A Catered Thanksgiving (15 page)

Bernie rubbed her nose while she thought. Finally she said, “I think she's for real about wanting everything for herself. I think she's for real about being upset about finding Monty's body in her bed. As for the rest, I don't know.”

Libby paused for a moment, then said, “I didn't think old Lucas had it in him.”

“Think Viagra,” Bernie said. “But Lexus is probably lying about that, anyway. She didn't say she'd screwed Lucy. She intimated it, which is different.”

Libby wrinkled her nose at the thought. “True. Why would she do anything with him?”

Bernie put a finger to her cheek. “Hmm. Let me think about that for a moment. Certainly not for his looks or his charm. I'll bet even Mrs. Lucas doesn't do anything with him. Maybe Lexus needed to have a parking ticket fixed.”

“No. It would have to be something more serious than that,” Libby said.

Bernie laughed. “Like murder two, and even that wouldn't be worth it. No. I think she's flat-out lying.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Woman's intuition.”

“Dad thinks that's an overrated commodity.”

“That's just because he doesn't have any.”

“This is true. So,” Libby said, “are we going to help Lexus out or not?”

“No. We're going to help us out. If our interests and Lexus's interests coincide, good. And if not, oh well.”

“Makes sense to me,” Libby said. “So as long as we're up here and the Field family is downstairs, maybe we should start by searching everyone's bedrooms.”

“Works for me,” Bernie said. “Something interesting might turn up.”

And it did, although not in the way Bernie and Libby expected.

B
ernie and Libby were walking down the hallway. They were trying to do this as quietly as possible, which was proving difficult, because the floorboards kept creaking at random intervals, which, Bernie reflected, was what old floorboards did. Even walking on the edges of the threadbare runner didn't seem to help much. The sequence went: step, step, creak, step, step, step, squeak.

The hallway itself was a dark, dim place. The walls were papered over with wallpaper that seemed to make the space even narrower than it already was. There were no pictures or photos on the walls. Ropes of cobwebs hung from the ceiling, attesting to the house's robust spider population.

“Very cheery,” Libby said.

“Yes, isn't it?” Bernie replied. “I think the word you want is
Dickensian.
”

Libby thought of their flat, with its large windows, cheerful jonquil-colored walls, and happy hodgepodge of family photos. “I can't imagine growing up here,” she said.

“Me either. It would have been beyond depressing,” Bernie said, also thinking of their flat, with its comfy sofa and leather chairs and the morning light that streamed in the windows. “Monty really knew how to spread the cheer around. I can see why he's someone who will not be missed.”

“He probably hadn't touched anything since his wife died.”

“Probably,” Bernie agreed.

“Even some brighter lights might help,” Libby observed.

“That would run up the electric bill.”

Libby pointed at the ceiling light fixture. “I bet those bulbs are fifteen watts each,” she said. “How are we supposed to see where we're going?”

“In this case, maybe it's better that we can't,” Bernie replied.

“One thing is clear, though,” Libby continued.

“What's that?”

“Lexus got special treatment from Monty.”

“You're saying that because of the way her room looked?” Bernie asked.

Libby nodded. “Exactamundo. It's clean, it's freshly painted, and it's got thick wall-to-wall carpet.” She pointed to the hallway floor covering. “Unlike this stuff…”

“Which is threadbare…”

“And has no color at all. Plus the furniture is new. She has that big, comfortable bed and a matching bedroom set….”

“It looks high-end,” Bernie noted. “Maybe Stickley or Harden. And she has art on the walls. Originals, not prints. That's a biggie. No wonder no one else in the family likes her. I bet their rooms aren't furnished like that. Not even remotely.”

“I bet you're right,” Geoff said as he popped out of the bathroom in back of Libby and Bernie and tapped both of them on their shoulders.

Bernie jumped. Libby shrieked. It occurred to Libby as she whirled around that she'd been doing lots of shrieking since she'd come to the Field house and that Geoff was responsible for at least half of those shrieks.

Geoff looked at her and put a finger to his lips. “Sssh,” he said.

“Sssh yourself,” Libby told him. She was furious. She hated being frightened, and her heart hadn't slowed down yet. What happened if she had a heart attack? “You shouldn't go jumping out at people and scaring them like that.”

“I wasn't jumping. I was stepping,” Geoff said.

Libby waved a hand in the air. “Don't go semantic on me. The results are the same.”

“Then I apologize.”

“You don't look apologetic to me,” Libby snapped. “Not one single bit.”

Geoff attempted to look downcast. “Well, I am.”

Libby was unconvinced and undeterred. “Do you like scaring people?” she asked Geoff, taking a step toward him. “Do you get off on it? Does it make you feel powerful? Is that why you put Monty's body in Lexus's bed? So you could hear Lexus scream?”

Geoff drew himself up. “I had nothing to do with that,” he replied.

“Well, you certainly weren't knocking yourself out to get up there.”

“Neither was anyone else,” Geoff protested.

Which was true, but Libby decided to ignore that minor detail. “Is that why you threw the firecrackers in the bunker?” she said instead. “So you could scare us? Or maybe you wanted to kill us, like you did Monty?”

“I didn't do any of those things,” Geoff protested. “I already told you so.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, it's true,” Geoff insisted.

“What did Lexus say about your temper?”

“She's a liar,” Geoff cried. “She wouldn't know the truth if it bit her in the ass.”

Libby watched Geoff. He seemed different somehow. More jittery. Or maybe
impatient
was a better word. He kept on tapping his fingers against his legs. And he had a rocking motion going on. Back and forth. On the balls of his feet to his heels and back again. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. And there was something with his eyes. She just couldn't pinpoint what it was, especially in the bad light.

“Then why did you jump out at us?” she demanded.

“I didn't jump out,” Geoff cried. “We already went through that. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“You waited for us in the bathroom.”

“And your point is?”

“That's a strange place to wait.”

Geoff wiped his nose with the back of his knuckles. “Got an itch,” he explained. “There's something in this house I'm allergic to.”

“About the bathroom,” Libby said.

Geoff's rocking motion increased. “For heaven's sake, if you must know, I had to pee. Is that all right with you?”

“It's fine,” Libby said, grudgingly.

“I have to talk to you, to both of you,” Geoff said. “It's a matter of life and death.”

“Yours or ours?” Bernie said. She had barely managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes during the course of Geoff and Libby's conversation.

Instead of answering, Geoff took Libby and Bernie by their arms and propelled them into a room farther down the hall. Then he shut the door behind them.

Libby looked around. As Bernie had predicted, Geoff's room was the opposite of Lexus's. It was small and shabby looking. Narrow and long, it reminded Libby of a jail cell or maybe a cell in a monastery. There were old-style thick-slatted venetian blinds on the windows. The windows themselves looked as if they hadn't been washed in twenty years, which pretty much went along with the paint job. The only decoration on the grayish brown walls was an elaborately decorated samurai sword hanging over the desk.

“Nice,” Bernie said, nodding to it. “Is it real?” she asked.

“What do you think?” Geoff sounded insulted.

“I don't know,” Bernie told him as she took in the rest of the room. “That's why I'm asking.”

“Of course it's real,” Geoff told her.

“Aren't those things expensive?” Libby asked.

“I wouldn't know,” Geoff told her. His tone was haughty. “It was a present.”

“Nice present,” Bernie commented.

Geoff flicked a piece of dust from his coverlet. “I thought so.”

“From whom?” Bernie asked.

Geoff hesitated for a moment, then said, “From myself. I deserved it.”

“I didn't say you didn't,” Bernie replied.

Libby decided that if she had to come up with a name for the room, she'd call it Arrested Development, because it appeared to be frozen in time. The bed over in the corner looked as if it would be fine for a ten-year-old boy but uncomfortably cramped for a teenager, let alone an adult male, to sleep in. Libby wagered that Geoff had had the football-themed coverlet that was on his bed since junior high school. Ditto the pillow, which seemed thin and uncomfortable.

The four-drawer dresser and the desk along the far wall looked as if they were both made out of particleboard. The goosenecked lamp sitting on the desk was the kind you could get in any drugstore for $9.99. A canvas-backed chair was butted up to the desk, while a faded rag rug lay on the floor next to the bed. There was a cinder-block-and-board bookshelf under the window filled with old high school textbooks and a few comics. Bernie thought that the room was the kind of place where you went only to sleep.

The desktop was bare except for a Mac laptop and a couple of candles that sat toward the back. One was of a wizard in blue robes and a pointed hat. He had a beard and was carrying a staff in one hand and a crystal ball in the other. The second candle was another wizard, only this one didn't look as friendly. He was wearing black robes and a black hat and had a frown on his face, and instead of a staff and a crystal ball, he was carrying a wand and a skull.

“I was younger,” Geoff explained as he saw Libby looking at the candles. “I thought they were pretty cool.”

Libby nodded in an absentminded way. “Were you interested in magic?”

“If you're talking about the game, yes, I was.”

That wasn't what Libby had meant, but she didn't say that. Instead she said, “Do you like your Mac?” It stood out in the room like a beacon of light. Besides the sword, it was the only thing of value in there.

Geoff smiled for the first time. “I love it. Absolutely love it.”

“Another present to yourself?” Libby asked.

“Absolutely. PCs aren't good for graphics.”

“Do you do the computer stuff for the business?” Bernie asked.

Geoff nodded. “What there is of it. I wanted to do a Web site. It could have been way cool, but Dad nixed it. But at least he listened to me about backing up. Otherwise we'd really be screwed.”

“How come you didn't get the hard drive replaced on the business computer?” Bernie asked.

“We did. No point in doing it again,” Geoff said.

“You're right,” Libby said. “There isn't.”

“Nope. Just gotta trash it.”

“Okay,” Bernie said, changing the subject. “So why do you want to talk to us?”

Geoff shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They were all standing, because outside of the bed there wasn't anywhere to sit down, except on the canvas chair, and that sagged so badly in the middle that Libby was afraid if she sat down in it, she wouldn't be able to get out of it again.

“I want you to find out where Lexus hid my father's real will,” Geoff said.

“Real will?” Bernie asked.

“The one my father actually wrote.”

“So the one Lexus is talking about is a forgery?” Libby asked.

Geoff nodded. “She did it. I've seen her practicing his signature.”

“If that's the case, why hasn't she presented it by now?” Bernie demanded.

“She will,” Geoff said. “She's just waiting for the cops to get here.”

“Won't the family attorney be able to tell the difference?” Bernie asked.

“I'm not sure. Lexus is pretty good with the whole handwriting thing, and my dad changed his will a lot. Whenever he got mad at us, he'd write one of us out.”

Somehow Libby wasn't surprised. “So how do you know that Lexus's version isn't the current one?” she asked.

“Because he told me he was going to divorce Lexus.”

“And why was that?” Libby asked.

“Because he found out she was sleeping with someone.”

“So we heard in Lexus's room,” Bernie said.

“Alma's son,” Libby added.

“It's true,” Geoff said. “What?” he asked as he looked at Libby's and Bernie's faces. “You don't believe me?”

“No, I don't,” Bernie said. “What I do believe is that you or Greta or Melissa might have told your dad that. Maybe your stepmother was sleeping with someone else, but it wasn't the maid's son. I don't think that Lexus is into sex unless it gets her something. She's strictly a quid pro quo kinda gal.”

“That's a horrible thing to say,” Geoff cried.

“What? That you lied to your dad or that Lexus uses sex to get what she wants?” Libby asked.

Geoff's eyes flitted all over the room.

“That's what I thought,” Libby said. “And while we're on the subject of honesty, I also don't believe that your dad confided in you. He was a control freak, and control freaks by definition like to keep things to themselves. After all, information is power.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Geoff demanded, his glance finally coming to rest on Libby.

“How about a wishful thinker?” Bernie threw in.

“Well, he did tell me,” Geoff insisted.

Libby thought he sounded like a five-year-old caught taking money out of his dad's wallet. “It's just that from what Bernie and I observed,” she told him, “you don't seem to have had that kind of relationship with your dad.”

Geoff relaxed a little. “I know it doesn't seem like it, but we were very close. I was his favorite.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow.

“Really,” Geoff said. “It's true.”

Libby shifted her position slightly. She was getting tired of standing. “Let's say that is true,” she said. “How does that tie in with your telling us that you had to speak to us because it's a matter of life and death?”

Geoff moved a half a step closer to her. Libby noticed that the tic under his eye was getting worse.

“She knows that I know what she did.”

“You mean Lexus?” Libby asked.

Geoff nodded.

“How do you know that she knows?” Bernie asked.

Geoff dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. “I do. I feel it here.” He pointed to his stomach. “In my gut. It's like a cold shadow every time she walks by.”

“That's quite a metaphor, isn't it, Libby?” Bernie said.

“Metaphor?” Geoff looked puzzled.

“Forget it,” Bernie said.

“Forget what?” Geoff asked.

Libby jumped back into the conversation. “Okay. Let's grant what you said is true,” Libby told him.

“It is true,” Geoff insisted. “Why would I lie?”