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Authors: Isis Crawford

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Chapter 19
 
“N
ice shot,” Libby said, pointing to the picture on the news of Mike Sweeney’s house burning.
Bernie reached across the table for the pepper mill. “It’s their lead story,” she noted.
“Understandable,” said Sean. His fork hovered above his plate as he tried to decide what he wanted to eat next. “After all, it’s not every day that a building explodes here,” he said, spearing a slice of bacon.
It was nine o’clock on Monday morning and Libby and Bernie were upstairs eating a second breakfast with their dad.
“Well, they seem to think it was an accident,” Libby noted as she took a bite of her toast. “At least that’s what the reporter is sayn>Whe"1eing.”
Bernie took a bite of her feta and spinach omelet, followed by a bite of French peasant bread slathered with butter. She was still a little shaky from yesterday, but the act of eating was calming her down, as it always did.
“What does Clyde say?” she asked her dad.
Her dad ate another strip of bacon and a forkful of his home fries before answering. “He says that the fire chief thinks it’s an accident too. That there was a crack in the gas line and the gas built up over time. Of course, that’s just a hypothesis. They’ll never be able to prove it because there’s nothing left to examine. You were really lucky, Bernie,” Sean said as he wiped his hands on his napkin.
“I know, Dad,” Bernie said quietly, not wanting to think about what could have happened because it gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Libby turned to Bernie. “And you think it was an accident too, right?”
“Yeah, I do. But Brandon doesn’t.”
Libby turned to her Dad. “What about you?”
Sean held up his cup and Libby filled it for him and then stirred in cream and sugar. Sean nodded his thanks and took a sip. Perfect. As always. “I think,” he said slowly, “that I’m inclined to side with Brandon on this one.”
“How so?” Bernie asked.
“Let me count the ways.” And Sean raised his hand and ticked them off on his fingers. “First Sweeney is murdered, then one of the people he hangs out with is killed, and then his house blows up. I’d say that goes beyond having a bad week.”
“Okay,” Bernie told him. “But remember if we hadn’t pressed the buzzer the place wouldn’t have exploded.”
“Maybe not then, but it would have eventually,” Sean countered. “And there’s this. If there was a crack in the gas line and the leak had been going on for a while, why didn’t anyone in the neighborhood smell it?”
“Maybe they did, Dad,” Bernie said.
“Not from what I heard yesterday.” Sean popped another slice of bacon in his mouth. God, he loved this stuff.
“All I can say, Bernie,” Libby told her sister as she reached over for another slice of toast, then opened the jar of strawberry jam she’d made last summer and put some on the bread, “is thank heavens you and Brandon weren’t hurt.”
“And that there were empty lots on either side of Sweeney’s house,” Sean added. “Otherwise there could have been a really bad outcome.”
Everyone fell silent as they drank their coffee, contemplated the possibilities, and listened to the murmur of business being conducted below as the sounds floated up through the floorboards. The nine-fifteen Metro-North bound for Grand Central whistled in the distance.
Sean looked at the clock on the wall. “The train’s three minutes late.”
“The train’s been three minutes late for the last six weeks,” Bernie said. “It’s because they’re fixing the track outside Rhinebeck.”
Everyone fell silent again.
“Bree was in this morning,” Libby said suddenly.
Sean and Bernie groaned simultaneously.
“Where was I?” Bernie asked.
“You’d run out to pick up more paper goods at Sam’s,” Libby answered.
“Lucky me. What did she want?”
“Com">papffee and a chocolate croissant.”
“That’s it?” Bernie asked.
“She apologized,” Libby replied. “Kind of.”
“Define kind of,” Bernie ordered.
“She said she was feeling out of sorts these days because of the enormous pressure she was under and she hoped we’d understand that, but that we really had to push the investigation along.”
“Those were her words? Push the investigation along?” Sean asked.
“Pretty much.”
And with that comment Libby downed the rest of her coffee and the three of them started discussing the best way to talk to Mike Sweeney’s friends, considering that their last conversational attempts at RJ’s hadn’t gone that well.
“We could always show up at their doorsteps,” Bernie said.
“You could and they could refuse to speak to you,” Sean said.
“We’ll just have to make them want to, that’s all,” Bernie replied.
“Simpler said than done,” Sean noted. He sighed, thinking of the days when he was chief of police in Longely and had the power to compel someone to talk to him. But those days were long gone and they weren’t coming back.
“It’ll work,” Libby said. “We’ll just nag them to death. We’ll call it the ‘mom approach’ to investigating.”
Sean laughed. “It always worked for Rose.”
“Exactly,” Bernie said. Her mother had made a fine art of extracting information by repeatedly asking the same question.
“Speaking of investigating,” Libby said. “I think we should revisit Duncan and see if he has anything new to say.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Sean said. “The sooner we get this mess cleaned up the happier everyone will be.”
Chapter 20
 
I
t was ten that evening when Brandon called Bernie. “Yahoo,” he trilled when Bernie picked up her cell.
“Yahoo, yourself,” Bernie replied. She could hear the sound of people talking in the background. “It sounds busy there.”
“It is busy here.”
“It’s Monday night.” Traditionally RJ’s was busy Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights and dead on Mondays and Tuesdays.
Brandon snugged his phone between his shoulder and his ear and started making a Singapore Sling. “What can I say, Bernie? Times are bad and everyone evidently needs a drink. Or two. In any case, I’m calling to tell you that one of the gruesome threesome is here. Patrick just walked through the door.”
“Thanks. We’ll be right over,” Bernie said, and hung up. She tossed her phone down on the coffee table and nudged Libby, who was asleep on the sofa, with her elbow. “Let’s go,” she said. “Patrick is at RJ’s now.”
Libby groaned. Bernie nudged harder.
Libby opened her eyes. “Ouch, Bernie. That hurt.”
“It was supposed to. Seriously, Libby. We have to go.”
Libby yawned and sat up. “Why?”
“I just told you.”
“I didn’t hear you. I was dreaming about a chocolate wishing well.”e houo.”
Bernie rolled her eyes. “Leave it to you to come up with something like that. Brandon called. Patrick is at RJ’s. We’ve got to get down there so we can talk to him.”
Libby started to lie back down. “Can’t we do this tomorrow? I want to go back to sleep.”
“No. We can’t.” Bernie took her sister’s arm and pulled her upright.
“Fine.” Libby held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “You’re right. You’re right.” She yawned again and ran her fingers through her hair. “All I can say is that I hope he’ll talk to us.”
“He’ll talk to us,” Bernie said.
“Why should he? Even Dad said that.”
Bernie scowled. “Of course he’ll talk to us. He’ll want to convince us of his innocence.”
“Of course he will,” Libby parroted. “Because we did so well with him at RJ’s the last time.”
“You’re always so negative,” Bernie shot back.
“I’m not negative, Bernie. I’m just realistic. Which is more than I can say for some people.”
“You mean me?” Bernie demanded.
“No. I mean the man in the moon.” And Libby got up and put on her jacket.
“Aren’t you going to comb your hair and put on some makeup?” Bernie asked her.
Libby didn’t even bother turning around when she answered her. “No, Bernie. I’m not. I’m going exactly like this. If you don’t like it I can always stay home.”
Given the way things were going, Bernie thought it was probably better not to argue the point. Instead, she dashed into the bathroom, brushed and fluffed out her hair, and quickly redid her makeup. When she came out Libby was already in the van waiting for her.
RJ’s parking lot was full and Libby had to park in the lot next door.
“I wonder what’s going on here,” Libby asked as they walked across the lot.
Bernie shook her head. She didn’t know. Then she remembered. “Basketball.”
But she didn’t remember who was playing. Neither she nor her sister read the sports pages. It wasn’t something that was on their radar.
When Bernie pulled open the heavy wooden door and walked in, a wall of noise hit her. All the tables were filled, people were lined up four deep at the bar, and others were leaning against the wall and talking in small groups, while they watched the TV that was mounted above the bar.
Brandon was in the weeds, as they liked to say in the restaurant biz, and it took Bernie a couple of minutes before she could catch his eye. When she did, he paused for a moment to nod in Patrick’s direction before he went back to serving.
Bernie had to stand on tiptoe to look around. These were the times when she wished she was six foot. Five-foot-three just didn’t cut it in situations like these. At first all she saw was a sea of bobbing and weaving heads, but after a moment she spotted Patrick. He was leaning against the bar watching the dart game in progress and drinking a beer.
“This is like the subway during rush hour,” she muttered to herself as she and Libby elbowed their way through the hordes of imbibing commuters.
“Boy, it’s crowded,” Bernie said to Patrick as soon as she and Libby were within speaking distance of him. She had to yell to be heard over the din. To say that these were not ideal circumstances in cum’s crwhich to talk to someone was to put it mildly. She began to wonder if Libby hadn’t been right after all.
Patrick glanced at her briefly and turned back to the game.
Bernie tried again. “Nice tan,” she observed.
Patrick finally turned to her. “Refresh my memory. Tell me why I should care about what you think.”
Bernie did her best imitation smile. “How about because my sister and I are charming and funny and we make great-tasting food.”
“Give me a break,” Patrick said.
“I take it you disagree,” Bernie asked Patrick as he went back to watching the game.
Libby decided it was her turn to try. “So how’d you do in Vegas?” she asked him.
Patrick took a sip of his beer. “How about you girls go somewhere else and leave me alone? Do you think you can do that?”
Libby turned to Bernie. “Did you hear what he said?” she asked her sister.
“I did indeed,” Bernie replied. “Do you think we should?”
“Leave him alone?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll let you know in a minute.” And Libby turned back to Patrick and said, “Bernie said you’d want to talk to us so you could convince us of your innocence, but I said you wouldn’t. I said that you were innocent so why would you want to talk to us? That Sweeney’s and Liza’s deaths were painful subjects and you wouldn’t want to revisit them.”
Patrick nodded. “Exactly,” he said.
Libby pressed on. “We have one hundred dollars riding on the bet, so I guess I have to thank you for my winning.”
“I guess so,” Patrick conceded.
He was still keeping his eyes fixed on the dart game in progress, but his body wasn’t as stiff as it had been. I’m winning him over, Libby thought. “I am a little surprised though,” she continued. “Or maybe confused would be a better word. Duncan is a really good friend of yours, correct?”
“We’ve already been through this. What’s your point?” Patrick asked impatiently.
“My point,” Libby said, “is that I don’t understand why you don’t want to talk to us, painful as the topic might be. I’d think that you’d want to do whatever you could to clear your pal Duncan’s name.”
Patrick took his eyes off the game to look at Libby. “I don’t have to do anything because they won’t convict him. The whole thing is ridiculous. They have nothing to go on.”
“They have physical evidence,” Libby observed.
“It’s circumstantial. It can be challenged in court,” Patrick replied.
“Yes, it can,” Libby agreed. “However, the prosecutor thinks they have a strong enough case to bring to trial. Otherwise the powers that be wouldn’t have charged Duncan in the first place. Now, we believe he was set up, and unless we can prove that to be the case, your friend is going away for life.”
Patrick didn’t say anything.
“Glad you’re not a friend of mine, that’s all I can say,” Bernie said.
“Duncan can take care of himself,” Patrick answered.
“Let’s suppose what you say is right. That Duncan can take care of himself. There’s something else you should be concerned about,” Bernie told him.
“Like what?”
“Think about it,” Bernie said.
Patrick made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Frankly, the only thing I want to think about is you two leaving me alone.”
Bernie raised a finger. “Give me one more minute,” she said, and then continued on without waiting for Patrick’s answer. “You had a group of friends and two of them are dead and one of them is being held for their murder.”
“So?” Patrick said. “Your point is?”
“So do you believe that Duncan killed Liza and Sweeney?” Bernie asked.
“No. I don’t. Of course I don’t,” Patrick replied emphatically. “That’s ridiculous. I already told you that.”
“Then,” Bernie said, “that means that someone else set up Duncan to take the fall for the two murders. Now, how do you know that that someone isn’t interested in killing you and everyone else in your group as well?”
Patrick blinked. He put his beer down. “Why would anyone do that?” he asked.
Bernie smiled inwardly as she reflected that he was beginning to sound worried. “I don’t know,” she said. “Why would someone blow up Mike Sweeney’s house?”
“But that was an accident,” Patrick protested.
“Was it?” Bernie said. “I’m not so sure. Maybe your place will be next.”
Patrick brought his face down until it was inches from Bernie’s. “You’re pulling this stuff out of your ass.”
“First of all, that’s rude,” Bernie told him. “Second of all, judging by your reaction, I’d say you believe me. And thirdly, you have a blackhead on your nose you should take care of.”
Patrick put his hand up to his nose, realized what he’d done and took it off. “Listen,” he said to Bernie and Libby, “I don’t know anything. I don’t know why Mike Sweeney was killed. I don’t know why Liza was killed. And that’s the truth.”
“I don’t believe you,” Libby said.
“Then don’t,” Patrick said. “I couldn’t care less.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Libby told him. “I think that Mike Sweeney lost a lot of people a lot of money and that maybe Liza helped him do it. So maybe they just screwed over the wrong person. Or maybe Liza helped kill Sweeney and whoever she helped decided to shut her up. Maybe you’ll be next.”
Patrick threw up his hands. “I’ll say one thing for you. You definitely have a great imagination.”
“Nevertheless,” Libby said, “they’re both dead. That is a fact that can’t be argued with.”
Patrick reached over, grabbed his beer, and took a healthy slug. “Let me repeat this for the nine-hundredth time. I can’t help you. I can’t help you because I don’t know anything.”
“Maybe you do and you don’t know it,” Bernie said.
“I don’t. I don’t. I don’t,” Patrick said, raising his voice. “What do I have to do to get you to believe me?”
Bernie turned to Libby. “What do you think Patrick has to do?” she asked.
“He could give us some of the names of the people who lost money because of Mike,” Libby answered.
Patrick cackled. “What, are you two kidding me? Everyone lost money for everyone in the last two years. That’s the nature of our business.”
“Yeah,” Bernie said. “I know. We live in this world too. But I understand that Sweeney’s losses were higher than most and that he wasn’t called Churn Em and Burn Em Mike for nothing. I have it on good authority that his losses were especially steep. Sometimes as much as fifty percent. Especially for his chums—a group you belong to.”
Patrick was silent for a moment. Then he said, “His brokerage firm has a list of his clients. You’d have to get it from them.”
“So you guys never talked about business?” Libby asked Patrick.
“No, we didn’t,” Patrick said.
“Somehow I find that difficult to believe given the circumstances,” Libby responded. “I mean I always talk business with my friends.”
Patrick shrugged. “Good for you. But we don’t. We leave the office in the office.”
Libby snapped her fingers. “Which leaves us with another possibility.”
Patrick groaned. “Spare me, please.”
“I will,” Libby said. “But the killer might not. Because maybe the person who killed Sweeney and Liza isn’t some random pissed off investor, maybe it’s one of the other people in the Corned Beef and Cabbage Club. How does the old saying go, Bernie, the one about how we always kill our nearest and dearest?”
“It’s we always kill the things we love, Libby.”
Libby nodded. “That’s so true, Bernie.” She turned to Patrick. “You should think about that,” she told him. “Who knows, you may be next on the list. Don’t you agree, Bernie?”
“Without a doubt, Libby,” Bernie said.
Libby unzipped her hoodie. It was definitely warm in the place with all the people crowding around. “If I were Patrick, I’d be really worried right now.”
“Well, so would I, Libby. But I guess Patrick figures he can take care of himself.”
“That’s because he’s a tough guy, Bernie, and tough guys never ask for help.”
“I wish I was like that, Bernie.”

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