A Catered Tea Party (14 page)

“One more question,” Bernie asked. “Actually, two.”

Benson frowned. “Yes?” he said. His manner was not encouraging.

Bernie gestured toward the blue-and-white pottery, the Tang horses, and the scrolls. “Who got you interested in these?”

“Erin, if you can believe it. And your second question?”

“Have you ever heard of a company called Art Unlimited?”

Benson shook his head. “No, I haven't. Why? What do they do?”

“I think they rent out art.”

“That's a lucrative market these days,” Benson observed as he pressed a button on his desk. “Come back when you have some money to invest,” he told them.

A moment later, his secretary came in and ushered Bernie and Libby out, walking them to the elevator, then standing there to make sure they left.

“Do you think Benson is telling the truth?” Libby asked Bernie as the elevator door closed.

“About Erin and Jason?”

Libby nodded.

“Yeah, Libby. I think Adam Benson is.” The elevator door opened, and they stepped out into the lobby. “Erin should have stuck with Benson,” Bernie noted.

“Yup,” Libby agreed.

Bernie switched her tote to her left shoulder. She really had to stop putting so much stuff in it. “Finding out that your meal ticket—your meal ticket for whom you gave up a good thing—is leaving you could make you unhappy enough to kill,” she said.

“It would make me want to do that,” Libby observed.

“Me too, Libby. Me too.”

I
t was around nine o'clock that evening. Libby was sitting on the sofa in Marvin's living room feeding Petunia the Pig bits of the crackers she was eating while she regaled Marvin with the story of her and Bernie's meeting with Adam Benson and listened to the wind blowing in the branches of the large spruce tree outside. According to the weather reports, a storm was coming, and it was coming soon.

“Jason Pancetta,” Marvin said, repeating Jason's name while he absentmindedly scratched Petunia's ample rear end. She had managed to position herself between the two of them.

“What about him?” Libby asked.

“Nothing. I'm just not surprised at what you're telling me.” Marvin stopped scratching Petunia for a moment because his hand was tired. She oinked and butted his knee with her behind. Marvin sighed the sigh of the imposed upon and resumed his task.

“You know him?” Libby asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Kinda. We went to high school together for a little while.”

“Not the hoity-toity Hecht Academy?” Libby asked, using the school's unofficial name. It was the only private, secular school in the area. Marvin's father had sent him there because he was convinced his son would meet a better class of people, which would eventually translate into better business for the funeral home.

Marvin frowned. He preferred to forget those days. “Yeah. God, that was an awful place,” he recalled. “You were lucky you went to public school. Anyway, Pancetta moved away in his junior year. Everyone said he had to.”

Petunia bumped Libby's knee with her snout, and Libby fed her another piece of cracker. “That's it,” she told the pig. “No more.”

“Those words aren't in Petunia's vocabulary,” Marvin informed Libby.

“Maybe you should put the crackers away,” Libby suggested. “She's getting really big,” she added.

“I know. She weighs fifty pounds already, and she still has some growing to do.”

“I thought Vietnamese mini potbellied pigs were supposed to weigh thirty pounds.”

“They do in Vietnam because they're starving. Here they get to be about one hundred pounds. At least. Maybe more. The vet suggested I put her on a treadmill.”

Libby giggled at the thought. “Maybe you should buy her a membership at Gold's.”

“He was serious.”

“Sorry,” Libby said apologetically, since she'd been the person instrumental in convincing Marvin to take her. “She's just so cute.”

“Yes, she is,” Marvin told Libby as he got up, took the box of crackers, and put it in one of the kitchen cabinets, much to Petunia's chagrin. “Bigger means more to love,” he said from the kitchen.

Libby grinned. Even though she knew that Marvin didn't care that she was twenty pounds overweight it was still good to hear it. Even indirectly. Not that she was sensitive or anything on the subject. Yeah. Right. “Okay,” she said to Marvin when he and Petunia returned to the living room. “Tell me why Jason moved away.”

Petunia, disgruntled, walked over to her bed near the fireplace, while Marvin plopped down on the sofa next to Libby.

“I'm assuming general bad behavior,” he said in answer to Libby's question.

“Meaning?”

Marvin shook his head. “I don't really know. I didn't run with his crowd.”

Petunia circled around three times, lay down, got up, came over to the sofa, and jumped up between Libby and Marvin.

“I think she's a tad jealous,” Libby observed.

“Or she's holding us up for more crackers,” Marvin suggested.

“That too,” Libby replied.

“I'll tell you one thing, though,” Marvin said as he scratched Petunia's flank. “Jason really liked the ladies.”

“Unlike you?” Libby teased.

“Oh, I liked them alright.” Marvin gave a sad smile as he remembered his high school years. “But the girls didn't like me. No one wanted to go out with the undertaker's son. They said I was creepy. Either that or they wanted to make out in a coffin.”

“So?” Libby asked when Marvin stopped talking. “Did you?”

Marvin held up a finger. “Once. We were just getting started when my dad came in.”

Libby put her hand over her mouth. “Oh dear,” she said. Marvin's father wasn't a nice man.

“ ‘Oh dear' is right.” Marvin shook his head, remembering. “It was all over school the next day.”

“I'm sorry,” Libby said, leaning over Petunia and giving Marvin a hard kiss on the lips. Marvin smiled. “They had no idea what they were missing.”

Marvin's smile grew even bigger. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely,” Libby told him. She gave Marvin another kiss, and Petunia snorted indignantly, jumped off the sofa, marched over to her bed, and proceeded to lie in it with her back facing Libby and Marvin.

“That'll show you,” Marvin said to Libby.

Libby laughed. “I guess so.” She and Marvin snuggled for a minute. “So,” she finally asked. “Would Jason be upset if someone took his girl away from him?”

“Well, he would have been back in the day,” Marvin replied immediately. He didn't have to think about the answer. “He had a big ego and a real mean streak going when he was challenged.”

“Maybe he's grown out of it,” Libby posited.

Marvin shook his head. “Maybe, but I don't think so. In my experience, people don't grow out of that kind of thing with age. They just get better at hiding it.”

“Do you happen to know how Jason ended up working for Zalinsky?” Libby asked.

Marvin sat back and told her the story. As Libby listened, she started to wonder about something that Adam Benson had said.

“Jason's going to be fun to talk to,” Libby noted when Marvin was done speaking.

“Well, like I said, he does have a temper.”

“He seems so nice too.”

“So did the Green River Killer,” Marvin pointed out.

Libby laughed, “Let's not exaggerate here.” She clicked her tongue against her front teeth. “I wonder where he's working now. Or if he's working.”

“I saw him behind the counter of the Quick Fill over by Fairmont a couple of days ago,” Marvin was telling Libby when her phone rang.

Libby looked down. “Just a sec. Let me get this,” she told Marvin. “It's Bernie.”

“I need you to get back to the house, and I need you back here now,” Bernie told her. Then she hung up before Bernie could ask why.

“So much for a peaceful evening,” Libby observed as she stood up and began looking around for her sandals. One of them seemed to have disappeared.

Five minutes later, she located it in Petunia's bed. Evidently, the pig had found something else to nibble on. “We should have kept the crackers out,” Libby said sadly as she contemplated her shoe, or the lack thereof.

“I
escaped,” Casper Cumberbatch declaimed as Libby and Marvin walked through the door of her flat a few minutes later. He, Clyde, and Bernie were milling around the coffee table.

“No, you didn't, Casper,” Sean's friend Clyde said.

“I was being metaphorical,” Casper informed him.

“You were being inaccurate,” Clyde said.

“Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds,” Casper retorted.

If Clyde were an eye-rolling kind of guy, that's what he would have done, but he wasn't, so he didn't. Instead he folded his arms across his chest and glared at Casper. He was good at glaring, almost as good as her dad, Libby reflected. It probably came from spending thirty years on the police force. She had a feeling she was in for a long evening as she looked from Casper to Clyde to Bernie and back again.

“Does anyone want to tell me what's going on?” she asked.

“You want the short version or the long version?” Clyde inquired.

“Let's start with the short version and work our way up to the long one,” Libby told him.

Clyde nodded. “I was going to ask Sean if Casper could stay here, but it turned out your dad was out with Michelle,” he explained.

“Hunh?” Libby frowned. “I don't understand.”

Clyde repeated himself.

“You were going to ask
my
Dad to harbor an escaped fugitive,” Libby repeated. She was so shocked she couldn't think of anything else to say.

“Things aren't quite as they seem,” Clyde informed her.

“So few things are these days,” Bernie said dryly, unfolding her arms. She wasn't too happy either.

Libby ignored her sister's comment. “Meaning?” she asked Clyde.

Clyde shuffled his feet. “Ah . . . I could explain better if I had a little something to eat,” he said, having the good grace to blush at his request.

“If it comes to that, I wouldn't mind a bite to eat either,” said Casper, who wasn't under that constraint.

“Count me in,” Marvin added. Although he'd come along for the ride, he was never one to turn down Libby and Bernie's cooking.

Libby looked at Bernie, and Bernie looked back at her.

“I suppose,” Libby said grudgingly. “I'll see what I can rustle up.”

In fact, Bernie realized as she accompanied her sister down the stairs, she wouldn't be adverse to a snack either. It had been a trying day and an even more trying evening.

Ten minutes later, Libby and her sister were back upstairs with a tray laden with a pitcher of sweet strawberry/ lemon lemonade, a fruit salad composed of locally grown honeydew, cantaloupe, watermelon, and mint, ginger snaps, semolina pine nut cookies, madeleines, and four pieces of carrot cake that hadn't sold that day.

Clyde beamed when he saw the food. His wife wasn't a good cook—actually she was a terrible cook—and since Michelle had come on the scene he wasn't over at Sean's as much as he once was. “I miss this,” he said, then blushed again. “I didn't mean . . .”

Bernie laughed. “Don't worry. I know what you mean. I do too.”

Libby, who was still peeved, didn't utter a word. Instead, she took a piece of carrot cake and started eating. It was good. No. It was great. She was a good baker, even if she had to say so herself. After a few bites, she realized she felt a lot better. Carbs. The universal balm for the soul.

After everyone had eaten Clyde started to explain. “Casper was never under arrest.”

Libby stopped eating. “Casper's friend told us he was!”

“He did,” Bernie seconded. “I was there.”

Casper swallowed the rest of the pine nut cookie he was eating and fixed Libby and Bernie with a reproachful gaze. “Well,” he said, “you would have known Jeremy wasn't telling the truth if you'd come to visit me in jail because I wouldn't have been there.”

“I couldn't come visit you,” Bernie replied. “Prisoners are just allowed visits from immediate family and legal counsel.”

“But you could have tried,” Casper said mournfully. “No one even tried.”

Libby put her fork back on her plate with a clang. “I don't understand.”

“I asked Jeremy to call,” Casper said.

“And may I ask why?” Libby said to Casper.

“It was a ploy to flush out Zalinsky's killer, the person who's trying to frame me,” Casper said.

“And how was your being arrested going to do that?” Marvin asked.

“Because,” Casper explained, “then he'd relax and do something that would tip his hand.”

Bernie looked at Clyde. “And you're alright with this?”

“I wasn't consulted,” Clyde told her. “Casper initiated this.”

“I was just thinking outside the box,” Casper explained. “Obviously no one else was doing anything. Someone had to take the initiative.”

“You're seriously saying that?” Bernie said, thinking about everything she and Libby had done.

Casper looked abashed. Bernie glared at him for a moment before turning to Clyde. “Why didn't you let us know?” she asked.

“I did,” Clyde replied.

“When?” Libby demanded.

“As soon as Casper told me what he'd done. I called here, but your dad was taking a shower, so I told Michelle what was going on. I just assumed she would tell your dad and he would tell you.” He looked from Bernie to Libby and back again. “Was I wrong?”

“Evidently.” Bernie took a deep breath and let it out. “She probably just forgot,” she said.

“Right,” Libby said, chiming in. “I'm sure that's what happened.”

“It's possible, Libby.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “You don't really believe that, do you?”

“I'm trying to take the high road here,” Bernie told her. She turned to Casper. “So where have you been staying?” she asked.

“He's been staying with me,” Clyde answered for him.

Bernie raised an eyebrow.

Clyde held up a hand. “I know. I know. But Lucy strongly, very strongly suggested it when he heard what Casper had done.”

“Why would he do that?” Libby asked. “That seems very un-Lucy-like to me.”

“Because at least that way he knows where Casper is, but my wife's sister is coming for a surprise visit, so I'm trying to find another place to park Casper.”

“I'm not a car, you know,” Casper complained.

“Why can't he go back to his house?” Libby inquired.

“Obviously, because someone is trying to kill me,” Casper informed her.

Bernie's eyes widened. “Did something happen that I don't know about?” she asked.

“The note, the threatening note I got,” Casper reminded her.

“Basically,” Clyde explained, “if by some chance Lucy is wrong and Casper didn't kill Zalinsky and the person who killed Zalinsky does kill Casper, Lucy doesn't want it on his hands. It would make him look bad in the papers.”

“So Lucy's doing a Pontius Pilate thing?” Bernie asked.

Clyde nodded. “Exactly. Which is why I was hoping he could stay with you.”

“Not unless he wants to sleep on the couch,” Bernie said.

“Why not just put me in the dumpster and let me sleep there,” Casper cried, flinging his arms out.

“That would work,” Bernie told him. She was not feeling charitably inclined at the moment. “Didn't you think about where you'd stay when you decided to do this?”

“I can't think of everything,” Casper told her.

Libby rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I'm getting a headache.”

“I already have one,” Bernie told her.

Something occurred to Libby. She turned to Clyde. “How did you get in if Dad wasn't here?” she asked him.

Bernie stepped forward. “I let him in.”

“But I thought you were hanging out with Brandon.”

“I was, Libby.”

“And,” Libby prompted.

“I got a call from Michelle telling me she was taking Dad to Prompt Care,” Bernie replied. “So naturally I ran home.”

Libby put her hand to her heart. “Oh my God,” she said. “What happened? How bad is it? Why didn't you tell me?”

Bernie ate a piece of watermelon. “Don't worry. He's fine. He had a splinter in his finger.”

“A big splinter? A giant splinter?”

“A little splinter.”

Libby gave her sister a puzzled look. “I'm losing track here. Why take him to Prompt Care in that case?”

“Good question. You'll have to ask Michelle that. Anyway, I was just about to leave when Casper and Clyde showed up.”

“I wonder where they are,” Bernie said, looking at her watch.

“Me too,” Libby said in a strangled voice. Actually she hoped that her dad and Michelle took a while to get back home. She needed time to calm down. Otherwise she knew she was going to say something awful to Michelle.

“What about me?” Casper said.

Everyone in the room looked at him.

“What about you?” Bernie asked.

“Where am I going to stay?” he asked plaintively.

“You could try your house,” Libby repeated.

“You want me to die?” Casper asked, looking stricken.

“Do I have to answer that?” Libby replied. “Anyway,” she continued, “don't you have a place in Dumbo?”

“I sublet it,” Casper said. “And how am I going to see if anyone comes to the house if I'm in New York City? That was the whole reason for my doing this. I've got all my stakeout stuff in the car.”

Libby held up a hand. “Just stop.” Then she noticed Bernie looking at Marvin speculatively.

“No,” he said.

“I haven't said anything,” Bernie pointed out.

“You don't have to. I'm not taking him in,” Marvin said.

“You have two extra bedrooms,” Bernie pointed out.

“I don't care. You just told me someone is trying to kill him,” Marvin complained. “What if the killer comes to my house? What about me? What about my safety?”

“No one is trying to kill Casper,” Bernie said. “He's exaggerating.”

“All very well for you to say,” Casper grumped.

Everyone ignored him.

“What about the note you were talking about?” Marvin demanded.

“You know,” Bernie said, “even if someone is trying to kill Casper—which they're not—they're not going to know he's in your house.”

“Have you no compassion?” Casper cried. “No regard for human life?”

“Not really,” Marvin replied.

“You know you don't mean that, Marvin,” Clyde said as he took the last madeleine and proceeded to eat it. “Excellent,” he said, sitting back.

“I'm not making things up, you know,” Casper said. “Really, I'm not. I am scared.”

Bernie studied her friend for a minute. Maybe he was frightened, after all. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't with him. “Okay,” she said, “tell us why you're scared.”

Casper took a sip of his strawberry lemonade. “I already told you. I think someone is trying to kill me.”

“But you haven't told me why you think that,” Bernie said.

Casper swallowed. “The note.”

“There's something else going on here,” she said.

“Even I can see that,” Marvin added.

Casper didn't say anything. Bernie locked eyes with him, then reached over and took his hands in hers. They were cold and clammy. “If you want us to help you, you have to let me know what's happening,” she told him.

“I know,” Casper said, his voice so low Bernie had to strain to hear.

Bernie waited.

Casper licked his lips, pulled his hands out from under Bernie's, and rubbed them on his pants. He started to say something, stopped, and started again.

“Go on,” Bernie encouraged.

Another minute passed. Then Casper asked if he could speak to Bernie alone.

“Sure,” Bernie said, and she and Casper went downstairs, leaving everyone else wondering what Casper had to say.