought about the story their dad and Clyde had just told them.

“I think Marvin is going to be tarred with this forever,” Libby said, breaking the silence.

She helped herself to a second helping of watermelon and feta salad. Somehow, given the events of the day she hadn't expected to be hungry. But she was. She was starving. Embarrassingly so. She'd already had two servings of fried chicken and a couple glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade.

“Not if we find the person who did it,” Sean said.

“Yeah,” Clyde agreed. “You're going to need a name to hang this on.”

“And we'll get one,” Bernie said, trying to buck up her sister. “You can count on that.”

“How's he doing?” Sean knew in Marvin's situation he wouldn't be doing well.

Libby put her fork down. Suddenly she felt guilty about eating. “He's distraught. When I picked him up at the police station, he didn't even want to come over and have anything to eat. He wanted to go straight home.”

“He didn't even want any fruit tart?” Sean asked.

Libby shook her head. “Nothing. He said he couldn't eat a bite. He'd throw up if he did.”

Sean downed another piece of the blueberry and strawberry tart his girls had made. The flaky crust, almond cream, blueberries, and strawberries lightly dusted with cardamom and sugar were an especially good combination. “He's worse off than I thought.” Marvin would do anything for a piece of Libby's fruit tarts. “Do you think I should call him? Reassure him a little?”

“It couldn't hurt,” Libby told him.

Clyde put his fork down and frowned. “I have a feeling things might be getting a whole lot worse for Marvin.”

Libby paled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the DA is talking about charging Marvin with manslaughter.”

“That's ridiculous,” Libby cried out.

Clyde looked grave. “But true.”

“How can they do that?” Libby demanded.

Instead of answering, Clyde moved a small piece of pastry around on his plate with his fork.

Libby crossed her arms, tucked her hands underneath her armpits, and leaned forward. “Well? Tell me.”

“You're not going to like it,” Clyde said.

“Probably not,” Sean said quietly. “But we need to hear it, anyway.”

Clyde rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat. “Okay then. Here goes. Someone put real shot into the musket, overloaded it, and then plugged the barrel up with mud.”

“So I was right,” Bernie muttered.

Clyde nodded toward her. “Indeed you were. That's why the thing exploded the way it did.”

“Meaning,” Sean said, “that this was no accident.”

“That's definitely the thinking at this point.” Clyde rubbed his hands together again. “Unfortunately for Marvin, he was the person in charge of the weapons.
He
got them from the costume store.
He
put them in the shed.
He
put the powder in them.
He
could have handed the musket to Jack Devlin.”

“But he didn't,” Libby cried. “He already said he didn't, right Bernie?”

Bernie nodded.

“Why did anyone have to hand Jack Devlin that musket, anyway?” Libby demanded. “Why couldn't he have just taken it himself?”

“Okay. Let's assume you're right,” Clyde allowed. Libby started to speak but Clyde put up a hand to forestall her. “You're saying that this was just bad luck? That no one was the target?”

“Yes,” Libby said defiantly. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“And Marvin didn't want to kill or cause grievous bodily harm to Devlin.”

Libby looked at Clyde as if he'd lost his mind. “Why would he possibly want to do that?”

“Because of the argument he had with Devlin.”

“What are you talking about?” Libby asked.

Clyde leaned forward. “He didn't tell you?”

“Obviously not,” Bernie put in.

“What was the argument about?” Libby asked.

“Evidently, Marvin backed into Devlin's car at Trader Joe's and Devlin called him a moron and a menace and said he shouldn't be on the road.”

Libby's eyes widened. “That's it? That's all the fight was about?”

Clyde shrugged. “Allegedly.”

“That's absurd,” Libby said.

“I agree,” Clyde replied. “But that seems to be enough for the DA. According to him, Marvin has the motive, means, and the opportunity. The golden threesome of law enforcement.”

“Jeez,” Bernie said. “Talk about lame.”

“Marvin said the shed wasn't locked,” Libby protested. “Anyone could have come in and fooled around with one of the guns.”

“I know,” Clyde agreed.

“Jack Devlin had lots of enemies and most of them had lots better reasons to dislike Devlin than an argument over a fender bender. Who would kill someone over something like that?” Libby protested. “You'd have to be psychotic and Marvin certainly isn't.”

“I'm right with you,” Clyde said. “However, the problem is that Rick Evans is bringing lots of pressure on the DA. He wants a quick closure on this and Marvin is the easy candidate. Why go out and look for a new bird when you already have one in your hand?”

“Why is the DA listening to him?” Sean asked.

“Glad you asked that.” Clyde leaned back in his seat. “Word is that Rick Evans is going to be the next mayor of Longely.”

“Great,” Bernie muttered. “Just what this town needs. A moron for a mayor.”

“Always a good thing to be on the right side of the powers that be,” Sean commented.

“A lesson you never learned,” Clyde said.

Sean smiled. “Nope. Never did.”

“Otherwise you would still be the chief of police.”

Sean leaned over and took a brownie off the plate in the center of the table. “The price wasn't worth it.”

“No, it wasn't,” Libby agreed. “At least from what you tell me.”

“It wasn't,” Sean assured her.

Libby nodded and went back to talking about Marvin's situation. “Does the DA know that Rick Evans has a much better motive for wanting Jack Devlin out of the way? After all, he did find Devlin fooling around with his wife Gail two months ago. Or was it three?”

“Three,” Bernie promptly answered. “Bree Nottingham came in and told me.”

Clyde downed the rest of his lemonade. “In answer to your question, yes the DA does know. As a matter of fact, Evans went out of his way to tell the DA he didn't care about his wife screwing around. It was fine with him. He and Gail have an open marriage. Or so he says.”

Sean snorted. “I wonder what Rose would have said if I had suggested that to her?”

“About the same thing as my darling Clara. I'd definitely be sleeping on the sofa,” Clyde said.

“But they haven't charged Marvin yet, have they?” Libby asked, interrupting.

Clyde shook his head. “No, they haven't. But like I said they're definitely thinking about it.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Libby replied. “At least that gives us some time to find out who the responsible party is.”

“But not a lot,” Clyde warned.

“We're not going to need a lot,” Bernie said.

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Sean said.

“Why are you saying that?” Libby asked him.

“Because there are a lot of people, male and female, who didn't like Jack Devlin,” Sean replied.

“You can say that again,” Clyde said as he leaned over and snagged himself a mint chocolate chip brownie. “I'd say you've got at least half a town's worth.”

Sean grinned. “I think maybe we can narrow that down a bit.”