A Catered Thanksgiving, page 7
“You consider being accused of murder having everything under control?”
Libby made a face. “I told you we should have called him immediately,” she whispered.
Bernie raised her hand, signaling for Libby to stop talking. The connection wasn’t that good, and she was having a hard time hearing her dad, let alone figuring out what to tell him, as it was.
“Clyde was exaggerating.”
“I hope so,” Sean said.
“He is,” Bernie replied. “Perceval was hysterical.”
“The boys at the Longely police station seem to be taking it pretty seriously.”
“Well, Perceval called them up and retracted the statement after he’d calmed down fifteen minutes later. So I don’t know what their problem is.”
“Their problem,” Sean said, “need I remind you, is that the chief has been gunning for me for years, and this offers him a perfect opportunity to embarrass me by putting you in jail.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bernie said.
“You don’t know Lucas Broadbent like I do,” Sean replied.
“I think you’re exaggerating,” Bernie insisted.
“Are you so sure? I thought not,” Sean said when his daughter didn’t answer. “Well, you know what I’d do if I were you?” he said.
Bernie moved farther into the doorway, with Libby at her side.
“What?” Bernie asked.
“I’d see if I could find out who killed Monty Field before the Longely CID gets there.”
“Piece of cake,” Bernie said.
“I’m serious,” Sean replied.
“Funny, but we were just thinking about doing that,” Bernie lied, although they would have come around to that conclusion eventually. Maybe.
Sean coughed. Bernie could hear the sounds of people talking in the background. “Given the way Clyde described the storm, I figure it’ll take the police at least a day to get up there. That should give you plenty of time. And I’ll be there as soon as I can,” their dad said.
“No, Dad. You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do,” Sean replied. “I take care of my girls.”
“We’re perfectly capable…” Bernie began, but it was too late. Sean had already hung up. Bernie stared at the phone for a moment before slipping it in her jacket pocket. “Damn Clyde,” she said. “I love him, but I wish he hadn’t called Dad.”
“I didn’t even think Clyde was around to tell Dad,” Libby said. “I thought he and the missus were out in Arizona, visiting his kids.”
Bernie sighed. “Well, I guess you were wrong.”
“Evidently,” Libby said. She shook her head. “I wonder if you can get fingerprints off a turkey,” she mused.
“Probably not. I don’t think that turkey skin is a good vehicle for retaining fingerprints, but they might be able to get DNA off of it. Not that they would bother.”
“But it would be bad if they did since we handled the bird.”
“Lots of people have handled the bird.”
“But if it was a substitute bird, then our DNA wouldn’t be on it.”
“This is true,” Bernie told her. She looked out at the storm. It gave no hint of abating. “We should go inside. I’m freezing.”
“Me too. Although it isn’t much warmer inside,” Libby pointed out.
“But it’s drier,” Bernie said.
“Maybe we can sleep in the van,” Libby said, thinking ahead to the coming night. Any vain hope she’d had that they could get out of there was now gone.
The prospect of bedding down in the house did not thrill her, for obvious reasons. First, there was the whole “murderer on the loose” thing, and then there was the issue of random exploding objects. In Libby’s book, neither one of those things made for a restful night’s sleep. At this point, she’d give anything to be back in her snug flat above the store.
“Do you really want to sleep in the van?” Bernie asked her sister.
“It’s probably not a good idea,” Libby admitted. “We’d turn into Popsicles.”
Bernie put her arm around Libby’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Come on. It won’t be so bad.”
Libby looked at the falling snow and sighed. “I guess Dad is right about trying to find out who killed Monty Field,” she said.
“You know he is. It’s not like we have a choice.”
“And we’re not going to get out of here for a while.”
“No, we’re not,” Bernie said. “This is definitely going to be a memorable Thanksgiving.”
Libby sighed again. “But not in a good way. This is like a setup for one of those bad horror movies.”
“Woo,” Bernie said, wiggling her fingers in front of Libby’s face. “Watch out. I’m coming to get you.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Libby yanked her hood up for emphasis. “And to make matters worse, I’m all out of chocolate.”
Bernie put her hand over her heart. “Oh, the tragedy of it all.”
Libby frowned. “Well, it is. And I hate to admit this, but I’m also really hungry.”
“Well, we do have plenty of food inside.”
“Yes, but we have to go into the kitchen to get it,” Libby said. “Which I am not anxious to do.”
“Not a problem,” Bernie replied. “I want to take another look around in there, anyway.” She might be many things, but squeamish wasn’t one of them. “What do you want to eat? I can bring it out to you if you want.”
Libby thought for a moment. “Some pumpkin bisque and a little bit of Brie and some of the stretch bread I baked yesterday would be nice.” Soup seemed like a soothing thing to have at a time like this, and Brie’s creamy texture always cheered her up. “And maybe a thin slice of apple pie.”
“You got it,” Bernie said.
But the sisters never made it to the kitchen.
They got distracted along the way.
Chapter 10
Bernie and Libby could hear the raised voices the moment they stepped back into the foyer.
“Interesting,” Libby whispered to Bernie as she listened to what was being said.
“Very,” Bernie whispered back, wiping her feet on the mat. Then she took off her jacket and hung it over the hall closet doorknob.
“Forget the food,” Libby murmured as she did likewise with her parka. “We need to check this out first.”
“You want us to eavesdrop?” Bernie said in mock horror.
Libby grinned. “Heaven forfend.”
“I’m shocked, shocked and appalled. Suggesting we listen in on what is obviously a private conversation. Tsk. Tsk.” Bernie swept a loose strand of hair off of her forehead and pinned it up. “Okay. You win. I guess I’m going along because we’re tradespeople and tradespeople have low morals.”
“I’ll tell that to Brandon,” Libby said.
Bernie laughed and punched Libby in the arm. “He already knows. That’s why he loves me.”
“Then what did you hit me for?”
Bernie shrugged. “Because I can.”
She leaned over and gave her sister a quick hug. Libby hugged her back. Then both women slowly tiptoed in the direction of the conversation, if that was what it could be called. Arguing seemed like a more appropriate term to Bernie. So did quarreling and squabbling.
“Melissa, you have to wait for the lawyer,” Libby could hear a woman saying in a very loud voice.
“Why, Lexus? He’s dead.”
“It doesn’t matter, Melissa. You can’t take things that don’t belong to you.”
“But this painting does belong to me, Lexus. Dad promised me this Potter. It’s in his will.”
“No, Melissa, it isn’t.”
“Lexus, he showed me the will. I saw it.”
“That was before he changed it.”
“He didn’t change it.”
Libby could hear the alarm in Melissa’s voice.
“He most certainly did.”
“I don’t believe you, Lexus.” Now the alarm was turning to anger.
“Believe what you want, Melissa. It’s true.”
“You’re a liar and a slut.”
“At least, I’m not a compulsive gambler, Melissa.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“That’s what I would call a person that loses ten thousand dollars in the casino in one night.”
“I never did that,” Melissa huffed.
Lexus waved her hand. “Fine,” she amended. “Nine thousand five hundred.”
“I’m not going to be distracted by your accusations, Lexus. The bottom line is, you can’t take what belongs to me.”
“It doesn’t belong to you, Melissa,” Lexus screamed. “Nothing belongs to you. Your father wrote you out of his will.”
“I spoke to Dad last week and he said I was in it.”
“Well, your father changed it two days ago.”
“Show it to me. I want to see it.”
“I can’t right now.”
“That’s because there isn’t one.”
“No. That’s because your father put it in a safe place.”
“Ladies,” said a voice, which Bernie recognized as belonging to Perceval, “you need to stop this. My brother wouldn’t have wanted you fighting like this.”
“Oh, please, Perceval,” said a woman whose voice Libby couldn’t place. “Your brother liked seeing everyone fight over the money. He fostered it.”
“That’s not true, Greta,” Perceval protested.
The woman who was Greta laughed. “Of course it is. The only reason you’re here now is that you were afraid your brother would disinherit you if you didn’t show up for Thanksgiving. Do us all a favor and stop trying to play the good guy. It’s annoying.”
“I’m not playing at anything, Greta,” Perceval said. “I’m just trying to get people to calm down. This wrangling…”
“Wrangling?” Greta said.
“Arguing, for those of us with a limited vocabulary, and what do you mean, ‘stop trying to play the good guy,’ Greta?”
“Exactly what I said, Perceval. You’re certainly not one to point the finger. You and Ralph were rifling through Monty’s desk drawers when the rest of us came in.”
“I wasn’t rifling through anything, as you so crassly put it. I was looking for important papers that we are going to need.”
“Like Monty’s will, Perceval?” Greta said.
“Among other things.”
“You were looking to steal it.”
“That is a totally unwarranted accusation,” he said.
Bernie could hear indignation in Perceval’s voice.
“Is it? Monty was supposed to be turning the company over to me and Bob and Audie today.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Greta asked.
“Yes. I would have heard if that were true,” Perceval said. His voice went up an octave.
“So would I,” Lexus said.
“Me too,” Melissa added.
“Well,” Greta said, “I think one of you did find out about that, and I think one of you killed Monty before the papers could be signed.”
“What a horrible thing to say,” Perceval countered, his voice quavering with indignation.
Bernie and Libby could hear Greta’s laugh. They decided that she seemed to be enjoying herself.
“You and Ralph were the ones that arranged this meal, weren’t you?” Greta said.
“At everyone’s request,” Perceval said.
“Not mine.”
“That’s because you invited yourself, Greta. We didn’t even know you were coming until you called and told us you were arriving this morning.”
“I didn’t invite myself, Perceval. Your brother invited me and my cousins.”
Libby and Bernie could hear Perceval sniff.
“He never told me, and I’m sure he would have. We just have your word on that.”
“Maybe he didn’t want you to know until the last minute. Maybe he had an announcement to make that he was saving up till dinner.”
“And maybe you’re making it all up, Greta. As per usual.”
“Aren’t you interested in what he was going to say?” Greta asked.
Lexus reentered the conversation. “You’ve already told us multiple times,” she said. “None of us are interested in listening to your lies, and since my husband is dead now, it doesn’t really matter, anyway.”
“How convenient for you,” Greta retorted.
“You’re just full of insinuations, aren’t you?” Lexus replied. “Insinuations which I don’t plan on dignifying.”
“Well, you did know that he would tap on the turkey pop-up button,” Greta answered. “You can’t deny that.”
“Everyone knew that he would tap on the turkey pop-up button, and that includes you, Greta,” Perceval said. “That’s what he did. That’s what he always did every Thanksgiving. Repeatedly. It was a family joke.”
“Yes, Perceval, but all of you had a motive to kill him, which I did not.”
“Sure you did, Greta,” a new voice said.
“Ralph, are you accusing me?” Greta asked.
“Yes, Greta I am. You hated him as much as everyone else.”
“I most certainly did not,” Greta protested.
“You must have,” Ralph retorted. “After all, you and your henchmen wrung every last cent you could out of my brother. That’s not my definition of caring for someone.”
“He was generous to me, Ralph, because I was nice to him. Unlike you.”
“You weren’t nice to him, Greta. You were scamming him.”
“If that was true, Ralph, which it wasn’t, why would I have killed him, then? Why kill the goose that lays the golden egg? Tell me that,” Greta demanded.
“Maybe he finally got wise to your scams,” Ralph told her. “Maybe he was going to have you arrested for embezzlement. Maybe that was the announcement he was going to make. In fact, the more I think of it, the surer I get that that was the case.”
“Trying to dodge the bullet as per usual, Greta,” Perceval observed.
“Meaning what, Perceval?” Greta demanded.
“Meaning exactly what I said, Greta,” Perceval replied.
Chapter 11
Bernie and Libby stood beside the door. No one saw them, everyone still being engrossed in their conversations. The sisters took a moment to study the room and the people in it. Bernie estimated that the study was twelve feet by fourteen feet at most.
Crowded with mismatched sofas, chairs, and coffee tables, the room was a study in disharmony. The bookshelves looked as if they’d been bought at a deep, deep, deep discount store, probably, Bernie decided, because there wasn’t much of a call for lilac bookshelves. In fact, she couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would want to own something of that hue. Of course, the orange shag rug the bookshelves were standing on didn’t bring out the best in the lilac, and the cheap dry-mounted reproductions hanging on the walls fought with the color scheme.
Lexus was by the window, and Bernie thought that judging from her appearance, it looked as if she’d recovered enough from the trauma of finding her husband’s body to have reapplied her make-up and put her hair into an updo. Ralph and Perceval were situated a short distance away. They were standing next to a large oak desk, whose top was piled high with what Bernie presumed to be the contents of the drawers that had been pulled out.
Meanwhile, Melissa was leaning against the far wall, hugging a picture to her chest—Must be the Potter, Bernie thought—while Greta and Greta’s two companions were sitting on the sagging sofa that was backed up against the near wall. Geoff was sitting off from everyone, with his head buried in his hands, inhabiting a cracked red leather chair that Bernie would have consigned to the rubbish pile.
It was almost a minute before the Field family became aware of Bernie’s and Libby’s presence, and it probably would have been longer still if Libby hadn’t sneezed.
“Don’t worry, folks,” Libby said as everyone turned to look at her. “I’m not contagious.”
Bernie plastered a big smile on her face and waved. “Hi, everyone. How’s it going?” she said.
No one answered.
So much for the amenities, Bernie thought. “It’s still snowing out,” she announced.
“So we noticed,” Ralph replied.
“It appears as if we’re stuck here for the night,” Bernie continued. Nothing like stating the obvious, she thought. If she expected anyone to offer her and Libby a room to sleep in, she was mistaken. “Are the sofas comfortable to bed down on?” she asked.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Melissa said. “I’ve never had the pleasure.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Libby said into the ensuing silence. “I mean, it’s not as if we can go anywhere.”
“Clearly,” Perceval said, although the expression on his face, as well as the ones on everyone else’s, said that they wished otherwise.
“I can’t believe it,” Geoff moaned, evidently oblivious to the hostilities swirling around him.
Either that or he was doing a really good job of acting, Libby thought. In any case, up until now he’d had nothing to contribute to the conversation, at least nothing that Libby had heard.
“You already said that,” Lexus told Geoff. She’d added an expensive-looking white fur scarf to her outfit since she’d seen Monty’s body.
Obviously not a PETA member, Bernie thought as she studied the scarf. She thought it was ermine, although she wasn’t sure, since she’d never seen any outside of photos in fashion mags.
“In fact,” Lexus continued, stroking her scarf, “you’ve said it multiple times. Everyone seems to be repeating themselves today.”
Libby decided that she’d never seen a less grief-stricken individual than Lexus. Actually, that observation pretty much went for all of the Field clan.
“This is terrible,” Geoff said, ignoring Lexus’s rebuff. “Who would do something like this?”
“Obviously, someone who wanted Dad dead,” Melissa replied.
Geoff let out another moan.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic here?” Perceval asked.
Geoff gave him a stricken look. “How can you say something like that?” he demanded.
