Read A Catered St. Patrick's Day Online
Authors: Isis Crawford
A Catered St. Patrick's Day (3 page)
Libby nodded. “You’re on.”
When Libby went upstairs to their flat to tell their dad what had happened, he added five dollars to the pot, making the odds two to one against her.
“High finance,” Sean said, chuckling as he pushed his money onto the center of the coffee table.
“So you think Lucy can be bought?” Libby asked her dad later in the day.
It was everything a bread should be, easy to make, a good keeper, had a good crumb, made excellent toast, and, most importantly, was quite tasty. The ingredients were simple, consisting as they did of old-fashioned oats, whole wheat and white flour, salt, yeast, a small amount of molasses, and a hint of cardamom.
The grain had been ground fifteen miles away in a newly opened gristmill. To be honest, Libby wasn’t sure she could taste the difference between the flour bought in the store and the flour made there, but she bought it there anyway because she wanted to support the business.
She liked the idea of knowing who her suppliers were and where the ingredients she was using came from, and on a practical level it made quality control easier. Customers seemed to like the idea as well, since they lined up to buy the loaves as soon as they came out of the oven, which was why they baked the bread seven days a week.
Sean, normally a white-bread kind of guy, chewed on his sandwich and thought about the fact that even he had to admit that this bread was excellent. Then he shifted gears and considered how to answer his daughter’s question about the moral probity of Lucas Broadbent, Longely’s chief of police, known as Lucy to his detractors, which were legion.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Libby said when her dad didn’t immediately respond to her inquiry.
“That’s not true,” Sean replied after he’d swallowed. “I don’t think Lucas can be bought. At least not outright,” Sean added. “And I should know, having worked with him for a number of years. But Lucy is nothing if not a political animal and a man who always puts what’s good for him first.”
Sean took a sip of his coffee and put the mug down. “So therefore, I do think he can be influenced to treat Mike Sweeney’s death as a possible accident. He’s got a fair amount of wiggle room here. After all, it wasn’t as if Sweeney was shot through the heart, so the cause of death isn’t that obvious.” Sean took another bite of his sandwich and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “They’re going to have to do an autopsy to find that out.
“And today’s a big day business-wise for RJ’s, and Mulroney was a big contributor to his campaign when Lucy ran for re-election, so you do the math. My guess is that Lucy will wrap up the investigation as quickly as possible. Which,” Sean said, thinking of recent cases, “he has a tendency to do anyway.”
“True,” said Bernie as she walked through the door. She went over to the table, grabbed half a sandwich, took a bite, and swallowed. “But let us not forget that Sweeney was a rich, connected guy, so this is not the kind of crime that can be swept under the rug for long.”
“I didn’t say it was going to be,” Sean protested. “I just said the CID will wrap things up pretty fast.”
As it turned out, Sean was right. RJ’s opened early that afternoon. The death of Mike Sweeney was conveni, was coently not reported in the local paper for two days and even then it was downplayed. The local paper called it a “possible tragic accident” and simply noted that the incident was under investigation.
Then, the story was swept off the paper altogether by the tale of a local accountant who had swindled several rich seniors out of significant sums of money and contributed said money to an orangutan preserve in Indonesia. When caught, the accountant had explained that he thought the orangs were more deserving than the people he had taken the money from. Knowing the people he had taken the money from, Bernie was inclined to agree.
Whenever Libby or Bernie asked Sean’s friend Clyde, who was a policeman in the Longely PD, about the status of the investigation, they were told that the investigation was proceeding apace. Bernie figured that that was code for nothing was happening, so she was surprised when the police arrested Duncan Nottingham for Mike Sweeney’s murder two weeks later.
Then, an hour after Duncan’s arrest, Duncan’s aunt, Bree Nottingham, turned up on Bernie’s and Libby’s putative doorstep asking—no, demanding—help for he
r nephew. That, on the other hand, didn’t surprise Bernie at all.
r nephew. That, on the other hand, didn’t surprise Bernie at all.
Chapter 3
B
ree Nottingham, real estate agent extraordinaire and social arbiter of Longely, settled herself on the sofa in the Simmonses’ apartment. All three of the Simmonses were there as per Bree Nottingham’s request, even though it had meant that Libby had had to leave Amber in charge of taking the apple, walnut, cream-cheese muffins out of the oven at the proper time, something Libby wasn’t quite comfortable with Amber doing, since Amber tended to have a somewhat casual attitude toward time, not a good thing when it came to muffins.
ree Nottingham, real estate agent extraordinaire and social arbiter of Longely, settled herself on the sofa in the Simmonses’ apartment. All three of the Simmonses were there as per Bree Nottingham’s request, even though it had meant that Libby had had to leave Amber in charge of taking the apple, walnut, cream-cheese muffins out of the oven at the proper time, something Libby wasn’t quite comfortable with Amber doing, since Amber tended to have a somewhat casual attitude toward time, not a good thing when it came to muffins.
But, given the circumstances, Libby wasn’t about to say no to Bree or make her wait. How could she? So she tried to impart to Amber the importance of getting the muffins out when the timer went off. Then she dutifully put some cookies on a plate, put the pot of oolong she’d been brewing on a tray, added sugar, lemon, and cream, as well as the appropriate silverware to the tray, and carried it up the stairs with Bree trailing behind her.
Libby’s sister and father had just learned about Duncan from the local TV news program ten minutes ago and had been discussing the arrest when they heard the two sets of footsteps on the stairs.
“It’s Bree,” Bernie said, hearing her voice. She reached over and clicked off the TV.
“I was wondering how long it would take her,” Sean mused. “After all, Duncan is her favorite nephew.”
“He’s her only nephew,” Bernie pointed out right before Libby and Bree walked in.
Seeing her, Bernie reflected that Bree looked a little less well groomed than usual, although Bernie would not have gone so far as to call her disheveled. Disheveled would have been understandable under the circumstances, but Bree was far from that. She was just less than perfect. One of her nails had a chip in the polish, her eyeliner was askew, and the stocking on her left leg had the beginning of a run in it.
Actually, Bernie could never imagine Bree being disheveled. Not even a little mussed up. Even if there was a category 4 hurricane, Bernie was positive that Bree would have the proper gear. She’d probably turn out for it in a tailored, color-coordinated, French raincoat, with her waterproof mascara and bright red lipstick firmly in place.
Bernie noted that Bree was wearing one of her signature Chanel suits. She had five of them, and Bernie reflected that outside of Bree she had never known anyone who had one Chanel suit, let alone five, especially since they were custom made and cost, the last time she’d asked, twenty-five thousand dollars each. Who knew that one of those suits was almost as expensive as the van they needed to get?
Maybe the suits were even more now. This one was a black and white flecked tweed, with black ribbon piping around the jacket, and was, as the expression went, to die for. Every time Bernie saw it, she fell in lust, and while she wouldn’t have swapped her firstborn for it, she would have had to think about that for a while.
Underneath, Bree was wearing a white, crew neck cashmere sweater, with a triple strand of the obligatory pearls in place. Black suede three-inch pumps completed the outfit. Bernie thought they were vintage Manolos but she couldn’t be sure. Although, maybe they were Dior. Bernie was trying to decide when she became aware that Bree was talking to her.
“It’s outrageous, don’t you agree, Bernie?” Bree demanded as she played with the clasp of her handbag. A Hermès. “I simply can’t believe they arrested Duncan. He had to surrender at the police station. It was either that or they would come and get him. Appalling. Absolutely appalling.”
“Not to mention humiliating,” Bernie said.
Bree gave her the fish-eye and Bernie quickly corrected herself and told Bree she absolutely agreed, although she didn’t. If Duncan had been poor he wouldn’t have had options. The police would have come in the middle of the night and dragged him out. Money definitely had its perks. Maybe it couldn’t buy happiness, but it sure could buy a lot of other things. Bernie pushed the plate with spice balls, sugar cookies, and lemon bars across the coffee table to Bree.
“Have one,” she urged.
“I couldn’t,” Bree said. “I’m much too upset to eat.” But she took a sugar cookie anyway, broke off a small corner, and began eating it.
She was one of those people, Libby reflected as she watched her, who always nibbled on things. Just like a mouse, Libby thought uncharitably, but then maybe that’s why both of Bree’s thighs were as big as one of hers. Come to think of it, she’d never seen Bree eat a piece of chocolate. How terrible was that! Libby wondered if you could be a minus zero dress size. If anyone was, it was definitely Bree. She didn’t seem to have a body. But then Libby thought that maybe she was just jealous. She probably hadn’t been that thin since the day she was born. If then.
While Libby was pouring tea for herself, Bernie and Bree having declined the offer, Sean sat in his armchair, looked at Bree, and waited for her to talk. He was one hundred percent sure that he knew why she was here—she wanted to request their help—but he wanted Bree to say it herself. Even though it was a little thing, it mattered. Especially with someone like Bree, who tended to take over everything.
He took another bite of one of Libby’s lemon bars, a sip of tea, and waited some more. He chewed and swallowed. Nothing. He finished the lemon bar and dusted the powdered sugar off his hands. When Bree still hadn’t said anything, he decided it was time to nudge her along.
“Duncan is out on bail now, isn’t he?” Sean asked her. “He was never really incarcerated. Isn’t that correct?”
Bree sniffed. “That’s correct, but that’s not the issue. The issue is that my nephew should never have been arrested in the first place.”
Bree jammed her purse into the sofa. “I most emphatically do say so. He would never, ever have done something like that.”
“You mean murder Mike Sweeney?” Libby said.
Bree glared at her. “No one in my family has ever gotten so much as a parking ticket up until now. My sister is so upset she had to be sedated.” Bree’s face collapsed for a moment, then she got hold of herself. “It’s just not possible. Duncan is a good boy. He’s never engaged in any sort of wrongdoing—not even when he was in high school. He’s always been a model citizen.”
Sean knew that this was most emphatically not the case from firsthand experience with Duncan in a variety of situations, including, but not limited to, field parties, brawls outside of the Slurp and Burp, mailbox bingo, a couple of stolen cars, and curfew infractions. However, he elected not to bring up the long list of misdeeds Duncan had committed in high school and college. At least not at this moment.
“There must have been cause, otherwise the police would never have arrested him,” Sean gently said instead.
Bree sat up straighter. “The police have no evidence. Everything they have is circumstantial and I want you to prove that that’s the case. I want you to prove my nephew didn’t kill anybody. That he’s innocent.”
Bernie exchanged glances with her father and her sister. That’s what her father had said and what she’d thought Bree had wanted to speak to them about when she’d walked in, and it looked to Bernie as if she and her dad had been right. Unfortunately. Because from what the news anchor had been saying, the case looked fairly tight. Although, Bernie reminded herself, they’d just heard the DA’s side of things. Still, to arrest someone who was as well connected as Duncan meant that the DA had to have some fairly solid evidence.
“Well ...” Bernie began.
“You have to,” Bree pleaded, cutting her off.
“Maybe,” Sean said carefully, “your lawyer could suggest some experts to help in the investigation.” He was sure that Bree’s lawyers had their own investigative team and would prefer to use their people.
Bree crossed and uncrossed her legs before leaning forward. “It’s true we have experts, but I want you three working on the case as well. Which is what I told my people.”
“And what did they say?” Sean asked.
Bree waved her hand dismissively. “Who cares what they said.”
“I care,” Sean said.
Bree gave him an incredulous stare. “Of course, they said yes. I’m paying the bills, aren’t I? What matters is what I want and I want you. You know the people and you know the area.”
“But what if Duncan is guilty—?” Sean began.
“He’s not,” Bree snapped before Sean could finish. “I refuse to entertain that possibility. I already told you that. Just find that girl who he was staying with and we’ll be all set.”
Sean’s ears pricked up. There’d been no mention of a girl on the news. “Girl? What girl?”
“Liza.”
“Liza who?”
Bree frowned. “I’m not sure. Stevens. Stephens. Something like that. The only thing I do know is that she’s trailer park trash and I don’t have any idea why Duncan was hanging around with her.”
“I think you mean Li>
“That’s the one. See,” she said to Sean, “this is why I want the three of you on the case.” Bree tugged her skirt back over her knees, then stood up abruptly. “It’s settled then. Duncan is staying at the guest house in back of my house. When you want to talk to him just come on by. I suppose you’ll want a retainer... .”
Libby began to say that they’d like to talk things over among themselves first, but Bree cut her off after the words “We’d like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know you’re going to do it,” Bree said. Then she reached in her purse, took out an envelope, and placed it on the coffee table. “There’s ten thousand dollars in cash in there, which I trust will be enough to get things rolling. I believe in paying fair value for what I want and I want you people for this. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a massage to go to.”
As Bree walked down the stairs Libby reached for the envelope and opened it up. “She’s right,” she said after she’d counted the money. “There’s ten thousand dollars in cash here. So what does everyone want to do?”
Sean was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Nothing like being steamrolled, I always say.”
“She is good at that,” Libby agreed.
“We can still say no and return the money,” Sean suggested, thinking as he did that he needed a cigarette.
“I don’t think it would hurt to talk to Duncan,” Bernie said. She got up and started pacing around.
“Well, I don’t have anything on my agenda,” Sean said. “I’m just concerned that Bree won’t want to believe what we find out if the results are negative. I mean he wasn’t an angel when he was a kid. To put it mildly.”
“No one in that group was,” Bernie pointed out.
“That’s for sure,” Libby said. “But they all went away. Maybe they changed.”
“You think people can change?” Bernie asked.
“Of course they can,” Libby replied. “Look at you.”
Sean laughed and held up his hand to forestall Bernie’s reply. “I say we vote.”
Bernie pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I vote yes. Anyway, I’m curious about the whole thing.”
“Curious about what?” Sean asked. “The who? The why? The what? The how?”
“All of the above,” Bernie said as she snagged another cookie. “When you think about it, the murder doesn’t make much sense.”
“Most don’t,” Sean pointed out. “People lose control and do dumb things. That’s just the way things are.”
“No,” Bernie amended. “I’m talking about the manner in which the murder was committed.”
Sean leaned forward and took a ginger ball. As he bit into it and the softness of the buttery dough melded with the sugary bite of the candied ginger in his mouth, he reflected that he had to stop eating so much because he was starting to develop a gut. Also, the extra weight would make it difficult for him to walk.
“I guess,” he said, “it’s time to call up Clyde and bribe him. Do two apple pies and a box of chocolate-chip-walnut cookies seem excessive for some information?”
Libby shook her head. “I’ll throw in a linzer torte as well if he wants.”
Sean got on his cell and dialed Clyde’s number. When Clyde answered Sean relayed his requesture his re. “You’re a cheap date,” he told Clyde, listening to his answer.
“What does he say?” Bernie asked.
“He says if you’ll give him a dozen sticky buns instead of the linzer torte we have a deal.”
Libby laughed. “He’s on.”
Sean nodded and told Clyde.
“Call me back in ten minutes. I’ll be home by then,” Clyde told him.
Sean gave him fifteen. He looked serious when he got off the phone.
“So what did he say?” Libby asked.
Sean took another swallow of tea before replying. “He said that Duncan had threatened to kill Sweeney at a party two days before Sweeney died.”
“Why?” Bernie asked.
Sean put his teacup down. “Clyde’s not sure. He’s hearing this all secondhand. But this thing he is sure of. Duncan’s alibi, Liza Sepranto, has disappeared—or at least the police can’t find her to confirm Duncan’s alibi.”
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