A Catered Tea Party (17 page)

T
his,
Libby thought,
is not good
. She turned to her sister. “Don't worry, you said,” Libby told Bernie, imitating Bernie's voice. “She won't have a gun, you said. She'll never hear us, you said.”

“So I was wrong,” Bernie replied. She had just finished looking under the chairs in the corner. “So shoot me.”

“I have a feeling that could be arranged,” Libby retorted.

Bernie tsk-tsked. “That's not nice.”

“But true,” Libby exclaimed.

Bernie sniffed. “Hopefully not.”

“Don't you two ever shut up?” Magda exclaimed, taking a step into the room.

“It's a sister thing,” Libby explained.

“Makes me glad I'm an only child,” Magda told her.

Bernie nodded toward the gun. “How about lowering the weapon?”

“And why should I be doing that?” Magda asked Bernie.

“Because it's not as if we're strangers,” Bernie answered. “You know who we are.”

“Precisely,” Magda said. “And anyway, how do I know you're not here to do something awful?”

“Like what?” Libby demanded.

Magda shrugged.

“Then at least put the safety back on,” said Bernie, who had noticed that it was off. “Accidents can happen.”

Magda smiled brightly. “
Da.
They can. They happen all the time in America. Now what are you two doing here?” she asked.

Libby said the first words that came to her. “Looking for a charm bracelet.”

“My charm bracelet,” Bernie said to Magda. “I loaned it to her, and now she can't find it. Can you . . .”

Magda interrupted before Bernie could finish. “This is a stupid story you are telling me.” She waved the gun around. “You think maybe I am a stupid person?”

“Not at all,” Bernie quickly replied. “Frankly, I wouldn't believe it either.” She turned to Libby. “See,” she said, “I told you we shouldn't have snuck in here like this. I told you Magda would be angry. I told you we should tell her what we were going to do.”

“No, Bernie, I told you that.”

“No, you didn't, Libby.”

“Yes, I did, Bernie. I told you Magda looked like the type who might have a gun.”

“And you were right, Libby,” Bernie told her sister.

“Stop this . . . this . . .”

“Bickering,” Bernie said, supplying the word.

“Yes, bickering,” Magda said.

“Fine,” Bernie told her. “I'm just surprised, is all. You just didn't strike me as the type,” she pointed to the weapon, “to have one of those.”

“It is Zalinsky's,” Magda informed her.

“So I don't owe you a dollar after all,” Bernie told Libby. “We bet,” she explained to Magda, even though she and her sister hadn't.

“Was Zalinsky's,” Magda corrected herself. “He keep it in the drawer for just in case.”

“In case what?” Libby asked. She'd gotten up off her knees. At least Magda hadn't objected to that.

“In case people, bad people, come to visit. Of course.”

“Of course,” Bernie said, also rising. She brushed her legs off. “Were there a lot of those?”

“He said there were going to be,” Magda replied. “Myself, I did not see them. But he always talk big.”

“Talk big?” Libby asked.

Magda explained. “He always make things bigger than they were.”

“He exaggerated?” Bernie asked,

Magda nodded. “Da. That is the word I am looking for.”

Libby indicated the gun with a nod of her head. “Maybe you should put that down. Your arm looks like it's getting tired.”

Magda scowled.

“Or not,” Libby told her.

“Did Zalinsky ever find his gloves?” Bernie asked, changing the subject. “I know he was looking for them before the performance.”

“Such a fuss about nothing,” Magda said, nodding in remembrance.

“Good thing he had another pair,” Libby observed.

“No. He find his pair right where he leave them,” Magda said.

“Interesting,” Bernie said.

“This is not interesting,” Magda snapped, the color rising on her face. “This is just stupid.”

Bernie decided a change of subject might be beneficial. “Have I told you I love the new you,” Bernie said to Magda, going for disarming—both literally and figuratively. And it was true. Looking at her again, Bernie realized that Magda had blossomed since Zalinsky's death. She had a new look, a younger, more fashionable one, one that Bernie was sure had cost a fair amount of money to achieve.

For openers, Magda had gotten a makeover. She'd abandoned her bright red lipstick for a softer shade of pink and dialed down the black eyeliner to a more flattering shade of brown. She'd cut her bangs and changed the color of her hair to a pretty auburn and caught it up in a loose bun on the top of her head. Tendrils escaping from the bun framed her face.

Then there were her clothes. They were different too. They were funkier, Bernie decided. More flattering. Softer. Definitely more expensive. Magda was wearing a loose-fitting, yellow and blue, pin-striped, knee-length dress that looked like an old-fashioned house dress, but Bernie had seen it featured in
Vogue
. If she remembered rightly, the dress had cost somewhat over four hundred dollars. And then there were Magda's shoes. Platform sandals. Bernie had seen them in Bloomingdale's for three hundred dollars. Not bad for a working girl.

“I love the dress,” Bernie said.

“Good for you,” Magda replied, but she lowered the gun a little.

“And the shoes. Were they expensive?” Bernie asked, encouraged by Magda's response. “Did you get them at Barney's or in Little Russia?

“None of your business,” Magda told her.

“I seem to be getting a lot of that lately,” Bernie remarked ruefully.

“Maybe that's because you're sticking your nose in where you shouldn't,” Magda replied. “I could have shot you,” she added, but then, to Bernie and Libby's relief, she put the gun on the end table by the sofa.

“We wouldn't want that to happen,” a relieved Libby observed.

“I go for the lighter firearms myself,” Bernie wisecracked. “Easier to carry around in my tote.”

“You have gun?” Magda asked.

Bernie shook her head. “I don't like them very much.”

Magda considered Bernie's answer as she reached up and fingered the gold chain she was wearing around her neck. “I thought all Americans like guns.”

“Not me,” Libby said.

“Or me,” Bernie added.

“I do not like them either,” Magda confided. “They're too obvious.”

“What do you mean?” Bernie asked.

“The gun goes bang. Someone dies. You see this,” Magda replied.

Bernie nodded encouragingly.

“I think other ways of killing people, less . . .”

“Obvious ways,” Libby said supplying the phrase Magda was looking for.

“Da. Less obvious ways are better.”

“Like what?” Bernie asked. “If you were going to kill someone, how would you do it?”

For a moment, Bernie thought Magda was going to answer her question, but instead she said, “You are smartypants people, then you must figure it out. You must leave now. I have work to do.”

“Your boss is dead,” Bernie observed. “How much work could you possibly have?”

“Enough,” Magda said. “I told you this when you were here before.”

“I'm surprised the police didn't take Zalinsky's computer,” Bernie said.

“They took the ones from his house and his office, not the one here,” Magda informed her.

“How come?” Bernie asked.

Magda shrugged again. It seemed to be her gesture of choice. “I do not know. You have a problem with this?” Magda demanded.

“No. My sister was just asking a question,” Libby said.

“You and your sister are busy”—Magda hunted around for the correct word—“mouses.”

“Bees,” Bernie corrected. “The phrase is a busy bee.”

“Actually, we're just here to get Jason Pancetta's hat,” Libby said.

“This is another lie,” Magda stated.

“Why would I lie?” Bernie asked.

“You still have not told me why you are here,” Magda said.

“I think you know,” Bernie told her.

“I do not,” Magda said.

Bernie clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Magda, Magda. Now you're the one who is telling fibs.” Bernie turned to Libby. “Of course Magda knows why we're really here.”

“How could she know?” Libby demanded.

“How could she not?” Bernie replied. She pointed at Magda. “She's not dumb. Maybe she found it already. In fact, given her new clothes, shoes, and hairdo, I think that's a definite possibility. No, I'm figuring that's a reality.” Bernie smiled at Magda. “I'm figuring you didn't ask us what we were looking for because you've already found it.”

“Did you?” Libby asked Magda. “Just tell us if you did.”

Magda looked from Bernie to Libby and back again. “Vhat you two are talking about?” she asked, her Russian accent getting even thicker.

“The teapot, of course,” Libby said. “The two-million-dollar teapot. What else would we be looking for?”

“You don't have to pretend,” Bernie told Magda. “We know you know that Casper stole the teapot.”

“I didn't,” Magda said, although Libby and Bernie could see from the way she was blinking her eyes before she got control of herself that she did in fact know.

“That's funny,” Bernie said. “I was positive that you knew and that you know that someone took the teapot from him.”

Magda rebuttoned the top button of her dress, even though it hadn't come undone, to give her hands something to do. “And you think that maybe this person is me?”

“Why not?” Bernie said. “You had access, and you have a motive. I have to say,” she indicated Magda with a nod, “you're putting the money to good use. You look really, really good.”

Magda picked up the gun. “So what you are saying is that I kill Ludvoc and then Casper steal the teapot and I take it from him and hide it back here. This is what you think? This is the reason you are here crawling around on your hands and knees?”

Bernie turned to Libby. “See, Libby,” she said, “I told you Magda was smart.”

“And why are you thinking this?” Magda asked, waving the gun in their general direction. “Someone is telling you?”

“No one told us anything,” Bernie said hastily. “We're just guessing. But if you put the gun back down and if you haven't sold the teapot, perhaps we can help,” Bernie said.

“That's right,” Libby seconded. “That way your kids won't have to go to a community college . . .”

Magda interrupted. “Why you say this about my children?” she demanded. “You think they are stupid too?”

“Not at all,” Libby said. “We know that they're very smart. It's just that colleges cost money, lots of money.”

Magda stood up straighter. “They will get big scholarships and go to an important school.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Libby went on. “The only reason I'm saying that is because I heard that Zalinsky had promised to pay for your kids' college education and then he reneged.”

Magda glared at Bernie and Libby. “He was not a good man.”

“No, he wasn't,” Bernie agreed. “I wonder what happened to all his money.”

Magda lowered the gun. “I do not think he had any,” she confided. “I think he fool everyone.”

“But he had to have money to pay for this,” Libby waved her hand around, indicating The Blue House. “Not to mention his house. And his art collection.”

Magda shook his head. “I think he use money that wasn't his. I think he borrow lots and lots of it.”

“And you know this for a fact?” Bernie asked.

“I know he was getting lots of calls,” Magda replied, echoing what Hsaio had told them. “Everyone wanted their money. They all say things about going to court, but Zalinsky, he just keep telling them everything will be fine, and he's working on getting their money to them.”

Libby turned to Bernie. “Well, that would explain the go bag.”

Magda looked at Bernie and Libby. “What is this go bag?” she asked.

“He was getting ready to get out of town,” Libby explained, “and take the teapot with him. It was his insurance policy. He just didn't count on being dead, but then who does?”

Bernie turned to Magda. “So did you find the teapot?”

Magda made a dismissive noise. “If I find the teapot, why I still here? Explain this.”

“Because leaving would make you look suspicious,” Libby replied.

“And there
are
your new clothes,” Bernie said.

Magda raised her gun again. “So I take some money from Ludvoc's account. So vhat? He owe me.”

“I thought you just told us Zalinsky didn't have any money,” Libby said to Magda.

“He have some, a little.”

“How little?” Libby asked.

Magda smiled, but didn't reply.

“Maybe we can help you out,” Bernie said, deciding to try a different tactic. “Maybe Libby and I can help you find a buyer for the teapot for ten percent—assuming, of course, that you have it.”

“Twenty, Bernie,” Libby said. “We'll do it for twenty percent.”