Chapter 29
B
y the time Libby got back to the store, the lunch crowd had abated.
“Nice of you to drop in,” Bernie told her sister. She was about to say something more about Libby's manifest lack of consideration for other people but when she looked at the expression on Libby's face as she marched into the kitchen, Bernie's anger vanished. “Is that the goat cheese?” she asked as Libby put a white package into the fridge.
Libby nodded. “I hope it's all right. It's been sitting out in the van all this time.”
“It'll be fine,” Bernie reassured her. “Cheese is just curdled milk. So it'll be a little more curdled, that's all. Big deal. It'll taste a little tangier. Besides if it's really bad, I'll run out and get more.
“You know,” she mused. “It's interesting. Up until fifteen years ago, I don't think anyone knew what goat cheese was. Or if they did, they turned up their noses at it. Now it's one of the biggest sellers on the market. What do you think accounted for the change? California Cuisine? Marketing?”
“Oh, Bernie,” Libby said, turning and flinging herself into her sister's arms. “This is so awful. I just can't stand it.”
“I know,” Bernie said as she stroked her hair. “I know.”
“It's like Tiffany just decided to give up.”
“Maybe you should too,” Bernie said gently.
“I can't.” Libby pushed herself away from her sister. “She's my friend. I have to do something.”
Bernie slid her silver and onyx ring up and down her finger while she thought. Should she tell Libby what Rob had told her or not? That was the question. The note he'd found on Geoff Holder's pad probably meant nothing. And the case was closed.
If she told Libby, it would just give her something else to hang on to when she should be letting go. On the other hand, if the note did mean something, Bernie would never forgive herself. She tapped her ring on her teeth.
“What are you thinking?” Libby asked.
“I'm thinking Amber can mind the store for a minute while we go up and talk to Dad.”
“Why?”
“Because we could use some advice.”
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Sean listened to what Bernie had to say without comment.
“That note Holder wrote to himself probably doesn't mean anything,” he said when she was done. “It just gives the time, not the date. The date could refer to last April for all we know.”
“But what if it refers to the day Geoff Holder was killed?” Libby asked. “What if Janet was there?”
Sean turned to Libby.
“So what if she was? Last I heard, being around someone isn't a crime. Maybe she wanted an opinion on detailing her car. Maybe Janet and Geoff were discussing funds for the new playground.”
“Janet doesn't have children.”
“You know what I mean,” Sean snapped. “Not to mention the fact that it could be a different Janet. I wouldn't even want to speculate on how many are in the phone book.”
“Yes. But Janet is Nigel's girlfriend, and Nigel is linked to both victims.”
“Circumstantially.”
“Circumstantial was enough for Lucy to take Tiffany into custody.”
“Granted,” Sean said. “But before we get into that,” he told his elder daughter, “there are some fundamental questions that have to be addressed.”
“Like what?”
“Like whether or not you have a right to interfere in your friend's life, for openers. She has specifically asked you to leave this alone.”
“Would
you
let someone commit suicide?” Libby demanded.
“This isn't quite the same thing.”
“If throwing twenty years of your life away isn't suicide, I don't know what is.”
Sean wheeled his chair over to the window and looked out. He could see the pansies in his neighbor's window box. His wife had always had a big basket of them sitting on the bench in front of the store. He wondered why Libby had switched to geraniums.
“Let me ask you another question, Libby,” he said after a moment had gone by. “Why is Tiffany doing this if she isn't guilty?”
“Because she's depressed. She's overwhelmed. She needs psychiatric care, not jail.”
“Even if what you say is true, she's legally sane. Her decision holds in a court of law.”
“I'm aware of that,” Libby replied. “That's why we have to find the real murderer or at least some piece of evidence that points in a different direction that we can give to Paul.”
Sean continued looking out the window.
“What do you say, Bernie?” he asked.
“We did promise.”
“The situation has changed.”
“I still think I should go down to Janet's shop and see if she's got anything new in.”
“And she needs more clothes anyway,” Libby added.
“She always needs clothes,” Sean said. “What are you going to say when you get there?”
“Well, I'm not going to charge in and ask her if she was at Holder's place the day he was killed, if that's what you mean,” Bernie said. “I just figured I'd go in and chat and see what develops. I'm always amazed at what people will tell you.”
“I'm always amazed at what they won't,” Sean shot back.
“That's because you come across as scary and I come across as nice,” Bernie replied sweetly.
“And I could go collect the pot I left at Nigel's,” Libby added.
“You're going to go into the home of someone you're telling me might be the prime suspect in two murders?” her father asked.
“He's not home,” Libby reminded Sean. “He's at work in the city.”
“How are you going to get in?” Bernie asked her.
“He gave me his key for the party,” Libby said. “And with everything that's going on, he forgot to ask for it back and I forget to return it.”
“This doesn't sound like a good idea to me,” Sean said.
“You'd do it too if you were me,” Libby insisted.
“Nothing you find is going to be admissible in court,” Sean warned her.
“I know that,” Libby said. “But at least this will give us a direction to focus on.”
Sean tried again.
“Technically, what you're doing is illegal.”
“Don't tell me you've never bent the rules in an investigation,” Libby retorted.
“That's not the point,” Sean argued.
“Dad. I'm an adult. Let me make my own decisions. Please.”
Sean sighed. Much as he hated to admit it, what Libby said was true.
“Just don't get caught.”
“I won't,” Libby told him. “I promise.”
“I'm glad that's settled,” Bernie said as she lifted her right leg, bent it at the knee, grabbed her ankle with her right hand and pulled it toward the back of her thigh. Then she balanced on her left leg and raised her right arm.
Libby pointed to her sister's leg.
“Can I ask why are you doing that?”
“It's one of my Yoga exercises,” Bernie said, switching to the other leg as their father wheeled his chair around. “It helps the flow of Chi.”
“Chi?” Libby repeated.
“Energy.”
“It also stretches out the thigh muscles,” Sean informed her. Then he said to Bernie, “Do you have any of that rhubarb-strawberry pie Libby made this morning left?”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“Last time I looked we had four pieces. Why?”
“What about some ice cream?”
“We have a couple of quarts of vanilla left. I made it yesterday,” Libby volunteered. “It's got real specks of vanilla in it.”
“Good,” Sean said. “Run down and pull the pie out of the display case and put aside a pint or so of the ice cream.”
“Am I missing something here?” Bernie demanded.
“You'll see,” Sean told her. “Hand me the phone.”
A mystified Libby did.
“I'm going to call Clyde Schiller and invite him over. He's a sucker for your pie.”
“He'd come without the pie,” Libby said. “You know he wants to see you.”
“Well, I'd feel better if I had something to offer him.” Sean coughed. “The deal is this: I gave my word and I intend to keep it. So we'll poke around a little more, and if we find anything that's germane to Tiffany's caseâand yes, Bernie,” Sean said before his daughter could, “I know the word germane comes from the Latin and means akin. That's one of the positives about going to parochial school and having to take Latin.”
He cleared his throat.
“Anyway, as I was saying before I got sidetracked, we'll proceed as far as we can and if we don't find anything, Libby, you have to promise me that you'll put this thing to bed.”
“I will,” Libby said. “I swear I won't say anything about Tiffany ever again.”
“I'm going to hold you to your word,” Sean warned her.
“I know.”
“Scout's honor?”
“Scout's honor,” Libby replied gravely even though she'd never been a Brownie much less a Girl Scout.
“Good. It's settled,” Sean said.
Besides, he thought, looking at his daughter, who was beaming at him, if anything comes of this, which he doubted, it would be fun seeing Lucy and the current prosecutor look like fools.
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“Here,” Bernie told Janet as she handed her a raspberry scone. “I brought this for you.”
She looked tired, Bernie thought as Janet thanked her. As if she hadn't been sleeping well. Guilty conscience or indigestion? Hopefully, she'd find out soon enough.
“Thanks,” Janet replied and she took a bite. “These are so good.”
“It's the cream,” Bernie said. “It makes them tender.”
“How can something that tastes so good be so bad for you?”
Bernie laughed.
“You're behind the times. Fat is good for you again. Someone I worked for out in L.A. used to say, âIf it's not fat, it's not food.' ”
“Amen to that,” Janet said. “Although I'm not sure my hips and ass would agree.”
Bernie patted her rump.
“Mine either,” she said as she began walking through the store. She stopped in front of a pale blue leather jacket and whistled appreciatively. “Nice,” she said to Janet.
“Nice? It's great. It's summer weight. Really light. Feel the leather. I've sold three of them since they came in last week. This is the last one left.”
“Lucky for me you're out of my size,” Bernie said. “Not that I could afford it anyway. Eight hundred dollars is a little more than I can lay out at the moment.”
Janet walked over to a row of skirts and picked one out. “How about this?” And she held up a silvery colored wrap skirt. “Seventy-five bucks. Wear it with a black or white T-shirt for the day or put on a tank top for the evening and you're good to go.”
“I'll try it on.” Bernie said thinking of her date with Rob tonight. “So,” she continued as she walked into the dressing room and slipped off her jeans and put on the skirt. “What do you think about Tiffany?”
“I think it's awful. Come out and let me see how it looks. Not bad,” Janet said when Bernie walked out onto the floor. “Not bad at all.”
Bernie studied her reflection in the mirror.
“No, it isn't, is it?”
“It's great. Here. Put this on.” And Janet handed her a light green and blue scooped-neck sweater.
Bernie slipped it over her T-shirt.
“How's Nigel?”
Janet shook her head.
“I'd like to kill him.”
Bernie raised an eyebrow.
Janet tittered and put her hand to her mouth.
“That was an unfortunate phrase, wasn't it? But I'm just so frustrated.”
“Why?” Bernie prompted, striving to look casually interested.
“I probably shouldn't say anything, but what the hell. Nigel's been drinking ever since Lionel was killed, and now that this thing happened with Geoff . . . he's gone over the edge.”