A Catered Halloween (26 page)

Bernie looked at Libby. Libby looked back at Bernie.

“That’ll be fine,” Libby said as she saw her plans for the day disappearing over the horizon. Now she’d be even further behind.

“Good.” Annabel smiled. “And by the way, Bernie,” Annabel added as she got to the doorway, “you should cut down on the carbs. You’re getting a little chubby around the derrière.” And she patted her rear end. “I hope you don’t mind my saying something, but if the positions were reversed I’d certainly want to know.”

Bernie managed to get out a strangled thanks as Annabel walked through the door. “Am I?” Bernie asked her sister as soon as she was sure Annabel had left the building. She wasn’t going to give Annabel the
added satisfaction of overhearing her comments if she could help it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Libby replied.

“Really?”

“Really. Of course, in comparison with her rear end,
everyone’s
is big.”
Big
was not the word Bernie wanted to hear at the moment. “Thanks a heap.”

“Oh come on. Annabel just can’t stand to see anyone looking good. I would kill to have your body,” Libby told Bernie as she watched her sister study herself in the mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. And she wasn’t just being nice. She meant it.

“Maybe I shouldn’t wear these pants anymore.”

“Bernie!”

“You’re right.” Bernie brushed a lock of hair off her face. “Why am I listening to someone who could be a stand-in for a famine victim?” The corners of Bernie’s mouth worked themselves into a smile. “And we
are
charging her a lot of money.”

Libby smiled. “Pots of it. And we’re getting three-quarters of it up front or we’re not doing it.”

“Good,” Bernie said. If there was one thing she’d learned over her years of catering it was that the rich didn’t like to settle their bills. “And now for the menu. I think we should start with a liver paté on toast points, some cheese stuff, maybe some bacon and peanut butter on crackers…”

Libby wrinkled her nose.

“Hey, I know they’re not haute cuisine, but dogs and kids like them,” Bernie said a little defensively.

Libby nodded. It was true. They did.

“And then,” Bernie continued, “we move on to steak and potatoes.”

“What about the cake?”

“Something vanilla. Maybe an old-fashioned layer cake, light on the frosting, in the shape of a dog bone?”

Libby pursed her lips. That would do. “Ice cream?”

Bernie thought for a moment. “Probably not. That might be overkill in the sugar and dairy department.”

“This should work,” Libby observed after they’d faxed over the menu.

“Of course it’s going to work,” Bernie said indignantly. “We designed it, didn’t we? Although I’m sure Annabel will have some quibbles.” Bernie bracketed the word
quibbles
with her fingers.

“I’m sure she will,” Bree Nottingham, real estate agent extraordinaire and social arbiter of Longely, said as she swept into the living room with Rudoph, her six-month-old pug puppy, trailing behind her. They were both wearing pink coats and rhinestone collars. “Annabel always has quibbles. Of course, when you have that kind of money you can afford to.”

“It’s not the quibbles I’m worried about,” Libby replied as she pictured six dogs running up and down the table. “It’s everything else.”

“It’ll be an interesting event,” Bree commented as she watched Rudolph sniff the sofa leg. “I just came by to tell you that Rudolph is allergic to chicken, so don’t put chicken on the menu. He’s a sensitive soul, the poor dear.”

Bernie looked down at Rudolph, who was currently trying to dig a hole in the carpet. He didn’t look sensitive to her. He looked like a miniature Sherman tank.

“Interesting in what way?” Bernie asked. She decided to sidestep the whole dog food allergy issue. Bad enough she had to deal with people with food allergies, let alone their canines.

Bree smiled brightly. “In the way that married couples frequently are, dear.”

“And that is?” Libby asked. She’d expected the conversation to go in another direction.

Bernie leaned forward slightly. “Yes. Elucidate for us. Inquiring minds want to know.”

But instead of answering, Bree gave the Simmons’ sister another of her smiles and said, “I’m sure you two will do an excellent job. You always do.” After which she left.
Just like the Grand Duchess
, Bernie thought.

“Now what do you think she meant by that?” Libby asked Bernie as soon as she heard the downstairs door closing.

“I think she means that the Colberts are getting a divorce. Or one of them is having an affair.”

“Seriously?”

Bernie gave her a look. Honestly, sometimes her sister was so naïve. “What else could it be?”

Libby shook her head. “I don’t have a clue. All I know is that whatever it is, it’s none of our business.”

“I suppose,” Bernie said feigning agreement even though she really didn’t believe that, and she didn’t think that Libby believed it either. After all, they’d been raised in a house with a mother who had elevated minding other people’s business into an art form.

“I think we should concentrate on planning,” Libby said.

“I think you’re right,” Bernie agreed.

This was not debatable. They had lots to do and not much time to do it in.