A Catered Birthday Party Part 27

"Why would I?" Melissa cried.

Libby wound her scarf more tightly around her neck. If she didn't get back in the car soon, she was going to turn into a Popsicle. "Oldest reason in the world," she replied. "Because you were jealous and you wanted Richard all to yourself."

"Oh puh-leez," Melissa said. "Then why didn't I kill Joanna?"

Bernie smiled. "Because she's not sleeping with him anymore."

Melissa pointed her finger at Bernie. "Hey, I had everything to gain by keeping Annabel alive."

"Do tell."

"No. It's true. If Trudy went to Westminster and won, it would make my reputation as a breeder. My dogs would be worth thousands and thousands of dollars. Why would I do anything to jeopardize that?"

Bernie smiled. "Why would you indeed? Did you think you were doing Annabel a favor sleeping with her husband? Did you think she didn't care?"

"She didn't know."

"Are you so sure?" Bernie said.

"And even if she did know, she didn't care."

"If she didn't care, why did she say what she did at Trudy's dinner party? I don't remember you being excluded."

Melissa opened her mouth and closed it again.

"Exactly," Bernie said. "Maybe that's why Annabel was buying this land and having it plowed under and turned into a camp for disabled children. Maybe that was because of you and Richard."

"So what?" Melissa said, confirming Bernie's opinion that she'd already known about the deal. "That doesn't have anything to do with me. I own this house."

"I know you do," Bernie said. "But you and I both know that the county would seize it under the eminent domain statute in a heartbeat if the sale went through. They wouldn't let someone's house stand in the way of something like this. If I remember correctly, and I think I do, your house happens to be in the middle of where the park is supposed to be.

"Then you wouldn't have a kennel. I would think it would be difficult to find a new spot. Well, not difficult. Irritating. I know I'd be furious if it was happening to me. It would make me want to kill the person who was doing it. At least that's what I thought when I read about it in the local paper. But then maybe you're a calmer person than I am.

"Of course, luckily for you, now that Annabel is dead, she can't buy the land for the Annabel Colbert Park for Children, or whatever she was going to call it. Sounds like a motive to me," Bernie said. "What do you think, Libby?"

"You know what Dad says," Libby replied. "If it sounds like a duck and looks like a duck..."

Bernie finished the sentence for her. "It is a duck."

"It really was a brilliant strategy, if you think about it," Libby said. "With one stroke, Annabel becomes a benefactress and punishes her husband and his latest squeeze-meaning you-at the same time."

"What's your take on it?" Bernie asked Melissa.

"My take," Melissa spit out, "is that I don't have to talk to you. I'm not going to talk to you anymore. I've wasted enough time listening to your nonsense, and I think you should go to h.e.l.l. Now get off my land."

"Tsk-tsk," Bernie said. "So rude. Didn't your mother ever tell you you attract more bees with honey than vinegar?"

"You'll be sorry if you don't." And with that Melissa turned, stomped up the stairs, opened the door to her house, went in, and slammed the door shut. The noise sounded like a shot and set the dogs barking again.

"I have to say she doesn't have a very good disposition," Libby said as she and Bernie made their way to their van.

"Libby, what do you think about taking a quick peek at the kennel before we go?" Bernie asked. She jerked her head in the direction of the garagelike structure at the back of the house.

"I think it's time to go back to the shop, that's what I think."

"It'll just take us a minute."

"Maybe so, but Melissa is watching us from the front window, and given what she just said, I think she might actually come out with a shotgun if we don't get out of here pretty soon."

"Don't be ridiculous," Bernie replied. "She was just talking."

"Maybe. But it's a well-known fact that everyone in the country has some sort of firearm," Libby said.

"Please. You've been watching too many grade B movies. We're talking about Westchester here. Westchester is not the country."

Libby indicated the surrounding land. "Well, if this isn't country, what is it? The city?"

"I meant country country. Like up near the Tug Hill Plateau."

"Wherever that is."

"It's in New York State, for heaven's sake."

"Fine," Libby said, conceding the point. "But realistically what are we going to see peering through the window anyway, except a lot of pugs?"

"True," Bernie allowed.

"Plus, I'm freezing. This wind is killing me. I need to be somewhere warm."

Now that, Bernie wasn't going to argue about. She was freezing too.

"And we can always come back if we need to," Libby pointed out.

"True, for the third time," Bernie said, and she smiled and waved at Melissa. "Bye-bye," she called out.

The window shade went down. Libby and Bernie both got in the van. Bernie started up the engine and turned on the heater, which supplied an anemic blast of warm air. Still, she reflected, it was better than nothing.

"The question is," Bernie said as she began to back out of the driveway, "is the whole land thing enough of a motive for Melissa to kill Annabel?"

"Losing your house, losing your business," Libby replied. "I gotta say it would be for me."

"Me too," Bernie agreed. "I hope Richard was worth it," she said as they got onto the back road again. "But somehow I doubt it."

"I know what Annabel would say, if you could ask her that question," Libby said. She moved the heat lever up another notch. Not that that was going to help much. The heater had been having issues since the van hit 125,000 miles.

"So do I," Bernie replied, clicking the radio on.

The sisters spent the rest of the way back talking about a dinner they were about to submit a menu for and about the feasibility of doing Rock Cornish game hens on individual potato pancakes as a main course.

Chapter 24.

It was seven o'clock at night and R.J.'s was empty. The pre-dinner crowd had departed, while the post-dinner crowd hadn't arrived yet. This was the time Bernie liked the place the best. And it wasn't only because she could hang out with Brandon now.

It was because the place had a rea.s.suring, old-fashioned quality to it that was apparent when no one was there. Bernie wasn't sure if it was the peanuts you had to sh.e.l.l, the popcorn machine, the dartboard on the far wall, the faded posters of movie stars hanging on the walls, the comfortably worn seats, or just the fact that she'd been coming to this place for as long as she could legally drink. But whatever it was, it worked for her. She felt calmer here, less agitated.

She and Libby had come home from Melissa's, checked on the shop, and fed their dad corn chowder and a grilled Black Mountain ham and imported Swiss cheese sandwich on freshly baked olive and rosemary French bread, along with a small salad composed of rocket, endive, and finely chopped walnuts. Then they'd closed the shop and gone over to R.J.'s to meet Marvin and Brandon for a drink. It had been a long and not terribly productive day, and both Bernie and Libby felt in need of one.

"Why don't you have a drink with us too?" Bernie asked Brandon as he poured a Guinness into her gla.s.s. "No one is here."

Brandon shook his head. He made it a point never to drink on the job. He'd seen too many bartenders take that route and nothing good ever came of it. Drinking could also get him fired. His boss had strict rules about that.

Bernie popped a peanut in her mouth. "I don't like drinking alone."

"You're not drinking alone," Brandon pointed out. "You're drinking with Marvin and Libby."

Bernie batted her eyelashes. "But I want to drink with you."

Brandon snorted. "You're just telling me to drink because you're in a bad mood and you want to cause trouble."

"Me, do something like that?" Bernie asked. She used her best little-girl voice.

"Yes, you."

Bernie didn't say anything, because what Brandon said was true. She was in a bad mood and she did want to cause trouble. It wasn't nice, but there it was.

"You want to talk about it?" Brandon asked.

"Why I'm in a bad mood?"

"Yes."

"Not really," Bernie said.

"Sure you do."

Bernie took a sip of her Guinness. The beer was good but filling. What had the company advertised it as? A sandwich in a gla.s.s? Something like that.

"No, I don't want to talk about it," she answered Brandon after she'd swallowed.

"You'd rather brood and be miserable," Brandon said.

"Exactly," Bernie said. "I like wallowing in my misery."

"Well, we don't allow that at R.J.'s."

"The wallowing or the misery?"

"Both. So, how are things coming?"

"The phrase is, 'How are things going?'"

"Fine. How are things going?"

"They're going nowhere fast," Bernie replied.

"I take it you're talking about the Annabel Colbert case?"

"What else would I be talking about?"

"Global warming. Dogs. Business."

"No. It's Annabel Colbert. She was a pain in the b.u.t.t when she was alive and she's a pain in the b.u.t.t now that she's dead."

"Bernie!" Libby cried.

"Well, it's true," Bernie retorted.

Brandon took a sip of hot chocolate and put his cup back by the register. "It's that bad?"

"It's depressing," Libby said.

"Very," Bernie said. "We've talked to everybody and we're making no progress whatsoever. We're totally bogged down. Maybe everyone is right. Maybe we should give this up. We have tried. It's not as if we're going to have Annabel's ghost following us around if we call it a day."

"You never know," Libby said. "She was pretty demanding when she was alive. Maybe she's the same way dead."

Bernie groaned. "An eternity with Annabel Colbert. What an unattractive thought."

"And you did promise," Brandon said.

"We swore," Libby said. "That's even worse."

Marvin took a sip of his IPA. "This is not like either of you."

"It's probably the weather," Bernie said.

"I wish," Libby said. "Basically we're no further along now than we were when we started this thing."

"Not at all?" Marvin asked.

"Not really," Libby said. "We've found out a lot of stuff, but nothing leads any place. It turns out that everyone seems to have had an equally good motive for killing Annabel."