A Catered Mother's Day (6 page)

Chapter 11

H
alf an hour later, everyone was settled upstairs in the Simmons's flat drinking iced Mexican hot chocolate and eating day old cinnamon rolls, strawberry muffins with peach butter, and peanut butter and chocolate chip scones.

Ethan nodded toward the plastic bag in the middle of the table. “You can count the money if you want to.”

“No need. It'll be fine,” Sean assured him, now that he'd calmed down and gotten over his initial annoyance. After all, he reasoned, he and his daughters had intended to look into what had happened at the motel anyway—if only to satisfy their own curiosity.

“It's all there,” Ryan said. “I swear.”

Sean raised his hand. “I believe you.”

Matt resettled his baseball hat on his head. “So you'll help our mom?”

“If we can,” Bernie interjected.

Ryan ran his hand through his hair. “She's in deep doo-doo.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Sean said.

Ryan spread his hands apart palms up “So what do we do now?” he asked.

Sean leaned back in his armchair. “I always find it helps to start at the beginning.”

The three boys nodded and sat up straighter, waiting for Sean's next question.

“Now, you said your mother is home. Is that correct?” Sean asked.

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. She and my dad walked in together. He looked really, really pissed and she was crying.”

As Sean took a sip of his iced chocolate, he reflected that he loved the cinnamon in it and the slight taste of almond. “What time was this?”

“Around ten. Maybe ten-thirty,” Matt said. “I'm not sure.”

Sean made a mental note to call Clyde later and ask him what the police were thinking of this whole fiasco.

Matt continued. “I'd just gotten back home from picking up my two idiot brothers at the movies when my dad walked in the door with my mom. They were both acting weird.”

“Did either of your parents say anything to you about what had happened or about where they'd been?” Sean asked the boys.

“Kinda,” Ethan responded. “Mom told us she'd made a mistake.”

“Now there's an understatement if ever I heard one,” Libby said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Sorry,” she amended, catching sight of Ethan's quivering lips. “That came out wrong.” She handed Ethan another muffin to atone for her faux pas.

“Did your dad say anything at that time?” Sean asked.

Matt answered. “Yeah. He told us to go to our rooms and not come out until he said to.”

“And did you?” Libby asked as she held out the plate of cinnamon rolls. Ryan and Matt each took one. Libby couldn't imagine what it would take to feed these guys everyday as she watched the rolls disappearing into the boys' mouths.

“Well, yeah,” Ryan said.

“Could you hear what they were saying?” Sean asked.

The three boys looked at each other and shook their heads.

“I was listening to my music,” Ryan explained.

“Me too,” Matt agreed.

Sean looked at Ethan.

“The same. I was playing Halo.”

Sean frowned. “Halo?” he asked. “What's that?” The kid certainly didn't look angelic.

“It's a video game,” Ethan explained, surprised. Even his mom and dad knew what Halo was.

“Weren't you curious about what happened?” Bernie asked. She knew that in a similar situation she and Libby would have had their ears pressed up against the door.

Ethan shrugged. “I figured it was just the usual.”

Bernie wrinkled up her forehead. “The usual?”

“Fighting,” Ryan said. “We always put our headphones on when they fight,” he added by way of explanation.

“They do that a lot?” Sean asked.

“Yes,” the three boys said together.

“Definitely,” Matt amplified. “Especially since Mom started her dog biscuit business. They're always fighting about that.”

Bernie leaned forward. “What are the fights about?”

Matt looked glum. “About the way the house looks and how the laundry's not done. You know, stuff like that.”

“And then we heard them later too,” Ryan added.

“Later?” Sean asked.

“Like three in the morning,” Ryan explained. “Or two. Something like that.” He looked at his brothers for confirmation and they nodded. “They were yelling at one another. I mean really loudly.”

“They woke me up,” Ethan said.

“Which is saying a lot,” Ryan said, “because Ethan can sleep through anything. He once slept through the firemen putting a fire out in our garage.”

“Did not.”

“You so did.”

As Sean finished off the last of his muffin, he reflected that if he stopped eating his daughter's baking he'd probably lose twenty pounds. “What were they saying, Ryan?”

“Dad was screaming that this was the stupidest stunt my mom had pulled in a long line of stupid stunts, and that it was time she faced the music, and they didn't have money to mount a reasonable defense, and that if she ended up in court she'd have to go with a court-appointed one, and whatever happened to her was fine with him because he was tired of her nonsense, and Mom was crying and saying she knew she shouldn't have done what she did, but she was desperate. Then she said that she didn't have anything to do with what happened in the motel and Dad said he didn't believe her. It was really, really bad.” Ryan looked down at his hands and stopped talking.

Matt took up the tale. “So I went into the living room and asked what was going on, and Dad screamed at me to go to sleep and Mom told me again to talk to you guys like soon, and then she ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.”

“So what happened at the Riverview?” Ryan asked. He reached up and began to twirl a strand of blond hair around one of his fingers.

“You don't know?” Sean said.

“Not really,” Matt answered. “Was there like a dead body? There was, wasn't there?” he said, looking at Sean's, Bernie's, and Libby's faces.

“Yeah, there was,” Bernie replied.

Ethan leaned forward. “Did you see it?” he asked eagerly.

“I did,” Bernie said.

The three boys leaned forward expectantly. They reminded Sean of baby birds waiting to be fed.

“You might as well tell them,” he said to Bernie. “They're going to find out anyway.”

So Bernie did. She took a deep breath and filled Ellen's sons in on the previous evening's events. She'd expected shock. She'd expected horror. That's not what she got.

“Wow. A body,” Matt cried as he grabbed another muffin and devoured it. “That's illin'.”

Sean looked at him.

“Rad,” Matt translated.

Sean gave up.

“I wonder how he got there.”

“So does everyone,” Sean said dryly.

“Maybe he was a bum or something,” Matt suggested. “And the door was like opened and he just wandered in.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, enthusiastically taking up the tale. “Exactly. Like he was almost dead and looking for a place to lie down and die.”

“Kinda like Goldilocks, only worse,” Bernie suggested.

Ryan pointed his finger at her. “Good one.”

Ethan frowned as he realized something. “Do the police think my mom had something to do with it?”

“That seems to be the general consensus,” Sean remarked.

Matt wiped his hands on his T-shirt. “That's totally lame. Anyone who knows my mom knows that. She captures mice in these live animal traps and takes them outside. It drives my dad crazy. She's never even spanked us.”

Ryan nodded. “And believe me, I deserve to get my butt kicked.”

“She spanked me once,” Ethan piped up.

“That was because you almost set the house on fire,” Ryan said. “He's a real pyro.”

“Am not,” Ethan cried.

“Are too,” Ryan said. “You keep on stealing matches.”

“That's because I don't want you to smoke.”

“Your brother is right,” Sean said. “It's a bad habit.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow. “Really, Dad?”

“Yes, really,” Sean said, not even looking a tiny bit abashed. “When Ryan gets to my age he can do what he wants.”

Libby clapped her hands. She glanced at the clock. Her prep time was slipping away. “Can we get back to business, please?”

Ryan slid down in his seat and looked contrite. Sean did not.

He took another sip of his iced chocolate. “Is your mother still home?” he asked.

“Why wouldn't she be, Mr. Simmons?” Ryan demanded.

“They're not going to arrest her or anything, are they?” Ethan asked, alarm in his voice. “You can make sure that doesn't happen, right?”

“We'll try,” Sean said, torn between the desire to reassure and the need to be truthful.

“She was home when we left,” Matt said. “She hadn't come out of the bathroom yet.”

“And your dad?”

“He's gone,” Matt said. “He told Mom he couldn't stand living in a lunatic asylum anymore and took off.”

“Do you know where he went?” Libby asked.

“He usually goes down to the park by the river,” Ethan volunteered. “He says looking at the water calms him down.”

“We should talk to him,” Bernie said. “We should talk to them both.”

“We should,” Libby agreed.

Ethan finished off his iced chocolate. “You're going to take our case, right?” he asked Sean, Bernie, and Libby, searching their faces. His eyes began misting over. “Please,” he begged. “You gotta.”

“We will,” Sean said, answering for his daughters.

Ryan laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “So what happens now?”

“Now we talk to people and see what we can find out,” Bernie said.

“Like who?” Ethan inquired.

“What do you mean?” Bernie asked.

“I mean who are you going to talk to?” Ethan replied.

“Your mom's friends, your dad, your mom's business partners.”

“Can we help?” Ryan said eagerly. “I mean, we know everyone.”

Bernie rubbed her ankle and smiled. “If we need you, we'll let you know.”

Ryan nodded. “Because that would be pretty cool, being involved in a murder investigation.”

“What about the dead guy?” Ethan asked.

“What about him?” Sean said.

“How are you going to find out who he is, Mr. Simmons ?”

“The police will probably know, Ethan.”

“And if they don't?” asked Matt.

Bernie answered. “I'm sure they will, and if they don't, I guess we'll show his picture around.”

Ethan leaned forward. His eyes were wide. “You have his picture?”

“On my phone,” Bernie said.

“That is so cool. Can I see it?” Matt said.

“Bernie, you didn't tell me you have a picture,” Sean said.

“I forgot, Dad.”

Sean raised his voice. One didn't forget things like that. He would have dismissed one of his men if they had done something like that. “Forgot?”

Bernie bit her lower lip. She was sorry she'd said anything. “There was just too much going on.”

“Let us see,” Ryan begged.

“I don't think that's appropriate,” Bernie said.

“Let them have a look,” Sean said. He didn't add, “and me too.” “Maybe they know who it is.”

Bernie made a face. “I don't know what Ellen would say.”

“She asked for our help, didn't she?”

“I guess you've got a point there, Dad.” And Bernie asked Libby to hand her her phone. She clicked it on and went to the photos. She'd taken four snaps from different angles. The three boys gathered around her to take a look.

“Wow,” Ryan said. “I can't believe it. That's Manny.”

“Manny?” Libby asked.

Sean looked at the photo. He didn't recognize him. “So who is this Manny?” he asked Ellen Hadley's sons.

“I don't know. I've seen him in my mom's business partner's vehicle a couple of times,” Matt said.

“Lisa?” Libby asked.

The three boys nodded.

“Dad doesn't like her very much,” Ethan volunteered. “He says Mrs. Stone's a home wrecker.”

“No, he didn't,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, he did,” Ethan retorted. “I heard him saying that to Mom.”

“When?” Ryan demanded.

Bernie interrupted before Ethan could answer. “Does the guy in the photo have a last name?” she asked.

“I guess,” Ryan replied. “I mean everyone does, right? Except for maybe Prince. And Cher.”

“So do you know it?” Libby asked.

Ryan shook his head. “Not really.”

“Me either,” Matt said.

“Me three,” Ethan said. “I think maybe it starts with an
R
. Or a
B
. Something like that. Actually, I'm not really sure.”

Libby looked at Bernie's and her dad's expressions. She could tell they were thinking the same thing she was. Did Ellen know who the dead guy was after all? Had she been lying about that as well? And if she was, why was she?

Chapter 12

T
he rest of the morning went pretty much as Libby thought it would. Once they'd shooed the Hadley boys out the door, she, Bernie, and her dad went downstairs to finish prepping for the day. Bernie sat on a stool with her leg propped up and rolled out the croissants and iced sugar cookies, while Sean restocked the cooler, reconciled the register, tied up the cartons for recycling, and did the dishes in the sink. For her part, Libby dealt with the oranges, the strata, and the rest of the food they were serving.

By nine-thirty a scrum of men and children waiting for A Little Taste of Heaven to open had formed. Libby took one look and sent Amber out with coffee for the men and milk and chocolate chip cookies for the kids. At the dot of ten, Amber opened the doors and everyone rushed in. It was mayhem for the next two hours, Libby pressing her dad into service at the register. By twelve-thirty they'd pretty much sold out of everything they had in the shop and the next half hour after that was dead except for a few stragglers. At one o'clock, Bernie sent Googie and Amber home and locked the door.

After finishing cleaning up, Libby and Bernie closed A Little Taste of Heaven for the rest of the day and they and their father drove over to the cemetery to visit their mom, Rose, a ritual they'd been observing on Mother's Day since she'd died. It was a perfect day for a visit and, although the weather announcer was predicting rain in the afternoon and clouds were massing in the East, at the moment it was bright and sunny. The temperature was in the high sixties, with just enough of a breeze to move the branches of the willow trees back and forth.

Libby had bought a bunch of anemones, Rose's favorite flower, the day before, and Libby took those along in addition to a picnic lunch, a lunch they traditionally ate on the stone bench in front of Rose's grave. Bernie and Libby always filled their picnic basket with Rose's favorite foods and this year was no exception. Their lunch consisted of bacon, lettuce, tomato, watercress, and avocado sandwiches on store-made ciabatta rolls slathered with homemade mayo, a shaved fennel, raw artichoke, and clementine salad, an assortment of French macaroons, bunches of green grapes, and a thermos full of sweet tea to drink.

Sean sat on the bench and thought about Rose. He started to smile.

“What are you thinking about, Dad?” Bernie asked as she took a red and white checked tablecloth out of the picnic basket and began spreading it on the bench.

“I was just thinking about the time Rose got me Canoe for Father's Day and I didn't wear it, and she couldn't bear to waste it, so she took to wearing it even though it was a men's cologne.

“I remember,” Libby said. “We used to buy it for her for Mother's Day.”

Bernie smoothed the cloth out with the palm of her hand and began taking out lunch. “Until I introduced her to Chanel Number Five.”

“Your mom always made the best out of everything,” Sean observed.

“She did, didn't she?” Libby said as she studied the anemones she'd arranged in a tall glass beaker she'd brought from home.

“I love these flowers,” Bernie said, looking at the red and purple blooms. “I wonder if they'd be hard to grow.”

Libby snorted. “For you? Yes.”

Bernie stopped smoothing down the small red and white checked tablecloth she'd draped over the bench. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That you have a black thumb, just like Mom and I do.”

“Look at the black raspberries,” Bernie said.

“Those were volunteers.”

“But I didn't kill them.”

Libby straightened up and went over to help Bernie. “I suppose we could scatter some seeds and see what happens,” she conceded. “It couldn't hurt.”

Sean didn't say anything. He'd watched his wife kill every plant she'd ever tried to grow and as far as he could tell his daughters were tending in the same direction. “She would have liked this meal,” Sean said instead, after he'd taken a bite of his sandwich.

“I still think we should have done Mom's meat loaf,” Libby observed. “She liked that even better than the BLTAWs.”

“I think she liked both the same,” Bernie replied. “Anyway, we did meat loaf last year and we're going to do it again next year. A little variety is never a bad thing.”

Libby stifled a yawn. The sun was making her sleepy. She felt like lying down in the grass and taking a nap. “With vanilla frosted cupcakes.”

Bernie fished a piece of artichoke out of the salad and ate it. “Definitely,” she said as she wondered why more people didn't eat artichokes raw. When handled correctly they had a delightfully nutty taste. “We already discussed that.”

“I wonder if Mom knows we're here,” Libby mused.

“On some level I think she does,” Bernie said. She had combed her hair out of her face and secured it in a ponytail the way her mom had always liked it, just in case she was around and watching.

Sean looked up from his sandwich. “Doubtful,” he said after he'd taken another bite. It was late and he was hungry.

“Why do you say that?” Libby demanded of him. She was too tired to be hungry and the bug bites she'd gotten chasing Ellen through the woods still itched.

Sean swallowed. “Because I think dead is dead.”

“Then why are we doing this?” Bernie asked.

Sean spooned some salad onto his plate. “As a way of keeping Rose's memory alive. They're two different things.”

“And what better way to keep her memory alive than with food,” Libby observed.

“I can't argue with that.” Bernie took a bite of her sandwich. Even if she did say so herself, the bacon was perfectly done and the avocado and watercress were spot on foils for it. “Mom was all about meals, that's for sure. Too bad she didn't feel that way about detecting.”

Sean poured himself a glass of sweet tea. “I think she would have made an exception in this case. She always liked Ellen.”

Libby corrected him. “She didn't like her, she felt sorry for her. Remember, she was always saying ‘oh, the poor dear' and telling her how great she looked? She never told her she needed to lose five pounds or that she shouldn't wear that skirt.”

“Well, Ellen needed the encouragement, you didn't,” Bernie told her.

“I did too,” Libby answered hotly.

“I'm sorry, but you can't possibly compare your situations. Ellen's mom was downright mean,” Bernie noted.

Libby made a face.

“You weren't at Ellen's house, but I was.” Bernie pointed to herself. “Her mom was always telling her she was fat, that she should do something with her hair, that she looked awful, that she was ugly and no one would ever marry her because she looked so bad. It just went on and on and on.”

Libby looked shocked. “And I thought I had it bad because Mom was always telling me to get my hair off my face.”

“If I had a daughter, I'd never say stuff like that,” Bernie remarked. “Not ever.”

Sean took a sip of his tea. “That is abusive. But what if your daughter was wearing something that was totally wrong for her? Would you say something?”

“I'd find a nice way to say it,” Bernie replied.

“So you believe in constructive criticism?”

“Yes, I do,” Bernie replied. “Ask nothing, get nothing.”

“That's what Mom thought,” Libby said.

“If she didn't,” Sean said, smiling, “she wouldn't have married me. She said I was her fixer-upper project.”

Libby and Bernie both laughed. For a moment everyone was silent as they contemplated the day. In the spring and the summer the cemetery was usually filled with dog walkers and runners, but today it was empty. The only sounds were the chirping of the birds, the chiding of the squirrels, and the occasional barking of a dog.

Bernie took another bite of her sandwich and wiped her hands on her napkin. “I think Mom would be upset if we didn't help Ellen.”

Sean finished the last of his sandwich and checked to see if there was another one in the basket. He was happy to see there was. “I'm not disagreeing.” Sean began taking the wax paper off the sandwich. As he did, it occurred to him that Libby and Bernie wrapped sandwiches the same way that Rose had. “I think she would have too.”

“Would she?” Libby demanded. “I'm not so sure. After all, Ellen got us into trouble. I think Mom would have been pissed at her for that.”

Bernie frowned. “Ellen did what she did because she was terrified.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Because it's true.”

“You have no evidence to support that assumption.”

“And you don't have any for the opposite point of view.”

Libby turned to Sean. “Dad, what do you think?”

Sean bit into his second sandwich before replying. “What I think is that Ellen didn't get you into trouble; you got yourselves into trouble.”

“Okay. I got you in trouble,” Bernie said before Libby could say anything. “Satisfied?”

Libby stretched and stood up. “Minimally.”

Bernie broke off a piece of her roll, tore it into little pieces, and threw it out for the birds. “Even if what you say is true, and I'm not saying it is, I still think Mom would have wanted us to help Ellen. She always had a soft spot for her.”

“I suppose.” Libby grumped. She knew what Bernie and Sean were saying was true. She just didn't want to admit it. Instead she went over to Rose's grave and pulled out a handful of dandelions that were getting ready to bud.

She started walking to the trash can with them when Bernie said, “Libby, don't. We can make a salad out of those. Or put them in one.”

Libby looked down at the handful of greens she was holding. “We can, can't we?”

Bernie nodded.

Libby ran possibilities in her head. “Actually that would be kinda nice, especially if we combined the greens with some arugula and butter lettuce. Then we'd have bitter, spicy, and smooth. With the addition of a little olive oil, a little lemon juice, and some pecorino cheese and a few walnuts, it might be quite delicious.” She brightened. “We can try the combo out tonight.”

“Exactly. Or,” Bernie suggested, “if you get more we could make a wilted salad. We still have bacon we can fry up.”

Sean chimed in with, “Anything with bacon is good for me.”

“I wonder if dandelion greens would sell,” Bernie mused.

“We could put them on the menu and see,” Libby said. “After all,” she observed, “they are a spring vegetable and I'm pretty sure Morgan Farms grows them, so we can source it locally. We could do something with them and shad roe.” She drew an imaginary sign with her hand. “ ‘Try the ultimate spring meal.' I don't know why we always forget about field greens,” she added. She pointed to a clump of dandelions twenty feet away that were growing near a large headstone. “I think I'll do a little gathering.”

“Those are flowering,” Bernie pointed out. “You're supposed to gather dandelions before they bloom if you want to eat the leaves. Otherwise they're tough and bitter.”

“But those aren't,” Libby said, nodding to a group of younger dandelions Bernie hadn't seen.

“You're right. They're not.” Bernie reached for a macaroon. “My mistake.”

She bit into it as she watched Libby wander over to a group of headstones that were located next to a weeping willow. The headstones looked as if they hadn't been cared for in a while and Bernie wondered to whom they belonged, but she didn't care enough to ask Libby. Instead she was thinking about all the different kinds of field greens there were and about who grew them and about making salads out of them decorated with violet and nasturtium blossoms when she saw Libby waving to her.

“Bernie,” she called.

“What?” Bernie asked.

“I think I know who the dead guy in the bed is,” Libby cried. “I think I know which Manny Ellen Hadley's sons were talking about. They were talking about Manny Roget.”

Sean did a double take. “You're kidding me, right?”

Libby shook her head. “I am most definitely not.”

Sean stood up and walked over to where Libby was standing. “I thought he was dead. I thought I heard he'd been killed in an accident in North Dakota or something like that.”

“Maybe not,” Libby said.

Bernie hobbled over to join them. “That would certainly make things interesting,” she opined.

“I'd say it would make things very interesting indeed,” Sean said, looking at the headstone that had sparked Libby's memory.