A Catered Birthday Party Part 33

"And how did she know?" Bernie asked.

Rick gave her a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look. "Because Annabel told her. Remember, they used to be friends."

"Pre you," Bernie said.

"Yes. Pre me. And I had no reason to kill her. Absolutely none."

"And how do you figure that?" Bernie asked.

"Because once she died I didn't get any money. You can check if you want."

"We did," Bernie lied. "But you have a big ego. I'm figuring that you got really p.i.s.sed that Annabel was cutting you loose, that your ego couldn't take it."

"And that's why I killed her," Rick scoffed. "You're going to have to do way better than that. I already have a new sponsor...."

"'Sponsor?'" Bernie mocked.

"Yes. Sponsor," Rick said firmly.

"What happened to Maggie the Cat?" Bernie asked.

"She's on the back burner for a while."

"So it's like the more the merrier," Brandon said.

"Something like that," Rick said.

"I admire your stamina," Brandon said.

"I try to live a healthy life," Rick said. "In fact, I met my newest sponsor in Whole Foods. She's hooking me up with a modeling gig, so no more bartending. I'm done with this. In a sense, Annabel did me a favor kicking me loose. Listen, I may have a large ego, I admit that-you can't be an actor and not have one-but I'm not a killer. A lover, yes. A killer, no."

"You have a bad temper," Bernie pointed out.

"So I'm a little reactive. So what? If everyone who was like me killed someone, there'd be no one left in the universe."

Bernie took another sip of her Brooklyn Brown and put the gla.s.s down. A fire engine went by, drowning out the sound of the television. She waited till it was past before she spoke.

"So who do you think the murderer is?" Bernie asked Rick.

"You know, I've been thinking about that a lot," Rick said.

"And?" Brandon said.

"I've been trying to decide who hated Annabel the most, and I gotta tell you it's a tough call, because they all go back a long way, you know?"

Bernie leaned forward. "Who is 'they'?" she asked.

"The whole bunch of them. Joyce, Melissa, Ramona. They were all really tight in high school."

"What about Joanna?" Bernie asked.

"She came in later. Annabel met her through Joyce, actually. My ex and Joyce were in a cla.s.s together. Some sort of knitting or painting or c.r.a.p like that. Anyway, as I was saying, they were all really tight. And then they got this hate going."

"Well, it couldn't have been that much of a hate," Bernie pointed out. "Because they all stuck together."

"See, that's what's so sick," Rick said. "Annabel told me she liked having them work for her, because they didn't like her. Or each other."

Bernie thought back to her afternoon at Annabel's place. That was certainly the sense she'd gotten.

"She said she got a real kick out of keeping them around," Rick said.

"Nice lady," Bernie said.

"Not really," Rick said. "Although she was not ungenerous."

"The car is nice," Bernie said.

"The car is very nice," Rick agreed. "What do they say? You can't beat German engineering? It's true." He grinned. "But I'm worth it. My mommy always said that you gotta pay if you want to play. Poor Annabel. She certainly wasn't getting anything from her husband."

"Okay," Brandon said. "I could see why you stayed, but why did the others stay?"

"The same reason I did-money. What else?" Rick said. His tone indicated you'd have to be an idiot not to recognize that fact. "No one else had much and Annabel did. None of that bunch could ever have made the kind of money they did anyplace else. I mean, Ramona was living rent free, she ate for nothing, and she had use of a car. Annabel gave Melissa expensive birthday presents and helped her out with her expenses from time to time. And Annabel didn't even like dogs. She sure as h.e.l.l didn't like Trudy."

"So I gathered," Bernie said. Now that Rick was talking, he just kept on going.

"She was going to get rid of her, but then the Puggables. .h.i.t big-time and she thought she had to keep her around for her image. The only person who really liked Trudy was that crazy kid Richard used to hire to do stuff around the house. The one with the weird hair."

"Samantha?" Bernie asked.

"Yeah," Rick said. "That's the one. She was always playing with her. No one else ever did. I mean, they took care of her. They fed her and walked her and even brushed her teeth, for G.o.d's sake. But no one ever was nice to her, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do. So why did everyone hate each other?" Bernie asked.

Rick shrugged. "Annabel."

"Annabel?" Bernie repeated.

"Yeah. She like"-Rick snapped his fingers-"what is that word...capitalized on the situation. She was like this queen. One day, one person would be her favorite. The next day another person would. She enjoyed watching everyone fight over the sc.r.a.ps. Then there was the whole s.e.x thing. From what Annabel said, everyone was sleeping with everyone else. That's never good. It leads to all sorts of complications."

Bernie couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

"What? What's so funny?" Rick demanded. "It's true."

"And who should know better than you," Bernie said.

Rick had the good grace to blush.

"Aren't you glad I was with you?" Brandon said as he and Bernie headed back to the car.

"I'm always glad you're with me," Bernie said.

"Not when you go shopping," Brandon said.

"That's true," Bernie said. "I like to go shopping by myself."

And she did. She didn't even like her friends along. It was too distracting. Shopping was serious business.

"So tell me," Bernie said, "how do you know all this Ted stuff and what is it anyway?"

Brandon grinned. "Well, I know Rick is dealing and I know his supplier is Ted."

"How do you know this?" Bernie asked.

"I can't tell you, and even if I could, I wouldn't."

"And why is that?"

"Because the less you know the better."

"You sound like my father."

"Well, there are occasions when he happens to be right."

"Are you involved?"

"If I say I'm not, would you believe me?"

"Yes, I would," Bernie told him.

"Good. Because I'm not."

"Okay. Moving on. How did you know that Rick was doing a little business on his own?"

"I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"No. I just guessed. Everyone does and I figured Rick was doing the same."

"You're a good guesser," Bernie said.

"Among other things," Brandon said.

Bernie laughed and snuggled closer. Neither one said anything else until they reached Brandon's car.

Chapter 28.

Much to Sean's delight, it turned out that Megan's parents were willing to speak to him that evening. Ines wasn't going. She'd decided to stay home with Trudy after extracting a promise from Sean to call her as soon as he was done speaking with Mr. and Mrs. McKee and tell her what was going on. It was an easy thing for Sean to promise, because he would have done it anyway. So it was Samantha who drove Sean over to the McKee household, which was located one town over in Bolton, New York.

Bolton was a little less expensive, a little more down to earth than Longely, the town being peopled primarily by teachers, policemen, plumbers, and civil servants. As they drove to Megan's house, Sean noticed that Bolton's main street was missing the cutesy shop names and fancy lettering that had taken over Longely.

That was fine with him. He could have done with less of it in Longely. When he'd married Rose and she'd started the shop, there'd been none of it. But now the streets were infested with shops sporting catchy names, fancy signs, and overpriced merchandise. Looking at them made him cranky. But then, according to Libby, everything made him cranky. Too bad. He wasn't about to change. Someone had to uphold the standards. He was thinking about Stoddard's ice cream and how there had been five flavors of ice cream in the store-vanilla, chocolate, coffee, strawberry, and b.u.t.ter pecan, every single one a masterpiece-when Samantha roared into the McKees' driveway and slammed on the brakes.

Megan and her parents had to have been looking out the window because they had the door opened as Samantha and Sean came up the porch stairs. Sean liked the McKees on first sight. They exuded an air of comfort and competence. Both had short, black hair; both were a little stout around the middle; both were dressed in jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers; both wore wire-rimmed gla.s.ses; and both were smiling at him.

He decided they were what his mother would have called salt-of-the-earth people. He'd be willing to wager that they went to church on Sunday, paid their taxes, and volunteered at the local soup kitchen. These were the kind of people who would tell the truth to the best of their ability. These were the kind of people who would not be p.r.o.ne to exaggeration. These were the kind of people who would not scream in horror when their daughter came home sporting a nose ring.

"This is so exciting," Megan's mother trilled as she welcomed Sean and Samantha inside. "I've never been involved in a police investigation before."

Megan gave an impatient snort. "I already told you, Ma. It's not a police investigation."

"Well, it's close enough for me," her mother retorted. "That poor woman," she said to Sean.

"Ma, Annabel was a b.i.t.c.h," Megan said.

Mrs. McKee stiffened slightly. "First of all, you shouldn't be saying things like that about someone. Secondly, even if it is true, no one deserves to die like that."

"My wife only sees the good in people," Mr. McKee said as he grasped Sean's hand and shook it.

Then he relieved Sean and Samantha of their coats and ushered them into the dining room. Sean instantly approved of the room as well. It was neat, but not overly so. A gray cat was curled up on top of the radiator cover. He didn't even open his eyes when everyone walked in.

"That's Otto," Megan said. "He sleeps the winter away."

Sean nodded as he took in the lace curtains on the windows and the beige carpet in a swirl pattern on the floor. Family photographs were hung on one wall, a collection of decorative spoons hung on the second, while a large breakfront that displayed the McKees' good china and gla.s.ses took care of the third wall. Sean felt as if he had time traveled back to his aunt's house.

"My wife not only likes to see the good in people, she likes to feed them as well," Mr. McKee said. He nodded at the dining room table, where a coffee cake, a platter of cookies, and a carafe of coffee were waiting.

"Here," Mrs. McKee said as she guided Sean to the table. She waited for him to sit down, cut him a large slab of Russian coffee cake, and plopped it down in front of him without asking him if he wanted any or not. "It probably isn't as good as your daughters', but it's not too bad either, if I do say so myself."

Sean had to agree that it certainly wasn't bad at all. Libby's was a little moister, this cake was a little more breadlike, a tad more austere, but it made up for that with a kick of...something. He took another bite and chewed carefully trying to figure out what the spices were.

"Cardamom?" he asked. "With a little bit of saffron and a touch of orange rind."

Mrs. McKee beamed at him as she poured him a cup of coffee and set it down in front of him.

"That's exactly right," she said. "It's a Swedish recipe. One of my neighbors gave it to me when Jim and I were stationed in Minnesota. I've been making it ever since."

"It's a definite keeper," Sean said.

"That it is," Mr. McKee said as he helped himself to a large piece of the cake.