A Catered Thanksgiving (13 page)

S
ean looked at Joan. He wouldn't have recognized her if he had passed her in the street. Her hair, what there was of it, was now a bright shade of orange, instead of a pale blond. She'd gone from skinny to barrel shaped, having, in Sean's estimation, gained at least fifty pounds in the intervening years. But it was her face that really gave him pause. Her nose, which Sean had always thought belonged on a Roman warrior, was now a peanut-sized nub of a thing, while her eyes seemed to be frozen wide open.

“You look wonderful,” he lied. “You haven't changed a bit.”

“Neither have you,” Joan said.

At that they both looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Sorry to hear about Rose,” Joan said.

“Likewise Edward,” Sean replied, having been filled in as to the fate of Joan's husband by Martha on the way over.

Joan pursed her lips. They seemed to be the only part of her face that could move. “Actually, it was a mercy. By the end, he couldn't find his way out of bed by himself. It was hard.” For a moment Joan seemed to fold in on herself; then she rallied. “But thanks to your sister, I've made a new start here. New place. New face. Of course, I might have overdone it in the plastic surgery department.”

“Not at all,” Sean lied for the second time in five minutes. “You look exactly the way I remember you—perfect.”

Joan playfully hit him with the heel of her hand. “You always were a flirt.”

Sean just laughed because it was true. Then Martha went into the kitchen to make everyone some tea, while he and Joan took seats around the dining room table.
I bet it's going to be decaf,
Sean thought gloomily as he watched Joan put the kettle on to boil. The fact that the plates and the cups on the table were Styrofoam, the spoons were plastic, the cookies were store-bought, and there was Nutrasweet on the table did not augur well for what was to come. His daughters always used tea leaves and steeped the tea in a china pot after having first warmed the pot to the proper temperature. Then they served the tea in bone china cups. The word
Styrofoam
did not pass their lips, let alone enter their house.

“Tell Joan about Monty,” Martha called from the kitchen.

Sean did. Joan listened, and then she started talking about Penny, Monty Field's wife.

Joan shook her head. “Her and Monty were quite the pair. They really deserved each other. They were horrible neighbors. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead….”

“Oh, go ahead,” Sean said.

Joan giggled. “I don't know what Penny did with her time except eat.” Joan made a disapproving sucking noise. “She didn't take care of her boys. She didn't take care of her house. It was always a mess.”

Martha tsked-tsked her disapproval.

“It's true,” Joan asserted, giving Sean a combative stare.

Sean put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I remember.”

Joan gathered the cards together and began shuffling. “You know how I always thought it was Monty that killed her?”

Sean nodded. “I do.”

“Now I think maybe I was wrong. Now I think maybe it was one of the brothers.”

Joan started dealing. Sean noticed that her moves were fast and practiced.

“What made you change your mind?”

“It's stupid, really. Something one of the children said. Only, I can't get it out of my mind.”

Sean leaned forward. “Tell me.”

Joan thought for a moment. “I'm trying to remember the exact wording. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can,” she said after another moment had gone by.

“It's okay,” Sean said. “Just tell me what you do remember.”

“The boy…”

“Geoff?”

Joan nodded. “Had just finished mowing my lawn—incidentally, he'd done a crummy job—and he'd come in to get paid. As I was getting my wallet, I asked him how things were going….”

“This was after Penny died.”

“That's right,” Joan said. “Anyway, he said, ‘Not so good,' and I asked him why and he said because his dad was going to send him and his sister up to his brother's camp….”

“Which brother?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I think both brothers owned a camp somewhere in Sandy Pond,” Martha said, interrupting.

Sean nodded his thanks to his sister, then told Joan to go on.

“So,” Joan said, taking up her story where she'd left off, “I said to Geoff that I could see that it was probably pretty boring being up there, and he said no. That wasn't the problem. He was scared to go up there, especially after what had happened to his mother. Then he clapped his hand over his mouth, like he had said something he shouldn't have, and ran out the door. He left his money behind, so I went over to give it to him, but he wouldn't come to the door. I went over a couple of times after that, but he was never there.”

“Did he go up there?”

Joan shook her head. “I don't know.”

“What happened to the money you owed him?” Sean asked just to have something to say.

Joan shrugged. “I gave it to his dad.”

“Interesting,” Sean said. He really didn't know what to make of what Joan had just told him.

“I never spoke to him again. I guess I should have called you,” Joan said. “But,” she continued, “I wasn't sure, and you couldn't find any proof that Penny hadn't died of a heart attack. It seemed better to let the matter rest and not stir things up. So I told myself that I might have been mistaken in what I had heard. That maybe the kid was upset about something else. You know how teenage boys are.”

Sean nodded again, waiting for Joan to continue talking.

“But deep down in my heart I always felt that there was something wrong, that I should have reported what I heard to you.”

Sean took a sip of his tea and put his cup back down. The tea had grown cold. He wasn't a big fan of tea in general and green tea in particular, and cold green tea just wasn't a possibility, especially when he was drinking it out of a Styrofoam cup, which felt awful on his lips.

“You know,” he said, “my dad always used to say that hindsight is twenty-twenty, and he was right.”

“No,” Martha said. “It was Mom who used to say that hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Dad who used to say, ‘Tell me the past and I'll tell you the future.'”

“It comes down to the same thing,” Sean said impatiently. “The more pressing question is, why would one of the brothers kill Penny—if that's what they did? What would their motive be? Most of the time it's the husband who kills the wife.”

“Or vice versa,” Martha threw in.

Joan shook her head. “I don't know.”

“I do,” Martha said. “It had to be something to do with money. It always has something to do with money.”

Sean thought for a moment. Then he said, “As in one or both of the brothers were stealing money from her and Penny was going to have them arrested.”

“Maybe Monty was in it, as well,” Martha suggested.

“The stealing or the murder?” Sean asked.

“Both,” Martha said.

“The only problem with that scenario,” Sean said, “is that Penny Field's death was never judged a homicide.”

“A minor point,” Martha said, drinking the last of her tea.

Joan reached over, took a vanilla wafer out of the package on the table, and conveyed it to her mouth. “Money really is the root of all evil,” she observed after she'd chewed and swallowed.

“No,” Sean replied. “People are.” And he took out his cell and tried to dial Bernie.

Unfortunately, the network was still down.

E
veryone sitting around the dining room table did a double take when Bernie and Libby straggled into the dining room.

“Surprised to see us?” Bernie asked the assembled population.

The Field clan quickly averted their eyes and resumed doing what they had been doing when Bernie and Libby walked in, which was eating. Bernie glanced around. This was not going as planned. She'd hoped someone would clutch their chest and practically fall off the seat at the sight of them. Obviously, that wasn't happening. Maybe they shouldn't have cleaned up first.

“Should we be surprised to see you?” Lexus asked, speaking for the group.

“You guys looked as if you were surprised,” Bernie told them.

“Well, we were wondering where you two had gotten yourselves off to,” Perceval allowed. “That's true.”

Melissa looked up, then went back to eating. Libby noticed her plate was stacked high with food.

“It looks as if you two were someplace not very pleasant,” Geoff observed. He seemed to have developed a tic in his right eye since Bernie had seen him last. Maybe it was their presence. Bernie certainly hoped so.

Lexus cut into a piece of turkey. “Yes, where did you two run off to? To coin one of my mother's expressions, you both look like something that the cat dragged in.”

“That's rather rude.” Bernie thought that she and Libby had done a pretty good job of cleaning themselves up under the circumstances.

“But true.”

Bernie was about to explain why they looked the way they did, but before she could, Lexus continued talking.

“And what, may I ask, are you doing with those?” Lexus pointed to the pair of duck boots Bernie was carrying. “I know there must be a reason you're carrying them. I just can't think of what it could be.”

Bernie lifted them up. “I want to know who these belong to.”

“They're mine,” Geoff said. “What the hell are you doing with them?”

“They're wet,” Bernie said.

“Of course they're wet,” Geoff said. “I was outside smoking a cigarette.”

“In this weather?” Libby said.

“Nicotine is a powerful drug,” Geoff replied. “Or at least that's what I read.”

“I didn't know you smoked,” Bernie said.

“Why should you?” Geoff said. “I'm trying to quit, so I smoke two cigarettes a day. Not that that's any of your business.”

“It most certainly is,” Bernie told him.

Geoff cocked his head. “And how do you figure that, pray tell?”

“Because it ties in with you being outside,” Bernie told him.

“Believe me, I would smoke inside if I could, but my stepmother,” Geoff said, emphasizing the word
stepmother,
“won't allow it in the house.”

Lexus nodded. “He's quite right. I won't.”

“That isn't the issue,” Bernie said.

“Then what is?” Lexus demanded. “Make your point and get on with it.”

“Her point,” Libby replied, “is that someone tried to kill us.”

There. Finally. It was said, Bernie thought. She looked around the table. No one seemed terribly concerned. In fact, she'd seen more of a reaction at the train station when the announcer came on and told everyone that the Metro-North was going to be late.

Lexus raised an eyebrow. “How horrible for you.”

“It doesn't look as if that particularly upsets you,” Bernie noted.

Lexus reflexively touched her diamond studs with the tips of her fingers. “Well, you and your sister are standing here now. As Monty used to say, ‘No harm, no foul.' Or something along those lines.”

“I find that an odd attitude,” Bernie told her. “I also find it odd that you haven't asked us what happened.”

“You are free to think whatever you like, dear.” Lexus dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “What's what happened to you have to do with Geoff's boots, anyway?”

“What do you think?” Bernie told her.

“I don't have the vaguest idea.”

“The person that tried to kill us followed us out to the bunker. Hence his boots would be wet.”

“That's very clever,” Melissa observed. “How CSI of you.”

Libby was about to comment when Lexus put her hand to her heart and took a deep breath. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I don't know,” Bernie said. “You tell me.”

“You're implying that Geoff tried to kill you,” Ralph said.

“We're saying that he was outside at the right time,” Libby said, ever cautious. “And that he might be involved in the incident.”

Incident,
Bernie thought. Definitely not the word she would have used.

“That's ridiculous,” Lexus protested. “Absolutely ridiculous. Geoff has always had a bad temper, but he'd never do anything like that,” she said, her face a mask of innocence.

“Lexus!” Geoff cried.

Lexus turned toward him. “Yes, sweetie pie?”

“Be quiet.”

“I was only trying to help you out,” Lexus replied, an angelic smile still on her face.

Geoff's cheeks had gone blotchy with anger. “Well, don't,” he told her.

“I don't see why you're so angry,” Lexus cooed.

“You think you're going to throw this off on me so you can get everything, you've got another thing coming.”

“Why, Geoff, I don't know what you're talking about.”

Geoff started to get up from the table, but Ralph put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Don't let her get to you like that.”

“But,” Geoff spluttered.

“Geoff, sit down,” Ralph ordered.

Bernie could see all the fight going out of Geoff. A moment later he complied.

Ralph patted him on the back; then he turned to Libby. “What happened to you two, anyway?” Ralph asked her.

“Didn't you hear the explosion?” Libby asked.

Melissa set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Explosion?” she repeated.

“Yes, explosion,” Bernie said.

“What explosion?” Perceval asked.

“The one in the bunker,” Bernie said. “The one that just happened.”

“Well, we wouldn't hear anything that happened in the bunker,” Perceval said. “Monty designed this house to be soundproof and flame resistant, as well. So there was an explosion in there?”

“I don't believe you didn't hear it,” Bernie told him.

“Why would we lie?” Perceval asked.

“Why would one of you try to kill us?” Bernie countered.

“You're probably just making this all up,” Lexus told her.

“Someone set off fireworks in the bunker,” Bernie said.

“That's not such a big deal,” Perceval said. “I thought you said there was an explosion.”

Bernie gritted her teeth. “There was. The fireworks exploded.”

Greta laughed. “We've had that happen to us lots of times, isn't that right, Audie?”

Audie smiled. “Oh, definitely. Look at yesterday. Nothing to make a fuss about.”

Bernie smiled. “How's Africa going?” she asked, interested to see Audie's reaction.

The technique of slipping a non sequitur in was something she'd learned from her father. But once again she didn't get the reaction she'd hoped for, because Audie said, “Politically? Economically? Socially? I mean, I really wouldn't know, would I? It's not my field.”

“What is your field?” Bernie asked.

Audie waved a hand around in the air. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that. You know how it goes.”

“Not really. I'm asking because you and your cousins have had business dealings in Africa.”

“And that is your business how?” Greta asked Bernie.

“I think it's my business because I think you and your cousins were selling fireworks in Africa, and I think you cheated Monty out of a substantial sum of money, and he was going to go to the police, so you killed him.”

Greta dabbed at her mouth with the hem of her napkin, placed it next to her plate, and pushed her chair away from the table. “How fascinating. I do enjoy fiction. Tell me, do you have any proof of that?”

Bernie thought back to the yellow pad, which was probably covered with soot by now, and the records that she couldn't find, and the computer that wasn't there, and did the only thing possible under the circumstances. She lied.

“Yes,” she said.

“I don't believe you,” Greta replied.

“I think we're missing the salient point here, anyway,” Perceval said.

“And what would that be?” Libby asked.

“You had no right being in the bunker.”

“Good point, Perceval,” Ralph said as he rested his knife and fork on his plate. “What were you doing in there?”

“You were investigating, weren't you?” Geoff asked.

“What do you think?” Libby said.

“You were warned not to,” Perceval said. “The police told you to leave everything alone.”

“So report us,” Bernie told him.

“I intend to,” Perceval said, “not to mention charging you for trespassing.”

“Yes,” Geoff commented as he reached for the cranberry sauce. “You should have listened. The bunker is a dangerous place to be.”

Bernie wanted to wipe the smirk he was wearing right off his face. “Not if someone doesn't throw lit fireworks in it, it's not.”

“Who would do something like that?” Greta asked.

“Who indeed?” Libby echoed.

“But rest assured that we'll find out,” Bernie said.

Lexus stifled a yawn. “I like your cranberry sauce. Do you use orange peels in it?” she asked Libby.

“Yes, we do,” Libby said.

“I thought so,” Lexus said. “It gives everything a nice flavor.”

“Bad accidents happen all the time,” Geoff said. “You could have been killed.”

“We almost were,” Libby informed him.

Audie tsked-tsked. “What a shame that would have been,” he said.

“Yes, indeed,” Bob agreed.

“In the prime of one's life,” Melissa said, taking a break from eating.

“My sentiments exactly,” Libby replied.

Everyone at the table looked up at her and smiled. The smiles were not nice.

“Of course,” Lexus said thoughtfully, “you might have staged this thing by yourself. After all, there's only your word for it that someone threw fireworks into the bunker.”

“And why would we have done something like that?” Libby asked.

Melissa shrugged. “To make us look bad. To make people feel sorry for you.”

“Right. What I find amazing is that you seem to be so calm about the fact that your bunker was damaged,” Bernie observed.

“Accidents have happened before and they'll happen again,” Lexus told her.

“And we never keep anything of importance in there, anyway,” Geoff said.

“We?” Bernie repeated.

“We,” Geoff said. “We're a family business. Always were. Always will be.”

“What about your computer?” Bernie asked. “And your files?”

Perceval laughed.

“So you use a computer?” Libby asked him.

Ralph answered instead. “Of course we use a computer. After all, this is the twenty-first century.”

“Because I couldn't help noticing that it wasn't there,” Libby continued.

“That's because it's in the trash. The hard drive blew,” Ralph said. “I just haven't gotten around to getting a new one yet. Good thing, too, considering.”

“I hope you had everything backed up,” Bernie said.

“I have one word for you,” Ralph said. “The Ethernet.”

“Yes,” Perceval continued. “We've had explosions before, so we'd be fools to do otherwise.”

“Lots of explosions,” Geoff said.

Lexus conveyed her piece of turkey to her mouth and chewed.

“It won't take very long to put the bunker back together,” Melissa said. “A couple of days at the most.”

Bernie looked at Libby to get her reaction to the conversation, but Libby wasn't looking or listening to the people. Her attention was focused on everyone's plates.

“What are you eating?” she asked Lexus, even though she already knew. Libby just couldn't believe her eyes.

“Your turkey, obviously,” Lexus said. “After all, it is Thanksgiving.”