Chapter 20
“W
hy isn't anything ever simple?” Libby lamented as she wiped off the counters in the store kitchen before turning out the lights. The heat had built up over the course of the day, and even though it was a little after ten at night, it was still hot inside.
“Because it isn't,” Bernie replied. “Law of Nature Number three eighty.”
“What's three eighty-one?”
“Give me a minute and I'll come up with it.”
Libby rinsed out the rag and draped it over the side of the sink to dry.
“Dad was really pissed, wasn't he?” she asked as she considered the heaps of vegetables next to the refrigerator that she was going to use to make ratatouille the next day.
The colorsâred from the tomatoes, gold from the peppers, the green of the zucchini, the white onions, and the purple of the eggplantâhelped soothe her, as did the smell of the freshly cut basil. And boy, given the day, she needed some soothing.
“He'll get over it,” Bernie told her.
“I don't like when people are mad at me.”
“Except for me.”
“Well, you don't count.” Libby waved her hand. “That didn't come out right. I mean, with you I know it's just temporary.”
Bernie walked over and gave her sister's arm a squeeze.
“It's okay. Listen, you did the right thing, even if Tiffany didn't.”
“You really think so?”
“She's your friend. What else could you have done?”
Libby bit her lip.
“Maybe you were right about my not getting involved.”
“No,” Bernie said. “I wasn't.”
Libby gave her a quizzical look.
“Well,” Bernie explained, “I guess I was feeling a little bit jealous that you wanted to help her and you wouldn't let me help you.”
Maybe,
Libby thought, as she pointed to the vegetables,
there
is
something to this therapy business after all.
“Do you think we need anything else for the ratatouille?”
Bernie looked at the pile. “Garlic and maybe some thyme.”
Libby slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.
“How could I have forgotten the garlic?”
Bernie put her arm around her sister and gave her another squeeze.
“You're on overload.”
“I'm over the edge.”
“How about I mix us up a batch of Cosmopolitans and we take them to the field and drink them.”
Libby nodded. She'd never had a Cosmopolitan, but it sounded like something that would help in this type of situation.
“I'd like that.” She started to grin. “I've got to admit Paul's expression was pretty funny when you told him Tiffany was gone.”
Bernie giggled. “It was, wasn't it? Don't worry, you'll find her.”
“Why do you think she ran?”
“I think she overheard Paul talking about bringing her in and she got scared.”
“He does have a loud voice, doesn't he?”
“The loudest.”
“Stentorian.”
“Stentorian?”
“Stentor was a Greek herald who had a voice as loud as fifty men.”
“Not now,” Bernie said. “Please.”
“I'm sorry. It just slipped out.”
Libby hugged herself.
“I feel so bad. I just wish I could have explained things to Tiffany.”
“You will when you find her.”
“You think I will find her?”
“Definitely. I wouldn't be surprised if she calls you in the next day or so and meanwhile, while we're searching, we can still talk to the people Tiffany mentioned. Kind of get a jump start on things.”
Libby studied her sister's face.
“Are you suggesting this because you want to or because you figure this will take my mind off things?”
“The former,” Bernie lied.
After all,
Bernie thought,
white lies are the lubricant that makes social interactions possible.
Libby nodded her head doubtfully.
Bernie put her hand up.
“I swear.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Libby scratched at a cuticle with one of her fingers. “Dad isn't going to like this.”
“We don't have to tell him.”
Libby considered that for a moment and then said, “So how are we going to get started?”
Bernie grinned.
“I thought you'd never ask.”
Libby cocked her head and waited.
“When I was paging through your receipts and messages earlier, I noticed a note in there about talking to Mary Beth about doing a graduation picnic.”
Libby yawned and stretched. The day was finally beginning to catch up with her.
“Ah, yes. Greg Holder's high school graduation. It's supposed to be the last weekend in June. For thirty-five people. They wanted it outside. The usual elegant but informal thing. I spent a couple of hours with her, but she must have decided to go with someone else, because she never called me back.”
“Maybe it's time to give her a new menu to look at,” Bernie suggested.
“Good idea.”
“That's what I thought. I mean, it couldn't hurt. Who knows? Maybe Mary Beth will say something interesting to me about what Geoffrey has been up to these days. After all, we were in summer stock together, and if I remember correctly she never could keep her mouth shut.”
“And I could fix up a basket for Lydia,” Libby suggested, getting into the spirit of the enterprise. “Everyone needs food, especially in times of trauma.”
“Something like gall and jimsonweed?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of muffins, fruit, cheese, and scones myself.” Libby looked at her sister and smiled. “Thanks.”
“No problem. This will be fun. Kinda like when we were kids and we used to play spy.” Bernie looked around the kitchen. “Now where do you keep the vodka and cranberry juice?”
Chapter 21
L
ibby and Bernie were sprawled on one of the bleachers that lined the high school playing field, ignoring the
No Trespassing
sign prominently posted on the chain-link fence across from them. A plastic jug filled with Cosmopolitans sat between them. At eleven o'clock at night the town was silent except for the occasional barking dog.
“I like these drinks,” Libby said to Bernie as she slapped at a mosquito that was biting her arm.
“A little vodka, a little lime juice, triple sec, and a dash of cranberry juice for color and there you have it. They're even nicer served in martini glasses. Of course,” Bernie reflected, “everything is nicer served in martini glasses.”
“They're not bad in plastic,” Libby said.
“Next time I'll make us some Bellinis.” Bernie leaned back on the bleachers and sighed. “I used to make out with Johnnie Ward under these. Of course then we were drinking Millers. Boy, that seems like a long time ago.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
“I think he's some sort of investment lawyer down in New York City now.”
Libby took another sip of her drink, then put it down on the bench next to her, leaned forward, dangled her hands between her legs, and studied the view. She could see houses lit up off in the distance. Orion had pointed his out to her when they'd come up here way too many years ago. He'd called just before she and Bernie had walked out the door. They were meeting tomorrow night after the store closed. Just thinking about it made Libby's heart race.
She wondered if the new T-shirt that Bernie had made her buy would go with her jeans skirt. She looked at Bernie, who was rolling the cup around between the palms of her hands, and considered asking her opinion, but that might mean getting into another Orion discussion. She'd just decided she'd be willing to chance it when Bernie spoke.
“Libby. Refresh my memory. What's Geoffrey Holder doing these days?” she asked her sister.
“He owns a string of body shops.”
“For some reason I thought he'd sold those and was going to buy into a car franchise.”
“He was talking about it . . . but that's as far as it went.”
Bernie tapped her fingers on the side of her glass. “You know two readily available sources of cyanide?”
Libby topped off her glass.
“Not offhand. No.”
Bernie held out her glass and Libby poured some more into it.
“Jewelry making and chrome-plating kits for car accessories. You can get them on the Internet.”
Libby stared at Bernie. Her heart began to beat faster. “Do you use cyanide when you make glass?”
“No. Why are you asking?”
“Because Orion is making glass beads.”
“You're sure about the cyanide?”
“I'm positive.” Libby took a gulp of her drink. “How do you know about this stuff anyway?” she asked.
“Because I read. Some guy in L.A. poisoned his wife. The newspaper said that's how he got the stuff.”
Libby pushed her hair off her face. “Do you ever forget anything you read?”
“Not much.”
Bernie and Libby both took another couple of sips of their drinks and watched a car on the road below drive by.
“You know what else we should do?” Libby said.
“What?” Bernie asked.
“We should get on the Internet and see what we can find out about Geoff.”
“Too bad we can't ask Dad.”
Libby picked up her cup and drained it.
“I don't think that's an option right now.”
Bernie stood up. “Let's go.”
“And here I was hoping we could get picked up for trespassing.”
“It would be like old times,” Bernie reflected. “Except this time I don't think Dad would bail me out.”
Â
Â
Bernie yawned and then yawned again as she motored towards Mary Beth and Geoffrey Holder's house on the outskirts of town. She was driving her father's old Caddy. Normally, she loved bouncing around on the leather seats blasting Elvis on the tape deck, but today she missed the MGB she'd left back in L.A.
Poor little thing,
she thought.
I wonder who's driving you now?
The Caddy was so big, she felt as if she was driving a city bus. But, she reminded herself, it could be worse. She could be driving Libby's van. In which case she'd have to shoot herself.
Libby had been right about the Internet stuff, Bernie reflected as she concentrated on keeping the Caddy on Lilac Lane. She had to give her that. There had been lots of info on Señor G. Holder and his business holdings. Reading the stuff while she and Libby finished off the pitcher of Cosmos might not have been the wisest idea, however.
As Bernie drove between two large fieldstone pillars that marked the development the Holders lived in, she thought about how much money Geoff must be pulling in to be able to live in a place like this.
Ten minutes later, she arrived at the Holders' residence. As Bernie parked in the driveway and got out of the car, she decided that the place looked large enough to house a small army unit plus their equipment. The last time she'd visited Geoff and Mary Beth, they'd been living in a small two-bedroom ranch.
Walking up to the door, Bernie couldn't help noticing that the property looked unkempt. The foundation plantings needed trimming, shoots of bindweed were cropping up in the mulch of the flowerbed near the front wall, and there were small patches of speedwell in the lawn. It seemed as if the landscapers weren't stopping here anymoreâa definite no-no in a community like this.
I'm not surprised, Bernie thought as she rang the bell. It fit in with the article she'd downloaded from
Money Talks.
According to that, Holder Enterprises was on the verge of going belly-up. Geoffrey Holder had overextended himself to partner with Laird Wrenn on the amusement park deal. Then Wrenn had pulled out and the market had tanked and it was adios Holder Enterprises.
“Mary Beth,” Bernie said when she answered the door a few moments later.
Mary Beth's eyes widened.
“Bernie? Geoff told me he heard you were back working at the store.”
“At least for a while.”
“L.A. too much for you?”
“Nope. Just needed a little down time.”
“You look great,” Mary Beth told her.
“So do you,” Bernie replied, hoping she didn't look shocked at how thin Mary Beth had become. “I know I should have called,” Bernie continued. “But Libby and I have come up with some new ideas for your son's graduation.” She shook her head. “God, I can't believe time has just slipped away like that . . .”
“It's scary,” Mary Beth agreed.
“Absolutely. So I just decided to throw together a few things for you and run over.” Bernie extended the package she was carrying. She'd always found it was harder for people to refuse you when you bring them something to eat. “Stuff from the store.”
“Why, thank you.”
“This is an amazing house,” Bernie said as Mary Beth took the box.
“It is, isn't it?” Mary Beth agreed. “Quite a change from our old place.”
“I'd love to see it.”
“And I'd love to show it to you,” Mary Beth told Bernie, though it was obvious to Bernie from Mary Beth's expression that that was the last thing she wanted to do. “But the place is such a mess.”
“Oh, I don't care.” Bernie stepped inside. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”
“Not at all,” Mary Beth assured her.
“Wow.” Bernie took in the cathedral entranceway and the pink marble floor tile. “I'm impressed.”
“I designed it myself.” And with that Mary Beth preceded to give Bernie a whirl-wind tour of the house.
“Very nice,” Bernie kept saying. She'd seen houses like this in L.A., and for the life of her she couldn't figure out why people needed a music room, a sewing room, a weight room, and a library when it was clear that no one ever used them. Finally they got to the kitchen.
“You have an Aga,” Bernie exclaimed. “I love them.”
Mary Beth nodded absentmindedly. “The kitchen designer said they were a must-have piece, so Geoff insisted I get one, but I've never quite got the hang of it.”
At around thirteen thousand dollars, that was too bad, Bernie thought as she watched Mary Beth put the box she'd given her on one of the counters and take off the top. Inside was an array of muffins and brownies, two things Bernie had found most people couldn't resist.
“Well, they are different from other stoves.”
Bernie had had one on a shoot that she'd done. You didn't turn them on. They ran all the time, and they had a top that was very hot in some places and warm in others. Designed to function in English country cottages where it was cold and damp, they put out a lot of heat because they ran all the time. Of course, in this country, you had to shut them off in the summer or have your air-conditioning on.
“I don't remember you liking cooking,” Bernie said as Mary Beth lifted out a brownie and took a nibble.
“I don't. But Geoff likes to cook on Sundays.” Mary Beth took another nibble. “These are so good, Bernie.”
“It's the coffee in them.” Bernie handed Mary Beth the menu she and Libby had prepared. “That's why you should let Libby and me take care of your son's party for you.”
“I don't know.” Mary Beth brushed a nonexistent speck of dirt off her turquoise clam-diggers.
“See.” Bernie pointed to the menu Mary Beth was holding. “The top one is a barbecue. We can do hamburgers, hot dogs, ribs, chicken, cole slaw, potato salad, cornbread made with fresh corn and cheddar cheese, a big watermelon full of fruit salad, cookies, and a sheet cake. The kids love it.
“Or,” Bernie continued, chattering on, “you could go slightly more upscale. Kebobs. Lamb and chicken. Possibly shrimp, although that would run you more money. A big tossed salad with glazed walnuts and feta cheese. An orzo salad made with scallions and oil and balsamic vinegar. Little cherry tomatoes filled with goat cheese. Spanakoita. Brownies. A two-layer, coconut-frosted graduation cake.”
“It all looks wonderful,” Mary Beth said dubiously.
“Why don't you discuss it with Geoff and get back to me?”
Mary Beth nodded. “I'll do that. Maybe we can have lunch some day when I have a little more time.”
“Great,” Bernie said, ignoring the hint to leave and changing the subject. “Wasn't that awful, Lionel dying like that?”
Mary Beth shuddered.
“I can't get the image of his hand going to his throat out of my mind. You know Lionel and his people were all supposed to come here before the dinner for a drink, but Lydia called and canceled. Something about Lionel having a headache.”
“Really?”
Mary Beth grimaced. “I'd bought this very expensive port that Lydia said Lionel was fond of. A hundred and fifty dollars a bottle. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with it now. I mean, who drinks port?”
“So he was a friend of yours?” Bernie asked.
“Lionel?” Mary Beth furrowed her brow. “Lionel never had any friends. You know that. No. He was one of my husband's business associates. He and Nigel Herron.” She gave the sentence an unpleasant twist.
Bernie leaned forward.
“I didn't know Nigel was involved in the amusement park deal.”
“He isâexcuse me, wasâGeoff 's financial adviser. What a pair those two are.”
“They never did have much common sense,” Bernie reflected.
The irises of Mary Beth's brown eyes turned darker.
“Right. And why listen to someone like me? Why put some of your money aside in a savings account? After all, I'm just the little dumb housewife. Unlike my husband, the financial genius.” Mary Beth waved her hand dismissively. “And now, if you don't mind, I don't mean to be rude, but . . .”
“Oh, you're not,” Bernie assured her. “I understand totally.” Then, instead of going left, she went right and found herself in front of the family room. It was filled with packing cartons, stacks of clothes, and computer equipment. She turned to Mary Beth and said, “Boy. Talk about getting rid of stuff.”
Mary Beth hesitated for a moment, then said, “Don't tell anyone, but we're getting ready to put our house on the market.”
“That's a lot of work.”