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Authors: Isis Crawford

BOOK: A Catered St. Patrick's Day
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Chapter 29
 
L
ibby was taking a rare but well-earned nap when Orion walked into the Simmonses’ flat and woke her up. She had been dreaming of a loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread with a diamond ring baked inside it. Somehow the ring had belonged to one of their customers and Libby wasn’t sure how it had ended up in the batter, but there it was winking away.
Libby was in the middle of hearing why that was important from a voice coming out of the oven—it had something to do with being able to forecast the advent of the hurricane season and how bad global warming was going to be—when another customer came into the shop and slammed the door behind her. She thought the sound was in her dream, but then she realized it was real. She opened her eyes. A moment later she screamed. A man was standing by the door. It took her thirty seconds to realize it was Orion. She bolted up, instinctively smoothing down her sweatshirt as she did.
“Sorry if I scared you,” Orion said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to.”
“What are you doing here?” Libby demanded, now wide awake.
As she looked at Orion it suddenly occurred to her that a miracle had happened. All the anger she felt toward him had slipped away. She didn’t feel sad that she wasn’t with him anymore. She didn’t feel hurt thinking about all the lies he’d told her. She wasn’t wondering whom he was going out with.
In fact, she didn’t feel attracted to him at all. Her heart wasn’t beating faster. She wasn’t blushing. He was just a guy. A skinny guy with a bad haircut, a big nose, and ears that stood out from his head. She remembered she used to find those ears cute—she’d liked to tug on them gently—but not anymore. Now they just looked goofy.
Orion looked at the floor, then back at Libby. Clearly, she thought, he’s uncomfortable. And that also made her feel even happier because she was usually the one feeling that way. Or maybe he’d always felt that way and she’d been so consumed with her own feelings that she hadn’t noticed. Bernie was always telling her to get over herself. Maybe she was right, Libby thought.
“The door was opened and I just walked up,” Orion stammered as Libby continued to study him. “I was looking for your father.”
Libby gave her sweatshirt a final tug. Even though she was over Orion she was still glad she’d washed her hair last night.
“He’s not here,” she told him. “He’s with Marvin.”
“I guess I should have called,” Orion said, turning to go. “I would have but my phone is on the fritz. I’ll come back later.”
“I guess you should have called first,” Libby agreed. “What do you want with him anyway?”
“Nothing, really,” Orion said. “Your dad asked me to get him some information.”
Libby cocked her head and looked at him. “Information?”
“Yeah. About Sweeney and those guys.”
“Oh, yes.” Libby remembered that her Dad had said he was going to talk to Orion, but then he hadn’t mentioned anything about it and it had slipped her mind.
Orion ran his fingers through his hair, and Libby noticed with a certain amount of pleasure that it was thinning on top.
“I’ve got the financial stuff he asked me about,” he said. He corrected himself. “Well, some of it. I managed to get him a co get himuple of lists. There’s a lot more out there but this is all I could lay my hands on.”
“Why don’t you give the info to me and I’ll give it to him,” Libby suggested.
Orion hesitated.
“I’m working on the case too,” Libby told him.
“It’s not that. I just figure your dad might need an explanation for what I’ve come up with.”
“Well, if he does he can call you. Unless you want to come back later, that is,” Libby said.
Orion thought it over for a minute, then said, “No offense, but I don’t think I do.”
“No offense taken,” Libby answered.
She watched as Orion slipped his messenger bag off his shoulder and began rummaging around in it. “So how have you been?” she asked him.
“Fine. And you?”
“Fine,” Libby said. “You like your work?”
“It’s fun,” Orion said. “Or as much fun as work can be. And you?”
Libby smiled. “The shop is the shop.”
“You ever think of doing something else?”
“Not really,” Libby said, shaking her head.
Orion fell silent, as did Libby. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. A moment later Orion extracted a sealed, standard, twelve-by-fifteen-inch manila envelope from his messenger bag and handed it to Libby.
Libby looked down at it. “What’s in here anyway?” she asked. Somehow she felt it would be wrong to unseal the envelope since it was addressed to her father.
“Nothing that earth shattering. Basically it’s a list of Mike Sweeney’s and Duncan’s clients.”
“Duncan said they’d worked together.”
Orion nodded. “Yeah. For the past four years. It’s all about teamwork these days.”
“How did you get the info?” Libby asked.
Orion shrugged. “The way you find out anything these days. I called in a few favors.”
“It doesn’t sound like a nice world,” Libby noted.
“It’s not,” Orion agreed. “Just be happy you have the shop.” He turned to leave and then turned back again. “I just want you to know I’m sorry about the way I acted,” he told Libby. “Honestly, I never meant to hurt you. I know that doesn’t mean much but it’s true.”
“No. It does.” She swallowed. “It was my fault as well,” she told him.
“No it wasn’t,” Orion protested.
“That’s very sweet of you to say, but you and I know the truth. I knew you wanted to go. I knew we weren’t right for each other. You were trying to tell me that in all sorts of ways but I refused to listen. So you acted out, hoping that I would throw you out. But I didn’t. I overlooked everything, which was when you left.” Libby extended her hand. “No hard feelings.”
Orion took it and they shook. “Maybe we could have a drink sometime,” he said, more out of politeness than desire.
Libby shook her head and smiled. “I don’t think so.”
Orion smiled too. “You’re right,” he said.
“I know,” Libby told him.
She stood holding the envelope to her chest as he turned and walked out of the flat. All those years, she thought. All thought. hat anguish. All that anger. All those hurt feelings. All those nights crying and imagining revenge. And now she felt nothing. It was as if someone had turned the water tap off. It was odd, but she kind of missed hating him. Now that that feeling was gone, she realized how much time it had taken up. Oh well. As Bernie would say, on to the next thing.
Libby was just about to call her dad and tell him that Orion had dropped off the information he wanted, after which she was planning on going downstairs to the shop and starting in on a new batch of the smoked trout, walnut, apple, and frisée salad—the stuff was flying out the door—when Bernie came dashing up the stairs.
“Libby, we need you,” she cried as she ran into the flat. “The cooler is on the fritz.”
Libby cursed under her breath, threw the envelope Orion had given her on the coffee table—all thoughts of the investigation now out of her mind—and ran down the stairs after Bernie.
“Did you call Isaac?” Libby asked Bernie.
Isaac was the repairman.
“He can’t come until later tomorrow. We’re going to have to empty the cooler out.”
Libby groaned. The cooler was packed full of bread dough, eggs, butter, cream, milk, cheese, tuna and egg and salmon salads, as well as plastic containers of chicken and beef waiting to be turned into tomorrow’s feature of the day.
“The guys at A La Carte said we could use the cooler they have in the basement to get us through,” Bernie said.
Libby groaned again. “Damn. What a pain.”
“I know,” Bernie told her. “I called Brandon and he’s going to help us schlep.”
“Thank God,” Libby said gratefully.
But even with Brandon helping, it was going to be a pain in the butt. It meant unloading the contents of the cooler and packing it up, putting everything in the van, unloading it all, carrying the cartons down the steps, which were incredibly steep and narrow, putting everything in A La Carte’s cooler and then reversing the process the next day. Not to mention dashing over there when they needed something.
And on top of that, she still had the Baums’ dinner party to get ready. Risotto with Parmesan cheese and asparagus. Chicken sautéed with white wine and rosemary. A tossed green salad of watercress, radicchio, and romaine lettuce, sprinkled with toasted walnuts and dressed in walnut oil. And a chocolate panna cotta with raspberries for dessert. Nothing fancy, but still a dinner for eight took time to assemble. Libby decided it was going to be a long and not particularly pleasant afternoon.
Chapter 30
 
M
arvin looked at Sean sitting behind the steering wheel and thought, what have I done?
“No,” he said. “Absolutely not. No way. No how.”
“It’ll be fine,” Sean assured him as he moved into the right lane to allow the car in back of him to pass.
“It won’t be fine,” Marvin retorted. “It won’t be fine at all.”
Marvin felt like burying his head in his hands. He should never have allowed himself to be talked into letting Mr. Simmons drive in the first place. But how could he have said no, especially when Mr. Simmons had smiled and said he just wanted to have one more chance to get his hands on the wheel.
“For old time’s sake,” he’d said, smiling sweetly.
And Marvin had obliged. God, what a sucker he was.
“I mean it’s not that much farther,” Sean pointed out as he turned into Mulberry Street. He pulled over and parked.
Marvin let out an audible sigh of relief. Sean looked annoyed.
“I’ve already driven two blocks. Have I had an accident?” he asked Marvin.
“No,” Marvin replied.
“Have I dented anything?” Sean asked.
“No,” Marvin muttered.
“Have I even come close to doing anything dangerous?”
“No,” Marvin admitted reluctantly. He could see the way the conversation was going and he wasn’t happy about it.
“Then what’s the problem?” Sean asked.
“The problem,” Marvin told him, “is that you’re not supposed to be driving.”
“Not true,” Sean said. “I have a valid license. Do you want to see it?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
Sean held up his hands. “Are they shaking?”
“No,” Marvin allowed.
“That’s because I’m in remission. I’m not irresponsible, you know. I wouldn’t drive if I didn’t think I could.”
“But—” Marvin said.
Sean interrupted. “No buts. That’s the truth. This may be my last opportunity, my last hurrah. I may get sick again. In fact, I probably will get sick again. That’s what remission means.” Sean clapped Marvin on the back. “Listen, don’t think I don’t appreciate all the time you’ve taken driving me around, because I do, but it makes me feel like I’m two.”
“Then why—?” Marvin began, but once again Sean swooped in before Marvin had a chance to finish his sentence.
“Then why don’t I discuss this with Bernie and Libby?” Sean asked. “Why don’t I use the van? Why am I picking this time and place?”
“Exactly,” Marvin said.
“A number of reasons.” And Sean began to enumerate them. “First of all, I don’t want Bernie and Libby to worry, and you know that they will.”
“I guess you’re right,” Marvin agreed reluctantly.
Sean snorted. “Of course I’m right. Bernie and Libby worry when I’m fifteen minutes late. I can’t imagine how they’d feel about this.”
“I guess they are a little overprotective when it comes to you,” Marvin replied.
“Just a tad.” And Sean held up his thumb and forefinger. “And then we come to reason number two. The simple truth is that the Taurus is easier for me to drive than the van. This will be like a test run. If things go well I’ll talk to Bernie and Libby and tell them.”
“Like you told them about your smoking?”
“Ha. Ha. That’s different.” Sean turned and smiled at Marvin. “Just think. You won’t have me yelling at you anymore. How nice will that be?”
Marvin had to admit it would be nice indeed. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that Libby would skin him alive, and so would his dad for that matter, if they found out. Just thinking about what his dad would say made Marvin cringe.
“But this isn’t my car, Mr. Simmons,” Marvmons,”in wailed.
“So you’ve said. I know. It’s your dad’s. Relax. He’ll never know. He’s gone until seven o’clock tonight, remember?”
“He’ll know,” Marvin said, cursing himself. Why had he told Mr. Simmons that his father was away on business? God, he had a big mouth. “My dad knows when a pin is out of place.”
“The car will be fine,” Sean assured him. “I’ll take care of it as if it was my own.”
Marvin was not reassured. He was thinking about what to say when Sean looked him square in the eye.
“Listen,” Sean said, summoning up his most confidence-inspiring expression. “Your dad is not going to know because you’re not going to tell him. If you don’t tell him there’s no way he will know. Last I knew, being psychic wasn’t one of his abilities. He’s not coming back till seven o’clock tonight, and by that time the Taurus will be safely back in the garage.”
“Someone will see you and tell him,” Marvin said.
“Like who?” Sean asked.
“I don’t know. Someone.”
“Most people are at work right now. And anyway, do you really think that people will identify this car as your dad’s? It’s one of the most common cars on the road today. If this was a chrome yellow Jeep I could see your point. But it isn’t.”
Marvin had to agree that that was the case.
“I’ll drop you off,” Sean continued. “You’ll do your paperwork and I’ll drive over and visit Rose at the cemetery. I haven’t been there in a while.” Which was true. He was leaving out the part about visiting Liza’s mom just in case Marvin objected. “And then,” Sean continued, “I’ll come back and you’ll take me home. It’s a win-win situation. I get to do what I need to do and you get to do your tasks. No one will be any the wiser.” Sean raised his hand, palm outward as if he were taking an oath. “I promise. I’m driving a total distance of what? Maybe five miles at the most? I’m using surface streets. I mean it’s not as if I’m telling you I’m going to drive into Manhattan. Think about it.”
Then Sean sat back and waited for Marvin’s reply. He actually felt sorry for Marvin. He looked one hundred percent miserable. Probably because Marvin
was
miserable. He was thinking that he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. If Libby and/or his dad found out, if God forbid Mr. Simmons got himself in trouble, then it was his fault and he was to blame.
On the other hand, if he said no to Mr. Simmons, Mr. Simmons would never forgive him and that was not a good thing. Especially when he planned on having a long, possibly permanent, relationship with his daughter. And what made it worse was that Marvin strongly suspected that Mr. Simmons was fully aware of the situation he’d placed Marvin in. But really, how could he say no to a man who wanted to pay his respects to his beloved wife? How could he be that heartless?
“So,” said Sean after a moment had passed, “what’s it going to be?”
Marvin blushed. He felt silly asking the question he was going to, but he really wanted to know. “If you do end up driving, does this mean I can’t come with you anymore when you do your investigative stuff?”
Sean grinned. “Of course you can come with me. I wouldn’t think of leaving you out. I’d miss your observations.”
Marvin grinned back. “Okay then,” he said. He straightened himself up. “But I’m driving back to my place.”
“Not a problem,” Sean said.
“And please, Mr. Simmons ...”
“Yes, Marvin.”
“Don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” Sean assured him. “I swear.”
As Sean changed seats with Marvin he had the good manners not to gloat. He was a man who was always magnanimous in victory.
 
Sean sat on the bench in front of Rose’s tombstone and thought about his wife. He hadn’t expected her to die first. He’d been the one with the dangerous job. He’d been the one who was always getting sick. She was the one who was always fine. She used to joke she was just like a mule on the Erie Canal. She’d just kept going and going.
Until the day she didn’t. Until the day she’d just dropped dead right in front of him. An aneurysm. Nothing he could have done. Nothing anyone could have done. The only saving grace was that the girls had been in school when it happened. Telling them their mom had died had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
He liked Inez. He’d met a few women he’d liked since Rose had died. But it wasn’t the same. He should come here more often, he reflected. Now that he could drive himself, he would. Somehow, it wasn’t the same coming here with the girls. He lit a cigarette—he knew Rose wouldn’t mind—and let his mind go blank. After a few minutes he found himself looking at the tombstone of the person buried in the next plot over. He remembered when Jennifer Marie Strunk had died. She’d been twenty-seven, Liza Sepranto’s age.
Six months later Sean had arrested the man who’d killed her. And that got him thinking about Liza’s death. He took another puff of his cigarette and decided that somehow she’d gotten lost in the investigation. He probably should have talked to Anne before this, but he hated talking to the recently bereaved. He always had, and now he disliked it even more since he knew what it felt like.
Sean looked at his watch. He was right on schedule. Plenty of time left to talk to Anne and maybe take a quick peek at Liza’s room. And if he was a little late, so what? It wouldn’t be such a big deal. An idea was beginning to take shape. One he really didn’t want to entertain. But it would explain everything. He just hoped he was wrong. Sean sighed, took a last puff of his cigarette, ground it out under his heel, then picked the butt up so he could throw it away later. He’d always done his best thinking around Rose. Looked like that was still the case.
“Bye for now,” he said, blowing a kiss in the direction of Rose’s grave. He expected to be there soon. He’d reserved the adjoining plot for himself. But not yet.
 
Pat and Anne Dwyer’s house was in a small cul-de-sac off Euclid. It was one of those places that had fallen off the Longely map. Marked as a development in the thirties, it had been a nonstarter after three houses had been built, plans for the next seven having been abandoned when the developer had gone broke.
At the present time the Dwyers were the only people living there, the residents of the other two houses having not come back from Florida yet. Which suited Pat Dwyer fine. He liked the privacy, although his wife and his stepdaughter didn’t feel the same way. But since he was paying all the bills, what they thought didn’t really matter.
Sean pulled up in front of the Dwyers’ house and sat for a moment, enjoying the sound of the car’s idling. He was extremely pleased with himself. The drive over here hadover her gone very well, if he did say so himself. He felt like a teenager right after he’d gotten his license. Odd but true. Free at last. It was wonderful to be out and about on his own. He was thankful for each disease-free moment he got. For each moment where his hands weren’t shaking so bad he had trouble feeding himself. For each moment when he didn’t have trouble walking.
Of course, he wasn’t exactly as good as new. He’d lied to Marvin a little bit about that. It had taken all of his concentration to drive here. He had to stay superfocused, and judging by the way he was feeling at the moment, he figured that short runs were about as much as he could manage in the near future. He’d done it though. He had managed it quite well, in fact. And he could always build up his endurance. He’d just go a little farther every day.
Then Sean thought that if this was the best it was going to be, that would be okay too. In fact, he’d do everything short of sacrificing his first and second born if he could stay this way. He sat back, reached in his pocket, took out a cigarette, and lit it while he studied the Dwyers’ house. The word that came to mind was
modest.
Like Dwyer’s office. This was a man who had money but didn’t spend it. He evidently didn’t feel the need to let everyone know how well he was doing. It was enough that he knew.
The house had been added on to as the decades had passed. The original house had been compact; now it rambled due to the additions of a garage and a den. But it had retained its small lawn and a neatly clipped privet hedge, which had bordered the house for as long as Sean had driven by it. From where he was parked, Sean could see the yellow tips of daffodils beginning to break through the soil in the flower bed. He rolled the window down a little and tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the street.
He was here because he needed to speak to Anne without Pat, if at all possible. He’d get more information that way. Pat disapproved of Liza, that had been obvious when he had spoken to him at his office, so Anne would naturally hold back on any information that didn’t reflect well on her daughter if her husband was present. There was nothing wrong with that. It was simply what a parent did. It was what he would do if he found himself in that sort of situation.
Sean finished his cigarette, turned off the Taurus, and carefully pocketed the keys. Then he closed his eyes, took three deep breaths, slipped into a meditative state, and focused on the case at hand. Everyone in the force thought he was nuts doing this, but he’d found it to be extremely helpful.
He found it helped him hone in on the questions he needed to ask. Sometimes the small things, the easily overlooked things, were the things that pointed the way to a solution. He ran through Brandon calling up Bernie, and what they’d found in the alley behind RJ’s. He thought about Duncan’s arrest and Libby and Bernie meeting Connor, Liam, and Patrick at RJ’s. He thought about Bree and Duncan and about finding Liza. And then it occurred to him that there was a tiny piece of information from Brandon that he needed.

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