A Catered Thanksgiving, page 13
No one answered.
“Hello,” Bernie yelled.
Again, there was no reply.
Bernie turned to her sister. “Satisfied?” she asked.
“No.”
“Now you’re being really paranoid.”
“I’m not. What if the person that killed Monty is trying to kill us?”
“We’ve already gone through that.”
“Yeah. But what if?”
“And they’d be doing that why?”
“Because then we can’t prove that we didn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Kill Monty.”
“That is so not the issue.”
“But it could be.”
Bernie looked at her sister. “I think you’re going into chocolate withdrawal.”
“No. Seriously. Think about what I said.”
“I have. And I repeat. We need to find you some chocolate.”
“You don’t think that what I just said is possible?”
“I find it possible, but highly improbable. Killing us seems overly complicated.”
Libby sighed. Maybe Bernie was right. Maybe this place was getting to her. Maybe she did need something to eat. She was just about to tell her sister that when she heard an explosion.
Chapter 20
There was a series of pops and hisses, followed by a loud boom. Thirty seconds later there was another loud boom, followed by another one sixty seconds after that. The noise ricocheted off the walls, increasing in volume until it was deafening. Libby and Bernie could smell the gunpowder. The air outside the office turned red and purple. Libby and Bernie started coughing as the smoke started drifting to where they were standing. Bernie ran and slammed the door shut.
“Okay, you were right,” Bernie told Libby.
Despite the circumstances, Libby allowed herself a moment to feel smug. “Told you,” she said.
“And whoever did this must have set the fuses on a delayed timer, otherwise they would have gone off immediately.”
“Great,” Libby said. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“It’ll be fine,” Bernie lied, because she wasn’t sure it would be.
She closed her eyes as she thought of all those shelves of chemicals in their plastic containers. They were probably okay. They probably wouldn’t go off. Unless they were hit with a piece of flying debris. And even then they’d be okay. After all, Melissa and Geoff had made it out all right. The plastic the containers were made out of had seemed pretty thick. But if the containers did rupture…Well, it would be adios, muchachas.
Libby coughed again. The smoke was getting to her. She looked around and grabbed a handful of circulars and newspapers and crammed them in the space between the floor and the door.
“There, that should help a little,” she said.
“They should have a sprinkler system in here,” Bernie said.
“Well, now’s the time for it to come on,” Libby commented.
Only it didn’t and the room continued to fill with smoke.
“Isn’t there a venting system?” Libby asked her sister.
“Yeah. Remember, I turned it on when we first walked in here.”
“So then why isn’t it sucking the smoke out?”
“Someone must have turned it off,” Bernie said, realizing that she hadn’t heard the whir of the fan for the last couple of minutes. “When we get out of here, I’m going to kill whoever did this.”
“If we get out of here.”
“No, Libby. When.”
“We might be better off staying put,” Libby suggested.
“Here?” Bernie asked incredulously.
“Yes. Here. We could cover our mouths with our jackets and go underneath the desk and wait it out.”
“If everything blows, that’s not going to help.”
Libby stemmed another coughing fit. “But what if whoever did this locked the bunker from the outside? Then we’re better off under the desk.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We didn’t know someone was going to set off explosives in the bunker, either.”
“That’s true, Libby, but we still have to try. Remember what Dad always says, ‘Action is always better than inaction.’”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. We can always come back if the door is locked. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I suppose.”
“Look, the longer we wait, the more chance there is that one of those containers out there will go off.”
Libby started coughing again. “I hate fireworks,” she said when she’d stopped.
“I know you do.” Bernie zipped up her jacket and put up her hood. “And I have a feeling I’m going to feel the same way by the time we’re out of here.”
Libby suited up as well. The fabric would offer some protection from the flying sparks.
“Ready?” Bernie asked her sister.
“No.”
“Okay,” Bernie told her, ignoring Libby’s last comment. “I’m going to open the office door, and we’re going to make a dash for the outside door.”
Libby crossed her fingers.
Bernie put her hand on the doorknob. “On the count of three,” she said.
“Wait.” Libby blew her nose. “Okay.”
“One. Two. Three.” And Bernie yanked the door open and took Libby’s hand.
They ran. Little hot pellets burned their cheeks and foreheads. The fireworks boomed around them. The noise was deafening as the sound waves bounced off the sides of the bunker. Lights pulsed. They were like strobes and were so bright that Bernie and Libby couldn’t look into them.
Libby ran with her eyes focused on the floor. Bernie, who was in the lead, did the same, but she ran with her hand out, because she didn’t want to hit the door face-first. It seemed like forever, but it was less than ten seconds before her hand came in contact with the door. She pushed. Nothing happened. Her heart fell.
“Is it locked?” Libby said between coughing spasms.
“I hope not,” Bernie croaked back.
By now her eyes were tearing from the smoke. She backed up and rammed the door with her shoulder. It gave a little. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Why had she worn mascara? Her eyes felt as if they were on fire. Then she tried again. The door gave.
“Thank God,” Bernie said as she and Libby stumbled outside.
They stood there, taking deep breaths. Snow fluttered down around them. Bernie wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and brushed at an ember on her jacket. She was just glad that she hadn’t worn her new puffy coat, the one she’d gotten on sale at Barneys for an embarrassingly large sum of money. Then she and Libby both looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.
“You don’t look so great,” Libby said to Bernie, once they’d stopped.
“Well, you’re not exactly a vision of loveliness yourself,” Bernie replied, which set them off into another gale of laughter.
Libby wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yeah. But at least I don’t have mascara smeared all over my face.”
“This is true. I guess the ads lied. I guess it wasn’t waterproof.”
Libby giggled. For some reason she thought Bernie’s statement was hysterically funny. “You should demand a refund.”
“Maybe so.” And Bernie reached down, grabbed a handful of snow, and washed her cheeks with it. It numbed her face.
“Better,” Libby said. “Now you just look like a street urchin, instead of someone who slept in a coal bin.”
“Thanks.”
“What are sisters for? Well, I guess this proves one thing,” Libby said, changing the subject.
“What?” Bernie asked. The snow was swirling around her, but she didn’t care. She was happy to be outside and to be able to breathe again.
“That whoever did this wants to kill us.”
Bernie stuck her hands in her pockets to warm them. “No. It proves that whoever did this doesn’t care if we live or die.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because if they wanted to kill us, they would have set off something larger and blown the whole place up.” Bernie gestured to the bunker. “But it’s still standing.”
“That might have been an accident on their part.”
“Also, they could have locked us in there and left us to suffocate, then claimed it was an accident. Who would be the wiser?”
“Now, there’s an attractive thought.”
“No. I think that whoever did this knew exactly the right amount of explosives to use.”
“The same way they knew what they were doing with the turkey,” Libby said, thinking aloud. “They used just enough to kill Monty, but not enough to injure anyone else in the vicinity.”
Bernie nodded. “Exactly. Maybe they wanted to teach us a lesson.”
“God,” Libby said. “I really hate these people.”
“Me too.” A trail of footprints leading back in the direction of the house caught Bernie’s eye. They were faint and growing fainter. She pointed. “I’m willing to bet that given the rate that it’s snowing, those must belong to the person that set off the fireworks in the bunker.”
Libby went over and put her foot in one of the rapidly filling footprints. “Well, whoever these belong to has bigger feet than I do.”
“That’s not hard, considering you’re a size six. Everyone has bigger feet than you do. When we get back to the house, we should check everyone’s boots and see if they’re wet.”
“Good idea.” As Libby turned back to Bernie, her stomach started to rumble. Suddenly she realized she was ravenous. If she’d thought about it at all, she would have expected that she’d be too upset to eat.
“Hungry?” Bernie asked.
“Surprisingly, yes.”
“Me too,” Bernie admitted. “Although what I could really use is a nice stiff drink. Like a Scotch. Single malt. Straight up with no ice. Then maybe a strip steak with some fries and a tossed salad with a good olive oil and lemon juice.”
“And a tarte tatin for dessert.”
“Naturally,” Bernie said.
Libby sighed wistfully. “Personally, I’d settle for some chocolate. Seventy percent dark. Lindt. Or even some Hershey’s Kisses. No. Definitely Hershey’s Kisses. They’re comfort food.”
Bernie wiped the snowflakes off her face. “Tea with rum in it wouldn’t be bad, either. Or maybe hot brandy with apple cider and cloves.”
“And a nice hot bath.”
“And a fire.”
“And Marvin.”
“Ditto Brandon.” Bernie chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I mean, it’s one thing to investigate a murder and another thing to be stuck in the same house with the murderer, a murderer with a flair for the dramatic.”
“Agreed,” Libby said. “Most people just shoot people they want to kill.”
“Maybe Monty’s death was designed to send a message.”
“Like don’t eat commercially raised turkeys. Support your local poultry farmers.”
Bernie laughed. “Not quite.”
“So whom was the message intended for?”
Bernie shook her head. “Don’t know. If we knew that, we could figure out who the killer is.” She hugged herself. The euphoria from having escaped the bunker was fading, and she was noticing the cold creeping up her legs again. Then she realized she was shivering.
“Of course,” Libby said, “there’s always the possibility that we’re overthinking this and our murderer just made do with the materials they had at hand.”
“There is that,” Bernie allowed. “Well, there’s one thing I am sure of.”
“What’s that?”
“That we need to get something to eat.”
“Definitely,” Libby said.
Bernie and Libby stopped talking and concentrated on walking. It seemed to be harder to do that than it was when she and Libby had come out to the bunker, maybe because this time they were walking into the wind, or maybe it was because she was even colder and wearier and hungrier than she had been.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Libby said as they got closer to the front door of the Field house.
“What’s that?”
“Whoever did this is going to be surprised to see us.”
Bernie grinned at the thought. “And how.” She was really going to enjoy seeing the look on their faces.
Chapter 21
Sean looked at Joan. He wouldn’t have recognized her if he had passed her in the street. Her hair, what there was of it, was now a bright shade of orange, instead of a pale blond. She’d gone from skinny to barrel shaped, having, in Sean’s estimation, gained at least fifty pounds in the intervening years. But it was her face that really gave him pause. Her nose, which Sean had always thought belonged on a Roman warrior, was now a peanut-sized nub of a thing, while her eyes seemed to be frozen wide open.
“You look wonderful,” he lied. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you,” Joan said.
At that they both looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Sorry to hear about Rose,” Joan said.
“Likewise Edward,” Sean replied, having been filled in as to the fate of Joan’s husband by Martha on the way over.
Joan pursed her lips. They seemed to be the only part of her face that could move. “Actually, it was a mercy. By the end, he couldn’t find his way out of bed by himself. It was hard.” For a moment Joan seemed to fold in on herself; then she rallied. “But thanks to your sister, I’ve made a new start here. New place. New face. Of course, I might have overdone it in the plastic surgery department.”
“Not at all,” Sean lied for the second time in five minutes. “You look exactly the way I remember you—perfect.”
Joan playfully hit him with the heel of her hand. “You always were a flirt.”
Sean just laughed because it was true. Then Martha went into the kitchen to make everyone some tea, while he and Joan took seats around the dining room table. I bet it’s going to be decaf, Sean thought gloomily as he watched Joan put the kettle on to boil. The fact that the plates and the cups on the table were Styrofoam, the spoons were plastic, the cookies were store-bought, and there was Nutrasweet on the table did not augur well for what was to come. His daughters always used tea leaves and steeped the tea in a china pot after having first warmed the pot to the proper temperature. Then they served the tea in bone china cups. The word Styrofoam did not pass their lips, let alone enter their house.
“Tell Joan about Monty,” Martha called from the kitchen.
Sean did. Joan listened, and then she started talking about Penny, Monty Field’s wife.
Joan shook her head. “Her and Monty were quite the pair. They really deserved each other. They were horrible neighbors. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead….”
“Oh, go ahead,” Sean said.
Joan giggled. “I don’t know what Penny did with her time except eat.” Joan made a disapproving sucking noise. “She didn’t take care of her boys. She didn’t take care of her house. It was always a mess.”
Martha tsked-tsked her disapproval.
“It’s true,” Joan asserted, giving Sean a combative stare.
Sean put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I remember.”
Joan gathered the cards together and began shuffling. “You know how I always thought it was Monty that killed her?”
Sean nodded. “I do.”
“Now I think maybe I was wrong. Now I think maybe it was one of the brothers.”
Joan started dealing. Sean noticed that her moves were fast and practiced.
“What made you change your mind?”
“It’s stupid, really. Something one of the children said. Only, I can’t get it out of my mind.”
Sean leaned forward. “Tell me.”
Joan thought for a moment. “I’m trying to remember the exact wording. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can,” she said after another moment had gone by.
“It’s okay,” Sean said. “Just tell me what you do remember.”
“The boy…”
“Geoff?”
Joan nodded. “Had just finished mowing my lawn—incidentally, he’d done a crummy job—and he’d come in to get paid. As I was getting my wallet, I asked him how things were going….”
“This was after Penny died.”
“That’s right,” Joan said. “Anyway, he said, ‘Not so good,’ and I asked him why and he said because his dad was going to send him and his sister up to his brother’s camp….”
“Which brother?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think both brothers owned a camp somewhere in Sandy Pond,” Martha said, interrupting.
Sean nodded his thanks to his sister, then told Joan to go on.
“So,” Joan said, taking up her story where she’d left off, “I said to Geoff that I could see that it was probably pretty boring being up there, and he said no. That wasn’t the problem. He was scared to go up there, especially after what had happened to his mother. Then he clapped his hand over his mouth, like he had said something he shouldn’t have, and ran out the door. He left his money behind, so I went over to give it to him, but he wouldn’t come to the door. I went over a couple of times after that, but he was never there.”
“Did he go up there?”
Joan shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“What happened to the money you owed him?” Sean asked just to have something to say.
Joan shrugged. “I gave it to his dad.”
“Interesting,” Sean said. He really didn’t know what to make of what Joan had just told him.
“I never spoke to him again. I guess I should have called you,” Joan said. “But,” she continued, “I wasn’t sure, and you couldn’t find any proof that Penny hadn’t died of a heart attack. It seemed better to let the matter rest and not stir things up. So I told myself that I might have been mistaken in what I had heard. That maybe the kid was upset about something else. You know how teenage boys are.”
Sean nodded again, waiting for Joan to continue talking.
“But deep down in my heart I always felt that there was something wrong, that I should have reported what I heard to you.”
