A Catered Mother's Day (19 page)

Chapter 37

B
ruce took a look around, spotted Ryan and Matt, and headed toward them.

“Ethan told me you were here,” he growled.

“You want me to call the cops?” Amber asked.

Bernie shook her head. “It's okay.”

“Are you sure?” Amber asked.

“Yeah,” Bernie told her. “I'm sure.”

Amber looked dubious.

“Seriously,” Bernie reassured her. “I've got this. Everything is under control.”

“Okay,” Amber said. “But Googie and I are out front if you need us.”

Bernie nodded her thanks and told Amber to get back to work. Calling the police would only hype things up, instead of calm things down. Anyway, she was holding Manny's stolen Dell—not something that needed to be called attention to. Amber nodded and left and Bernie turned her attention back to Bruce and his sons.

“That little punk,” Matt was muttering. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he turned to Ryan. “See. I told you we shouldn't have said anything to him. The kid's a total loser.”

“No, he's smart,” Bruce shot back. “You two are the losers.”

Matt snorted. “Yeah. Well, we'll see how smart the little creep is when I—”

“When you do what?” Bruce demanded, interrupting his eldest son's rant.

Matt flushed. “Nothing.”

Bruce took a step forward. “Listen to me carefully. I don't want you saying or doing anything to Ethan because he talked to me,” Bruce warned.

Matt looked at his feet. “I wasn't gonna do nuthin',” he mumbled resentfully.

“You aren't going to do anything and I'm serious about this. Not a threat. Not a noogie. Not a finger on him. No hot sauce in his food. You got me?”

Matt nodded.

“And that goes for you too, Ryan.”

Ryan scuffled his feet. “Yeah. I get it.”

By now Bruce was almost nose to nose with his sons. “I'm dead serious about this. I want both of you to promise me that you'll leave your younger brother alone.”

“Absolutely, dude,” Matt said.

“Do not call me dude,” Bruce said to Matt through clenched teeth.

“Sure. Whatever. How come you're always picking on me?”

“I don't,” Bruce told him.

“Yeah you do. Like now. Why would I do anything to Ethan?”

Bruce wagged a finger under Matt's nose. “I haven't forgotten Ethan and the curfew incident, so don't try and play me,” he warned. “I'm not your mother. Are we clear?”

Matt put his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “Crystal.”

“I hope so.”

Bernie watched Bruce scrutinize Matt's face. She reckoned Bruce must have believed him, because Bruce abruptly switched subjects, asking Matt what he and his brother were doing at the shop. Bernie decided it was time to get involved.

“They returned my laptop to me,” she said, stepping forward.

Bruce scowled. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I asked Ryan to fix it. I had some sort of thing . . .”

“Virus,” Ryan helpfully explained.

“Yes. Virus in it,” Bernie said. “And he got it working again. I was very impressed. You should be proud of your son.”

Bruce glowered. “I'd be prouder of him if he wasn't failing English and social studies and if he managed to get to class on time, so I'd stop getting calls from his school.”

“Dad, you don't have to tell everyone,” Ryan whined.

“If you're that embarrassed do your work and it won't be an issue,” Bruce told him.

“Excuse me,” Bernie said. She nodded at the laptop she was holding. “I'm just going to put this in the office so I don't get flour in it.” Bernie knew it was irrational; there was no way Bruce could know whose laptop she was holding, but she still felt better with the computer away from Bruce's eyes.

“Do whatever you want,” Bruce told Bernie, briefly looking at her before turning his gaze back to his sons. He began to lecture them.

“I've already warned you about getting mixed up in this stuff with your mother,” he said. “I want you to let the police and the lawyers handle this.” He rubbed his head. “I'm at my wit's end as it is. I don't need to worry about you two.”

“Dad,” Matt answered, contriving to look angelic. “That's why we're staying as far away as possible from the situation.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “You've made that really clear about our not getting involved.”

“Good. Because I don't want any misunderstandings on the subject.” Bruce indicated the door to the front of the shop. “Now, I want you two out of here. This is a school day.”

“But, Dad,” Matt protested. “We have plenty of time before the bell.”

Bruce raised his hand. Matt stopped talking. “Do you want to lose your car?”

Matt looked down at the floor. “No,” he mumbled.

“Then get out of here,” Bruce ordered. “And I don't want to see you here again or that car of yours is gone. You can count on it.”

Ryan frowned. “Not even to buy muffins?” he wheedled. “Or brownies? I like the brownies here. I mean since Mom's gone there's nothing to eat in the house. And anyway, these don't come out of a box.”

“Out,” Bruce bellowed.

“I'd appreciate it if you lowered your voices,” Libby told him. “In case you haven't noticed, this is a place of business.” She turned to Matt and Ryan. “Guys,” she said, “ask Amber for some brownies on your way out.”

“And muffins?” Ryan asked hopefully. “Can we have a couple of those too?”

“Yes. And muffins. In fact, you can throw in some cookies too.”

“That's not necessary,” Bruce told her.

“I think it is,” Libby replied. “You should feed them better.” Now that she was looking at Matt and Ryan, she realized how skinny they were. “And get a couple of things for your brother as well,” she added.

“Dad,” Matt said.

Bruce glared at him. “What?”

“When is Mom coming back?”

“I don't know.”

“Because,” Matt said, “I'm saying to you what Ethan said to you before and I said to Mom this morning. If you guys get divorced none of us are going to speak to you again.”

Then he and Ryan marched out of the back room before their dad could reply.

“Wow,” Bernie said. “That's quite the ultimatum.”

“They don't mean it,” Bruce said.

Libby shook her head. “I wouldn't be so sure if I were you.”

Chapter 38

B
ruce waited until his sons were out the door before turning to Libby and Bernie. Then he said, “I told my kids and now I'm spelling it out for you. I don't want my sons here. I don't want them in the shop. I don't want them in your apartment. I don't want them near you. Period. Are we clear on that?”

“And if they do come around?” Bernie asked.

“I'll get a restraining order against you.”

“Don't you think you're going over the top with this?” Libby asked. “That seems a little excessive.”

“I don't think it's excessive.” Bruce glared at her. “I don't think it's excessive at all. I can't deal with any more stuff.” His voice rose. “At the very least, I need to know that my kids are where they ought to be.”

Bernie rebuttoned the top button of her white cotton blouse. “I see.”

“Do you really?” Bruce challenged.

“Yes,” Bernie replied in a soft voice. “I think I do. Can I get you some coffee? You look as if you could use some.”

In truth, Bruce looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed. He had a two-day growth of beard and hair that needed to be combed. There was a small coffee stain on the bottom of his pale blue polo shirt, his khakis were wrinkled, and the jacket he was wearing looked as if it had spent the night rolled up in a ball.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Bruce replied.

“Also, just so you know, you have a spot of toothpaste on your cheek,” Bernie continued, indicating the spot by touching her own cheek.

“I don't care,” Bruce informed her, rubbing the spot vigorously with the side of his hand. “We're not talking about my personal appearance here.”

Bernie shrugged. “Fine. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Don't be,” Bruce told her. “You've done enough of that already.”

Bernie sighed. She was going from guilty to annoyed. “Are you talking about my suggestion to Ellen? I've already explained about that.”

“No. I'm talking about the money you took from my kids. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Bernie stood straighter. “I'm not. On the contrary, I think hiring us makes your kids feel as if they're doing something to help their mom out, which they really need right now. In any case, Ellen asked them to come to us.”

Bruce sawed the air with his right hand. “I don't care what my wife asked them to do. She's a total whack job. The fact that she got them involved in this proves how off her judgment is.”

“Unlike yours,” Bernie asked.

“Meaning what?” Bruce demanded. “I wasn't the one who suggested she kidnap herself.”

“I've already explained that a hundred times. It was a joke. A joke.”

“Well, Ellen didn't take it that way.”

“If I had known she would have taken it seriously, I never would have opened my mouth,” Bernie protested.

“You should think before you speak,” Bruce told her.

Bernie put her hands on her hips. “If we're passing the guilt around, let's talk about you. Let's talk about why Ellen did what she did. You forgot her birthday; you forgot her anniversary. You forgot Mother's Day.”

“We got her a birthday present,” Bruce protested.

“An iron? Seriously?” Bernie said. “All she wanted was some flowers. Hell, she probably would have been satisfied with a card. A hug. A thank-you. Anything. This was her way of asking for attention.”

“Well, she sure got it,” Bruce allowed.

“And how,” Libby agreed. “Although I'm sure this is not the kind of attention she had in mind.”

“Fine,” Bruce said. “But things go both ways. What about me?” he demanded.

“What about you?” Bernie replied.

“You think I wouldn't like a little back rub when I get home or a little homemade goodie instead of a list of complaints. You think I don't have troubles?”

“I never said you didn't,” Bernie said, remembering what Brandon had told her about Bruce's finances.

“My life is falling apart. I'm trying to support my family, and I'm exhausted when I get home,” Bruce snapped. “Forgive me if I forget to ask Ellen how her day is going and I don't want to listen to a detailed recitation of her problems with the washing machine or that the mixer is broken. Forgive me if all I want to do is turn on the TV, have a beer, and watch some mindless junk for an hour before I go to bed.”

“I understand you're tired, I understand you're stressed,” Bernie said quietly. “But really, how much effort would it have taken to pick up the phone and call the florist?”

“I did that in the beginning. I did,” Bruce replied in response to Bernie's skeptical look. “But whatever I did was never good enough. If I got Ellen daisies she wanted roses; if I got her roses she wanted daylilies. And you know what? It still isn't. There's always something wrong. You haven't lived with Ellen. You have no idea how demanding she can be.”

“I agree she can be a little bit needy,” Bernie responded. What else could she say? It was true.

“A little. Ha. That's a laugh.”

Libby was about to say something when the kitchen timer went off. She hurried over to the oven and peeked in. Then she lightly pressed the top of one of the muffins. It didn't spring back. Libby estimated that they had ten more minutes to go. She closed the oven door and reset the timer.

“So did you know about Ellen's plan?” Libby asked, fishing.

“How would I know?” Bruce demanded.

Libby shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe you heard about it.”

“From who?”

“Possibly Manny,” Libby said.

“Why would Ellen tell him?” Bruce asked.

“Because they were friends,” Libby suggested.

Bruce laughed. “Well, that's not the impression I got from Manny. I mean honestly, I don't think they talked much.”

“How come you think that?” Bernie asked, trying to keep her face expressionless. Talk about being clueless.

“Because he told me,” Bruce said.

“You were friends?” Libby asked.

“We played squash together, so we talked the way that guys do.”

“Squash?” Bernie repeated, genuinely surprised. Somehow, she couldn't see either Manny or Bruce playing that game.

“That's right,” Bruce replied. “Why? Do you have a problem with that too?”

“No. Not at all,” Bernie said hastily. “It's just that you guys don't seem like the squash types.”

“And what type is that?” Bruce inquired.

“Easy. Rich, white, and privileged.”

Despite himself, Bruce smiled. “Maybe that's true in other places but not at the Longely Y.”

“But why squash?” Libby asked.

“It's good for losing weight.” Bruce patted his belly unconsciously. “So we played once, sometimes twice a week.”

“And did it work?” Libby inquired. She was always trying to lose twenty pounds.

“Yeah,” Bruce answered. “It did. Manny lost about twenty pounds and I lost seven.”

“Not bad,” Libby allowed, picturing herself fitting into her old jeans. Then she remembered she was allergic to exercise.

“Did Manny have any friends there? Any enemies?” Bernie asked, bringing the conversation back to the investigation into Manny's death. “Did he play with anyone else?”

“Not that I know about,” Bruce answered. “He came as my guest. Usually we played a couple of games and left. But occasionally Manny stayed behind. As to friends and enemies, not really. He pretty much kept to himself.”

“Did he talk to anyone in the locker room?” Libby asked.

“He didn't change in the locker room. He had his shorts on when he came. So did I, for that matter. Easier that way.”

“And you never saw him speak to anyone when you were both there?” Libby inquired.

“Not really.”

Libby cocked her head. “No one?”

Bruce scratched behind his ear. “Well, there was this woman. Sometimes he exchanged a few words with her.”

“Does she have a name?” Libby asked.

“I think it was Sandy or Sandra. Something like that. I could be mistaken though.”

Bernie and Libby exchanged looks.

“Was she thin and muscular with blond hair that looked like straw?” Bernie asked. “Very tan?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “That's her. How did you know?”

“A lucky guess,” Bernie said, thinking back to the interaction between Sandra and Jeremy at the Roost. She took a step forward. “Maybe you can help me understand something about Ellen,” she said, switching the subject.

Bruce let out a mirthless laugh. “Then you've come to the wrong department, that's for sure.”

“Do you have any idea why Ellen pretended she didn't know who Manny was?”

“Well, she told me she was scared and I believe it. Hell, if it was me I probably would have done the same thing,” Bruce allowed.

Libby folded her arms across her chest. “Okay. I understand Ellen's reason for not identifying Manny, but what was yours? Did you want to help your wife out? Or was it something else?”

“That's simple,” Bruce replied. “I never saw him lying on the bed in the motel.”

Bernie lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. “Say what?”

“No. It's true,” Bruce insisted.

“I think my sister and I are having a hard time believing that,” Libby told him. “You were there.” She rubbed her upper arms. “Remember? Because I certainly do.”

Bruce look abashed. “Sorry about grabbing you like that, but the cops and I had just gotten to the motel when you blundered out of the woods.”

“You didn't have to dig your fingers in like that.”

Bruce apologized again. “It's just that everything happened so fast,” he explained. “The police got me while I was pulling up my driveway and told me that there was an incident involving Ellen. Then they drove me over to the motel. There was a squad car there already and I had just gotten out of the one I was riding in and was heading toward Ellen, when we heard something moving around in the woods.”

“Me,” Libby declared.

“Yeah, you,” Bruce said. “Unfortunately.” He scratched underneath his collar. “You're lucky Henderson didn't shoot you. I think he would have—he had his service weapon out—but I rushed out to grab you before he could. I guess everyone was really jacked because of the homicide. I never set foot in the motel room because I was too busy dealing with Ellen, and no one ever came around and showed me Manny's picture.”

“So,” Libby said after mulling over Bruce's replies for a moment, “you're telling me you didn't call the police?”

Bruce threw his hands up in the air. “Why should I have? I didn't even know there was a note. I never got into the house to read it. I gave it to the police later.”

“So who alerted them, if you didn't?” Bernie asked. She could see Amber signaling her from the doorway. Bernie nodded and held out five fingers, signifying that she'd be out front in five more minutes. Amber nodded and left.

Bruce shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Do you think Ellen killed Manny?” Libby abruptly asked Bruce.

Bruce slicked back his hair with the palm of his hand and swallowed. His eyes roved around the kitchen. Finally they came to rest on Libby. “Frankly, I don't know what to think anymore,” he confessed. “All I do know is that I can't deal with this. I really can't. Not on top of everything else that's going on. And for what it's worth,” he continued, the words spilling out, “you're probably not going to believe this, but I love my wife. I do. She just drives me nuts. You know how some people bring out the best in you?”

Bernie nodded.

“Well, Ellen brings out the worst.”

“Maybe you guys need counseling,” Bernie gently suggested.

“Well, we sure as hell need something,” Bruce said. He gave a rueful shake of his head. “About my kids.”

“Yes?” Bernie said.

“I'm trying to protect them.”

“I respect that,” Bernie told him, “but I don't think this is the way to do it.”

“Maybe,” Bruce said. Then he turned around and walked out of the kitchen.

“Do you think Bruce is telling the truth?” Libby asked Bernie after Bruce had left.

“Yeah, I do,” Bernie replied.

“Tell me,” Libby said. “I'm curious. Why didn't you ask Bruce about Ellen and Manny?”

Bernie thought about her answer for a moment. Then she said, “I guess I didn't want to make the situation worse than it already is.”

“Last question,” Libby said “So if Bruce didn't call the cops, who did?”

“I think I can make a pretty good guess on that,” Bernie said as she went to talk to Amber, while Libby went to check on the raspberry muffins. They were perfect.