A Catered Mother's Day (10 page)

Chapter 19

B
ernie, Libby, Ethan, and the cat watched the rain drizzling down on the geraniums as they waited on the porch for a Longely squad car to arrive. Fifteen minutes later one did. This time things went better. The fact that it was Chris Bright, a regular who bought coffee and scones from A Little Taste of Heaven at least four times a week, helped.

“Unbelievable,” Chris said once he was on the porch. “What is it with you two and dead bodies?”

Bernie smiled. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Chris smiled back. He took out his notebook and pen. “Tell me the story,” he instructed.

So Bernie did. More or less. The trick to being a good liar was sticking as close to the truth as possible. She began by explaining to him that they'd had an appointment with Clara Randall concerning a party she'd been thinking of giving—a small untraceable lie—and that she and Libby had become alarmed when they'd rung the bell and no one answered the door. Then they'd become even more alarmed when they'd peeked through the front door window and saw the mail lying on the floor.

They were about to call the police—“honest” Bernie said when Chris raised an eyebrow—but they thought they heard a noise. A noise that in retrospect turned out to be the cat, but at the time sounded like Miss Randall in distress. Naturally, they rushed inside to see if anything was wrong.

“Naturally,” Chris echoed gravely.

Bernie smiled placidly and continued. “Once we were in the hallway we realized that the noise we'd been hearing was coming from upstairs, so we ran up there. The noise was even louder when we reached the landing.”

“Then what?” Chris asked.

“Then we looked and saw that the door to the first bedroom on the left was open, so we went inside. That's when we found Clara Randall lying on the floor with her cat meowing beside her. One look at all that blood and we knew she was dead.”

Libby nodded. “But I took her pulse just to make sure.”

“Did you touch anything?” Chris asked.

Both Libby and Bernie shook their heads.

“No. Absolutely not,” Bernie said. “We didn't stop to look at or touch anything in Miss Randall's room. We know better than that. Really!” Bernie put a lot of indignation in her voice. “Chris, I'm shocked that you would even suggest such a thing.”

Chris suppressed a smile. “Go on.”

“As I was saying,” Bernie said, “I was about to call the police when we heard the downstairs door open and Ethan came in. He too was looking for Miss Randall, isn't that right, Ethan?”

Ethan nodded.

Chris looked at Ethan. “Is that what happened?”

“Yes,” Ethan whispered, looking down at the floor.

“Why were you looking for her?”

“Because she owed me lawn-mowing money.”

“Anyway,” Bernie said, resuming her tale. “Then we called you and here we all are.”

Chris looked at Bernie. “That's it?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Bernie replied.

“Nothing else to add?”

“Nope.”

“Nice story.”

“It's not a story,” Bernie protested.

“I meant that in the metaphorical sense.” And Chris called it in.

Then they all waited.

Ten minutes later the crime scene guys and Lucy arrived simultaneously. The crime scene squad went in the house and Bernie told the exact same story she'd told to Chris to Lucy.

Lucy glared at her. He put his hands on his hips. Bernie decided he'd gained more weight.

“You expect me to believe that?” he growled.

“It's the truth,” Bernie said, looking as pious as she possibly could.

“You don't know the meaning of the word,” Lucy snapped.

Bernie didn't say anything. She watched the rain dripping off the eaves of the porch.

Lucy came a step closer and stuck his neck out, making him, Libby decided, look like a turtle.

“For openers,” he said to both Libby and Bernie, “I can't conceive of Clara Randall giving a party. The concept is ludicrous. She never had any visitors. She didn't like people.”

Bernie refrained telling Lucy about Manny staying in the house. She figured he'd find out soon enough. Instead she said, “Evidently, Miss Randall was having a change of heart. Believe me”—Bernie rested her hand on her own heart—“I was as surprised as you were by the request. But she seemed serious about it.”

“So she called you?” Lucy asked. His tone was one of casual interest.

Bernie avoided the trap. Although she didn't think Lucy would go so far as to subpoena her phone records, she figured it was better to be on the safe side.

“No,” Bernie said. “Actually she didn't. She flagged us down when we were driving by her house.”

“What kind of party was it?”

“Nothing elaborate,” Bernie said. “She wanted to do something for the neighbors. She told me she wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I see.” Lucy laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. One of his more annoying habits. He nodded at the road. “This is a little out of the way for you, isn't it?”

Libby jumped in. “It is, but we like to change things up from time to time.”

Lucy turned to Libby. “So you agree with everything that your sister said?”

Libby nodded. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Why indeed? I can think of plenty of reasons.”

“How do you want us to respond to that statement?” Bernie asked.

Lucy cracked his knuckles again instead of answering. A minute went by.

Finally Bernie pointed at Ethan and said, “I think we should get him home, don't you? His parents are probably worried about him by now.” Not only did Ethan need a ride, but Bernie figured it would be a good opportunity to have a chat with Ellen and Bruce.

“Great,” Ethan said. He gestured to the bike lying on the front lawn. “I rode over here. What about my bike?”

“Not a problem. We'll take it with us,” Libby said. Then she went down the stairs, picked the bike up, and started walking it to the van. Bernie and Ethan followed. It wasn't until they'd finished loading the bike in the back and closed the doors that they realized that the cat had jumped into Mathilda.

“You can't come,” Libby told her.

She meowed, walked over to Ethan, and curled up in his lap.

“You can't leave her,” Ethan protested.

“We can't bring her,” Libby replied.

“We'll deal with the cat later,” Bernie told her sister. “Right now we need to get going before Lucy changes his mind and arrests us.”

“Why would Lucy arrest you?” Ethan piped up.

“I didn't really mean that,” Bernie lied. She realized she'd have to be careful about what she said around Ethan.

“Then why did you say it?” Ethan demanded.

“I wondered that myself,” Bernie replied.

That pretty much put the kibosh on the conversation for a few minutes and no one was talking when they pulled out into the road and turned left to go to the Hadleys' house. It was still drizzling and Libby turned on the windshield wipers. Two blocks down Ethan spoke.

“Would he arrest you because you lied?”

“I didn't lie,” Bernie said indignantly.

“Yeah, you did,” Ethan replied. “You told me you guys were upstairs investigating, but you told the police you weren't. Isn't that a lie?”

“Not really,” Bernie said.

“Then what is it?”

“A linguistic quibble.”

Obviously Ethan wasn't buying it, because the next thing he said was, “My parents say lying is wrong.”

“It is,” Bernie replied. “Most of the time.”

Ethan digested that for a moment. Then he said, “Kind of like when I told Mom that Matt wasn't at the Free-boughs' party when he was. I mean, like he was just there because Kara was crying and called him up and said he had to come, otherwise she was going to take all these pills, but if I told Mom and Dad, Matt would have been grounded for like a century.”

Bernie smiled. “Yeah. Kinda like that.”

“I don't get it,” Ethan said.

“Get what?”

“Why one kind of lie is okay and the other isn't.”

“If it's any comfort to you, Ethan, neither do I,” Libby said as she turned the speed of the windshield wipers up.

Everyone was silent until they reached the Hadleys' colonial. Ethan was quiet because he was overwhelmed, and Bernie and Libby were quiet because the things they had to discuss, they couldn't talk about in front of Ethan.

Chapter 20

I
t was raining harder now and Libby pulled up as close to the Hadleys' front porch as she could get.

Ethan looked at the cat. “I can't take her. My dad's allergic.”

“It's okay,” Libby said soothingly. “We'll take care of her.”

“You're not going to take her to the ASPCA, are you?” Ethan asked, panic in his voice.

“No, we won't,” Libby said. Of course, that's exactly what she'd been thinking they'd do.

“Because they'll kill her.”

“She could get adopted,” Bernie pointed out.

Ethan eyes began to mist.

“Fine,” Libby said. “We'll find a home for her.”

“We will?” Bernie asked, surprised.

“Yes, we will,” Libby said firmly before she got out. Then she went around to the back of the van and got Ethan's bike out, while Ethan ran onto the porch and rang the doorbell. The cat surveyed the activity with interest.

Ethan's dad opened the door a moment later. The sounds of a video game spilled out.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bruce asked his son. “You're late for dinner.” Ethan started to stutter out an answer, but before he could complete his sentence Bruce caught sight of Libby. “Why are you here?” he demanded, his expression hardening. “What's going on?”

Ethan started biting his nails.

“Well?” Bruce said, looking from Libby to Ethan and back again. “Someone answer me.”

“I'll explain,” Libby told Ethan. She leaned his bike against the wall. “You go inside.”

“This better be good,” Bruce said to his son as Ethan scooted by him, giving his dad as wide a berth as possible.

“It's not Ethan's fault that he's late,” Bernie said, making her way slowly up the stairs. Looking at Bruce's face, she decided she'd been right. Bruce was the kid in the photograph. He'd been considerably younger and skinnier and he'd had all his hair back then, but it was the same person.

“Really.” Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet in the doorway. “Goody. Another voice heard from. Ethan can speak for himself.”

Looking at him, Bernie decided that Bruce Randall was one of those men who'd peaked in high school. He was big with a tendency toward a gut. When Ellen had met him, he'd been a blond, blue-eyed, star high school linebacker, but that had been a long time ago.

“Clara Randall is dead,” Bernie announced as she searched Bruce's face for a reaction.

There wasn't one.

“And what does that have to do with Ethan being late?” Bruce asked.

“He went there to collect his lawn-mowing money and came into the house at the same time we were discovering her body upstairs. So we had to wait till the police arrived. Once they came, we gave Ethan a lift back.”

“I see,” Bruce said.

“Don't you want to know how Clara Randall died?” Libby asked.

“I presume from old age,” Bruce said in a dry tone of voice.

“Not exactly. She had an accident or someone hit her on the head,” Bernie told him.

Bruce shifted his position. “That's a big difference. Which is it?”

“We don't know yet, but in the meantime we need to talk to Ellen and you,” Bernie said.

Bruce's frown got deeper. “And why would that be?”

“Because the dead man in the motel was Manny, more formally known as Raymond Manford Roget, and he was living in Clara Randall's house.”

Bruce shrugged. “And?”

“The name doesn't ring a bell?” Bernie asked.

“Should it?” Bruce shot back.

“Considering he worked for your wife, I would think it would.” She pulled the Arf T-shirt she'd taken from the attic out of her bag and waved it in Bruce's face.

“I wouldn't know,” Bruce said. “I don't have much to do with my wife's business. That's her thing, not mine. Anyway, he could have gotten that shirt in a store.”

“They're not available retail.” Bernie tucked a wisp of hair back in her ponytail. “Anyway, I find it hard to believe you don't know what's going on, considering your wife's business operates out of your basement,” Bernie said.

Bruce glared at her. “
Did
operate out of the basement, and for your information, I'm at work when Ellen and Lisa are baking. In addition, Lisa takes care of all of the deliveries. So, if you have any questions, I suggest you talk to her.”

“We will,” Libby said. “But right now we're talking to you. So you didn't know this Manny?”

Bruce snorted. “I just said that.”

“Because hanging on Clara Randall's wall is a picture of him and you together at a picnic in Highland Park.”

Bruce shook his head. “Sorry, it doesn't ring a bell.”

Bernie lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Bruce spread his hands apart. “Hey, that was a long time ago.”

“So you do remember,” Libby said.

“I remember going to picnics there when I was a kid. That's what we used to do on Sunday afternoons. There were always lots of kids hanging around. So maybe Manny was one of them. So what? And now if you'll excuse me, I have to go.”

“Fine, but we'd still like to speak to Ellen,” Bernie told him.

“You can't. She's out,” Bruce told them.

“Out?”

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. “That's what I just said. She's out doing an errand.”

“She's not answering her cell.”

“That's because she left it in the house.”

“Oh,” Bernie said. Ordinarily Ellen never went anywhere without it, but then these weren't ordinary times. “Okay, then. Just tell her my sister and I were here.”

“I don't think I'm going to do that,” Bruce said.

Bernie could see the vein in Bruce's neck start to pulse. “And why is that?”

“Because of the kind of friend you turned out to be,” Bruce said, pointing to Bernie.

“You're wrong. She's a good friend to Ellen,” Libby told him.

“I don't think so. Your sister is the one who put the ransom note idea in my wife's thick skull. If she hadn't done that, none of this would have happened. Your sister ruined our lives.”

“My sister was kidding when she said that to your wife,” Libby told Bruce. “She never expected her to follow up on it.”

“That's not what my wife says,” Bruce retorted.

Bernie jumped into the conversation. “Well, Ellen is wrong,” she said.

“So now my wife is a liar on top of everything else?”

“I didn't say that,” Bernie cried.

Bruce didn't reply. He just slammed the door in her face.

“That man's a jerk,” Libby said as she walked down the porch steps. “How can anyone be married to someone like that?”

Bernie came down the steps after her. “I don't know, but they've been married for a long time, so there's got to be something there.”

“How about inertia?” Libby got the keys for the van out of her backpack and she and her sister got into the van. The cat sat in Bernie's lap.

“Bruce is big enough, you know.”

Libby put the keys in the van's ignition. Mathilda coughed twice and started up. “Big enough for what, Bernie?”

“To have killed Manny.”

The cat meowed and Bernie automatically began petting her.

“But why would he, Bernie?” Libby asked as she drove onto Sycamore Street. “What motive would he have?”

“I have no idea, but he knew where Ellen was going to be. In fact, he's the only one who did.”

“That we know of. Maybe Ellen told someone else about her plans.”

“That's possible,” Bernie conceded. She thought for a minute. “She might have told Lisa. They talk a lot.”

“Well, they are in business together.”

“And then Lisa could have told someone else. . . .”

“Also possible.” Libby slowed down to let a car pass.

The cat began to purr.

“We have to talk to Lisa, but before we do that, we have to figure out what we're going to do with Cindy.”

Libby briefly took her eyes off the road to look at her sister. “Cindy? Who is Cindy?” she demanded.

“She's the cat, of course.”

“Why Cindy?”

“Because she reminds me of Cinderella.”

Libby scrunched up her nose. “Because?”

Bernie shrugged. “I don't know. She just does. Do you have another suggestion?”

Libby thought for a moment. “No. Not really.”

Bernie scratched the cat behind her ears. “Then Cinderella it is. Home, James.”

“Dad will be so pleased,” Libby noted.

“Can you think of another place?”

Libby considered the possibilities. None presented themselves. “Not really.” Marvin had an allergy to cats and Brandon rented a “no-pets-allowed” flat.

“It's just until we find her a new home,” Bernie assured her sister. “After all, we did promise Ethan.”

On the way to the flat, they stopped at a pet store and picked up a litter box, a small bag of litter, and some canned and dry food.

“You know,” Libby said at the register, “maybe Bruce is covering for Ellen.”

Bernie snorted at the idea. “That I doubt,” she said. “If anything, he probably set her up.”