A Catered Thanksgiving, page 12
Bernie pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck. “And there’s something else.”
Libby waited.
“Geoff and Melissa were in here when we arrived. Remember how they came running out of the bunker…”
“After they set off those fireworks.” Libby grimaced. “How could I forget?”
“Which introduces a whole different set of dynamics. It means they either noticed the state of affairs in here and chose to say nothing—”
“Which is a possibility.” Libby indicated the mess in front of her and Bernie with a wave of her hand. “Or they were responsible for this….”
“Or this is how the place usually looks, so it wasn’t worthy of comment.”
Libby nodded her head emphatically. “Exactly.”
“I find it hard to believe the latter,” Bernie said.
“Me too,” Libby agreed. “On the other hand, they weren’t acting”—she paused to find the word she was looking for and finally settled on—“as if they’d done anything wrong.”
“Well, they could have gone through the office earlier. They could have taken the computer then. In which case, they wouldn’t be shocked or upset about what they found in there.”
“But then why go back in?”
“True.”
“Or the person who did this might have told them already,” Libby pointed out. “And they might be covering for him or her.”
“Also a possibility,” Bernie conceded. “Or someone else could have snuck in here.”
Libby sighed. “You realize we’re just going around in circles.”
“I know.” Bernie refastened her hair. “It may come down to being a question of what’s not here, rather than what is,” she mused. “And that wouldn’t be good for us, because a positive is always easier to deal with than a negative.”
Libby just looked at her. “You realize I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Bernie laughed. “I’m not sure that I have any idea what I’m talking about, either.”
She tapped her teeth with her fingernails while she thought of the crew back in the house. She could easily see everyone there scamming money. She thought of Geoff and his father and what she’d overheard Ralph and Perceval say, not to mention Lexus, the loving wife.
Was there passion there or love? Probably not. But hate or revenge, on the other hand…Bernie could see that for sure. Family and business could be a bad combo under the best of circumstances, and this wasn’t the best of circumstances.
“Okay,” Bernie said. “On a practical level, I think we need to find everything that we can pertaining to Africa first. At least we know there should be files on that. And if they’re not here, that will tell us something as well.”
Libby nodded. “And then we should look at the other accounts and see who was handling them. That is, if anyone other than Monty Field was. I get the feeling the man was a total control freak….”
“You mean jerk,” Bernie said, thinking back to her dad’s story about Field and her mom.
Libby nodded. “That too. And jerks make enemies. Serious enemies.”
“Yes, they do.” Bernie thought again about Field’s family and about how little love seemed to be lost between its members, and felt a sudden rush of gratitude that her family wasn’t like that.
Libby went over and looked through the three paper bags leaning up against the far side of the desk. They were filled with old newspapers and flyers. She sighed. “Nothing of use here. Maybe we’ll turn something up in the files that will give us a hint on what direction we should be going in.”
“And even if nothing turns up,” Bernie said, “we’ll get some background information on the operation, and that can’t be a bad thing.”
Libby stamped her feet to get her circulation going. Her feet were cold and wet, and the fact that she didn’t have another pair of shoes or socks to change into filled her with dismay.
“How about you take the filing cabinets to the right and I’ll take the rest of the paper bags and the file drawer on the left?” she suggested to Bernie.
“Works for me,” Bernie said.
For the next ten minutes or so, aside from a muttered comment, Bernie and Libby worked silently. The only sounds were the howl of the wind and the rattle of the metal roof. Most of the papers in the file cabinet on the left-hand side of the room proved to be old orders, supply lists, receipts, and bills that needed to be paid, none of which were past due.
“Monty seems to have kept current with his expenses,” Libby noted as she went through them.
“Always a good thing businesswise,” Bernie shot back as she lifted a set of file folders out of the drawer and began looking through them. They proved to be bank statements from five years ago. “The business was definitely making money at that time,” she commented as she perused them. Nothing leaped out at her. “I wonder where the current statements are.”
Libby looked up. “Good question. If we had the accountant’s name, we could call him up and ask him.”
“But we don’t have his name, so we can’t.”
“We should ask Ralph. Or Perceval.”
“It would be interesting to see what they say…or don’t say.”
“I’m betting on the don’t say myself.” Libby closed the file drawer and started looking through some of the other bags full of papers. “Well, Monty definitely never met a piece of paper he didn’t like, that’s for sure. Most of this stuff is just junk,” she said after a couple of minutes.
Bernie looked up. “So is this. I mean, why file articles on weight loss and termite control?”
“Because he wanted to lose weight and he had a termite problem.”
“These are business files.” Bernie shook her head. “There’s nothing here about Africa. In fact, there’s nothing here that’s current. Just old water bills. Old utility bills. Old bills of lading.” And Bernie shut the first drawer and opened the second one. It, too, was chock-full of files. “Maybe there’s something about Africa in here.” She bent down and quickly thumbed through the files. “Nope. Just more crap.” She closed the second drawer and opened the third. It was empty. She cursed under her breath.
“What?” Libby asked.
“There’s nothing here. I bet this is where the information we want to see was kept.”
“Or not.”
“Or not.” Bernie wound her scarf more tightly around her neck. “Or maybe it was Greta or Bob or Audie who took the files.”
“Or Ralph and Perceval.”
“Or Lexus. Or Geoff and Melissa.”
“Well, at least we know someone who hasn’t taken the files.”
“Who?”
“Monty.”
“Not necessarily true. Maybe he hid them somewhere.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he was stealing money and he didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Another motive for killing him.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Well, we are fairly certain of one thing at least,” Libby said.
“What’s that?”
“That that’s Monty’s handwriting on the pad.”
Bernie nodded.
“So I guess we’ve made some progress,” Libby said.
“A smidgen,” Bernie said.
“What’s our next step?” Libby asked her sister.
Bernie thought for a moment. “I think the question we have to answer is, what can we do with what we’ve got?”
“Meaning?”
“Well, we can’t call on outside help.”
“Correct.”
“And no one wants to talk to us.”
“Well, they’ll talk. They just won’t tell us the truth.”
“Correct again. We’re in a static situation.”
“Agreed.”
“So therefore we need to do something to make something happen.”
“Why do I so think that’s a bad idea?”
“Then what would you suggest, Libby?” Bernie asked.
“Look for the files. Look for the computer.”
“We can do that as well.”
“So how are we going to shake things up?”
“I don’t know,” Bernie confessed. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. We should have gotten to the bunker earlier.”
“I don’t think it would have made a difference.”
Libby was probably right, Bernie thought. The files and the computer had been taken before she and Libby got here. The likelihood was that they’d been taken before Monty was killed, although they could have been taken afterward, as well. Bernie tried to think back to everyone’s movements and figure out where everyone was chronologically, but she couldn’t. She’d been more focused on other things—like getting the van out of the snowdrift, bringing in the supplies, and trying to figure out where everything that they were going to need in the kitchen was.
She glanced at her watch. Although it seemed like a lot longer, she and Libby had been in the bunker for a little over half an hour now. It was probably time to head back. She was about to tell Libby that when she caught sight of a square black box standing upright next to the file cabinet. She hadn’t seen it before, because it had been pushed into the space between the wall and the file cabinet.
“I think I found something,” she said as she reached in and took the box out.
“Is that what I think it is?” Libby asked excitedly as she caught sight of it.
“I hope so.” Bernie opened the box up. “Yup. It’s a corporate kit.”
“Sweet,” Libby said. She went and looked over Bernie’s shoulder as her sister started going through the pages.
“The company’s official name is Fortuitous Fireworks,” Bernie said.
“That doesn’t sound like the kind of name Monty would come up with,” Libby observed.
“Maybe his wife did. Remember, it was her dad’s company to begin with.”
“True. I wonder what she was like.”
“Another question to ask Dad when we can get hold of him.”
“I just can’t imagine being married to someone like Monty.”
“Me either. Or staying married to him.”
“There must have been something there.”
“Perhaps she was an old-fashioned gal. You know, one of those ‘married till death do us part’ kinda women.”
Libby shuddered. “That’s probably why she was so fat.”
“Drowning one’s sorrows in food—a well-known remedy,” Bernie observed.
“Well, I suppose it’s better than alcohol.”
“Not when you get up to four hundred pounds,” Bernie said, briefly looking up before she turned another page. “The company is an LLC,” she informed Libby.
“I would expect nothing less,” Libby said.
Bernie continued leafing through the pages. “Now, this is interesting,” she commented as she came to the stock certificates. “Monty had a sixty percent ownership in the company. All the other family members make up the remaining forty percent.”
She handed the certificates to Libby, who looked at them and handed them back. Then Bernie handed Libby another page.
“Look at this,” she commanded.
“So,” Libby said, scanning it, “according to this, Perceval is the treasurer, and Ralph is the secretary, and Geoff and Melissa are on the board of the LLC.”
“But note that Greta, Bob, and Audie have no official positions.”
“But if Monty gave them his stock…”
“Then they’d control the business.”
“But why would he do that?”
“He wouldn’t. He’d just tell everyone he was going to.”
“And play everyone off against everyone else.”
“But if, let’s say, Ralph and Perceval…”
“Or Melissa and Geoff…”
“Believed that…”
“Then they’d have a reason to kill Monty…”
“Because they’d be out on their asses.”
“No wonder everyone wanted Monty dead.”
“Yes indeed.”
Libby was about to ask what that meant in terms of the Africa deal when she heard a noise.
Chapter 19
El Huron cursed as the door to the bunker slammed against the wall. The wind had gotten the better of El Huron, wrenching the door out of El Huron’s hand. No matter. The women probably hadn’t heard anything, anyway, between the wind and the fan. Actually, it didn’t really matter if they had. It just meant that El Huron had to act with even more dispatch, more coolness than usual. And if the women had heard and came out of the office into the large room, that would not matter, either. All they would see was a gloved figure wearing a ski parka and mask. Impossible to identify. El Huron had taken precautions to make sure of that. No. El Huron’s identity would remain a secret, as it had all these years.
El Huron would have loved to take the ski mask off, because it itched terribly—El Huron was allergic to wool—but this was not a possibility. El Huron could not take the chance and jeopardize everything, especially not at this stage of the game. Instead, El Huron slid a gloved hand underneath the wool mask and scratched El Huron’s cheek.
Then El Huron unzipped the parka and took out the fireworks El Huron had placed there for safekeeping so they would not get wet. Most people who did not know about these things would consider that to be a dangerous thing to do, but El Huron had been raised with them, had played with them as a child, had felt the sting of the dragon, and knew that was not the case.
There was one Dragon Egg, one Eagle, and one Crazy Gator. They should do the trick. The fuse on the Dragon Egg was short, while the one on the Eagle was longer, and the one on the Crazy Gator was the longest of all. Baby Bear, Mama Bear, and Papa Bear. That was how El Huron thought of them. Each one with a job to do, each one complementary to the other, as was the case in any well-run family. El Huron took a lighter out of the inside pocket of El Huron’s parka. El Huron flicked it. A small flame danced out. El Huron watched it for a brief moment before El Huron’s thumb released the top. The flame died.
The fireworks were timed to go off one after the other. El Huron carefully laid the fireworks on the floor about a foot away from the door and looked up. El Huron half expected to see the women coming out of the room, but El Huron did not. He just saw the empty corridor between the rows of shelving. El Huron smiled in relief. El Huron would admit that El Huron had been slightly concerned. But not anymore. The plan would work. The plan would work perfectly. El Huron took a deep breath and set the timers on the delay-action fuses. When El Huron was sure everything was as it should be, El Huron shut off the fan and jammed the switch. Then El Huron turned and left the bunker, carefully shutting the door. El Huron wasn’t positive but thought one of the women said something.
“Good luck to you,” El Huron murmured.
Whatever happened now was in the hands of God. El Huron was simply the instrument of vengeance and chaos.
El Huron paused for a second, then turned and started back to the house. El Huron walked briskly, pushing against the wind, and in a matter of moments El Huron had arrived. Before entering, El Huron took off the ski mask and stuffed it in the parka pocket. Then El Huron turned the doorknob and walked inside, being careful to close the front door as quietly as possible. El Huron did not make the same mistake twice.
El Huron quickly balled up the parka El Huron had been wearing, walked into the hallway that led to the utility closet, opened the closet door, and stuffed the parka in the corner, under the tarps. El Huron smiled again, feeling certain that El Huron’s mother would approve of El Huron’s actions had she known. She would do more than approve. She would be proud.
The noise had startled Libby. She’d jumped, and the papers she was holding had slipped out of her hand.
“Relax. That’s the outside door blowing open and shut,” Bernie told her sister.
“But we closed it,” Libby protested.
“Evidently, not tight enough.” Bernie pointed to the ceiling. “Listen to the wind,” she said. “It sounds as if it’s going to blow the roof off.”
It’s true, the wind is howling, Libby thought, but she distinctly remembered Bernie slamming the door to the bunker shut. It had made a heavy thud, and Libby had had the irrational feeling that they’d never be able to open the door again and that they’d be stuck in the bunker, in the dark, forever.
“No,” Libby said. “I’m sure we did close the door all the way.”
“Then the noise was something blowing up against the bunker,” Bernie told her.
Libby thought that over for a moment. She wanted to believe it, but she couldn’t. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. A garbage can, part of a tree limb.”
“But there are no trees around here.”
“Then, it was something else, Libby.”
“It really did sound like a door slamming.”
“Maybe it did, but it’s not.” Bernie stamped her feet impatiently. She hated when her sister got this way.
“But you don’t know that for a fact,” Libby argued.
“Yeah. I do. And even if you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—what difference does it make? I’ll tell you—none.”
“It does make a difference because then that would mean someone came in.”
Bernie snorted. “That’s absurd.”
Libby narrowed her eyes. Now she was getting mad. “It most certainly is not.”
“It is! Think about it for a second.”
Libby folded her arms over her chest. “I already have.”
“Obviously you haven’t.”
“And what makes you say that?”
“Because if someone came in, they would know we were here. They’d have to. The lights are on. It’s obvious someone is inside. And they would have said hello or come in to see what we’re doing.”
“Maybe they don’t want us to know they’re here.”
“And why is that?”
“Because they don’t wish us well.”
“If they didn’t wish us well, we’d know that already. They’d have shot us or thrown some exploding something in here.” Bernie moved closer to the door. “Hello,” she called out. “Anyone here?”
