A Catered Halloween (16 page)

And where were the moisturizers, body lotions, hairbrushes, hair spray, and all the other things women like Amethyst couldn’t do without? No blow-dryer. No perfume. One thing was clear. Bree’s information was outdated. Amethyst hadn’t really been living here at the time of her death. Maybe she had in the past, but she’d moved out. The questions were, when and to where?

Another dead end in a case full of them
, Bernie thought. She was closing the medicine-cabinet door
when she heard a noise. Bernie froze. It was the sound of the back door opening. Then she heard footsteps and what sounded like a crash.

Bernie peered out from the bathroom. The sounds seemed to be coming from the kitchen. There was another crash, followed by a muffled curse. Bernie crept down the hall. The prudent thing, she knew, would be to hide in one of the bedroom closets and wait till whoever it was left, but then she’d never been prudent.

By now she was at the end of the hallway. She carefully stuck her head out and took a look. No one was in the living room or the dining room. Whoever it was, was in the kitchen. Bernie thought for a moment. If she was very careful, she could get a peek at them. She very slowly inched her way to the door that connected the dining room and the kitchen and looked in.

“You,” she cried when she saw who it was.

Bernie was gratified to see Inez jump. It was rare that she was able to invoke that kind of reaction. Inez had Amethyst’s bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and the bottle of vodka in the other, while the two bottles of Chilean wine were tucked under her arm.

“Nice,” Bernie said as the bottles dropped out of Inez’s hands and fell onto the linoleum.

Inez swayed for a moment, righted herself, and then, with the deliberation of the very drunk, carefully bent over and started picking the bottles up. “She owed me money,” she explained. “I’m just taking what’s mine.”

“It’s not yours,” Bernie told her. “It belongs to Amethyst’s estate.”

“It’s mine,” Inez insisted.

“First blackmail and now burglary. You’re doing well.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Bernie repeated coolly.

Inez burped. “You’re here, too.”

“I was given the key,” Bernie told her, marveling at how easily she lied.

Inez clutched the bottles to her chest and burped again.

“I guess I’m going to have to call the police,” Bernie continued.

Inez continued clutching the bottles to her chest. Bernie wanted Inez to say something along the lines of “Oh no, you’re not” so she in turn could say, “I will unless you tell me what I want to know.”

But Inez just held on to the bottles. Bernie sighed. She hated when people didn’t “get it.” But that was the trouble with alcohol. It just made you stupid.

“Okay,” she said. “Tell me what you know, and I won’t call them.”

Inez peered at her suspiciously. “Like what?” she asked.

Bernie wanted to scream, “What do you think I’m talking about?” but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Remember at the bar you told me you’d heard or seen something that got you fired. What was it?”

Inez’s eyes narrowed. She swayed slightly. “Huh?”

“You were trying to blackmail her.”

Inez burped. She nodded at the bottles with her chin. “Are you going to make me give these back?”

“Not if you tell me what I want to know.”

“It wasn’t anything really. I heard Amethyst talking on her cell phone.”

“And?” Bernie prodded.

“And she was saying that she couldn’t believe it, but it was finally happening.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear that part.”

Bernie looked at Inez.

“Honestly,” Inez cried. “She thought I did, but I didn’t.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her that?”

Inez shrugged and clutched the bottles closer to her chest. “Because this was more fun. This way I could get back a little of my own.”

“I don’t believe you,” Bernie told her. “I think I’m going to have to take the bottles back.”

“Don’t,” Inez cried. “It’s the truth. I wanted to get back at her. She treated me like dirt. We used to be at dinner parties together, and then she ruined my marriage, and I was working for her. Cleaning out her toilets. She asked for me specifically. Did you know that? That’s what Ian said. I told him I didn’t want to go, but he said I had to. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a job with him. Amethyst had me working for her just for spite. So I thought I could get a little bit back of my own.” Inez stopped talking.

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

“No, they didn’t,” Inez said. “But I’m glad she’s dead. I’m only sorry
I
didn’t kill her.”

“You could have,” Bernie pointed out.

“I didn’t.”

“Someone did.”

“It wasn’t me.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t,” Inez insisted.

“I don’t know. Working for Amethyst. That could have been the thing that threw you over the edge.”

“That’s why I wanted the money,” Inez cried.

“Yeah. But killing her would have been so much more rewarding.”

Inez drew herself up. “Think whatever you want,”
she told Bernie. Then, clutching the bottles to her chest, she stumbled out the door.

A moment later Bernie heard a car engine turn over and realized that Inez shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car. But it was too late. By the time she got outside, Inez was weaving down the road.

A
mber had finished loading the last of the cartons with the pies snugly nestled in them into the van as Libby hurried toward the vehicle.

“You have everything in there, right?” Libby asked.

Amber nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“The walnuts? The sprinkles?”

“I checked off the list you gave me.”

Libby noticed she had a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

“What?” Libby said. “Is it the costume I’m wearing?”

“No. I think you look very nice.”

Libby looked down at the blue taffeta number Bernie had convinced her to wear. She couldn’t bend without getting stabbed in the side by a piece of plastic. She might as well be wearing her grandmother’s corset. How Bernie managed to work in this kind of getup was beyond her. The only saving grace was that the skirt was long enough, so no one could see her shoes. Thank
God she was wearing sneakers. If she had to wear heels, she didn’t know what she’d do. The truth was, she felt like an idiot. There was just no way around it.

“Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” she asked Amber.

“Oh yes.”

“Then what are you smiling at?”

“Nothing,” Amber told her.

“You’re smiling at something.”

“You’ll find out,” Amber told her, and then, before Libby could ask her exactly what it was she was going to find out, Amber turned and headed back in the shop.

Under different circumstances, Libby would have followed her inside, but she wanted to get going, especially since she was going to have to unload the van by herself. Playing detective was all well and good, she decided as she slid behind the wheel of the van, but then she was always left to do the shop stuff while Bernie went off, running here and there.

She wondered how Bernie would like it if their positions were reversed. Not at all, Libby would wager. What she wanted to know was, why did she always have to be the responsible one? It really wasn’t fair. She was tired of it. And while she was on the subject, she always did favors for Bernie—like wearing this stupid dress. “It’ll just make things more festive,” Bernie had said. Why had she listened to her? Especially since by now she knew better. The more she thought about everything, the angrier she got.

By the time she reached the Foundation, she was in a really bad mood, and seeing the fake skeletons dangling from the trees in those stupid cages Mark had rigged up didn’t do anything to improve it. It just reminded her that if it hadn’t been for Bernie, they wouldn’t have taken that tour of the Haunted House,
and someone else would have found Amethyst. She was still having nightmares about that. When was the last time Bernie had done something for her? That was what she would have liked to know.

Libby glanced around the dining room she would be serving in. She had never realized how big it was. Cavernous really. So was the kitchen. And quiet. So quiet she could hear the creak of a door shutting somewhere down the hall. Kitchens should be full of people cooking. Otherwise, they were just creepy. Except for A Taste of Heaven’s kitchen. That was cozy.

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was five-fifteen, fifteen minutes before the Haunted House officially opened. The volunteers who were manning the show should have been here by now, which should have made her feel better. Of course, the volunteers manning the show had been here the last time, too, and precious lot of good it had done her then. She’d been on one side of the door, and they’d been on the other.

She looked out the window on the far side of the room. It was one of those big jobbies, the kind where both sides open up and you can step outside, only someone had sealed them shut, so you couldn’t anymore—not that she would want to now. Raindrops were sliding down the panes. The sky had started darkening just as she had brought her last carton of cider in from the van.

Was something hitting the window? Is that the tapping she was hearing? She walked over to get a better look. There was nothing there except the branches from one of the maples. She walked back. From the looks of the tree branches, the wind was picking up. She just hoped the power didn’t go off here. Some
times a strong wind did that. That was all she’d need. She should have really brought a flashlight along, just in case.

Libby shook her head to clear it. She took a deep breath. Several, in fact. Ever since she’d had that encounter, or whatever you wanted to call it, with…with…Libby refused to say her name, because Bernie was right on this score. Naming things called them forth. She didn’t like being in this room by herself, which was something she’d never admit to Bernie.

Ever.

Because how could she be nervous if she didn’t believe in stuff like that? That was—and here she was using one of Bernie’s favorite words—an oxymoron. If she found out, Bernie would never let her forget how she felt. She’d ride her forever about it. It wasn’t that Bernie was malicious. It was just that she didn’t know when to stop. And things that Libby was sensitive about, Bernie wasn’t. It was as simple as that.

The whole thing was ridiculous, anyway, Libby decided. There had to be another explanation for what had happened to her the other day, but for the life of her, Libby didn’t know what it could be. She’d put in a lot of time thinking about it, and she still hadn’t come up with anything—unless there was a secret passageway that led in here from somewhere else.

But in reality, that explanation didn’t work, either. The whole thing, for want of a better word, had happened too fast. The…thing…okay…the manifestation couldn’t have disappeared in the blink of an eye. And then there was the fact that Mark had said he’d experienced the same thing that Libby had. Three times. Once was enough for her. And Konrad and Curtis had said the same thing. But they were crazy, so they didn’t count.

Libby sighed as she rearranged the vanilla cupcakes with the orange icing on the plate and put them toward the front. Then she took the chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting that she’d decorated with orange sprinkles and put them where the vanilla cupcakes had been. After that, she took the lemon squares and put them where the chocolate cupcakes had been.

She knew what she was doing was pointless, but she couldn’t help it.

Libby pulled at her skirt. Then she tugged the bodice of her dress up. No matter what she did, her boobs kept popping out. Why, she asked herself again for the second time in as many minutes, had she let Bernie bamboozle her into wearing this? She supposed being a princess was better than being a bowl of cereal, but just barely.

She wasn’t happy in costume. Especially in this one. She’d never liked dressing up, not even as a little girl. She was what she was. Anyway, it was too cold in here to be wearing something like this. She wanted to be back in her jeans and shirt. The only thing that helped was the fact that she didn’t have those sleeves that trailed down and got into everything. She could just see green satin and waffle batter. It was not a pretty picture. Bernie had said Marvin would like the dress, but Marvin wouldn’t even see it. He was off doing heaven knows what with her dad.

And speaking of Bernie, where was she? She should have been here half an hour ago.
Just like her
, Libby thought crossly.
Always late
. She never had any consideration for anyone else. She was reaching for her cell to call Bernie when she felt cold. Chilled to the bone, actually.
I need to put on a sweater
, Libby told herself. Hopefully, she’d left her zip-up fleece in the van. It might not look pretty, but it would definitely do the job.
And then she felt something else. Something she remembered from the last time, the sensation of something crawling up and down her skin. She looked down. There were goose bumps on her arms.

“Oh no,” she moaned. “Please not again.”

She sensed a crackling around her.

“Go away,” she pleaded. “Just go away.”

The crackling increased. She felt a tickling in her left ear. As if someone was breathing in it. She scrunched her eyes shut.
This is a bad dream,
she told herself.
Nothing more.
When she opened her eyes again, everything would be all right. It would be…What was her father’s word?
Copacetic.
She closed her eyes tighter. Flashes of light exploded across her retinas. Then, unable to help herself, she opened her eyes again. She saw the room through a wave of energy.

“Help me,” a voice said. Only the voice sounded as if it were coming from inside her head.

“I can’t help you,” Libby cried. Or had she thought it, too? She wasn’t sure.

“You have to.”

Libby wanted to move, but her legs weren’t working properly. Her heart was beating so quickly, she felt light-headed, as if all the air was being sucked out of her lungs.

“Leave me alone,” she cried.

“Find me. Find me.” Now the voice seemed to be echoing in the air.

I shouldn’t have eaten that pint of ice cream for dinner
, Libby told herself.
That’s why this is happening to me.
She knew it was ridiculous, but for some reason, she found the thought comforting.