A Catered Tea Party (19 page)

I
t was two hours after the accident, and Bernie and Libby were sitting in the waiting room of the Ogleebee Repair Shop, waiting for Mathilda to get a new tire. Bernie had called Sid Ogleebee immediately after she and Libby had climbed out of Mathilda's window. He'd raced over with his tow truck and found the two sopping-wet sisters huddled together by the side of the road next to the van. Miraculously, no one had been hurt. Well, maybe a little bruised, a little shaken, but that was the extent of the damage.

“Damn ditches,” Sid had grumbled as he got ready to winch Mathilda out of the ditch. “Every time it rains, I get to pull someone out on this curve. It's a miracle no one's been killed yet.”

“Tell me about it,” Bernie was saying to Sid when Brandon arrived. She'd called him a few minutes after she'd called Sid.

He'd taken Bernie and Libby to their flat, where they'd changed into something dry, then dropped them off at Sid's repair shop on his way to work. Bernie had expected to have to explain to her dad what had happened—she had her story all ready—but she didn't have to tell him because he was out with Michelle, a fact that made her feel both relieved and sad at the same time.

Bernie was thinking about that and about how she and Libby weren't seeing much of their dad these days as she looked around the room they were sitting in. It was not a thing of beauty, but then neither was the garage it adjoined. The room looked to be about twelve feet by twelve feet, and that was a generous estimate. A layer of grime covered everything.

The counter was piled high with auto parts manuals, as were the shelves in back of the counter. There were two patched chairs to sit in as well as a hot plate sporting burnt coffee, a bowl full of stale powdered donuts, and a two-year-old, tattered copy of
People
magazine on a small side table. So much for the amenities. In better times, Libby and Bernie would never have touched the donuts or the coffee, but now they were glad to have them. Actually, they were ecstatic, neither one having realized until they started eating how hungry they were.

“We must be in shock,” Libby told Bernie as Sid walked in the room, carrying one of Mathilda's tires in front of him.

“I don't believe it,” Bernie said to Sid when she heard what he had to say.

Sid didn't reply. Instead he pointed to the gash in the deflated tire that had been the cause of the crash.

Libby brushed a scattering of powdered sugar off the front of her polo shirt, came over, and examined the gash Sid had indicated. “Maybe a nail did it.”

“That would be a puncture,” Sid said. He wiped his hands on a rag that he stuck back underneath the counter. He'd been a mechanic for twenty-five years and was pretty good at figuring out what was what. “You'd see a hole.”

“A piece of glass?” Bernie hazarded. “That would make a cut, right?”

“Not that kind of cut,” Sid informed her.

“Why not?” Bernie demanded.

“Because these sides are even,” Sid explained with as much patience as he could muster. He was a taciturn man who preferred the company of cars to people, especially female people, most of whom made him nervous. “Someone slashed this tire with a knife.” He pointed to the cut. Then he moved his fingers a little farther up to the second cut. “Twice. Trust me, this wasn't made by a piece of glass in the road.”

Libby looked at where Sid was pointing, and then she looked at Sid's face and the one milky eye and the other one that worked. “There's no possibility you could be wrong, is there?” she asked.

Sid shook his head again. “None. I've been in this business a long time, and I know a knife cut when I see it.”

“Could we have had a blowout? Libby asked.

“You could have if you'd been going faster,” Sid told her. “So in this case the rain was a good thing.”

Libby swallowed. She felt slightly sick to her stomach thinking about what might have happened.

“I'm betting on Jason having done this,” Bernie said. She didn't feel queasy, she just felt really, really angry.

“Possibly,” Libby replied. She put her hands together and touched the tips of her fingers to her lips while she thought. “He had plenty of time when we were inside.”

“Yes, he did,” Bernie agreed. “And he was pissed at us.”

“He wasn't that pissed,” Libby objected. “Annoyed, yes. Furious, no.”

Bernie put her hands on her hips. “Then who else could it be? Some random stranger?”

“Maybe. Or it could have been one of the Holloway brothers or Erin,” Libby suggested.

Bernie snorted. “Because they were just passing by, saw Mathilda, and said,
Hey what the hell? Let's teach Bernie and Libby a lesson?
”

“It's possible,” Libby insisted.

“So is New York City being swallowed by a tidal wave.”

“It could happen,” Libby countered. “Global warming.”

“Well, there's only one way to find out,” Bernie continued.

“About the tidal wave?”

“About Jason.”

“A Ouija board?” Libby hazarded.

“I was thinking more of going the direct route and asking him.”

“Oh goody!” Libby clapped her hands together. “What a super idea. I'm sure he'll say,
Yes. I did it. I cannot tell a lie
.”

“So what would you suggest?” Bernie asked.

“I'd suggest we let the police deal with this.”

Bernie frowned. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

“Maybe because it's a good idea.”

“I don't think so,” Bernie said. “Now we have the element of surprise. Jason won't be expecting us. We might actually find something out.”

“She's right,” Sid put in.

Libby glared at him. “Thanks for your input.”

“Well, Bernie
is
right,” Sid said, choosing to overlook Libby's sarcasm. “Besides, the cops won't do anything. They never do.”

Libby took a deep breath and let it out. Then she smiled. “Sid,” she said, “have you forgotten that at the moment, we don't have a vehicle?”

“Not a problem. You can borrow my old junker,” Sid told Libby.

Bernie grinned and thanked him.

“We can wait for Mathilda,” Libby said.

Sid clasped his hands together and cracked his knuckles. Libby cringed at the sound.

“That's going to take a couple of hours. At the very least. I have to send out for tires.”

“We don't want to wait,” Bernie said before Libby could say anything.

Libby turned to Bernie. “Aside from everything else, we don't know where Jason is,” she said.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Sid chirped.

“I think I liked you better when you didn't say anything,” Libby told him. Sid's face fell. Libby felt as if she'd shot a puppy. She immediately apologized. “It's the aftereffects of the accident,” she explained.

“Maybe you have PTSD,” Sid said in a worried voice.

“Yeah, that would be it,” Bernie told Sid as she dragged Libby out the door.

“The keys to the Civic are in the ignition,” Sid yelled after them.

The junker, a dented, rusted 1990 green Honda Civic, sat in the corner of the lot. The keys, as promised, were in the ignition. “So, are you coming, or do you want me to drop you off at the shop?” Bernie asked Libby as she got into the car.

“Coming, I suppose,” Libby said with a notable lack of enthusiasm. Even though she really didn't want to, she was going along to make sure that Bernie didn't get out of hand. Paying five hundred dollars for a new set of tires was bad enough. She didn't need to be laying out money for Bernie's bail as well.

The sisters spent the next hour and a half driving around Longely. They started out at Jason's apartment, but his car wasn't in the parking lot, and his roommate didn't know where he was or when he was likely to come home. Next they went to where Marvin had said he'd seen Jason working. His shift didn't start until eight that evening.

“We can always come back if we have to,” Bernie said to Libby as they drove over to the apartment Magda was renting.

But Jason wasn't there. Neither was Magda, for that matter. Libby sighed.

Bernie glanced at her sister. “Don't say it,” she told her.

Libby whipped her head around. She'd been staring at the scenery. “Say what?”

“What you were thinking.”

“You don't know what I was thinking,” Libby protested.

“Yeah, I do,” Bernie told her. “You're thinking that this is turning out to be a waste of time.”

“You said it, I didn't,” Libby replied before she went back to looking out the window.

Bernie made a right at the corner of Ash and Dupont and started down Willow Street. Recess and The Waterhole, two bars Jason liked to frequent, were there, just two blocks apart. Unfortunately, Jason's vehicle wasn't in either of the establishments' parking lots.

Maybe Libby was correct; maybe this was going to be a waste of time, Bernie couldn't help thinking as she called Casper to see if he had any suggestions as to Jason's whereabouts. He didn't.

“Let's try the park,” Bernie said to Libby after she'd hung up. “If he's not there, we'll go back to the garage.”

“Works for me,” Libby replied. She had been thinking about the list of things she and Bernie had to do.

Turned out that Jason wasn't in the park, or if he was, Bernie and Libby didn't see him among the crowd of dog walkers, joggers, and mothers with small children taking advantage of the sunshine.

“You win,” Bernie said to Libby as she climbed back into the Civic's driver's seat.

For once, Libby had the grace to say nothing. Bernie started the Civic up and drove out of the park and onto Main Street. She had just turned the corner when Libby pointed to a man walking into the Best Serve Super Mart.

“I think that's Jason,” she said.

Bernie jammed on her brakes and made a U-turn in the face of oncoming traffic. “Let's find out, shall we?” She drove into the strip mall and stopped in front of the store. Sid's junker made a clunking sound as she turned off the ignition.

“I hope that wasn't the bumper,” Libby said as they got out. The bumper was tied on with rope.

“If it is, we'll just tie it back up,” Bernie said. She looked around. Jason's Jeep Wrangler was sitting over to the left, next to the street light. “I do believe our guy is here,” she said, gesturing to Jason's vehicle.

“It looks that way,” Libby told her.

Bernie nodded and headed into the Best Serve Super Mart with Libby tagging along behind her. Bernie scanned the aisles. Jason wasn't in the bread or cereal aisle. He wasn't by the ice cream freezers or buying soup or cold cuts. Finally, she spotted him standing in front of the beer cooler to the far left. He was lost in thought, trying to decide which beer to buy. He'd just reached in and gotten a six-pack of Coors when Bernie sidled up to him.

“C
oors,” Bernie said. “That's like drinking warm piss. Surely you can come up with something better.”

Jason turned to face her. “Well, hello to you too.”

Bernie made a slight curtsey.

“I might have known you'd like the overpriced, over-hyped yuppie beers.”

“No. I just like things with a little bit of taste,” Bernie told him.

Jason shifted his weight from his right to his left foot. Looking at him, Bernie had the same thought she'd had when she'd seen him earlier in the day. That he'd gained weight. That he looked bloated and unhealthy. “Boy,” he told her, “I get to talk to you twice in one day. First you criticize my lunch choice, and now you don't like my beer. Jeez, how much can a man take?”

“I didn't realize you were such a sensitive flower,” Bernie said.

“I am,” he replied. “Can't you tell?”

“It's written all over you.”

“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” Jason asked as he closed the cooler door.

“I guess this is just your lucky day,” Bernie told him.

Jason laughed. “Well, I won't go that far.”

“I would,” Bernie said. “Just be happy we're not going to the police.”

Jason looked puzzled. “Why would you do something like that?”

“Because of what you did,” Bernie told him, figuring she might as well throw out a line and see what happened.

“Which was?” Jason asked her.

“You know,” Bernie told him.

“Actually, I don't,” Jason responded. He turned, reached back in the cooler and took out another six-pack. “Better to be on the safe side,” he told Libby and Bernie, cradling the two six-packs in his arm as if they were babies.

The sisters ignored the comment. They stared at Jason, and he stared back. He didn't seem intimidated, Libby decided. But then why should he? It wasn't like they were two tough guys with guns. She wished they were. It would make things a lot easier.

Bernie took a step forward. “You know you're a lousy liar,” she told him.

“That's what my ex told me when she caught me with my secretary,” Jason replied. “So are you going to tell me what this is about or not? Because if you're not, I have things to do.”

“We were nearly killed.” Bernie poked him in the shoulder. “And it's your fault.”

Jason took a step back. “Hey, don't touch me, that's number one. And number two, tell me what you're talking about or get out of my face.”

Libby stepped in between them. “My sister is talking about the fact that you slit one of the tires on our van and we crashed in the ditch.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Jason said, although he didn't look as if he was. “But why the hell do you think I did it?”

“Simple,” Libby said. “Because it happened while we were at The Blue House and you were around.”

“Just because I was there doesn't mean I did it,” Jason objected.

“Au contraire, mon ami,” Bernie told him. “The odds are great that you did.”

Jason shook his head. “Give me a break. Anyone could have seen your van from the road. It was in the public parking lot, for friggin' sake. Why would I do something like that?”

“Exactly,” Bernie said, going around Libby. “That's what we want to know. Aside from almost killing us, it's going to cost us five hundred dollars for a new set of tires. This does not make my sister or me happy. I'm thinking you should pay for the new tires.”

Jason snorted. “Good luck with that. I don't have an extra five hundred, and even if I did, why would I pay you for something I didn't do? You've definitely gone over the edge.”

“Have I?” Bernie said. “Well, let me tell you what I think happened.”

Jason made a rude noise.

Bernie ignored him and kept talking. “I think you wanted to keep us from following you or Magda.”

“And why would I care if you did or didn't?” Jason asked.

“Because either Magda was bringing you the teapot or you were bringing her the money from selling it.”

Jason looked at Libby. “What is your sister smoking?” Then he turned back to Bernie before Libby could answer. “Okay. Here's the deal. Stay away from me with your crazy theories or else . . .”

“Or else what?” Bernie demanded.

“Or else I'll get a restraining order against you and your loony sister.”

Bernie laughed.

“You think that's funny?” Jason asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Bernie replied.

“Just tell us about the teapot and we'll leave you alone,” Libby said in a reasonable tone of voice.

“And Zalinsky's gloves,” Bernie added. “Did you take them?”

“I don't have the friggin' teapot,” Jason yelled. “I don't know about the teapot. And I don't know anything about any goddamned gloves.”

A lady who was reaching into the next cooler for a carton of Coke put the carton in her cart and hurriedly moved down the aisle away from them.

“Just tell us what you do know,” Libby urged.

“Are you friggin' deaf? I already told you I don't have a clue. Talk to Erin,” Jason screamed. “If you have questions about the teapot, talk to her, and leave me alone or so, help me God, I will get that restraining order.”

“What's Erin going to tell us?” Libby couldn't help herself from asking.

“Do I look like a psychic to you?” Jason snapped as he pivoted and stalked off.

“Told you we were wasting our time,” Libby said to Bernie as she watched Jason walk up to the cashier.

Bernie took a strand of hair that had come loose from her French knot and twirled it around one of her fingers. “I'm not so sure about that. I'm not so sure at all.”

“Really. Then tell me what did we find out aside from the fact that Jason has bad taste in beer?” Libby challenged.

“We found out that Jason has a bad temper and poor impulse control.”

“Aside from that,” Libby asked.

“Not that much,” Bernie admitted. “But that's enough.”

Libby rubbed her forehead. She could feel another headache coming on. It was the heat and this case that were doing it to her. “So do you still think Jason slit our tire?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Bernie replied. “Who else could it be?”

“Just about anyone, unfortunately,” Libby replied.