A Catered Mother's Day (3 page)

Chapter 5

L
ibby reached in her pants pocket for a square of chocolate, then remembered she'd left the candy back at the shop. Drats. Just when she needed it too. “Bernie, we have to call the police.”

Bernie grimaced. “Tell me something I don't know.” She nodded her head toward the bathroom. “She's going to freak when they show up,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “She's going to come apart.”

“She is already.”

“Yeah, but she's going to go even further down that path.”

Libby swatted at a fly buzzing around her head. “I would file this under really, really bad concepts.”

“I can't believe she did this.” Bernie pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. “I can't believe she took me seriously.”

“I know,” Libby assured her. “Really I do.”

“I just . . .” Bernie stopped talking and shook her head.

Libby went over and put her hands on her sister's shoulders. “Bernie,” she told her, “you have to keep it together.”

Bernie took a deep breath and let it out. “Better.” Then she pointed to the man on the bed. “We need to find out who this guy is. Hopefully he has some ID on him.”

“The police aren't going to like our doing that,” Libby observed.

“They're not going to know,” Bernie said.

“H-E-L-L-O. Fingerprints. DNA,” Libby said.

“Watch and learn,” Bernie said as she pulled a Ziplock bag full of walnuts and almonds out of her tote, shook the nuts into a side pocket, slipped her hand into the bag, and wiggled her fingers. “Tada! No fingerprints on the body. Am I brilliant or am I brilliant?”

“You're brilliant.”

Bernie curtsied, choosing to overlook the sarcasm. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” She moved a strand of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand.

Libby sighed. “We're still going to have a lot of explaining to do when the police get here.” She could picture the upcoming scene and it wasn't a pleasant vision.

“Not as much as Ellen,” Bernie observed.

“True.” Then Libby leaned over to her sister and asked her the question that had been bothering her ever since they'd walked into the place. “You don't think Ellen had anything to do with this, do you?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
This
referring to the body on the bed.

“No, I don't,” Bernie responded, “and I'll tell you why.” She pointed to the mark on the man's throat. “Ellen is five foot two and one hundred and forty pounds at the most. I don't see how she could have strangled him, do you? Especially with what looks like some sort of rope, some sort of thin rope.”

“Or a garrote,” Libby suggested.

Bernie thought about the Spanish weapon. “You don't see a lot of those floating around Westchester.”

“You also don't see a lot of corpses in motel rooms,” Libby pointed out. “Especially motel rooms around here.”

Bernie nodded. “True. But even if it was a garrote, Ellen still wouldn't have the strength to kill this guy with something like that. Shooting, yes. This, no.”

“I guess she wouldn't,” Libby allowed. “But somebody did.”

Bernie straightened up. “Someone large, someone almost as tall as the guy on the bed, someone with strong hands.”

Libby sighed. “If Ellen is telling the truth, it also means that that someone had to have known that she had left her room so they could place the body in here.”

“Which also means whoever it was had to have been following her,” Bernie said. “Ellen told us she went to Ted's”

Libby nodded. “That's right.” She thought for a moment. “Twenty minutes is about the time it would take to get to Ted's, buy a bottle, and come back.”

“You can kill a man in a lot less time than that,” Bernie noted.

“Yeah. Like two seconds.” Libby chewed her cheek as she looked around the room. Everything seemed in order. “There are no signs of a struggle,” she observed. “If the killing had taken place here, there would have been. Of course, Ellen could have cleaned them up.”

“Which seems unlikely,” Bernie replied. “First she kills this guy, then she cleans up, then she calls us for help?”

“To get rid of the body.”

“She said she was sorry about that.”

“I hope so. Why not just leave? Why call us?”

“I'm guessing because she was so panicked she couldn't move.”

Bernie brushed a speck of lint off her black T-shirt. “So given that we're agreed with the fact that Ellen didn't kill this guy—we are, aren't we?”

Libby nodded.

“We're left with the question of how this guy got here. I think there are three possibilities.” And Bernie ticked them off on her fingers through the plastic bag. “Either this guy was killed in this room, he was killed in the parking lot, or he was dead already, and whoever the killer was saw Ellen leaving and decided to take advantage of the opportunity and put the body on the bed, after which, he drove off.”

“Highly unlikely,” Libby said. “Most people don't drive around with dead bodies.”

“Except for Marvin.”

“Ha-ha. It's his job. He owns a funeral home.”

“I know. I just couldn't resist the opening. Anyway,” Bernie said, getting back to business, “we're agreed our dead guy was probably not killed in the motel room, right?”

“Right,” Libby said. “There's the parking lot. Maybe the person I saw—”

Bernie interrupted. “You never said it was a person,” she countered. “You said it was a deer.”

“No. You said it was a deer. I said I wasn't sure. Anyway, maybe he had something to do with this.”

“Well, if he did, he's long gone by now.” Bernie tapped her fingers on her thigh. “But for the sake of argument, let's say you're right. Let's say this hypothetical person did kill him. It still doesn't answer the question of why the dead guy is on the bed. Why not leave his body in the woods?”

“Maybe the dead guy was intended as a message to Ellen,” Libby suggested.

“Doubtful. To what end?” Bernie extended her hands, palms outward. “She's a housewife, for heaven's sake, not a Mafia member. She runs a dog biscuit company; the only places she goes are the grocery store and the soccer field to watch her kids play ball.”

“All I know,” Libby said, pointing to the dead guy, “is that he didn't get here in some space-time continuum accident.”

“No kidding.” Bernie flexed her fingers in the bag. “You know how they always say on crime shows how dead bodies speak to them? Well, this one's not saying anything to me.”

“And a good thing too,” Libby responded. “Bad enough to deal with a dead body, let alone one who talks.”

“That would make him a zombie, in which case I'd be out of here.” Bernie slipped the Ziplock bag off her hand and held it out to Libby. “Hold this for a moment, would you?”

“Why?”

“I want to document everything.”

Bernie reached into her tote and took out her phone. When she was done, she put her phone back in her tote, took the Ziplock bag from Libby, put it back over her hand, and started going through the dead man's pants pockets.

As Libby watched, she couldn't help thinking of her mom emptying her dad's pants pockets before she did the laundry. “Mom would not have approved of what you're doing,” Libby found herself blurting out.

Bernie straightened up. “She'd have a fit. But then if Mom was alive we wouldn't be doing this.”

“That's for sure,” Libby said, remembering how their mom had acted when their dad had discussed his cases around the dinner table. She'd always say, “Can't we talk about something more pleasant? Any luck?”

“Not even lint.” There were six pockets, three to a side, and all of them were empty. No wallet. No cell phone. No keys. No nothing. Bernie clasped her palms together and brought her fingers up to her lips. “ ‘Curiouser and curiouser, ' as the White Rabbit would say.”

“Either this guy left his stuff behind because he didn't want to be ID'd or someone took it because they didn't want him to be identified.”

“Either way the result is the same,” Bernie noted, taking the Ziplock bag off her hand and stuffing it back in her tote.

She and Libby were about to check out the parking lot when they heard a
clunk
coming from the bathroom.

“Ellen,” Bernie called. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Ellen replied. She gave a strangled laugh. “Part of the towel rack fell off the wall. I'm putting it back on.”

“Do you need any help?” Bernie asked.

“No. No. It's all good.”

“Call if you need us.”

“Don't worry, I will,” Ellen replied.

Bernie and Libby heard the sound of water running.

Ellen's voice floated through the noise. “I'm washing up. I'll be done in a minute.”

“Take your time,” Bernie responded. “But when you come out we have to talk, okay?”

Ellen didn't answer.

“Ellen, we really do,” Bernie said. “This is serious. You could go to jail for this.”

There was still no response.

“Maybe she can't hear you over the water,” Libby suggested.

“It's not that loud. Anyway, she could hear me fine before.” Bernie started tapping the fingers of her left hand against her thigh. The bad feeling she'd had ever since she'd knocked on the motel room door kicked itself up a notch. “I'm not liking this. I'm not liking this at all.”

Which was when Libby remembered the bathroom window. She put her hand to her mouth and groaned. “Oh crap.”

“Oh crap, what?” Bernie asked.

“The bathroom window. I bet she climbed out it.”

“Don't be absurd.” Bernie took a deep breath and let it out. “She wouldn't. She couldn't.”

“She might have.”

Bernie shook her head. “Those windows are small. I don't think she could squeeze through one of them. Anyway, they were always painted shut.”

“Maybe not this time,” Libby said as she headed toward the bathroom with Bernie following.

Libby banged on the door. “Ellen,” she cried. “Open up. Come out this second.”

There was no response.

Libby tried the door handle. It didn't budge. The door was locked.

“Let me try,” Bernie said, moving in front of Libby.

“Be my guest,” Libby told her.

“Ellen, don't be stupid.” Bernie jiggled the door handle. “Damn,” she said when it didn't move. She cursed under her breath and put her ear against the wood. All she could hear was running water. “I think you're right. I don't think she's in there.”

“We should have called the police,” Libby said.

“They'll be here soon enough,” Bernie conceded as she studied the door. It was old and flimsy-looking and the upper hinge didn't look too sturdy.

An idea occurred to Libby. She put her hand to her mouth.

“What?” Bernie asked, even though Libby hadn't said anything.

“Do you think Ellen's trying to kill herself?”

“She wouldn't do that,” Bernie replied. But then she hadn't thought Ellen would do something like this either. Bernie's heart started racing. “Ellen,” she yelled, pounding on the door with her fists.

When there was no answer, Bernie rammed into it with her shoulder. The door shuddered, but stayed intact. She tried again. She thought she felt the door move slightly but she couldn't be sure.

She was rubbing her shoulder when Libby said, “Here, let me help.”

Bernie nodded her appreciation. “All right then. On the count of three.”

“Three it is,” Libby said as she got into position.

At three both sisters hit the door full-on. There was a splintering noise and one of the hinges gave way.

“We probably could have picked the lock,” Libby noted as she pushed the door open. “Isaac will not be happy.”

“No, he won't,” Bernie noted as both sisters charged into the bathroom.

The room was empty.

The window was open, just as Libby had predicted.

Bernie stared at it. “I don't believe it,” she said. She felt angry and hurt and betrayed and relieved that Ellen wasn't dead all at the same time.

“Come on,” Libby cried, pulling her sister out of the bathroom. “We're wasting time.”

“I'm going to kill her,” Bernie growled as she followed her sister out of the motel room.

“First we have to get her,” Libby observed.

Libby and Bernie jumped as the motel door slammed shut behind them. From where they were, they had a clear view of Ellen standing on the driver's side of her Subaru, frantically trying to open the car door.

Chapter 6

“E
llen,” Bernie yelled. “Wait. Don't go. Please. We have to talk.”

Ellen paused for a nanosecond and tugged at the car door one last time. The door didn't budge. Bernie watched a look of horror cross Ellen's face as she realized the door was locked. She patted her pants pocket for her keys. They weren't there.
I bet she left them in the motel room,
Bernie thought as she watched Ellen start to walk to the rear of the car. Then Ellen changed her mind, pivoted, and headed for the trees that ringed the parking lot. She was running, but not very fast. Being thirty pounds overweight was slowing her down.

Bernie cursed under her breath while she reached down and took off her Manolos being that it was hard to run in stilettos. She couldn't believe she was going to have to chase Ellen down.

“Come on,” Bernie cried, grabbing Libby's arm. “She's getting away.”

Libby didn't move. “Good. Let her.” She'd had enough drama for the moment.

“We have to catch her.”

“No. We really don't. We can wait till she comes back for her car keys.” And she walked over and went to open the motel room door. It was locked. Great! A self-locking lock. Just what they needed. “Or maybe not.”

“Well, I'm not waiting for her to come back,” Bernie announced.

“And why is that?”

Bernie stuck out her chin. “Number one, we don't know if she's coming back here or not, and number two, I'm damned if I'm going to be made a fool.”

“So because you're pissed, I have to chase someone through the woods wearing flip-flops?”

Bernie raised her hand. “Hey, come with me or not. It's up to you. But I am going to catch Ellen and find out what's going on if it's the last thing I do. Ellen,” she yelled as her friend disappeared into the trees.

Then Bernie took off.

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” Libby muttered as she watched Bernie go. She could stay, but she knew she wouldn't. Her sister was her sister even if she was an idiot. However, this was a bad idea. She didn't like running under the best of circumstances and these were not the best of circumstances. At least, if she were wearing sneakers . . . but she wasn't. She was wearing shoes that had been developed for walking on the sand, and she didn't see any sand here.

She could hear her sandals making a slapping noise on the tarmac as she ran. On top of everything else, it was hard to see. Her night vision had never been great and the sun had set since she and Bernie had gone into the motel room and there was no moon out. All Libby could see of Bernie was a gray shape moving in front of her. Then her sister entered the woods and Libby lost sight of her altogether.

When Libby got to the forest, she paused to get her bearings. She was trying to decide which way to go when she heard twigs cracking in front of her. Then she heard Bernie shouting Ellen's name.

“Okay, then,” Libby said to herself as she headed toward the sound.

As Libby ran, she wondered what her sister was going to do if and when she caught Ellen. Was she going to tackle her? Hold her down? What?

Meanwhile, Bernie was a hundred yards or so upfront. “Please, stop,” she called out to Ellen, but Ellen kept going.

By now she and Ellen were running through the trees that had overgrown the parking lot and taken possession of the cornfield that had been there when the land was a farm. Bernie cursed the low-hanging pine branches that kept hitting her in the face as she raced through the woods.

Libby was right. I shouldn't be doing this
, Bernie thought as she stopped for a moment to catch her breath and pluck a thorn out of her heel.
But I especially shouldn't be doing this without shoes
. But pride made her keep going. She stopped again a few yards later, bent down, and rubbed her right foot. She could feel welts and cuts. She didn't even want to think about what she was stepping on, let alone the condition of her pedicure. When had she gotten her last tetanus shot anyway? She put her right foot down, picked up her left foot, and flicked off a pebble that had lodged itself in her arch. In the future, it might be a good idea to keep an extra pair of running shoes in the van.

“It's going to look really bad if you run away,” Bernie yelled at Ellen after she'd straightened up.

Ellen didn't reply. All Bernie heard was the sound of twigs snapping and brush being pushed aside, a good indication that Ellen was still moving.

Bernie tried again. “Please, Ellen,” she begged. “Don't do this.”

Ellen's voice floated back to her. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I made a mistake. I should never have gotten you involved. Go home.”

“I can't do that,” Bernie called back. “I am involved.”

“Just pretend you were never here,” Ellen said.

Bernie could hear Ellen gasping for breath somewhere in front of her.
She can't be that far,
thought Bernie.
If I keep her talking, maybe I can sneak up on her and tackle her.

“That's not possible,” Bernie said as she very carefully lifted her right foot up and put it down. There was no sound. This was good.

“Sure, it is,” Ellen replied.

Bernie lifted her left foot up and slowly brought that one down. “What about the dead body?” she asked. “How do I explain him?”

Ellen's breath sounded a little more regular. “You don't have to.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. No one is here. No one knows you saw anything. Just don't tell anyone and you'll be fine.”

“Is that your plan?”

Ellen didn't answer.

“What if I'm not fine with it?” Bernie asked.
Just keep talking
, she silently ordered Ellen as she lifted up her right foot and brought it down. There was a crackling noise as she stepped on a twig. “Damn,” Bernie said out loud.

Suddenly, she heard rustling up ahead. “Wait, Ellen,” she called after her. “Please stay where you are. The two of us can talk this out.”

“I don't think so,” Ellen said. “I don't think so at all.” And she was off again.

Bernie closed her eyes. The noise Ellen was making was coming from the right, which meant that Ellen had turned and was heading in a slightly different direction. She concentrated on picturing the lay of the land.

If her memory served, there was an open field after the trees and then a road and a housing development. The road—she thought it was Danbury Circle West—circled back and around to the motel. Ellen was going to follow it to get her car. She didn't know that the door to the motel room had slammed shut. Or did she? Maybe she was planning to wiggle her way back through the bathroom window.

Or maybe Ellen wasn't going back to the motel. No. She had to. She needed to get her car. She couldn't just leave it there. And then all of a sudden Bernie knew. When Ellen had been going to the rear of the car she must have had a key hidden underneath the fender in one of those little metallic boxes. Ellen just hadn't had time to get it. Bernie groaned. She had to beat Ellen back to her Subaru and get that key.