A Catered Tea Party (7 page)

B
ernie stopped. Oh my God. Her heart started hammering in her chest.

“What's the matter?” Libby asked.

“Just a minute,” Bernie replied.

“Is there a problem? Why are we stopped?”

Bernie could hear the rising note of hysteria in her sister's voice. “No problem. It's fine,” she lied. “There's nothing wrong. I've just got a cramp in my leg,” Bernie said as she slowly inched forward.

This was not good. Please, God, don't let the tunnel end here, she prayed, because now that she thought about it, that was a definite possibility. She'd just assumed everything would be fine. Why? If it weren't, she and Libby would be stuck. Nothing to do but wait out George and Erin. Think positive, she told herself. At least they had the light. Without it, she might have fallen down the hole.

But that brought up another issue. How long was the battery in her phone going to last? Would using the flashlight drain the battery? How charged was her battery anyway? She should have paid more attention because she didn't know. Bernie shivered in spite of herself as she inched forward, going as far as she could go.

She came to the edge of the abyss and aimed the light from her cellphone down into the blackness. When she saw what was down there, she started to giggle.

“What's so funny?” Libby asked.

“It's stairs. Really steep stairs.” Bernie started to laugh harder. From relief. She couldn't help herself.

“What's so funny about that?” Libby demanded.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Bernie said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She'd explain after they got out of here.

“Then why are you laughing?” Libby demanded. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Excellent, in fact. I'm just glad we're getting to the end of this thing,” Bernie told her, pushing aside another alarming thought. What if the door they were heading to was stuck?
Put that thought right out of your head,
she told herself as she explained about the stairs to her sister. “Just turn around and go down on your ass and you'll be fine.”

“I knew there was a reason I haven't lost my last ten pounds yet,” Libby wisecracked. “At least I'll have some padding.”

Bernie was smart enough not to say anything about the size of Libby's behind. Instead she turned around, clasped Zalinsky's backpack to her chest, and inched forward until her butt was on the top step and her feet were on the one below. Then she carefully lowered herself down to the next step. “Give me a couple of seconds before you come down,” she instructed Libby as she cleared the next step. The last thing she wanted was Libby bumping into her and both of them tumbling down the stairs.

Libby silently counted to fifteen. “Are you ready?” she called.

“Ready whenever you are,” Bernie answered as she slid down a third step.

Libby inched forward. She had her butt on the top stair, her feet firmly planted on the one below, and she was busy telling herself this was no big deal when she heard the sound of something opening above her and felt a rush of air. Then she heard George say, “Erin, you were right about the curtain rod.” Thirty seconds later Libby heard another set of footsteps going into the closet. Erin's, she presumed.

“Wonderful,” Bernie said through clenched teeth. “Just what we don't need.” Then things got worse.

She heard George say, “You stay here while I go in.” There was a pause. Then he said, “Somebody has to stay up here in case something goes wrong. You think I'm going to steal the bag or something?”

Bernie and Libby's hearts began to beat faster.

“Maybe he won't come down all the way,” Libby whispered.

“Maybe,” Bernie whispered back. But she knew he would. He would because he'd be looking for the backpack, the backpack that she was clutching to her chest.

A few seconds later, she could hear cursing, then the sound of George sliding into the tunnel. Well, one thing was for sure. It would be a tighter fit for him than it had been for her and Libby. So that would slow him down slightly.

Bernie turned her head to Libby. “Come on,” she said. “We gotta hustle.” And with that she began to slide down the stairs as fast as possible.

Every time she hit the edge of one of the steps, she could feel it digging into her butt.
I'm never going to sit down again,
she thought as she slithered down. Libby was right behind her. When Bernie got to the last step, Libby plowed into her, knocking her onto the floor.

“Sorry,” Libby hissed as Bernie rubbed the side where Libby's shoe had hit her.

Bernie didn't bother to answer. Instead she got on her hands and knees and started crawling again.

“How much longer till we get out of here?” Libby whispered. She could hear George above her. She'd thought he'd be slow, but he wasn't. He was making good time—better time than they had made.

“I'm not sure, but we'd better get to that door soon,” Bernie replied. She was going as fast as she could go, but judging from the sounds coming from above, it wasn't fast enough.

Focus, Bernie told herself. Focus on what you're doing. So Bernie stopped thinking about George. She stopped thinking about Libby. She stopped thinking about anything except the tunnel, her breathing, and putting one hand and knee in front of the other. Finally, after she wasn't sure how much time had elapsed because she'd lost track in the blackness, she came to the end.

Her light showed a door. A small one. Made of wood. With a latch on it. Bernie uttered a silent prayer and let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She lifted her hand and pulled on the latch. It was stuck. Maybe rusted out. She tried again. It wasn't budging.

“What?” Libby asked.

“I can't get the latch to move,” Bernie hissed, fighting to keep her voice calm.

“Your lip gloss.”

“My what?”

“Use your lip gloss,” Libby repeated. “The expensive one with shea butter. Maybe it'll act as a lubricant.”

“I hope so,” Bernie said. She handed Zalinsky's backpack off to Libby, opened her bag, and began rummaging around inside it.

“Hurry,” Libby whispered. “He's getting closer.”

“You think I don't know that,” Bernie snapped. A second later, her hand closed on her lip gloss. “Got it.” She took the top off and began applying the gloss to the lock. Then she pulled. The latch moved a little. She pulled harder. The latch moved some more. Then nothing. She applied more gloss. The latch was well and truly stuck.

“Give me the backpack,” she told Libby.

Libby handed it over. She watched while her sister opened it up and took out the Glock.

“Are you shooting the door open?” Libby asked.

“Not yet. But I will if this doesn't work.” And with that Bernie used the butt of the gun to hammer the latch open.

“Piece of cake,” Bernie said as she handed the backpack and the Glock back to Libby. “Say a prayer,” she told her as she grasped the door handle and yanked. The door jumped back. Light flooded the tunnel. Bernie crawled outside. Libby followed.

“Good call about the lip gloss,” Bernie told Libby as she turned and closed the door, never mind that she was out the thirty bucks the gloss had cost her.

Libby just nodded. She didn't say anything because she was too busy giving thanks for being out of the tunnel. No matter what happened now, it had to be better than being in there. For a moment, she and her sister stood blinking in the daylight. Little specks of color exploded across their eyes. It took them a couple of minutes to be able to see again after spending all that time in the dark. The trees had never seemed so green or the sky so blue.

Libby was admiring the leaves of a maple in front of her when Bernie said, “George.”

“What about him?” Libby asked.

“He's going to come barreling through that door any second. It would be nice if we could block it and slow him down.”

“With what? Superglue?” Libby said.

“I was thinking that rock,” Bernie said, pointing to a large one five feet away. It wouldn't stop George from opening the door, but it would slow him down.

Bernie and Libby ran over to it. The rock proved harder to move than Bernie had anticipated because the bottom half was buried in the dirt, but after several tries they finally succeeded in getting it out and rolling it toward the door.

“I think I pulled a muscle in my shoulder,” Libby complained when they were done. She looked around. “Do you know where we are?”

Bernie brushed the dirt off her hands, then pointed to the left. “I think we're in the woods in back of the office. If we go straight, we should come out next to the van.”

“I hope you're right,” Libby said.

“Me too,” Bernie replied as she picked up Zalinsky's backpack and started moving off in that direction. She wanted to get out of there before George came out of the tunnel. “I guess we'll find out.”

Bernie walked quickly, keeping her eyes on the ground so she didn't trip over any roots or rocks. It took her and Libby five minutes to get to the van, longer than she had anticipated.

“Oh my God,” she cried when she saw a reflection of herself in the van's side-view mirror. “I look horrible.” And she took a tissue out of her bag and began wiping off the eyeliner and mascara that had migrated to her cheeks.

“Yeah, you do look pretty bad,” Libby concurred.

“Well, you don't look so good yourself,” Bernie retorted.

“At least my makeup is where it's supposed to be.”

“That's because you don't wear any,” Bernie shot back.

“Exactly my point. That way nothing can go wrong. Okay, we both look like hell,” Libby conceded, looking down at her knees. They were scraped and bleeding from crawling through the tunnel, plus she had a tear in her T-shirt and black stuff across the leg of her Bermuda shorts, while Bernie had a circle of muck on the bodice of her DKNY wrap dress and a tear on the skirt. Bernie sighed. Hopefully the tailor would be able to fix it.

“Come on,” she told Libby, opening Mathilda's door. “Let's get in the truck before George gets here.” She was thinking she was hearing a twig popping kind of noise, but she wasn't sure.

Libby jumped in, while Bernie started Mathilda's engine. Mathilda coughed and spluttered.

“You can always count on Mathilda not to start when you need her,” Bernie groused. Finally Mathilda's engine caught. “About time,” Bernie said.

Then, just as Bernie was going to switch into drive, she saw George through the trees.

Chapter
13

“S
tep on it,” Libby cried, having seen George as well. Bernie shook her head. She'd changed her mind. “No. We're staying put.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a better idea.” Then Bernie turned off the van, leaned over, and opened the door.

“What do you think you're doing?” Libby asked, aghast.

“Playing a hunch,” Bernie replied.

“First we practically kill ourselves to avoid meeting George, and now we're sitting here waiting for him?” Libby asked as she saw her chance for a cool shower followed by a watermelon and feta salad with a slice of French bread disappearing.

“
Autre temps, autre mores,
” Bernie chirped airily.

Libby fought off a desire to strangle her sister. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, loosely translated, different time, different situation,” Bernie replied, stepping onto the ground. She could see George coming out of the woods. He was putting his phone away as he came toward her.
He's probably telling Erin where we are,
Bernie thought as she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Bernie said to George when he was a couple of feet away from her. She looked him up and down. “Wow. Where were you? You look like you were digging in a mine or something.”

“You don't look too good yourself,” George replied while he wiped a smear of blood off a small cut on his arm. “Maybe we were digging in the same place.”

“I don't do well in the heat,” Bernie told him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Erin running up to meet them
. Good,
Bernie thought.
The more the merrier.

“What are you doing here?” George demanded as Libby got out of the van and joined her sister.

“Yes,” Erin seconded, coming up behind George. “I'd like to know that too.”

As Erin stopped to catch her breath, Bernie was heartened to note that her eye makeup had migrated down her cheeks as well. Then she noticed there was something different about Erin's appearance, but Bernie just couldn't put her finger on what it was.

“Funny you should ask, Erin,” Bernie said. “Hsaio and I must have gotten our times mixed up. She asked Libby and me to meet her at the office, but when we got there the door was locked. I guess she must have gone to class. Too bad, because she said she had some important information to tell us concerning your benefactor's death, but since that wasn't happening, we decided to take a little jaunt through the woods. It's really quite lovely this time of year.”

Erin smiled sweetly. “Yes, Ludvoc could be incredibly generous. The world will miss him.” She put her hands up to her eyes to wipe away a tear.

“That's what Hsaio said,” Bernie lied. “We'll all miss him.”

“Yes, we certainly will,” Erin agreed.

George coughed, while Libby tried to keep a straight face.

“We just came to collect a few things that Ludvoc wanted me to have,” Erin explained.

“Keepsakes can be such a comfort,” Libby chimed in.

Erin nodded. “That is so true.”

“I didn't know you were Magda's cousin,” Libby said.

“Third cousin,” Erin said.

“Are you Russian?” Libby asked.

“On my mother's side,” Erin said.

“Because Erin isn't a Russian name,” Libby said.

“It was Irina. I changed it,” Erin said.

“So, as I was saying,” Bernie said, jumping back into the conversation, “since Hsaio wasn't here, my sister and I decided to look around, and the most amazing thing happened. You'll never guess what we found.”

“A unicorn?” George said. He swatted at a bee and then plucked a thorn out of the palm of his hand with his teeth.

Bernie smiled at him. “No. A backpack. Just lying out in the woods.”

“Really?” Erin said. “Probably something some kid dropped.”

“One would think, but one would be wrong,” Bernie replied. “At least in my experience, most kids don't carry gold coins, cash, a gun, diamonds, and a fake passport in their backpacks. Although there are always going to be exceptions to that rule.”

Bernie looked at Erin as she spoke. She reminded Bernie of a setter spotting a bird. Erin was vibrating with excitement; she was trying very hard to be Miss Cool—and not succeeding.

“So whose backpack was it?” Erin asked.

“Zalinsky's. Imagine that,” Bernie said.

“Imagine,” Erin echoed weakly.

“I guess he was planning on leaving,” Bernie said. “Did you know about that?”

Erin rallied. “No,” she asserted, unconvincingly in Bernie's mind. “I didn't.”

“Do you have any idea why he would do something like that?”

“Leave?” Erin asked.

“Yes,” Bernie said.

George took a step forward. “He told my brother he was afraid someone was out to get him.”

Erin put her hand to her mouth. “You never told me that,” she cried.

“I thought I did,” George said.

“I would have remembered if you had,” Erin replied.

“Did he say who?” Bernie asked, interrupting.

“Not to my brother,” George answered.

“How about to you?” Bernie inquired, swallowing. Her mouth felt dry, probably from all the dust she'd swallowed in the tunnel. She needed water. There was a bottle in the van, but she didn't want to interrupt the conversational flow to get it. “Did he say anything to you?” she asked for the sake of thoroughness, because she didn't believe that Zalinsky had said anything to George's brother, Stan, let alone to George.

“Nope.” George scratched a mosquito bite. “So what are you going to do with the backpack?”

“We're turning it over to the police, naturally,” Bernie said.

Erin smiled and smoothed down her hair with the palm of her hand. “Of course you are. You know, George and I are going that way.” She turned to George. “Aren't we?”

George nodded. “Definitely.”

“We'll be happy to drop it off.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think we'd better do it,” Bernie told her. And then what was bothering her about Erin hit her. She wasn't wearing her earrings, her necklace, or her bracelet. “What happened to your jewelry?” she asked. “I hope it wasn't stolen or anything.”

“Oh no,” Erin replied. “I just don't like to wear anything in the summer when it's this hot. I get rashes.”

“I do too,” Bernie said. “It's such a drag. That's why I can only wear the real stuff.”

“Me too,” Erin said.

George snorted.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Erin demanded, turning to him.

George threw up his hands. “Nothing. Nothing at all. A fly just flew up my nose. Damned insects. They're all over the woods this time of year.”

Right,
Bernie thought, her ears perking up.
She wondered what George was alluding to
. She decided to throw out some more lines and see what she reeled in. If that didn't work, she and Libby could always talk to him alone later. “Which reminds me,” she went on. “Did I tell you we found some jewelry in Zalinsky's backpack?”

Erin's eyes widened slightly. “No, you didn't.”

“There was a whole bunch of it in a leather case. A lot of it looked like the stuff you wear, except of course yours is real and this was paste.” Bernie shook her head in mock dismay.

George snorted again.

“Really?” Erin said.

“Really,” Bernie replied, pausing to retie the sash on her dress as she assessed the expression on Erin's face. She couldn't tell what Erin was thinking. Was the jewelry Zalinsky had given Erin real, or wasn't it? Obviously, George's snort had meant something. But what? Bernie admitted to herself that she didn't know.

“Frankly, I'm surprised,” Erin said.

“Me too,” Bernie agreed. “I would be so pissed if that happened to me—thinking I'd been given something real and it turns out its fake! I'd feel . . .” Bernie flung her hands out, “I don't know . . . furious.”

Erin cleared her throat. “Well, mine was”—she corrected herself—“is real.”

“I remember,” Bernie reminisced, wondering what Erin's change of tense meant, “this guy I was going out with in San Fran giving me this emerald ring, and I was showing it off, and someone I knew took me aside and told me it was a fake. I wanted to kill Ollie. I think doing someone like that shows such a lack of respect.

“But then I don't think Zalinsky had any respect for most people. Look what he did to Libby and me. Making us serve that terrible menu. I mean, we would have been the laughingstock of the food world. But did he care? He did not. On top of everything else, he didn't even pay us for all our time and effort. No, Zalinsky really screwed us over. Lucky he didn't do that to you,” she told Erin.

“Yes, isn't it,” Erin replied evenly.

“Even if he did throw your flowers on the floor and tell you to clean up the mess. I have to say you handled that very well, better than I would have. I would have wanted to brain him.”

“He did have a temper,” Erin allowed.

“That's for sure,” Libby agreed.

“He was always nice to me, though,” Erin said, her voice getting stronger.

George snorted for the fourth time. Erin pointedly ignored him.

“But he did have his dark side,” she continued. “He could be ruthless.” She turned to George. “Look what he did to you and your brother.”

George gave Erin a warning look. “What are you talking about?”

“Just the way he made you and your brother come work for him after he ruined your business,” Erin said.

“We wanted to work for him,” George protested. “We did,” he told Bernie and Libby. “He said he'd help expand B & G Biometrics.”

“Instead of which he closed it down,” Erin said. She tsk-tsked. “And after all that money you borrowed from your family. What did Stan say? That your parents took out a second mortgage on their house, and now the bank might take it?”

George glared at her. “We're paying everything back,” he said through gritted teeth. “It's going to be fine.”

This time it was Erin's turn to snort. “What are you paying it back with?” Erin asked pleasantly. “I mean, I'm sure Zalinsky stiffed you just like he stiffed everyone else.”

“Maybe that's true,” George said, advancing on Erin. Bernie noted that his face had grown red. “But at least I still have a place to live. At least he wasn't ditching me for a younger, prettier model and throwing me out of my apartment.”

“That's a lie,” Erin cried. She balled her hands into fists. “An absolute lie. How can you say something like that?”

“Really, is that why you were asking Magda if you could live with her?”

“She totally misunderstood what I was saying,” Erin snapped. “Totally.”

George licked his lips. Bernie decided he looked as if he wanted to strangle Erin. “She's not the only one who is misinformed.”

“That man brought out the worst in everyone,” Bernie commented.

Erin and George turned to look at Bernie. It was as if they'd forgotten she and her sister were there, Libby reflected.

“He certainly did,” Libby said, echoing Bernie's sentiments.

For a moment, neither George nor Erin spoke. Then George started in again.

“He certainly was a piece of work,” George said, laughing. “Look at what he did to Erin.”

“He didn't do anything to me,” Erin told Bernie.

“She had this promising career,” George explained to Bernie and Libby. “And now . . . it's pretty much over.”

Erin punched George in the arm.

“Ouch,” he said, moving away from her. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” Erin said, although Bernie didn't think she looked contrite. At all. “He doesn't know what he's talking about.”

“Yeah?” George put his hands on his hips. “Well, that's what Igor said, and he should know,” he told Erin. “He's in the business.”

“He's a wannabe,” Erin scoffed. “Now, are you sure we can't take the backpack for you?” she asked Bernie, changing the subject. “I'd hate to see you go out of the way. I mean, you're so busy with the shop and all.”

“I'm positive,” Bernie said, and she turned and climbed back in the van. “But thanks for the offer.”

Erin and George looked at them for a moment, and then they moved off. Even though they couldn't hear anything, Bernie and Libby could tell from the way Erin's and George's arms were moving that they were arguing.

“Talk about throwing someone under the bus,” Bernie commented when Erin and George had disappeared into the woods. She reached for her bottle of water and took a big gulp. “Erin was pretty quick to do that to George.”

“And George was pretty quick to reciprocate,” Libby noted.

Bernie leaned over, turned the air conditioner on high, and fanned the tepid breeze toward her face. “So much for young love,” she said. “Did you hear that Zalinsky was throwing Erin out?”

Libby shook her head. “No. Did you?”

“You think George was telling the truth?”

“Yup,” Libby said. “Or let me just say Zalinsky doing that wouldn't surprise me. At all.”

Bernie took another gulp of water and passed the bottle to Libby. She'd heard something about Erin . . . now what was it? Then suddenly she remembered.