A Catered Birthday Party (11 page)

“He’s not very good,” Bernie observed.

“Good?” Joanna let out a hoarse laugh. “Good? He’s terrible. But he’s convinced he’s Oscar material.”

“Well, he is good-looking. That always counts for a lot.”

“Hah. You should have seen him before. To be fair, he wasn’t bad before, but now he’s fantastic, the lowlife sleaze. That’s actually where my thirty thousand went. Or most of it. He used it to get cosmetic surgery. That cleft chin? Fake. The cheekbones? Fake. Those blue eyes? Contact lenses. The teeth? Veneers. And then Annabel, bless her heart, paid for his chest implants.”

“Why would she do that?” Bernie asked, feigning ignorance.

Joanna snorted. “Why do you think? Because they were sleeping together, of course. She was such a bitch. She always had to have everything I had. So naturally she had to have Rick.”

“Which is why you started sleeping with Richard?” Bernie asked. If she had expected a denial she didn’t get one.

“Fair is fair. No one walks all over me.” Joanna pointed to her boobs. “Rick got his chest implants and I got these. In retrospect, I should have gotten them a little smaller, but I wanted something that showed.”

“Well, they certainly do that,” Bernie said. “I guess Richard liked them.”

“He said they were a little ostentatious—those were his exact words. I told him to go screw himself and I cut him off. ‘No more sex for you,’ I said. Not that he really cared.”

“Why wouldn’t he care?” In Bernie’s experience, that was all a lot of men cared about.

“Because he was already sleeping with Melissa. I just beat him to it.”

“To Melissa?”

Joanna rolled her eyes. “To kissing me off. If Richard had really cared about the sex thing I would have lost my job. But he didn’t, so I’m still here.”

The expression “can’t keep the players straight without a scorecard” popped into Bernie’s mind.

“Richard always has two women in the pipeline,” Joanna continued. “Sometimes even three. Though frankly, between you and me, I think three’s too many for him to handle.”

“Has he always been like that?” Bernie asked.

“As far as I know. Now they’re calling people like him sex addicts. I just call people like that pigs.”

“Did Annabel know?”

Joanna snorted. “You bet she did. How could she not? He practically flaunted it in her face. Her friends, the women who worked for Annabel—everyone was fair game. I mean, I felt sorry for her before she started messing around with Rick. Having to put up with Richard’s stuff. And she was the brains of the outfit too.” She added, “I’ll tell you one thing, I didn’t kill Annabel, but I’m glad someone did. She had it coming. And it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Rick had something to do with it.”

“What makes you say that?” Bernie asked.

Joanna leaned her head out of the car. “Because he was scamming her like he was scamming everyone else, and she’d just found out. So no more money, honey.”

And with that last comment, Joanna took off. As Bernie watched the receding headlights of her vehicle, she wondered how much of what Joanna had just told her was true. A second later there was a sharp screech as Joanna threw her car in reverse and started backing up. Bernie jumped out of the way as Joanna squealed to a stop in front of her.

She stuck her head out of the window again and said, “I’d talk to Annabel’s best friend, Joyce, if I were you.”

“The reason being?” Bernie asked.

“Because she’s a best friend with a caveat.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Bernie asked her.

“As they say, payback is a bitch. She’s the one who introduced Rick to Annabel. She’s the one who told Rick that maybe Annabel would help him with his acting career.” She imitated Joyce’s voice: “I was just trying to help. Trying to help.” Then she said, “Ha!” as she put the car in first and zoomed off into the night.

B
ernie was still thinking about what Joanna had told her when Libby tapped her on the shoulder. Bernie spun around.

Libby pointed to Marvin’s jaw.

Bernie put her hand over her mouth. “What happened?” she asked.

“Rick Crouse happened,” Libby said. “He found out that Marvin wasn’t a talent agent after all.”

“He punched me in the jaw,” Marvin told her. “I hope it was worth it,” he added plaintively.

Poor Marvin, Bernie thought. He was always so cautious, but it didn’t matter. Things just happened to him. If there was a brick nearby it would fall on his head. Not, she was sure, that Libby would see the current situation that way. Bernie lightly patted the uninjured side of Marvin’s face. “You know, you look very hot this way,” she said as she tried to cheer him up. “Almost irresistible in fact.”

“I do?” Marvin said, throwing his shoulders back.

Bernie nodded. “Absolutely. Men with bruises always are. Right, Libby?” she asked. “Right?” she repeated when her sister remained silent.

“Right,” Libby answered through gritted teeth.

But she had to admit that Marvin had perked up when Bernie had said that to him. However, that still wasn’t going to prevent her from wringing her sister’s neck the first chance she got.

“Where is Rick Crouse now?” Bernie asked.

“Back in the bar,” Libby said. “Drinking a beer.”

“The bartender didn’t even call the police,” Marvin complained. “He could at least have done that.”

“Was there blood?” Bernie asked.

“No,” Marvin said.

“Did it spill over onto anyone else?”

Marvin looked puzzled.

“Start a brawl,” Bernie explained.

“No.”

“Then there you go,” Bernie told him. “At Leon’s unless there’s a fair amount of blood on the walls, a body on the floor, or five people breaking chairs over people’s heads, the bartender isn’t going to call the cops. And even then it might not happen.”

Marvin gingerly touched his jaw, then wiggled it around a little. “You know, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever been punched,” he admitted.

“Seriously?” Libby asked.

Marvin nodded.

“See,” Bernie said, thinking of Brandon, who’d made a career for a while out of brawling. “Then this is a good thing. It adds to your cool-dude factor. Trust me. You’re going to thank me later on.”

Marvin looked dubious. “Thank you for this? I don’t think so.”

Bernie raised her hand. “I promise. You’ll see.”

Libby just shook her head. Where Bernie came up with this stuff she’d never know. But, on the other hand, you did have to admire her gall. She would give her that.

Bernie thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You take Marvin home and get an ice pack on his jaw. I’ll go back inside, talk to Rick, and see what I can find out. When I’m done I’ll call and you can come pick me up.”

Libby nodded. That would work, she thought, since her main concern right now was keeping the swelling on Marvin’s jaw down as much as possible.

“I’ll drive,” she said to Marvin as she took his arm and started leading him toward the car.

“You know,” he said, “I have two funerals tomorrow. How am I going to explain my jaw?”

“No problem,” Libby said with more confidence than she felt. “We’ll come up with a really good story.”

“Well, whatever you do, don’t ask Bernie for one,” Bernie heard Marvin say to her sister.

“I won’t,” Libby replied.

When Bernie walked into Leon’s, Rick Crouse and Priscilla Edwards were sitting at the bar sipping their beers and watching TV. She went to the booth where she, Marvin, and Libby had been sitting, reclaimed her jacket, got her can of Bud Light, then walked up to Rick and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes?” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the TV.

Bernie waved her hand in front of his face. “Hello,” she said. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore people?”

He reluctantly turned to face her. “And it’s rude to wave your hand in front of someone’s face. What do you want?”

“I want to know why you punched my friend.”

“That guy was your friend?”

“That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

He gave Bernie his full attention. “Girls in stiletto heels shouldn’t go causing trouble.”

“I’m not causing trouble. I’m asking you a question.”

Rick took a gulp of his beer and put the can back down. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I clocked him one because he lied to me. That’s why.”

“You punch everyone who lies to you?” Bernie asked him.

“No, I don’t,” he replied. “Okay. I admit I lost control of myself, but this was different. He deserved it.”

“Different how?”

“Because…”

But before Rick could finish his sentence Priscilla Edwards leaned forward and finished it for him. “Rick was really excited about meeting the agent. It was all he was talking about backstage. So when he found out that this guy Marvin was shining him on he just got a little carried away, that’s all. Heaven only knows what would have happened if I hadn’t been along. Poor Rick would have never known.”

“That’s right,” Rick said. He pounded the bar. “That’s exactly right.”

Priscilla patted his arm in a proprietary manner. Rick favored her with a grateful smile.

“I see,” Bernie said. And she did. She put her can of beer down. It was bad enough when it was cold, but it was undrinkable when it was warm. “You know, I was the one who suggested Marvin do that. I was the one who told Sam. Marvin was just doing what I told him to do.”

Rick looked back at her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Why?” he finally said. “That wasn’t very nice. That wasn’t nice at all. In fact, it was downright mean. What did I ever do to you? That’s what I want to know.”

“Nothing,” Bernie told him. “You’ve never done anything to me. I just wanted to get some information. I figured that this would be a good way of getting you talking.”

“You could have just asked,” Rick said. “That would have been easier.”

“Agreed,” Bernie said. “It certainly would have been easier on poor Marvin.”

“What you did is not good for me,” Rick went on as if Bernie hadn’t spoken. “I have trust issues. And this whole thing has reactivated them. It’s going to make it difficult for me to sleep, which is bad for my immune system. I’m going to have to call my therapist. In fact, I could call my lawyer and sue you for emotional distress.”

“Do you have a lawyer?” Bernie asked him.

Rick hesitated a moment too long before saying, “Of course I do.”

Bernie leaned back slightly. “That’s good,” she said. “Considering you might need one when the police find out about you and Annabel.”

“There’s nothing between me and Annabel,” Rick cried.

“That’s not what I heard,” Bernie retorted. “But I guess I got my info wrong. I guess you weren’t the go-to guy for her.”

Priscilla scowled. “Why do you want to know about her?” she demanded of Bernie.

“Are you his lawyer?” Bernie demanded.

“No. I’m his friend. His good friend,” Priscilla said, emphasizing the word
good
, in case Bernie didn’t get it.

“Fine then,” Bernie replied. “I’m asking because she was murdered and I’m investigating her death.”

“She wasn’t murdered,” Priscilla said. “The papers said it was an accident.”

“Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t,” Bernie said.

“Well…” Priscilla began but Rick interrupted.

“Whatever it was doesn’t matter,” he said. “Because I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow. “But you were involved with her.”

Rick assumed an injured expression. Bernie was surprised he wasn’t holding his hands to his heart and crying, “Oh, the calumny of it all.”

“She was my patron,” he said. “She believed in me. She believed in my craft. So if you want to call that being involved, then yes, we were involved.”

“How touching. I didn’t know she had an artistic side. Tell me, does paying for your chest implants qualify as helping your acting career?” Bernie asked.

“Your what?!” Priscilla shrieked.

Everyone in the bar turned around.

“It’s nothing,” Rick told Priscilla as he hushed her. “Everyone does it these days.”

“I don’t think Laurence Olivier would have done that,” Bernie observed.

Priscilla and Rick ignored her.

“Rick,” Priscilla said, “you told me you got your body working out at the gym every day—that’s why you needed me to pay for your training.”

“Priscilla, darling,” Rick told her. “My sweet. I do need the gym every day. I need my trainer and my masseuse. It’s just that sometimes people need that little extra edge. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

Bernie ran her finger around the edge of her beer can. “I bet Annabel thought it was. I mean, she must have liked you a lot to fork up that kind of dough. So I’ll tell you what interests me. What interests me is that I hear she was cutting you off. No more money for Rick. So what did you do to piss her off? That’s what I want to know. Or maybe she found someone else. Someone with a little more…on the ball.”

Rick’s face started to get red. “That’s a lie.”

“She gave you money?” Priscilla demanded.

“No. No. No,” Rick said to Priscilla. “You don’t understand.”

“That’s not what your ex told me,” Bernie said, adding fuel to the fire. “She told me she gave you plenty.”

“That bitch,” Rick spat out. “I might have known. You can’t believe anything she says.”

“Like the fact that you owe her thirty thousand dollars.”

Rick snorted. “What a crock. She gave me money for a business and I invested in one.” Rick poked himself in the chest. “Me. I’m the business. I’m a gilt-edged investment. I’ve told her that when I get famous I’ll pay her back, but she can’t hear that because she’s jealous that I’m going someplace, that I’m going to be rich and famous, while she’s stuck in some stupid, pathetic day job….”

“Hey. I have a day job,” Priscilla cried.

“Not you, babykins.” Rick gave her a peck on the cheek. “I wasn’t talking about you. You’ve got…soul. You’ve got theater in your blood. Joanna is a civilian.”

Priscilla pushed him away. Judging from the expression on her face she wasn’t convinced. “You were taking money from Annabel?”

Rick opened his mouth to reply, but Priscilla didn’t give him a chance. “You told me you were broke. You told me you were going to be out on the street if you didn’t get money together to pay your rent.”

“It’s true,” Rick said. He raised his hand. “I swear. You can talk to my landlord if you want. In fact, I insist. Here, let me write down the number for you.” He patted his shirt and his pants. “Drats. I don’t have a pen.”

Bernie smiled. “I do.”

He glared at her as she handed him the pen and a piece of paper. He scribbled something down and handed it to Priscilla, who shoved it in her bag without bothering to look at it.

“How much were you getting from Annabel?” Priscilla asked, returning to the matter under discussion.

“I wasn’t getting any money,” Rick replied.

The key here is the word
money, Bernie decided. “Priscilla, ask him about his car,” she suggested, guessing that the BMW in the parking lot belonged to Rick.

Priscilla put both hands on her hips. “Well?” she demanded.

“She insisted,” Rick said in a piteous voice. Bernie could have sworn she saw the beginning of tears in his eyes. “You wouldn’t want me to have hurt her feelings, would you? She was so fragile. If I had refused she would have seen it as a rejection of her.”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “Can’t you come up with something better? That’s so lame I’m embarrassed for you. On the other hand, I have to give you kudos for the tears. They were a nice touch. In short, I’d give your material a D- and your performance a B+.”

Priscilla ignored her. “Really?” Priscilla said as she spoke to Rick and pretended Bernie wasn’t there.

“Yes, really,” Rick said. “The only reason I didn’t tell you was that I was afraid you would misinterpret it. And you have.” He clasped both of Priscilla’s hands in his. “You’re my muse. You know you mean everything to me. Without you I’m nothing.”

Bernie could see Priscilla start to fold. In another five minutes she’d give it up. Bernie was about to say that when Libby called and told her she was on her way. It was time to go. She’d gotten as much as she was going to get anyway. Bernie put on her jacket, picked up her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. Then she picked up her Bud Light, raised the can, and poured it over Rick Crouse’s head.

“This is for Marvin,” she said as she started walking away.

Rick froze. This was a good thing, Bernie decided. Otherwise he might have decked her too. He was still in shock when Priscilla grabbed a bunch of napkins off the bar and started blotting at his face and neck. Then he came out of it. He grabbed the napkins out of Priscilla’s hands and pushed her away.