A Catered Thanksgiving (14 page)

F
or once, Bernie was struck dumb. She simply was having a hard time believing what she was seeing.

“I have to say the turkey is really very good,” Perceval commented to no one in particular. “Even if it is a little on the dry side.”

“Personally, I think Alma's was better,” Ralph said. “Although this one is passable.”

“I'm sure Monty would have enjoyed it,” Greta said. “You know how he felt about turkey.”

“Too bad he didn't get a chance,” Perceval said. “Thanksgiving was his favorite time of the year.”

“Wait a minute,” Libby interrupted. “Where did you get that turkey?”

“In the garage of course,” Ralph said. “How clever of you to bring two.”

“We didn't,” Bernie said.

Perceval looked down at his plate. “I don't get it.”

Bernie gritted her teeth. “You most certainly do,” she managed to get out. In truth, she could hardly contain her fury at herself. While she and Libby had been out in the bunker, almost getting themselves blown up, everyone here had been eating the evidence. So far the score was two to zero in favor of the Field family. “That's the turkey we originally brought. Someone took it out of the oven and substituted the one that blew up for ours.”

“I don't think so,” Perceval said. He looked at Geoff. “Do you think that's the case?”

“It's very diabolical if it is,” Geoff replied.

“Of course it's the case,” Bernie practically screamed. “You're eating evidence.”

“Good grief,” Lexus said, taking another bite. “Who knew?”

“Who indeed?” Geoff's sister said.

“What did you think the turkey was doing out there?” Bernie demanded.

“Resting,” Lexus said. “Turkeys have to rest before you carve them. Everyone knows that. Like Ralph said, we thought you brought two. You know, like a backup in case something went wrong with the first one.”

“Which, considering the circumstances, was very wise.” Ralph put his hand to his mouth. “Oh dear. I've just had a thought. How did you know we were going to need two turkeys unless you knew one of them was going to blow up?”

“I didn't, but you did,” Bernie said. “You and your brother were the ones that ordered the turkey in the first place. ‘Make sure,' you said, ‘to get the frozen kind with the pop-up button. That's the kind our brother likes.'”

Perceval put his knife and fork down. “I resent that accusation.”

“I'm not accusing. I'm stating a fact.”

“Everyone knew that my dad liked that kind of turkey. It was the only kind he would let Alma buy,” Geoff said.

“Where is the rest of the turkey now?” Bernie demanded.

“In the kitchen of course,” Greta said. “Where else would it be? Go see if you don't believe me.”

“I intend to,” Bernie said.

“What are you going to do?” Lexus asked her. “Impound the turkey as evidence?”

Lexus's laugh followed Bernie into the hallway.

“That went well,” Libby said once they were out in the hallway.

“We'll just have to go to Plan B,” Bernie snapped.

“Which is?” Libby asked.

Bernie remained silent.

“That's what I thought,” Libby said as she and Bernie neared the kitchen. “We don't have a Plan B, do we?”

“Not yet,” her sister told her. “But we will.”

Libby wasn't sure if this was good news or not. At times her sister's plans—witness what had just happened—left a good deal to be desired.

 

“We shouldn't do this,” Libby said as Bernie took a knife and cut several slivers of meat off the turkey and put them on a plate, next to the corn-bread stuffing and Brussels sprouts with chestnuts.

“Of course we should,” Bernie said as she added a smidgen of sweet potato to her plate. “At least I am.”

“This is your Plan B? Eating the evidence?”

“Continuing to eat the evidence. The turkey is already more than half gone.”

“We should save the remainder for forensics.”

“Go ahead if you want, but I'm going to have some more before you do.”

Libby thought about that. Her stomach was rumbling, and the turkey was looking very good. “Maybe I'll do that after I have a little.”

Bernie took a taste of the corn-bread stuffing. It wasn't bad. Even cold. In fact, it was pretty darn good. There was just enough black pepper in there to give it a little bite. And the pepper contrasted nicely with the sweetness of the corn bread and the onions. In addition, the celery offered just the right amount of crunch.

“I was just thinking what Dad would say,” Libby said.

“He would say, ‘Preserve the evidence at all costs.' But there is no evidence. Not anymore. Except, of course, for the turkey carcass and some of the meat.”

“He'd have a fit if he was here,” Libby said.

“If he were here, we wouldn't be having this discussion.”

“I suppose you're right,” Libby conceded.

“I know I am. He'd eat his shoe leather before he ate the turkey, simply as a matter of principle,” Bernie said.

“But we should probably save the remains of the turkey that blew up, even though there's not much to save.”

Bernie took another bite of turkey. “No. There isn't.”

“So what do you think?”

“About the turkey?”

“What else?”

Bernie chewed and swallowed before replying. “Perceval is right. It's dry. It needs something else.” She looked around the kitchen. “Like cranberry sauce. Or butter.”

“They're on the dining room table.”

“I know that. Do you feel like going out to the dining room to get it?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Do you?”

“Not hardly,” Bernie said.

“Well, neither do I.” Libby poured herself a glass of cider and took a sip. “Turkey really is a hard thing to cook well.”

“Unless you deep-fry it,” Bernie noted. “That locks everything in.”

“Which we can't do, because we have no place to put the deep fryer.”

“I still think Mom's way of cooking the turkey breast side down works best,” Bernie said.

Libby broke down and cut herself some turkey. What the hell. Everyone else was. “You know what I'd really like to do,” she said after she'd spread some stuffing on the turkey, “is cook a wild turkey and see what they're like.”

“I'm guessing dry and stringy,” Bernie said. “There is a flock of them in the park. We could catch one and find out if you like.”

Libby shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not into killing what I eat.”

“That's the latest trend.”

“Count me out,” Libby said. She took another bite of turkey. Bernie was right. It was dry. She sampled the dark meat. It was moister, but then it always was. She looked around the kitchen as she chewed. She and Bernie were standing well away from the oven. Aside from the lack of Monty, everything was pretty much the way they'd left it when Monty had died—except, of course, that now most of the food they'd brought was out on the dining room table.

“So what do you think?” Libby said as she helped herself to the stuffing that was in the Tupperware container. She took a taste. It had come out pretty well, if she had to say so herself. Maybe, a little more Tabasco sauce, but otherwise it was perfect.

“Think about what?” Bernie asked, cutting herself another piece of turkey. After all, a girl had to eat. And this was Thanksgiving, even though it was shaping up to be the worst one she'd experienced.

“About the Fields. Who do you think did it?”

“Murdered Monty or threw the fireworks into the bunker?”

“They're one and the same.”

“Are they? We don't know that for a fact.”

“I think we can assume that.”

“You know what Dad says.”

“I know.” Libby paused to place some braised Brussels sprouts and chestnuts on her plate. They were, in her estimation, a particularly felicitous combination. Most people didn't like Brussels sprouts at all, but if you sautéed them quickly, instead of boiling them, or braised them in a little chicken stock, they were really quite pleasant. “
Assume
means ‘making an ass out of you and me.'”

“Exactly,” Bernie said as she cut off a heel from the semolina bread she'd made yesterday. She couldn't understand why people left the heel when it was the best part of the loaf.

“I still think it's a safe bet,” Libby said as she conveyed a piece of Brussels sprout to her mouth.

Chairs scraped in the dining room.

“I wonder if they're ready for dessert,” Libby said after she'd chewed and swallowed.

“Do you want to go out and see?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“No. They can come and get it if they want. I'm not serving it to them.”

“Me either,” Libby said. “I think they've managed quite well without us so far.”

“In fact,” Bernie said, “I'm going to cut us a couple of slices of the pumpkin and apple pies before they disappear into the dining room.”

Libby nodded her approval. The thought of eating dessert cheered her immensely. “Pie is always a good thing.”

“Yes, it is. Especially for breakfast.”

“I wonder if Alma ever made pies,” Libby mused.

“I doubt it,” Bernie said.

“If she had, it might have been a happier household.”

“Much as I like pie, I think that might be imbuing it with too much power,” Bernie said as she came back with two generous slices of pie for each of them. “Monty strikes me as a mean man. Actually, given the way he looked, he struck me as someone who didn't like to eat…. Except for turkey.”

“Yes. Except for turkey. I don't trust people who don't like food,” Libby said.

“Me either,” Bernie agreed. “But getting back to the matter at hand, what do we know about everyone that we didn't know before?”

“Well, we know that Lexus didn't have an interest in the company,” Libby said.

Bernie nodded.

“And we know about the structure of the company, and we know that someone followed us out there and showed us that they were not happy with our being there.” Libby finished off the last of her Brussels sprouts and set to work on the sweet potato dish she'd made, the one without the marshmallows. “We also know that Geoff's boots were wet, so he might have followed us to the bunker.”

“Or someone else might have, only they hid their boots.”

Libby tasted the sweet potatoes. The bit of fresh, grated ginger she'd used set them off to perfection. Maybe when they got back home, she'd make a sweet potato pie or one combining sweet potatoes, parsnips, orange marmalade, cream, and eggs. Parsnips were definitely an underutilized winter vegetable. In fact, she rarely saw them anymore, which was a pity. They were great in soups or by themselves, and they married well with potatoes.

“Libby, are you listening to me?” Bernie demanded.

“Definitely,” Libby said, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand.

“So aside from the fact that Geoff may or may not have been outside smoking a cigarette, what else do we know?”

Libby thought for a moment. “We know that no one seemed terribly concerned about the fireworks going off in the bunker.”

“Or surprised. In fact, they were very casual about the whole thing. It seems to me,” Bernie said, “that given the timeline, it would be impossible for everyone not to know what was happening.”

“So we're talking about an Orient Express situation?” Libby asked. The prospect did not make her happy.

“I'm not so sure about everyone having a literal hand in what happened to us and Monty, but yes, I think that there's a good possibility that everyone knew that someone went out to the bunker to teach us a lesson.”

“Or kill us.”

“Or kill us,” Bernie conceded.

“That you agree with me makes me feel so much better,” Libby said.

Bernie grinned. “I thought it would. It could be worse, though.”

“Really. How?”

“At least it's getting a little warmer in here. Soon we'll even be able to take off our coats.”

Libby started to laugh, but her laugh was cut off by a bloodcurdling shriek.

L
ibby and Bernie followed the Field family up the stairs to the second floor. All the members of the Field family were present except for Lexus. Therefore, Bernie brilliantly deduced, she had to be the screamer. This was why she was a great detective—not.

The Fields were as per usual bickering among themselves. As Bernie listened to them, she reflected that while their pace wasn't glacial, it wasn't as rapid as it should have been given the circumstances.

“My heavens,” Ralph said as he panted up the stairs. “I hope it's nothing dreadful. I don't think I could take anything else.” And he clutched his chest, something he'd been doing since he'd had two stents put in last year. Just in case anyone forgot.

“Everything is not always about you,” Greta snapped. “Can you please go a little faster?”

“I'm going as fast as I can, given my heart,” Ralph said.

“There's nothing wrong with your heart that losing twenty pounds and exercising a little wouldn't cure,” Bob noted.

“Now you're an expert on that, too,” Ralph snapped.

“It's a well-known fact,” Bob told him. Bob was a go-to kind of guy, who went to the gym three times a week to lift and do the treadmill, and had little patience with sluggards and excuse makers, two categories he put the rest of the Field family in.

“Is there any area your expertise does not apply to?” Ralph, who found it hard to talk and walk at the same time and had consequently slowed down to a crawl, asked him.

“There's no need to run,” Perceval said, interrupting Ralph and Bob's tiff. “I'm sure it's just Lexus, having another one of her fits.”

“Lexus has fits, but she doesn't scream like that,” Greta said.

“How would you know?” Perceval threw over his shoulder. “You're never here.”

“I'm here often enough,” Greta shot back.

“Lexus is probably just pretending,” Ralph grumbled as he climbed another stair.

There was a second scream, but no one increased his or her pace. If anything, they slowed down fractionally. Like they knew what they'd find up there, Libby couldn't help thinking.

“And she would do that why?” Melissa asked.

“Because her highness likes the idea of us all being at her beck and call, obviously,” Ralph replied.

“I hope it's not something terrible,” Geoff said as everyone hit the second-floor landing.

“I already said that,” Ralph told him as the Field family turned right.

Again, Libby was struck at how everyone seemed to know where to go. Bernie, on the other hand, was struck by how Geoff was clenching and unclenching his fists. But he didn't say anything.

Everyone continued down the hall and turned left at the third door. There was a slight bottleneck as everyone pushed through to get inside. Libby and Bernie were the last to make it.

“Good God,” Audie said as Bernie and Libby elbowed their way to the front of the crowd.

They were standing in Lexus's bedroom, which Bernie quickly noted was furnished all in white, white evidently being Lexus's signature color, as the design magazines that Bernie read liked to say. Two Prendergast watercolors and a small Turner landscape hung on the walls.

Lexus was standing by her bed, an ornate canopy-type affair. “Who did this?” she screamed, pointing at her late, unlamented husband, who was now lying peacefully, sans the old quilt he'd been wrapped in, on Lexus's snowy white linen bedspread, or as peacefully as you could with half your head blown away. Monty's hands were clasped together, a firecracker had been laid on his chest, and his face was tactfully covered with a Hermès scarf. “I want to know who did this.”

No one said anything.

Melissa put her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle.

Lexus rounded on her. “You think it's funny?” she yelled at Melissa. “Well, do you?”

“No,” Melissa said, choking back the laughter.

“Obviously you do. I want to know why.”

“It's just you'd never let Dad in here, and now he's lying here, getting yucky stuff all over your precious comforter.” Melissa started laughing again. “I'm sorry. I just can't help it.”

“You can help it, and you're not one bit sorry.”

“I am,” Melissa insisted, but Bernie didn't think she looked very repentant.

Evidently neither did Lexus, because the next thing she said was, “Not sorry enough, fat girl. You'll pay for this.”

“Fat girl?” Melissa squeaked. “At least I'm not throwing up everything I eat. You're not going to look so great when all your teeth rot out of your mouth.”

Lexus looked her up and down, then said, “At least I don't have to empty bedpans for a living.”

Melissa started toward Lexus, but Geoff touched Melissa on her shoulder. “It's not worth it,” he told her when his sister turned toward him.

“You're right,” Melissa said. “It isn't.”

Lexus ignored both Melissa and Geoff and pointed at Monty. “I want him out of here. I want him out of here now.”

Ralph cleared his throat. “Where do you want him?” he asked.

“Where do you think, you moron?” Lexus shrieked. “I want him back in the garage, where he belongs.”

“Actually, he looks kind of peaceful here,” Geoff observed.

Lexus whirled around and faced him. “You and your sister did this, didn't you?” she hissed.

Geoff took an involuntary step back in the face of Lexus's wrath. “Why would we do something like that?”

“Because you both think it's funny,” Lexus snarled. “Look at your sister. She's still laughing. You've both always hated me since the day your dad married me. You and your sister are nothing more than leeches. You and she sucked your father dry with your demands. You and your sister just couldn't get enough. Enough money. Enough food. Enough stuff. That goes for all of you.”

“Us want things?” Greta cried. “Coming from you, that's hilarious. You're the original gimme girl.”

“I loved him,” Lexus said.

Greta rolled her eyes. “How can you say that with a straight face? You're just bad news. What happened to Alma was your fault.”

“How do you get that?” Ralph asked her.

Greta turned to him. “You mean, you don't know?” she asked, her eyes wide open in amazement.

“Know what?” Ralph asked.

“That she was screwing around with Alma's son.”

Lexus snorted. “What a load of crap,” she said at the same time that Ralph said, “You're kidding.”

“No. I'm not,” Greta said to Ralph. “That's why Monty fired Alma after all those years. He thought she knew.”

“At least,” Lexus told Greta, “if you're going to tell a lie, tell a believable one.”

“Monty told me.”

Lexus raised her eyebrows. The corners of her mouth twitched. “And I'm supposed to believe that?”

“He did,” Greta insisted.

Lexus snorted. “This is beyond ridiculous.”

Greta leaned forward. “I don't hear you denying it.”

Lexus took a deep breath. Then she addressed Bernie and Libby. “Now you can see what I've had to put up with.” She waved her hands in the air before adjusting her white fur scarf. “The lies. The deceit. The moment I set foot in here, everyone has been trying to turn Monty against me. Why? you may ask. Because they're jealous of me. They're jealous of my looks and my style. They're jealous that Monty loved me.”

“That's a laugh,” Melissa told her. “My dad said you were the biggest mistake he ever made. He was going to divorce you.”

Lexus shook her finger at her. “Another lie. Well, just you wait. And that goes for everyone else here, as well.”

Bernie noted that the Field family did not seem particularly perturbed by Lexus's warning.

“Because let me tell you,” Lexus said, continuing her diatribe, “when I run the company, things are going to be different. All of you are going to be out on the street so fast, it's going to make your heads spin. And I, for one, will enjoy watching you actually having to work for a change.”

Perceval crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “You're not running the company,” he said. “You're not in the company in any way, shape, or form. Monty wasn't that stupid. He wasn't going to mess up a perfectly good business because of some dumb bimbo.”

Lexus wrinkled her nose. “Bimbo?”

Bernie helpfully supplied the translation. “Floozy. Loose woman.”

Lexus's expression hardened. She thrust out her jaw. “It's in the will,” she said.

Ralph snorted. “Oh, that will. The will you keep telling us about. The will Monty supposedly just made. The one that supersedes all the others. The will that you won't allow us to see. The imaginary will. Is that, perchance, the one you're talking about?”

“I want you all out of my bedroom,” Lexus screamed. “I want you to take Monty and go. Except for you two.” She pointed at Libby and Bernie. “I want you two to stay.”

“Where should we put him?” Geoff asked.

Lexus's face turned red with anger. “I already told you. In the garage. In a snowbank. Anywhere you want, as long as it's not in my house.”

“This is not your house,” Melissa noted.

Lexus's face turned even redder, if that was possible. “It will be.”

“Over my dead body,” Melissa replied.

“That can be arranged,” Lexus told her.

Melissa gasped and put a hand to her heart. “You heard how she threatened me,” she said to the rest of the family.

“Out,” Lexus screeched. She gestured toward the door. “I want all of you out now. And take Monty with you. And by the way, that scarf that's covering his face, that's one thousand dollars.”

“We'll wash it and return it to you,” Melissa said. “How's that?”

“You are such a piece of trailer park trash,” Lexus spit out.

“That's pretty funny coming from the woman who used to work in a strip club,” Melissa said.

“At least,” Lexus said, “they paid me to take off my clothes. They'd pay you to keep them on.”

Melissa flushed and hurried out of the room.

“So,” Lexus said to Bernie and Libby when everyone from the Field family, both living and dead, had vacated her room, “you see what I'm up against.”

“It's a shame about your scarf,” Bernie said.

Lexus brightened. “Yes, isn't it? See, I knew you'd understand. That's why I want to hire you.”

“Hire us to do what?” Bernie asked as she watched Lexus strip her bed and roll everything up in a ball.

“Obviously, to find Monty's killer.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you thought that we were the guilty party.” Bernie said.

“Not really.”

“But you said that,” Libby pointed out.

“I know I did and I'm sorry, but that was just because I didn't want anyone else to think I suspected them. I hope you'll forgive me.”

Bernie put her hands on her hips. “Is anything that comes out of your mouth the truth?”

“But this is,” Lexus insisted. “Please. I'm scared. You have to help me.” Then she took the bed linens and threw them out in the hallway.

“What are you going to do with those?” Libby asked.

Lexus shuddered. “Throw them out, of course. Would you sleep on them again?” she asked Libby.

“Probably not,” Libby allowed.

“Exactly,” Lexus said. “Every time I looked at them, I would see Monty, with half of his head gone, lying there.”

Libby was interested to see that Lexus actually had dabbed at her eyes when she'd said that. She didn't think that women did stuff like that anymore—at least not since the 1930s.

“Why the change of heart?” Bernie asked.

“I haven't had, as you put it, a change of heart.”

“Okay. Why are you asking for our help now?”

“It's simple. Because whoever was targeting Monty is targeting me, and by the time the police get here, it'll be too late and I'll be dead.”

“You think that was what leaving Monty on your bed meant?” Libby inquired.

Lexus gave her a scornful look. “What else could it mean?”

“It could be someone's idea of a practical joke,” Bernie said.

“Mean-spirited practical joke,” Libby added.

“Or it could be a sign that someone thinks you're guilty of Monty's death,” Bernie noted.

“How do you get that?” Lexus asked.

“You know, putting the victim on the murderer's doorstep, or in this case on her bed,” Bernie said.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Lexus scoffed. “It was a clear message to me that I'm going to be next.”

Bernie coughed and Lexus turned toward her. “Are you planning on paying us?” Bernie asked.

Lexus looked offended. “Of course.”

“How much?”

Lexus favored Bernie with a radiant smile. “We'll talk about that later. And, of course, I'll put in a good word with the chief for you.”

“Oh, goody,” Bernie said. “I was hoping you would.”

“Because Lucas is a very”—Lexus emphasized the word
very
—“very good friend of mine.” And then she wiggled her way out the door. Or tried to. It was something that was hard to do when there was nothing back there to wag.

“Nice lady,” Libby said when she was gone.

“She's very sure of herself, isn't she?” Bernie observed.

“Well, she's blond and skinny.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow.

Libby explained. “I've just noticed that women like that think the world revolves around them.”

“Unlike women like us?”

Libby got defensive. “You know what I mean,” she said.

Bernie conceded that she did.

“Okay,” Libby said. “Let's start again. Do you think Lexus is for real?”