Authors: Isis Crawford

A Catered Murder (11 page)

BOOK: A Catered Murder

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Chapter 16

A
s Libby looked around Cara's Dress Shoppe, she was suddenly aware of the soy sauce under her fingernails and the grease spot on her linen shirt, not to mention the way her hair was curling up and that she probably smelled of Chinese food. She should have washed up and changed before she came over.

“This is certainly different,” she observed.

“Yes, it is,” Janet told her. “Can I help you with something?”

Libby shook her head. “I just need to talk to my sister.”

Bernie turned.

“How was the cooking lesson?”

“Let's just say I could have put my time to more profitable use,” Libby said, “although I was thinking maybe we could give cooking lessons in the store. It might make us some extra cash.”

“We need a hook.”

“Cook like Mom. Comfort food is all the rage these days.”

“That's not a bad idea,” Bernie conceded. “Not bad at all.” She picked up the bag again. “What do you think?” she asked Libby.

“It's okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Well, really, it's kind of weird.”

“Screw it,” Bernie said to Janet. “Put it on layaway. I'll pay it off somehow.”

“How much is it?” Libby asked as Janet took the bag.

“Trust me. You don't want to know.”

“One hundred?”

“Not even close.”

“They have nice tote bags in the L.L. Bean Catalog. You should look at those.”

“I'll do that,” Bernie said and changed the subject. She wasn't getting into this now. “So what's up?”

“Can you go take the van in for an inspection? I just realized it's past due and I don't have the time.”

Bernie grinned as an idea occurred to her. “Maybe.” She looked around, then walked over to one of the tables near the front of the store, snatched a black T-shirt off it, and held it up.

“Only if you try this on.”

“It's the size of a postage stamp,” Libby protested.

“It stretches,” Janet said.

“ No.”

“Just try it on,” Bernie urged.

“It's too small.”

“No T-shirt, no inspection.”

Libby grabbed the T-shirt out of Bernie's hand.

“Fine,” she said as she stomped off towards the dressing room. “But you really are a pain in the ass.”

“And proud of it too,” Bernie called after her.

A moment later Libby emerged from the stall.

“I told you it was going to be too tight.”

“I think it looks great,” Janet said.

“I agree,” Bernie said.

Libby studied herself in the mirror. “No, it doesn't. It makes me look fat.” She grabbed a roll of fat around her waist and pulled. “See.”

“It makes you look thinner. Baggy clothes make you look heavier. It's a common misconception that loose clothes slenderize. They don't.”

Libby pursed her lips.

“I feel so . . .”

“On show?” Janet supplied.

“Exactly.”

Bernie and Janet watched Libby turning this way and that as she studied her reflection in the mirror.

“It's only thirty bucks,” Bernie said. “I bet Orion would like it.”

“You think so?” Libby said.

“Definitely,” Janet agreed.

“After all,” Bernie pointed out, “when you put food out to sell, you want to make it look as attractive as possible, don't you? You don't just dump it on the plate. You arrange it. Presentation counts.”

“I am not a plate of pasta.”

“I never said you were. I'm just making a point.”

“I think you're wrong.”

“No, I'm not.” Bernie was just about to explain why when the door opened and Bree Nottingham came in followed by Griselda Plotkin and Fred the photographer.

“Have you heard?” Bree asked the three women standing there.

“Heard what?” Janet said.

“They've arrested Tiffany for Laird Wrenn's murder,” Griselda said.

“You're kidding,” Libby cried.

“Not at all. Howard called to tell me.” Bree went over to the counter and took a Tootsie roll out of the bowl by the register. “And I have to say,” she said, unwrapping it, “it doesn't surprise me one single bit.”

Chapter 17

L
ibby turned her head away from the rising cloud of steam as she poured the pot full of boiling water and partially cooked red new potatoes into the colander set in the sink. After the water had circled down into the drain, she lifted the colander onto the cutting board on the kitchen counter and began slicing the hot potatoes with her paring knife for French potato salad.

The skins of the potatoes burned the tips of Libby's fingers but she didn't mind. She'd always loved the purity of this salad, loved mixing together the olive oil, tarragon vinegar, chopped onion, salt, and freshly ground pepper with the potatoes and watching the mixture mutate into culinary gold, as Bernie would say.

She was thinking that her mother was right, that sometimes the simplest things are the best as well as the hardest to do properly, when the side door opened and Tiffany came running in and grabbed Libby's arm. Libby gasped when she saw who it was.

“I thought they arrested you,” Libby told her.

“They tried.” Tiffany hugged herself so hard the skin of her fingers turned white with the pressure. Libby could see beads of sweat around Tiffany's hairline. “I saw them coming up the walk,” Tiffany cried. “And then I heard one of them asking Lois, the receptionist, where I was, and I just dropped everything and ran out the back of the salon and came over here.”

Tiffany shook her head.

“I know I shouldn't have run like that,” she continued. “I know it was wrong. But I was so scared, I just didn't know what else to do. And then I was out on the street and I couldn't breathe. I thought I was dying and I didn't know where else to go.” Tiffany touched Libby's arm. “I would never . . . ever . . . do what they said I did. You know that. I loved Lionel even though he was going to . . . that was just for show. Lydia . . . God, I'd like to kill her. . . .”

“Shush.” Libby put her finger across Tiffany's lips.

“Libby,” Tiffany said. “Please. They're going to put me in jail. You've got to help me.” And she started to cry.

Libby bit her lip. She knew the right thing to do was to tell Tiffany she had to turn herself in. But she just couldn't. Not when she was in this state.

“Just go in the bathroom,” Libby told her.

Tiffany blew her nose.

“Why?”

“Because I don't want anyone coming in and seeing you. And don't come out until I tell you it's all right.”

Tiffany gave Libby a little smile and did as she was told.

I'm crazy,
Libby said to herself as she wiped her hands on a towel. Really nuts.
The police are going to be looking for her
. But that didn't stop Libby from cutting a wedge of Brie and putting it in a bag along with half a loaf of French bread, a couple of peaches, two chocolate chip cookies, and a bottle of water, never mind that the last thing Tiff probably needed right now was food.

“Let's go,” she said, knocking on the bathroom door.

Tiffany opened the door and stepped out.

“What's happening?”

Libby handed her the bag.

“Something for you to eat. It'll make you feel better. Come on. I'm just going to take you somewhere safe while I talk to my dad.”

After all Libby reasoned, who knew the ins and outs of the legal system better than her father.

“I don't want you to get in trouble because of me,” Tiffany said.

“I wouldn't.”

Tiffany's eyes misted over. More tears spilled out onto her cheeks, carving paths in her foundation. “I just didn't know where else to go. Everyone else . . .”

Libby put her finger up to Tiffany's lips.

“Don't worry,” she told her. “It's going to be fine.”

Sean Simmons looked at his two squabbling daughters and sighed. He'd forgotten how much bickering went on when they were both home.

“We should stay out of this,” Bernie was saying to Libby.

“How can you say something like that?” Libby demanded. “Tiffany's a friend of mine. She needs help.”

“You've been bailing her out of trouble since you were twelve years old. Enough is enough.”

“That's a terrible thing to say.”

“It's true, Dad, isn't it?

“Well . . .” Sean began, but Bernie didn't give him a chance to finish before she started talking to Libby again.

“What she needs is a lawyer.”

Libby practically stamped her foot in frustration.

“You think I don't know that? She can't afford anyone. She doesn't even have health insurance. Do you know how much a homicide defense could cost? It could run . . .” She turned towards her father. “What?”

“A hundred thousand dollars easy,” Sean answered. “Probably more like two hundred thousand depending who you need to put on the stand. Just to start she'd need forty thousand dollars for a retainer.”

“I don't think she even has two thousand dollars in the bank,” Libby said.

“Then the court will appoint a lawyer for her,” Bernie replied.

“Those people are horrible,” Libby protested.

“Not all of them, but let's say you're right. Let's say she's in a bad situation. It's unfortunate, but there's nothing we can do.”

“You thought there was when you went up to Lionel's room. Otherwise you wouldn't have gone,” Libby pointed out.

Sean's eyes widened.

“What the hell were you doing in Lionel's room?” he demanded of Bernie.

“She was checking things out,” Libby answered for her sister.

“Bernie, I thought you were smarter than that,” her father told her.

Bernie flashed her sister a murderous look. “It wasn't a big deal.”

“That's because you weren't caught,” Libby retorted.

Sean looked at both his daughters and shook his head.

“Don't tell me any more,” he said to them. “I don't want to know.”

Bernie leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. “Works for me,” she said.

Libby blinked back tears. “Tiffany didn't do this.”

“Kill Lionel? How do you know?” Bernie demanded. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I know her. She'd never be able to do something like that.”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “I bet that's what Ted Bundy's friends said too.”

“This is different.”

“No. It's not.”

“How can you say that?”

“Tiffany and Lionel's relationship.”

“What about it?”

“I've heard enough,” Sean said, giving his daughters the same look he'd used to silence them when they were fighting in the back of the car on the way to the beach when they were little. “Where is Tiffany?” he asked Libby.

“Ah . . .” Libby looked abashed. “Down in the basement.”

Bernie leaned forward. “Our basement?”

“Well, I couldn't exactly leave her in the kitchen, could I?” Libby retorted.

“Tell me,” Bernie demanded. “Does the term aiding and abetting mean anything to you? You do realize the police will check here as a matter of course since they know you're a friend of hers.”

“Which is why we don't have much time,” Sean said. “Bring Tiffany up. Let's see if we can sort out this mess.”

“It's been a while,” Sean said to Tiffany.

She nodded slowly.

“Libby tells me you're in trouble.”

Tiffany nodded again.

“Why don't you tell me about it,” Sean said gently.

His wife had never liked Tiffany, he reflected as he waited for Tiffany to say something. But he always had. Maybe she wasn't the brightest pebble on the beach, as Rose used to say, but Tiffany had been a good friend to Libby and in his book that counted for a lot. Not, he thought as he watched Tiffany blinking in the sunlight, that that meant that she couldn't have killed Lionel.

Tiffany swallowed a couple of times. No one said anything. Finally she began to speak.

“I didn't do it. I swear. I loved Lionel. Even if he was getting married. That was just for publicity. I was the person he cared about.”

“Why do the police suspect you?” Sean asked.

“I already told Libby.”

“Tell me . . .”

“We had a fight at the Dairy Queen before he died,” she whispered in a voice so low that Sean had to strain to hear it.

“About?”

“About Lionel getting married.”

“Go on.”

“He told me and . . . and I got mad and yelled that I was going to kill him and walked off.”

“You didn't tell me that,” Libby said.

“I was embarrassed,” Tiffany replied.

Sean shifted around in his chair. Sitting for so long made the muscles in his back hurt.

“People heard you?” he asked.

Tiffany nodded.

“But I didn't mean it! I'd never hurt him. You have to believe me,” she said to Sean.

“I do.”

Or at least he believed that she believed what she was telling him. Years of interviewing suspects had left him with a built-in lie detector.

“And you were at the dinner the night Lionel died?”

Tiffany swallowed and nodded again.

Which, Sean thought, meant that unfortunately for her, she had the motive and the opportunity. Whether she had the means was something else. But, as they say, two out of three ain't bad.

Sean could see why Lucy liked her for this. Even if the case was circumstantial. He could also see why Lucy would want to get this cleaned up as quickly as possible.

Famous author killed in Longely.

No. Not the kind of publicity the town fathers and mothers wanted. This was the kind of thing that made real estate values go down. This was the kind of thing that made police chiefs lose their jobs. If Sean knew anything, the press was camped around the police station's door. They'd already been at the store looking for a statement. Vultures. Every single one of them. It almost made him feel sorry for Lucy.

He looked at his daughters.

“You are to listen to me,” he said. “For once in your lives you will do exactly what I say. No more and no less.”

“Does this mean you'll help?” Libby asked.

When Sean nodded, Libby and Tiffany ran over and hugged him.

“Thank you. Thank you,” they cried.

Sean blushed.

“Stop it,” he ordered.

Suddenly there was a knock on the side door. Everyone froze.

“See who it is,” Sean ordered.

Bernie sidled up to the window and peered out.

“Told you,” she said to Libby, unable to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. “It's the chief of police.”

Tiffany started to cry.