A Catered Halloween (6 page)

M
arvin looked at Libby, who was perched on her bar stool, trying to make a bird out of a cocktail napkin and failing.

“You actually saw a ghost,” he said.

Libby smoothed the napkin out and tried again. “I didn’t say that. I said it seemed as if I saw a ghost.”

“Seemed?” Marvin repeated.

“Seemed,” Libby said firmly.

“Well, I’m still envious. I’ve never come close,” said Marvin.

Brandon put the beer Marvin had ordered down in front of him and then got Libby and Bernie their Irish coffees. “Not once?” Brandon asked after he’d given Bernie a quick hello kiss. His shift was over, but his replacement hadn’t come in yet.

“Never,” Marvin said. Then he pointed to the napkins with
R.J.’S BAR AND GRILL
printed on them in green and blue. “These are new,” he observed.

“The owner’s son is starting a printing business, and his dad is trying to help him out,” said Brandon.

Marvin nodded as Bernie turned toward him

“Has your dad ever seen a ghost?” she asked.

“Nope. He doesn’t believe in them,” replied Marvin. “He says that when you’re dead, that’s it.”

Brandon surveyed the bar. Everyone seemed satisfied for the moment, so he asked his next question. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Not in the least,” Marvin said, with a great deal of conviction.

“He’s had plenty of opportunity to see them, too,” Libby pointed out.

Bernie lifted up her glass, changed her mind, and put it back down. “Not really,” she said. “Ghosts tend to haunt places.”

“Like funeral homes,” Brandon said.

“No. Like places where they died a violent death. Personally, I think they’re some sort of leftover energy that’s just stuck there,” said Bernie.

Marvin frowned. “I agree with my father—for once—on this one. I think when you’re dead, you’re dead. You go in the ground, and that’s the end of the story. You don’t go to heaven. You don’t get reborn as something else. You just disappear. In all the time I’ve worked with my dad, I’ve never seen or felt anything that was vaguely ghostlike.”

“How long has your dad been a funeral director?” Brandon asked.

Marvin took a sip of his Brooklyn Brown and wiped his mouth on one of the napkins on the bar. “Maybe thirty years. Maybe thirty-five. I’m not exactly sure.”

Libby toyed with her glass for a moment and then took a sip. She could feel herself begin to relax. Who was it that said that Irish coffee was the perfect mix of fat, sugar, and alcohol? “I think I was meant to see Bessie Osgood’s ghost,” she blurted out.

“Obviously,” Bernie said.

“No. I mean, I think someone wanted me to see her,” said Libby.

Bernie raised an eyebrow. “Someone?”

“The someone who did this,” replied Libby.

Bernie snorted. “And who would that be?”

“I don’t know,” Libby told her.

“But why would someone do that?” Brandon asked Libby.

“Because,” she replied, “Curtis and Konrad are ready to swear that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst, and my seeing her backs up their story.” Libby explained what the ghost hunters had told her dad.

“Those two guys are nuts,” Brandon scoffed. “They also believe in UFOs. In fact, one of them offered to hook me up with a ride.”

“And you didn’t go?” Bernie asked.

Brandon laughed.

“I think,” Libby continued, “that what I experienced in the kitchen might be an attempt to keep us from investigating any further. Whoever did it is betting that we’ll buy into this fantasy they’ve created.”

“From the way you describe it, you have to admit it’s a pretty elaborate fantasy,” Brandon said.

“Exactly,” said Marvin as he picked a handful of peanuts out of the bowl and began to shell them. “The sensations, the cold, the vision. If what you experienced was created by someone, the question becomes, how was it accomplished? Who has the technical know-how to do this?”

“That’s easy,” Bernie said. “FX Productions, the outfit that set up the show.”

“What do we know about them?” Marvin asked.

Brandon whipped out his iPhone. “I’ll Google them
and find out.” A moment later he said, “Here they are. They seem pretty legit to me.” He passed the phone to Bernie.

“Expensive,” she said after she’d read the company’s Web page. “Lots of references.” She handed the phone back to Brandon.

“I bet they can’t be too pleased that they’re involved in something like this,” Brandon said. “There’s a contact number. Maybe I should give them a call and see what I can find out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Bernie. She tapped her fingernails on the base of the glass holding her Irish coffee. “And in the meantime, maybe we should talk about who disliked Amethyst.”

“Now that,” said Brandon, “will be easy.” He excused himself for a moment to wait on the people down at the end of the bar.

Marvin swept the peanut shells onto the floor and looked around the place. R.J.’s never seemed to change. There was the dartboard over on the right, the pool table by the window, the tables for two shoved up against the wall, the historical pictures of Longely hanging slightly crookedly on the wall, the spindly ficus tree fighting for life in the window, and the peanut shells on the floor.

“There aren’t many people here,” he observed.

“Monday nights are always slow,” Libby replied. “You know,” she continued, “I just realized that they never put up any holiday decorations around here.”

“A good idea if you ask me,” Bernie noted. She sucked her thumb. It was still sore from using the edge of a spoon to dig out the seeds from all the pumpkins she’d carved in the last two days.

“Our regulars come here to drink, not to be re
minded of Halloween,” Brandon noted as he planted himself in front of Bernie. “The only decoration they need is a glass.”

“I don’t understand. How can you not want to be reminded of Halloween?” Bernie asked.

“Because they don’t,” said Brandon. “They want to forget everything when they come in here. That’s what serious drinkers do.”

Libby interrupted. “Can we get back to Amethyst?” she asked, annoyed. She felt as if no one was taking this seriously enough.

“Sure,” Brandon said. He unscrewed the top of a bottle of water and took a drink. “I’ll tell you who’s on the top of my list. Inez Colley.”

Bernie took another sip of her Irish coffee. “I thought she went off to Arizona.”

“She did, but she came back,” said Brandon.

“When?” Marvin asked.

Brandon looked at the ceiling while he calculated his answer. “About three months ago, give or take a couple of weeks.”

“Where’s her husband?” Marvin asked.

“Still in the monastery in Kyoto. I don’t think he’s coming back from Japan,” Brandon replied. “A guy who works for his former boss told me Kevin was taking the precepts, or doing whatever it is you do to become a Buddhist priest.”

“Usually, it’s the criminal, not the victim, that finds religion,” Bernie noted.

Marvin took another drink of his beer. “Obviously, not in this case. Do we know what happened specifically?” he asked.

“No,” Bernie replied.

“Yes,” Brandon said at the same time.

“How do you know?” Bernie demanded.

“Because he told me,” said Brandon.

“He did?” asked Bernie.

“Yeah. He was drunk off his ass,” said Brandon.

“And you never told me?” said Bernie.

“A man never reveals what another man tells him when he’s under the influence of alcohol,” Brandon said.

Bernie rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” Brandon said, “I have my code of ethics. But I’ll tell you now because it’s important.”

Bernie patted her chest. “Be still, my heart.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” said Brandon.

“We want to hear it,” Marvin said.

“All right, then,” replied Brandon as he took another sip of water. “You know that Amethyst was working for Inez’s husband, right?”

Libby nodded. “As an office manager.”

Brandon leaned forward. “Well, according to him, one night, when they were working late, Amethyst slipped something in his drink, had sex with him, and videotaped it.”

Bernie snorted. “Yeah, right. Poor Mr. Innocent.”

Brandon shrugged. “It’s possible.”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “But not likely.”

“Okay. Not likely,” Brandon agreed. “But I definitely believe what Kevin said happened next, which was that Amethyst threatened to show the tape to his wife unless he paid her off. Which he did by refinancing his house and taking a loan out on his business.”

“Stupid,” Marvin said.

“It must have been quite a tape,” Bernie observed.

“I’d say,” replied Brandon as he scanned the room again. “So here was Kevin, thinking the problem was taken care of, when Amethyst came back, asking for more money. Kevin freaked. He wimped out and took
off for Japan to become a Buddhist monk, leaving Inez without a pot to pee in.”

“Nice guy,” Marvin commented.

“But, Brandon, Inez doesn’t know about Amethyst, so she can’t want to kill her,” Bernie protested.

“She does know. Kevin told me he left Inez a note,” said Brandon. “Explained everything in it. Asked her forgiveness. Blah. Blah. Blah.”

Libby blinked. “Wow. Poor woman.”

Brandon took another drink of water and screwed the top back on the bottle. “I saw her at Sam’s Club last week. She doesn’t look so great.”

“I can imagine,” Bernie said. “What’s she doing now?”

“She’s on a cleaning crew,” replied Brandon.

“You’re kidding,” Bernie cried.

“Nope,” said Brandon, shaking his head.

Libby clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. This was a woman who used to come into their store and order four hundred dollars’ worth of food at a go without batting an eye.

“Jobs are tight these days, and with her problem, this was the only job she could get, and that’s only because Ian felt bad for her,” Brandon explained. “My friend Ian White runs AAAPlus Clean.”

“Didn’t she work in a lab doing something with remote sensing?” Libby asked.

Bernie finished her Irish coffee. “She did before she got married and became Mr. Rich Man’s wife and started drinking and got two DWIs. Now, I’m sure she couldn’t get a security clearance to work at Wal-Mart.” Bernie stretched. “I’d say she had a motive to kill Amethyst.”

“I’d go for the husband,” Libby said.

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “But Kevin is in Japan.”

“Good point,” Libby said. “And Inez has never been too stable.”

“Just because she threw a tantrum in our shop when she found out we were out of broccoli cole slaw and we had to call the police to get her out?” Bernie asked.

“Something like that,” Libby said.

“You want me to find out if she’s working tonight?” Brandon asked.

“So late?” Libby asked.

“That’s when Ian’s crews work,” said Brandon. And he punched his friend’s phone number in and walked to the end of the bar. A few minutes later, he was back. “Funny thing,” he said. “But she’s cleaning at the Foundation as we speak.”

“Huh,” Bernie said. “Curiouser and curiouser. I think we should go have a chat with her.”

“Now?” Libby said.

“When better?” Bernie asked.

“Tomorrow is better. I want to go home and go to bed,” replied Libby.

“Then Brandon and I will go,” said Bernie.

“We will?” Brandon asked. “I thought we had other plans.”

“First things first,” Bernie said firmly.

“And then we can go to my place,” said Brandon.

Bernie grinned. “That depends on your performance.”

Brandon leered. “My performance is always stellar.”

Bernie laughed and ate a peanut.

B
ernie watched the Peabody School rise in the moonlight as Brandon rounded the bend in the road. She hugged herself as she turned toward Brandon.

“This would make a great set for a horror movie,” she said.

“Yeah,” Brandon said. “The only thing it lacks is bats and a belfry.”

“It has a colony of bats.”

“I was being metaphorical.” Brandon pointed to the top of the building. “It also has a widow’s walk.”

For a moment Bernie thought she saw a faint shape, a large, light spot in the dark, but when she looked again, it was gone.
Probably an optical illusion
, she told herself.

Brandon headed toward the main entrance. “Senior year, Ben Altman bet me I couldn’t get all the way up there on Halloween night.”

“And did you?”

Brandon shook his head. “I chickened out before I got to the second floor. I thought I heard voices.”

“Maybe you did. Maybe someone else was in there.”

“There were no cars in the lot.”

“Maybe it was a couple of squatters,” said Bernie.

“Maybe. But I wasn’t about to stay and find out.”

Bernie rubbed her arms. For some reason, she was cold. “You think Libby saw something earlier this evening?”

“Definitely. Don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do. She was really freaked out.”

“Do you think she really saw Bessie Osgood?” asked Brandon.

“Don’t tell anyone, but yeah. I think she did.”

“Freaky.”

“Halloween is a freaky time of year.”

Brandon turned into the parking lot. “There’s the cleaning van,” he said, changing the subject.

Brandon parked right beside it, and he and Bernie got out.

“And no cops,” Bernie observed. According to Clyde, they’d packed up and left the crime scene a couple of hours ago. “Did your friend Ian say anything about Inez?” Bernie asked Brandon as they walked to the front door.

Brandon zipped up his jacket before replying. “He said she was a mess. He thought she was drinking again.”

“No surprise there,” replied Bernie.

“I guess not. He told her she had to have a doctor’s note if she called in sick one more night,” said Brandon.

“Another DWI and she’s going to be going to jail for a long time,” said Bernie.

“She’s going to be going to jail for an even longer time if she killed Amethyst,” replied Brandon.

“True,” Bernie agreed. “And she could have. After all, she knows how lasers work.”

“If that’s what was used.”

“I’m guessing fiber-optic laser wire,” Bernie informed him.

Brandon stared at her. “Where do you get this stuff from?”

“Well, I was reading an article on a new piece of work Jacobs is doing.”

“Jacobs?”

“The sculptor, uncultured one.”

“I’m cultured. I like yogurt.”

Bernie faked a groan. “Anyway, it got me thinking that that would fit the bill. It’s light. It’s quiet. It’s easy to manipulate.”

“Why not a samurai sword or a machete?”

“Not enough blood.”

“Maybe she was killed somewhere else and moved.”

“Maybe,” Bernie agreed. “But I don’t think so.”

“Your feminine intuition tells you this?”

Bernie chucked Brandon under the chin. “Exactly. I could be wrong. Who knows,” she mused. “Maybe the person who killed her used a piece of flexible, glass-coated glazier’s wire.”

Brandon shook his head. “Sometimes you scare me.”

“Then don’t piss me off.” And Bernie pulled her turtleneck up till it covered her chin. She definitely should have brought a scarf. “Did Ian say how many nights a week they cleaned here?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Five.”

“That’s a lot for an office, isn’t it?”

“Evidently, Kane’s a clean freak.”

“So they were here last night?”

Brandon nodded. “But they don’t clean the Haunted House area.”

“How come?”

“Kane doesn’t want them to. He said there was too much delicate equipment in there. Touch the wrong thing and kablamo. There goes one of the exhibits.”

“Who does the cleaning then?” asked Bernie.

Brandon shrugged. “I assume the volunteers do, but you’ll have to ask Kane.”

“And Inez was here cleaning the Foundation part?”

“That’s what Ian says.”

By now Bernie and Brandon were at the door. Brandon put his hand on the handle. “So, what are you going to say to Inez?” he asked.

“I’m going to ask her if she killed Amethyst.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Just like that.”

Brandon threw back his head and laughed. “And you expect her to say, ‘Yes, I did’?”

“No. I just want to see how she reacts.”

Brandon pulled the door open. “A waste of time if you ask me.”

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

“Yeah. Let’s go back to my place and talk about this first.”

“After,” Bernie said and walked inside.

Brandon sighed and followed.

The Foundation was not what Bernie had expected. She’d psyched herself up for a scary mansion, and she’d gotten a generic office instead. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she felt oddly disappointed.

The lights were on in the hallway, and Bernie could see that Kane had done some serious remodeling. Now
the walls were white, instead of wallpapered in paisley, and wainscoted, and the floor was a sea of gray carpeting.

There were metal-framed pictures on the walls, mostly featuring trees and flowers and grass. About twenty feet in was a reception desk, and just after that was a modern black leather sofa and a coffee table with fanned-out magazines. In the background, Bernie could hear Aretha Franklin competing with the hum of a vacuum cleaner.

“Boy, this has sure changed,” Brandon observed. “I remember all this weird wallpaper and dark wood and crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling.”

“So it would appear,” Bernie said as she cautiously opened the nearest door on the right. A small plaque on the door read
MS. LONG.
“I guess Kane was telling the truth when he said the site they’re using for the Haunted House is the last place they have to remodel.”

Bernie peeked inside. The room was small and generic. It contained a desk; a monitor, keyboard, and mouse on the desk; a standard-issue office chair; a wall full of bookshelves, which appeared to contain reports; and stacks of reading material on the table by the door. The room was devoid of any personality. Looking at it, Bernie decided she could be in any office anywhere in the world. For all intents and purposes, the old Peabody School was gone except for where the Haunted House was. And soon that would be gone, too. It made her sad. She carefully closed the door behind her and started down the corridor.

“Let’s go find Inez,” she said.

Brandon hurried after her. “The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned,” he told her.

“So you’ve said,” Bernie retorted.

They walked down the corridor. When they got to
the end, they followed the music and turned left. Aretha was louder now. So was the vacuum cleaner.

“How many people are on this cleaning crew?” Bernie asked.

“Ian said three,” Brandon replied.

They made another left. Bernie began to feel disorientated. The place was like a rabbit warren, all sharp, angled turns. One hallway led to another, and the white walls and gray carpet and overhead lights made everything look the same. Half of the rooms looked as if they were unused. By now the words to “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” were pulsing through Bernie’s head. She paused in front of the door where the music was coming from.

“Let’s do it,” Brandon said and pushed open the door.

They stepped into a paneled conference room. A vacuum cleaner was parked by the far wall. A large, gleaming wooden table sat in the center of the room. The air smelled of furniture polish. A man in coveralls was bent over the table, spraying its surface with Pledge and wiping it down.

Bernie went over and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around. It took him a minute to focus his eyes. Whatever he was on, it had taken him someplace else.

“Sorry,” Bernie shouted. “We’re looking for Inez.”

The man blinked. He made an effort to look at Bernie. She smiled encouragingly.

“Is she around? We need to talk to her,” Bernie explained.

She’d expected that he’d ask why, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed annoyed at being interrupted. He shrugged and pointed to the door on the far wall.

“Through there,” he told her. “She’s cleaning the bathrooms. At least that’s what she’s supposed to be
doing. Whether she is or not, I can’t say.” He nodded toward Brandon. “Hey, pal. How’s it going?”

“It’s going, Josh,” Brandon said. “It’s going.”

“You can say that again,” Josh said and went back to waxing the table.

“How do you know him?” Bernie asked when they got outside.

“His brother was in our class.”

“He was?”

“Matt Keller.”

“That’s Matt Keller’s little brother?”

Brandon nodded. “Yup.”

Bernie shook her head. She remembered him as this blond little pain that was always following Matt around. Now he looked about fifty and was missing half of his teeth.

Brandon must have read her mind, because he said, “That’s what happens when you live on the streets. You want me to talk to him while you go have a chat with Inez and see if he can tell us what she was doing last night?”

Bernie nodded and went off to find Inez. She located her a little while later in the ladies’ room. The door was propped open, held in place by a large garbage can. When Bernie walked in, she could see Inez leaning against one of the sinks, smoking a cigarette. Bernie did a double take. Inez must have gained at least fifty pounds since she’d last seen her. Inez’s face had that round, puffy look drinkers’ faces got. Her waist had vanished, replaced by a layer of fat that ballooned over her belt. Even her hands looked pudgy.

“What do you want?” she asked Bernie.

Suddenly, Bernie decided that Brandon was right. This wasn’t such a great idea.

“To talk to you, Inez.”

Inez took another drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke out of her nostrils.
Just like in some B movie
, Bernie thought.

“You want to know why I haven’t been in your store?”

“Not exactly,” replied Bernie.

“I don’t have time to talk to you. I’ve got work to do.”

“So I see,” said Bernie, nodding at the cigarette.

“Well, I’m going to answer your question for you, Miss Girl Detective,” said Inez.

“Can you make that Ms. Girl Detective?”

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” hissed Inez.

“Yes, I do. Now what’s the question you’re going to answer for me?”

“The one you were going to ask me about Amethyst. I didn’t kill her. The police already questioned me. And let me go. Go talk to Bob Small. He was there.”

“So were you.”

“No. I was here cleaning.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Shows you how much you know,” Inez sneered. “You can’t get from here to the Haunted House section of the mansion. They sealed it off when they remodeled. You have to go outside and around.”

“And what’s to prevent you from having done that?” asked Bernie.

“I was with Josh all the time I was here. We were cleaning the offices.”

“It takes two people to do that?”

“That’s the way Ian says to do it, so that’s what we do,” said Inez. She took another drag of her cigarette and flicked it in the toilet.

Bernie folded her arms over her chest and leaned up against one of the sinks. “Maybe you set up some sort of remote device.”

“And how would I have gotten Amethyst there?”

Bernie shrugged. “I don’t know. Wrote a note. Called her and set up a meeting. You’re smart.”

“I’m not smart enough,” Inez said.

“Why do you say that?”

Inez pointed to one of the toilets. “That’s what I let my life turn into.”

Bernie didn’t say anything, because what Inez said was true.

“I’m glad Amethyst is dead,” Inez continued. “She deserved everything she got. I only wish she had suffered more. She ruined my life. If it weren’t for her, I’d still have my husband and my house. Look at me.” Inez pointed at herself. “Look at the way I look now. Look what I’m doing. I shop at Wal-Mart, for God’s sake. But I didn’t kill the bitch. I wish I had, but I didn’t. If I had, I wouldn’t have been so merciful. Talk to Bob Small. Talk to Zachery Timberland.”

“Zachery Timberland?”

Inez laughed through her nose. It was not a nice laugh, Bernie thought.

“Yeah. Zachery Timberland. Ask him about his daughter Zoe. Ask him what she’s doing now.”

Bernie was about to ask Inez what Zoe was doing now when Brandon appeared at the bathroom door.

“She and Josh were together last night,” he said as he stepped inside the ladies’ room. He looked around. “I’ve always wanted to see what one of these looked like on the inside.”

“Well, now you know,” Bernie replied. She turned to Inez. “You could have both done it.”

Inez snickered. “If I were going to do something like that, I certainly wouldn’t choose a chucklehead like Josh for my partner.”

Brandon tugged at Bernie’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Listen to your boyfriend,” Inez said.

“I’ll go when I’m ready,” Bernie said, even though she knew Brandon was right. She’d gotten as much as she was going to get from Inez this go-around. Staying longer wasn’t going to help anything.

She was turning to go when Inez called out to her.

“I have a question for you,” she said.

“Yeah?” said Bernie.

“How the hell do you walk in those?” She pointed to Bernie’s stilettos.

“Very carefully,” Bernie said. “Very carefully, indeed. And I have a question for you.”

“What?” Inez snarled.

“Have you met Bessie Osgood?”

Bernie watched Inez’s mouth wobble. It was as if someone had taken a giant vacuum cleaner and sucked everything out of her.

“Get out of here,” Inez cried. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“Obviously, I hit a nerve,” Bernie said to Brandon when they were outside.

“Obviously, you did.”

“I guess my dad is right,” Bernie said.