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Authors: Isis Crawford

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“Sucks for him,” Bernie said.

“Maybe she just doesn’t want to get involved,” Libby suggested.

“Maybe,” Sean agreed. “In any case, we should really try and find her.”

Libby jumped up. She was anxious to see if Amber had taken the muffins out on time. If they stayed in too long, they got flat tops, and muffins with flat tops just wouldn’t do in A Little Taste of Heaven. Her customers expected muffins with gently rounded tops and that’s what Libby intended to give them.

“Okay. I’m in too, although you realize that we’re being bought,” she commented.

Bernie grinned. “And about time! I’m glad someone’s finally recognized our worth.”

“Bernie,” Libby wailed.

“I’m kidding,” Bernie said. “Actually I disagree with you. I don’t think Bree is wrong for leaving us the money. Heaven only knows, she has enough of it, and if she wants to spend it in defense of her nephew, I think that’s very nice of her. Most people get paid to do what we do anyway.”

“But she’s so blatant about it,” Libby complained.

“Oh puhleeze. Bree’s always blatant. Look at her clothes. But she’s right. We
do
know the players. We
do
have contacts. We might be able to find out things that other people can’t. I don’t think it’ll hurt to scout around and see what we come up with.”

“Agreed,” Sean said. “It’s not as if we’re being asked to manufacture evidence.”

Libby drew a chocolate kiss out of her pants pocket, unwrapped it, and put it in her mouth. This whole thing with Bree was stressing her out. “But what if we don’t get the results Bree is looking for? What if we can’t find Liza or we find her and she refuses to confirm Duncan’s alibi?”

“Come on, Libby,” Bernie replied. “We’ve already discussed this.”

“Your sister is right,” Sean said to Libby. “I don’t understand your problem.”

“Actually, I think I do,” Bernie said. “Libby is afraid that if we don’t find evidence to exonerate Duncan, Bree will get angry at us and we’ll lose her business. Isn’t that right, Libby?”

Libby nodded. “That’s it in a nutshell.”

Bernie started putting the cookies and the tea things back on the tray. “You do know thwidu do knat conversely we’ll lose Bree’s business if we refuse to take this case.”

“So what you’re saying, Bernie, is that we really can’t say no.”

Sean interrupted. “I think you’re both missing the point here,” he said sharply. “What happens if Bree is right? What happens if Duncan is innocent?”

“I thought you said you thought that he wasn’t,” Bernie said to him.

“Well, now I’m saying that I think this case merits looking at,” Sean replied. “So are you in or out?” Sean asked Libby.

Libby ate another chocolate kiss. “I already said I’m in,” she said.

“Good,” Bernie said.

“I just have a few caveats.”

“Libby, you always have caveats,” her dad pointed out.

“So how do you want to proceed?” Libby asked, acknowledging the truth of her father’s observation by not saying anything on that subject.

Bernie picked up the tray, realized her skirt had gotten twisted, put the tray back on the table, and untwisted her denim pencil skirt before answering Libby. The skirt was a little loose and the zipper tended to meander around her side, but she hadn’t had time to get it to the dressmaker yet. “I think,” she said when she’d stopped futzing around with her skirt, “that we should go talk to Duncan first and then we should go talk to his buddies.”

“And maybe their girlfriends and wives,” Libby said. “Women always tend to be chattier.”

“Definitely chattier,” Bernie said.

Sean laughed. “I wasn’t the one who said that. And I think that I,” said Sean, “might go talk to Pat Dwyer.”

“Pat Dwyer?” Bernie said. “Who the hell is Pat Dwyer?”

“He used to be Mulroney’s partner and he’s Liza’s stepfather. Like I’ve always said, it’s a small town.”

Bernie tapped her fingers on the side of the sofa. “Who else do we know who knows the Corned Beef and Cabbage Club guys?”

“It’s not exactly as if we travel in their circle,” Libby pointed out. “We didn’t even in high school.”

“True,” Bernie said. “They were definitely too hoity-toity for us.”

“Yes,” Libby agreed. “They were going skiing in Aspen over Christmas vacation and we were working in the shop. Not that that was a bad thing,” she quickly added in deference to her dad. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“I never thought it was,” Sean commented.

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

Then Bernie said, “If anyone knows who they hang with, Brandon probably does.”

Sean nodded. “I bet you’re right. Maybe Marvin and I will drop by RJ’s later and ask him.”

“And there is someone else we should talk to,” Bernie observed as she picked up the tray again in preparation for going downstairs.

“And who would that be?” Libby asked.

Bernie was immediately sorry she had spoken. “Forget it,” she said.

“Seriously, Bernie. Who is it?” Libby asked.

Bernie hesitated for a moment and then said, “Orion.”

Libby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She knew hearing his name shouldn’t bother her after all this time, but it stiulr, but ill did. “I doubt that,” she told her sister.

“No. Truly,” Bernie said. “He works for the same hedge fund Liam does.”

“How do you know?” Libby demanded.

“Missy told me.”

Libby put her hands on her hips. “And how does she know?”

“Come on, Libby, stop it,” Bernie said.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not talking to him.”

“No one asked you to,” Bernie said.

“Just so we’re clear,” Libby said.

“You know,” Bernie told her, “it’s really time you lightened up on this.”

“Really?” Libby said.

“Yes, really.”

Sean held up his hands before his daughters could get into it. “Peace,” he said. “I’ll speak to him if need be.”

“Good.” Libby smiled at the thought. Her dad would not be nice, but that was okay with her. In fact, it was more than okay. Even though she knew she was the one who had allowed Orion to treat her like crap, it didn’t matter. She still wanted to see him suffer. Bernie was right. It was time to let it go. She wanted to, but she just couldn’t.

Bernie looked from her sister to her dad and back again. Everything seemed to have settled down. Thank God. “Okay. So when does everyone want to get started on this project?” she asked.

Sean rubbed his hands together. “What is it they say about there being no time like the present? I think I’ll call Marvin and see if he can give me a lift to Pat Dwyer’s office.”

“Maybe Marvin’s busy,” Libby told her dad. Since Marvin was her boyfriend she felt the need to protect him from her dad, who could be a bit overwhelming at times.

“I’m sure if he is, he’ll tell me,” Sean replied. “After all, he
is
an adult. Anyway, he likes to do this kind of stuff. It’s sure better than embalming people.”

Which Libby had to admit was true. Marvin did like sleuthing, and in her estimation pretty much anything was better than embalming people.

“And we”—Bernie pointed to herself and Libby—“should go talk to Duncan.”

“As soon as I’m done with the muffins,” Libby replied.

Bernie snorted. “You don’t know that Amber’s going to burn them.”

“You’re right. I don’t,” Libby conceded, mostly for the sake of keeping the peace.

But Bernie wasn’t fooled. “Why are you always so negative?” she asked.

“I’m not negative,” Libby told her. “I just believe in planning for the worst and hoping for the best.”

As it turned out, this time Libby was correct.

Amber had taken the muffins out of the oven ten minutes too late, which resulted in flat tops and burnt bottoms. Libby and Bernie had to make a couple of new batches before they left the store.

“See,” Libby said to Bernie as she weighed out the flour. “I told you.”

“Stop gloating,” Bernie told her.

Libby tried, but she didn’t try very hard.

Chapter 4

T
wo hours later the sisters finally walked out of the shop. It was a nice, sunny day with a clear hint of spring in the air. Bernie and Libby both paused to admire the blue sky with the lacy clouds drifting overhead before they jumped in the van and headed over to Bree Nottingham’s guest cottage. Although in Bernie’s opinion guest cottage was too humble a word for the structure Duncan was now residing in. She’d seen houses that were smaller.

“I wonder why Duncan is living at Bree’s,” Libby mused as she and her sister motored down Route 42 to the Apple Green Estate—the Apple Green Estate being the name Bree had given her house. “I mean it’s not as if he doesn’t have his own place.”

Bernie shrugged as she took note of the trees. Soon they’d be greening up. April was almost here. “Maybe it’s a condition of his bail,” she suggested.

“Maybe,” Libby said before turning her attention back to the road, which was always busy no matter what time of day it was. Cars wove themselves around the van, which was chugging along at its top speed of forty miles an hour.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Libby shouted at one of the myriad drivers who honked at her before finally passing the van on a clear stretch of road. “We definitely need a new vehicle,” Libby said to her sister through gritted teeth.

“Agreed,” Bernie said, still looking out the window. Recently, she’d noticed a lot of empty spaces in the retail operations at the strip malls that lined the road, more than she ever remembered seeing in all the time she’d lived here. Which made her nervous. Their shop was doing well and Longely’s Main Street was doing well.... But still ... things seemed so much more tenuous these days. Shops that had existed forever were gone. She shook her head to clear the dark thoughts away.

Ten minutes later, Libby muscled the van onto Wycoff Lane, a small road that led into the residential area that harbored some of the more affluent people in Longely. The houses here were big, most dating from the early 1900s, and were still in excellent repair. Bernie admired the variety of styles as they motored on toward Bree’s residence. The houses were a mix of colonial, Greek revival, and Tudor. Almost all of them were fronted by large expanses of closely cropped lawn and extensive landscaping. They were showcase houses, built to be seen and admired.

Bree Nottingham’s house was at the end of the lane. The mansion had once been the home of railroad tycoon B. C. Wiley, before he had fallen on hard times and ended up drinking himself to death on the Bowery in New York City. Bree had rescued and restored the structure to its former splendor. Cozy it was not.

The place contained seven bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and fireplace, as well as a huge living room and dining room, a mirrored ballroom, a library, a small indoor lap pool, a gym, a projection room that was now used for private screenings, and an extremely well-appointed kitchen. Whenever Bernie and Libby worked out of it, Bernie always felt as if she was working in a showcase. Literally.

Everything in the kitchen looked brand new, mostly because it was. Bree kept updating it with the newest, most expensive appliances. Not that it really mattered, because they were rarely used. Every time Bernie worked here, it was clear to her from the condition of the counters, the pots, and the stove top, that no one ever cooked in the kitchen, except for them. But then why should anyone? Bernie had reflected. There was no need. Left to her own devices, Bree never ate anything except salads and baked chicken and diet strawberry Jell-O.

The guest house, on the other hand, ha Cthes ad a much warmer feeling. Even though it was more than spacious, it was still a three-bedroom bungalow, with living room furniture that looked as if it had been sat on and floors that were slightly scuffed. Bernie loved the large bathroom/sauna with its skylight, and the kitchen, a definitely low-tech kind of place because Bree didn’t deem it worthy of her scrutiny. In addition, there was an outdoor hot/cold shower and a changing area.

The cottage sat about twenty feet away from the pool, and whenever Bernie saw the pool she thought of the pools of the rich and the famous she’d seen when she’d lived and worked in LA, pools with grottoes and nymphs and angels, and large ferns trailing their leaves into the water.

Now the ferns were gone, having been brought into the greenhouse to winter over, the pool was drained, and Bernie thought the angels and nymphs looked slightly sad—maybe they were just waiting for summer to come—as the van shuddered to a stop in front of the cottage. Bernie and Libby had just gotten out of the van when the cottage door opened and Duncan Nottingham stepped out to greet them. Or maybe not.

Libby decided Duncan didn’t look happy to see them. He looked annoyed—as if he’d been in the middle of something that they’d interrupted. She knew that some of her friends considered Duncan attractive, but she wasn’t one of them. His teeth were too white, his hair was always too perfectly combed, and his clothes were always too perfectly matched for her.

He really was Bree’s nephew. Like her, Duncan was also thin, too thin for Libby’s taste. She preferred her guys like Marvin—a little bit sloppy, a little bit too earnest, a little bit overweight. She liked Marvin’s love handles. They gave her something to hang on to in those important moments.

Duncan’s frown grew as he took a step forward. Definitely not happy to see us, Libby thought. Which was interesting because she would have imagined it would have been the opposite. But obviously she’d been wrong.

“I figured you’d be along soon,” Duncan said to them. “My aunt told me she’d hired you, although frankly I don’t see how you’re going to do much good.” He stifled a sneeze. “I told her you were going to be a waste of money, but she insisted on going ahead and getting you guys anyway. But at least I persuaded her to hire some professionals as well as ...” Duncan stopped talking, allowing his sentence to trail off.

“Some local yokels,” Bernie said, finishing the sentence for him.

Duncan threw up both his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say it, you did.”

“Charming as always,” Libby remarked. Now it was all coming back to her. She’d forgotten what an asshole he could be. Her dad would say that he was acting like a jerk because he was scared, and maybe her dad was right. But it didn’t matter. Duncan’s attitude still put her teeth on edge.

Duncan shrugged. “Hey, I’m just telling the truth.”

“So I take it this means you want us to go?” Libby asked him.

Duncan studied the geese flying overhead for a minute, then looked back at Bernie and Libby. “No. I don’t. Whatever gave you that impression?”

Bernie crossed her arms. “Your welcoming manner.”

“And your smile,” Libby added. “You lit up when you saw us, don’t you agree, Bernie?”

“Without a doubt, Libby. Who could resist something like that?”

Duncan sighed. “Okay. I get the point and I’m sorry. But how about cutting me a little slack. This has just been a bad day Cen n sfor me. I’m not used to being arrested... .”

“Unlike some of your other brethren traders,” Bernie couldn’t resist saying.

Duncan hung his head. “I guess I deserved that. No. I want you to come in and help me out.”

“Could that be,” Bernie said, “because your aunt is paying your bills and you don’t want to piss her off?”

“Something like that,” Duncan admitted as he stood aside and motioned Bernie and Libby in.

“So why are you here?” Libby asked as she stepped inside the living room.

The room was decorated in early southwestern. The colors were all pale pinks and blues and greens. There were Georgia O’Keefe prints on the walls, Native-American rugs on the floor, and distressed wood furniture. The result, Libby decided, was not displeasing.

Duncan turned toward Libby. “What do you mean, why am I here?”

Bernie noted that he looked puzzled. “My sister means, why aren’t you staying in your own place?”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “My lawyer thought it would be better if I stayed here.”

“Your lawyer or your aunt’s lawyer?” Libby shot back.

“Well, it’s my aunt’s lawyer if you want to be OCD about it, but I prefer to refer to List as my lawyer since he’s working on my case.”

As Libby looked at Duncan, she got the clear feeling that he was lying. When she looked at Bernie she could tell that her sister thought so too. But instead of saying anything, Bernie nodded absentmindedly and sat down on the sofa. Libby followed suit, sitting a little to the right of her.

“I’m not going to ask if you want any coffee or anything, because I don’t have any food in here yet,” Duncan told them while he plopped himself down in the armchair across the way.

“Bummer,” Bernie said as she leaned over and picked up the books sitting on the coffee table. “Interesting titles,” she said as she started going through them. One was a travel book about Costa Rica, the second was a travel book about Belize, while the third was a travel book about Brazil. Obviously, there was a theme going here.

“Planning on going on vacation?” Bernie asked Duncan, indicating the books with a nod of her head. “Or just engaging in some wishful thinking?”

Duncan sneezed again and shifted his weight from one side of the seat to the other. Then he changed the position of his legs, resting the ankle of his right leg over the knee of his left leg. “I was planning on going away for a week or two,” he told Bernie. “But obviously that’s not a possibility now.”

“Obviously,” Bernie said as she put the books back where she’d found them. “You know, I’m told you can buy a Belizian citizenship for twenty thousand dollars.”

Duncan flushed. “Why would I care?”

“I didn’t say you would,” Bernie replied.

“Then why did you say that?” Duncan asked.

Bernie shrugged. “I suppose just to have something to say.”

“I thought you were saying I’d be interested in doing something like that.”

“Would you?”

Duncan snorted. “Most definitely not.”

Bernie leaned forward. “Okay,” she said. “Enough with the dancing around. Tell us what happened that evening.”

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“I already told everyone,” Duncan objected.