A Catered Mother's Day (11 page)

Chapter 21

S
ean looked at Cindy and Cindy looked at Sean.

“Why is she here?” he asked.

Libby explained.

Sean leaned forward. “Clara Randall is dead?”

Bernie nodded. “She either fell or was hit over the head. Given the circumstances, Libby and I are going with getting hit over the head.”

Sean sighed. “It must have been quite a blow. I thought she was too mean to die.”

“Evidently not,” Bernie said as the cat jumped into Sean's lap, curled up, and closed her eyes.

“Make yourself at home, why don't you?” Sean said to Cindy.

Cindy opened her eyes for a minute and closed them again.

“She likes you, Dad,” Bernie said.

Sean looked decidedly unthrilled.

“Dad, she's just here till we find her a new home,” Libby said hastily. “She'll help with the mouse problem.”

“We don't have a mouse problem,” Sean said, giving Cindy a tentative pat on the back. “I guess we can all manage for a while, the key concept here being
a while
.” Then he changed the subject. “Was there a weapon?” he asked, getting back to Clara Randall's death.

“Not that Bernie or I saw,” Libby replied. “I figure someone pushed her, she hit her head on the bedpost, and it was bye-bye, Clara, off to the promised land.”

“She could have just gotten dizzy and fallen,” Sean said.

“She could have,” Bernie agreed, “but the door was open.”

“Did the lock give any evidence of being jimmied?” Sean asked.

Bernie and Libby exchanged glances. They hadn't looked. Libby closed her eyes and thought back.

“I don't think so,” she said when she opened them. “At least there was nothing there that caught my attention.”

“Meaning either Clara Randall left the door open, which is unlikely, or whoever did this had a key.” Sean gave the cat another pat.

“They could have gotten the key from Manny,” Bernie suggested. “I'm sure he had one since he was staying there.”

Sean steepled his fingers together. “Could it have been a robbery?”

Bernie replied. “I guess it could have been, but it sure didn't look that way to me. If it was, whoever did it knew exactly where what they wanted was. There was nothing out of place down- or upstairs.”

“And you said Manny was living there?” Sean asked.

“His stuff was there,” Bernie said. She got up, took out the Arf T-shirt, and showed it to her dad. “He had this in his room, plus a book of order forms and receipts with Arf printed at the top.”

Sean scratched his chin. “Did you find anything else?”

“Not really. A couple of chess books, some clothing. It didn't look as if Manny had much in the way of possessions. We did find his laptop, but we didn't find his wallet or his phone. I figure someone took them.”

“That's a good guess,” Sean said. “The question is whether they took those items because there was something that pointed to the killer's identity or did they take them to sell or for their own use?” He was about to add something else when his cell rang. The cat startled. As Sean leaned over and picked it up off the table next to him, Cindy jumped off his lap, onto the floor, then onto the arm of the sofa.

Bernie and Libby watched while their dad nodded his head and said, “Yeah, you don't say,” and “Interesting.”

“Well?” Libby said after Sean had hung up. “What's going on? What's so interesting?”

“That was Clyde,” Sean said. “He thought we'd want to know. According to the ME, it seems as if our friend Manny Roget had spent some time in a cold room, a very cold room, before he ended up on the bed in the motel. At least that's what a preliminary autopsy indicates.”

“So what's the timeline?” Bernie asked.

“The ME is saying probably within the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” Sean said.

“That's a fairly wide time frame,” Bernie noted as Cindy yawned, jumped off the sofa and back on Sean's lap, where she circled around three times and lay back down.

“She really does like you,” Libby observed.

Sean frowned. “Well, I hope she's not going to get too comfortable, because she's not going to be here that long.” Nevertheless he began petting her.

Bernie tried not to smile. Instead she bent over and started massaging her ankle. Even though the swelling was going down, it still felt better when she had it propped up. “So,” she hypothesized, “first Manny gets killed, and then whoever does that takes his keys and goes to Clara Randall's house to find something. He lets himself in, closing the door behind him, and goes up the stairs. Clara is just coming out of the bathroom and she sees him and screams, and this person goes in, and either accidentally or on purpose pushes her and she hits her head on the bedpost and dies.”

“That's certainly a plausible scenario,” Sean commented. “Clara as collateral damage. I wonder what he was looking for.”

“If what I'm saying is true,” Bernie said.

“There is that,” Sean agreed.

He gazed out the window. It was still pouring. The streets were empty, except for a few people running for cover. The streetlights were coming on and they reflected on the pavement. A gust of wind whipped the branches of the ash tree in front of the shop. Hopefully, the storm would blow through in another hour or so.

“I don't suppose you'd like to go out,” Sean asked Cindy.

She didn't bother replying.

“Just like a woman,” he said, and petted her some more. Cindy began to purr. It was a deep purr that filled the house. “You know what I would do,” Sean said after another minute had gone by. “I would talk to Ellen and see who else she told her plan to.”

“That's what we were planning to do, Dad,” Libby said. “But first we have to find her.”

“Ask her husband,” Sean suggested.

“We did,” Bernie said. “He says she's out doing an errand.”

“What kind of errand?”

Bernie shook her head. “He won't tell me or he doesn't know, and even if he did know he won't tell me. I'm not on his good side at the moment. He blames me for what happened.”

“They don't have a good marriage, do they?” Sean commented.

Bernie snorted. “That's putting it mildly,” she said.

“Bruce Hadley.” Sean said the name slowly. “I heard something about him recently. I just can't remember what it was.”

“Maybe Clyde would know,” Libby suggested.

“Maybe,” Sean said, and reached for the phone to call him at home. This time the cat didn't move. “He doesn't,” he informed his daughters after he'd spoken to him.

“Maybe Brandon does,” Bernie suggested, ringing him up. The call went to voice mail but he called her back five minutes later.

Bernie could hear voices intermingled with the sound of the TV and the clinking of glasses in the background. “Busy night?” she asked.

“Busier than I would expect considering that it's a weekday,” Brandon answered. “So what's up, Tiger Lily?”

Bernie gave him the condensed version.

“Bruce Hadley, hunh?” Brandon said. “Yeah, he's in some deep doo-doo.” And he told Bernie what he knew.

“So what did he say?” Libby asked Bernie after Brandon had hung up.

Bernie sneezed. She hoped the zinc worked and nipped the cold in the bud. “Evidently Bruce's business is in trouble,” she replied. “He's behind on his state and federal taxes as well as being three months behind on the taxes for his apartment building. The county is about to sell it to the Land Trust.”

“No wonder he hasn't been paying any attention to Ellen,” Libby observed. “I'd say he's been a little preoccupied.”

Bernie shifted her position. “I wonder if Ellen knows. Somehow, I'm guessing not.”

“How could she not?” Libby demanded.

“Maybe because Bruce hasn't told her,” Bernie replied.

“More to the point, how does Brandon know?” Sean asked, interrupting.

“The way he always knows everything,” Bernie replied. “He overheard it. Bruce's partner was in RJ's for a drink last week. Brandon heard him talking to one of his friends.”

Sean continued to pet Cindy. “It's interesting information ; in fact it might help rule him out.”

“How so?” Libby asked. “I'd think the opposite.”

Sean paused for a moment to organize his thoughts, then started talking. “According to Brandon, Bruce needs money, agreed?”

Libby and Bernie nodded. “Agreed,” they chorused.

“So in that case it would behoove him to take out a big insurance policy on Ellen and kill her and collect the money—theoretically speaking.”

“He could have. We don't know that he hasn't,” Bernie pointed out.

“That's true,” Sean said, “we don't. But Ellen isn't dead, Manny Roget is, and Ellen is being framed for the murder. She's on the verge of expanding her business, so having her arrested is not going to be in Bruce's interest. In fact, just the opposite is true. If Ellen goes to jail the family loses a second income stream, not to mention the attendant legal fees.”

“I can see why Bruce is so pissed,” Bernie allowed.

The cat got up, stretched, turned around, lay back down on Sean's lap, and began butting her head against his hand. Sean absentmindedly rubbed the tips of her ears as he continued speaking. “It seems to me we have two questions here. The first is, who benefits from Manny Roget's death? And the second is, was Ellen selected as the fall guy or was this happenstance?

“Did someone just happen to see your friend leaving the motel and think, oh there's a good place to park a body? I would say the probability of that happening is fairly low. All things being equal, we might want to start with Manny. Why did he come back? More importantly, why did Ellen pretend she didn't know who he was?”

Sean shook his finger at Bernie and Libby. “If you ask me, that's the crux of the matter. Answer that and you'll have the answers to everything.”

Then, before Sean could say anything else, the downstairs door opened and shut and footsteps came thundering up the stairs. Cindy jumped off Sean's lap, scampered into Bernie's bedroom, and hid under the bed.

“Who's that?” Sean demanded as Matt and Ryan Hadley came bursting through the door.

They were both soaked to the skin.

“We found something,” Matt cried, shaking the water out of his hair like a puppy dog.

“Yeah,” Ryan added. “You gotta see this.”

“This had better be good,” Bernie said, pointing to the clock on the wall. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“We do now,” Ryan chirped.

Chapter 22

“Y
ou're not helping your cause,” Sean growled.

“But . . .” Ryan began.

Sean glared at him and Ryan stopped talking and looked down at the floor.

“Do you not believe in knocking?” Sean asked him. “Calling would be even better. Do you just barge into people's houses whenever you feel like it? You should be glad I didn't shoot you!”

“Sorry.” Matt looked sheepish.

“Me too,” Ryan said.

Matt wiped drops of rain off his face with his forearm. “It's just that this is important.”

“It really is,” Ryan said, backing his brother up. “It couldn't wait.”

“At least pull your shorts up,” Sean instructed. “They're down around your knees.”

Ryan scowled, but he did what Sean asked.

Libby got up, went to the bathroom, got two towels, and offered them to the boys. “Here,” she said. “Dry yourselves off. Now, what's this all about?” she asked when they were done.

“We found something,” Matt repeated. “Something important.”

“And what would that be?” Sean asked skeptically.

“It's in these e-mails. Lisa, my mom's partner, is telling her something bad is going to happen if she doesn't go along with the deal. That's important, right?”

“It could be,” Sean conceded.

Matt unzipped the backpack he was carrying, took out a sheaf of papers, walked over, and handed them to Bernie. “I figure that Lisa killed that guy and tried to pin it on my mom. Just read these and you'll see why I'm saying that.”

“You will,” Ryan said. “For sure. No question about it.”

Bernie looked at the papers in her hand. As far as she could tell they were printouts of Ellen Hadley's e-mail correspondence. “How did you get these?” she asked Matt.

Matt and Ryan looked at each other and shrugged.

“Seriously,” Bernie said.

“It was easy,” Matt replied. “We just logged in and printed them out.”

“So your mom's account isn't password protected?” Libby asked.

“No. Yes.” Matt and Ryan spoke simultaneously.

“Which is it?” Bernie asked them.

“It isn't,” Matt said.

Bernie looked at Ryan. “Is it?” she inquired.

Ryan bit his lip. He looked down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“That's what I thought,” Bernie said. “So you hacked in? Answer me,” she demanded when Ryan didn't reply.

“More or less,” Ryan conceded.

Libby leaned forward. “Is it more or less?”

“More,” Ryan conceded.

“Are we in trouble?” Matt asked. “Are you going to tell our mom?”

“No, on both counts,” Bernie said, the answer coming out without her thinking about it. As far as she was concerned, that was the least of Ellen's problems at the moment. “So which one of you did it?”

Ryan and Matt exchanged more glances.

Ryan raised his hand. “I did.”

“Are you good?” Bernie asked.

A small smile played around the corners of Ryan's mouth. “Very,” he said proudly.

“Bernie,” Libby cried. She saw where this was going.

Bernie ignored her and focused her attention on Ryan.

“Why do you want to know?” Ryan asked.

Bernie shrugged. “Just curious.”

Ryan yanked up his shorts again. “I can get into pretty much anything.”

Bernie smiled. “Good to know. The way things are going, we may need your services.”

“Seriously?” Matt asked.

“I was kidding,” Bernie said.

“No you weren't,” Ryan replied.

“You're right. I wasn't,” Bernie said.

“Sweet,” Ryan said, beaming.

“Excellent,” Matt replied. “You know we'd do anything for Mom.”

“You should probably tell her that,” Bernie said.

“Bernie,” Libby repeated, more loudly this time.

This time Bernie turned and faced her sister. “Why not?” she said to Libby. “I figure we can use all the help we can get.”

It was not a statement Libby could dispute.

Matt interrupted. “Excuse me.”

Both Bernie and Libby looked at him. He shuffled his feet.

“I don't mean to be rude or anything,” he said.

“But?” Libby asked.

“I was just wondering if you had any more of that stuff you gave us the last time. It was so good.”

“Stuff?” Bernie asked.

“Food.”

Libby grinned. “I think we can find something for you guys. Do you want brownies, blondies, or lemon squares?”

“We'll take whatever you want to give us,” Matt said.

“Everything my mom bakes tastes like dog biscuits,” Ryan said as Libby got up. “And Dad made this awful spaghetti with green globs in it for dinner. It was disgusting. Nobody could eat it, not even Dad.”

“You mean pesto?” Bernie asked.

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “What's wrong with mac 'n cheese?”

Bernie chuckled as she watched them go out the door. She could hear them on the stairs as she called Ellen. Ellen didn't pick up. She texted her. No response. Ellen was certainly back by now.

“Answer,” she muttered under her breath before she left her a message. She was beginning to get seriously annoyed. And worried. Bernie just hoped that Ellen hadn't done anything stupid, or stupider, than she already had.

 

Bernie and Sean were reading through Ellen Hadley's e-mails to Lisa when Libby came up twenty minutes later bearing a pitcher of iced mint tea made with real mint, a plate of thin-sliced chocolate chip banana bread, plus a saucer of milk for Cindy.

“What did you give the kids?” Bernie asked as Libby set the tray down on the coffee table and put the saucer on the floor. Cindy emerged from the bedroom, ran over, and started drinking. Evidently she'd forgiven the boys' interruption.

“I boxed up eight brownies, three lemon squares, and the five blondies we had left from this morning. I told them to save some for Ethan, but I'm betting they'll be gone before they get home.”

Bernie thought of what they'd eaten when they'd come over the last time. “I'd say that's a good bet,” she agreed, while Libby poured everyone a glass of tea and passed around the banana bread.

“So what did you find?” Libby asked after she sat down.

Sean took a sip of his tea, then put it down on the side table. “Let me just say that I think the boys have exaggerated somewhat.” He held out the sheaf of papers to Libby. “Here—take a look.”

Libby took them and began reading. The e-mails went from Ellen saying she didn't think that renting another work space was such a good idea, to her saying she'd be damned if she was going to be run out of her own business. For her part, Lisa said she wasn't going to be held back by someone like Ellen and it was her business as much as Ellen's, a fact that Ellen disagreed with in no uncertain terms.

Lisa responded with
STOP LISTENING TO YOUR HUSBAND. HE'S DEAD WEIGHT
.

Ellen wrote back
WHAT ABOUT YOURS?

The last three e-mails had been in capital letters.

“Hardly a basis to say that Lisa is our killer,” Libby said. “Besides”—she closed her eyes, trying to picture Lisa Stone—“isn't she a little wisp of a thing?”

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “If she weighs a hundred pounds she weighs a lot. But look at the fifth e-mail in. The one that begins ‘I see no need . . .' ”

Libby found it and read it. “ ‘Lisa, I see no need to hire anyone to sell our products. I think we can do that ourselves. '” She put the paper back. “Manny? Is that who you think she's referring to?”

“I'm thinking yes.”

Libby checked the date on the e-mail. It was six months ago. “So Lisa was the one who hired him, not Ellen?”

“So it would seem from the e-mails,” Bernie said. “But that still doesn't mean Ellen didn't know who it was when she saw Manny lying on the bed.”

Libby waved her hand around. “Of course she did. Even if she didn't recognize him from back in the day, even if she knew him by a different name, she had to have known who he was. He was delivering orders for them, for heaven's sake. At least, that's what it says here,” and she nodded at the papers Matt had given her.

Bernie searched for her phone and called Ellen again. The phone rang for a while before it went to voice mail. “Call me,” Bernie said. “Call me whenever you get this message.” Then she hung up.

“Maybe she really doesn't want to talk to you,” Libby observed.

“I guess not,” Bernie said. “She's probably too upset.”

“Either that or she needs time to come up with a really good explanation.”

Bernie sighed. She was thinking it, but she wasn't going to say it. “We should talk to Lisa Stone,” she said instead.

“Yes, we should,” Sean agreed. “What do we know about her anyway?”

Libby thought for a moment. Then she said, “We know that she never comes into the shop.”

“Besides that,” Sean said.

“We know that she's rich. Or rather that her husband is,” Bernie added.

“And that they moved back here from the city about five . . .”

“Ten,” Bernie corrected.

“Fine, ten years ago to be with Lisa's mom.”

Sean snapped his fingers. “Mindy Wood. She died in a car accident. A hit-and-run. They never found out who did it.”

“I remember it being very sad,” said Bernie. She had a vague recollection of the event. “We also know that the Stones have two young children.”

“What does the husband do?” Sean asked.

“Jeremy? I heard he's in real estate,” Bernie replied. “Though I'm not really sure exactly what he does in it. I know Lisa used to do some sort of public relations stuff for one of the big firms in the city.”

“Are Lisa and Ellen good friends?” Sean asked.

“Wrong tense. They were before they went into business with each other,” Bernie answered.

Sean grunted. “Not an unusual situation.”

“Maybe she knows where Ellen is,” Bernie said.

“Ellen will be in touch,” Libby reassured her.

“I know,” Bernie replied. “I just hope she hasn't done anything else stupid.”

“Like what?” Libby asked.

Bernie shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know. She's just so impulsive.”

“She'll be fine,” Libby said.

“Probably,” Bernie replied, hoping that what her sister was saying was true.

Bernie's nervousness morphed into restlessness. She began tapping her fingers on her leg. She wanted to call Lisa, but she didn't have her phone number, or her husband's for that matter, and there was no listed house number. Not that she was surprised. Landlines were becoming a thing of the past.

She turned to Libby. “How about going for a ride?” she asked.

“Now?” Libby's voice rose. She was ready to go to bed.

“Of course now. Don't you want to hear what Lisa has to say?”

“I do—tomorrow. She's probably getting ready to go to sleep. Like all sensible people,” Libby couldn't resist adding. “Anyway, this isn't about Lisa, is it? It's about Ellen. I thought we agreed she's going to be fine.”

Bernie made a face. “We did, but I'd just like to make sure she's okay. It's not like Ellen to be out of touch like this.”

“Maybe the police have finally picked her up,” Libby suggested.

“Clyde would have let us know,” Bernie countered.

“Then maybe she lost her phone. Or it lost power. Or how's this? Maybe she just doesn't want to talk to you right now.”

Sean leaned forward. “Bernie, if you're really that concerned, I can take you,” he said.

Libby looked from her sister to her dad and back again. No way was her father driving at night in the rain. “I'll go,” she grumbled. “But I think it's going to be a waste of time.”

As it turned out, Libby was right. They drove by Ellen's house, the Riverview, RJ's, and Lisa's house for good measure, as well as Skylar Park, but they didn't spot Ellen's car anywhere.
But at least we tried
, Bernie reasoned as they drove home with the raindrops pelting the windshield and the wind tossing the magnolia blossoms onto the ground.