A Catered Thanksgiving (17 page)

“T
his place creeps me out,” Libby said as she started down the hallway.

“It must be the wallpaper,” Bernie said.

It was a faded yellow with thin brown stripes spaced about three inches apart. In between the stripes were representations of tiny pineapples interspersed with cherries, both of which were rendered in minute detail. The effect of the wallpaper in the narrow space was to make the space even narrower.

“No. That gives me indigestion,” Libby said. She stood there biting the cuticle of her thumb while she thought. “No, it's something else. Something's missing here.”

“Like decent decor? Like the feeling that someone gives a damn?”

“Besides that.” Libby was silent for another minute. Then she said, “It'll come to me sooner or later. Meanwhile, we should get started.”

“Yes, we should,” Bernie agreed. “There are seven bedrooms and two bathrooms. I figure one for Lexus and one for Geoff. Then I'm guessing that Melissa and Greta each have their own room, because I can't see them sharing. They'd kill each other.”

“And Monty definitely does.”

“So that leaves Ralph and Perceval, and Bob and Audie each sharing a room. How do you want to do this?”

“It would be faster if we separated,” Libby said. “You could take three bedrooms and a bathroom and I could do the same and we both could take Monty's room.”

“Yes, it would be faster,” Bernie agreed.

Libby started on her cuticle. “However…”

“I'd feel better if we were together, too,” Bernie told her.

“Thanks,” Libby said. “Appreciate it. After all, there's no sense taking chances.”

Bernie nodded. “You corner people and you never know what they'll do.”

“And Geoff could be our murderer,” Libby said. Then she pointed to the door closest to her. “I think we should start here and work our way toward the stairs. And then we can check the downstairs.”

“Works for me,” Bernie said. “I wish I had a cigarette.”

“And I wish I had a piece of chocolate.”

The women looked at each other. Bernie gave a tiny nod.

“Here we go,” Libby said, and she took a deep breath, pushed the door of the nearest bedroom open, and went inside.
Spartan
was the word that came to Libby's mind as she looked around.

“Could they have made this room any smaller?” Bernie commented from behind Libby's back.

“Not by much,” Libby replied. “It's even smaller than Geoff's room is.”

She estimated that the room measured eight feet by ten feet at the most. Shoehorned into it was a twin bed, a nightstand, a small dresser, and a garish rose-flowered area rug, leaving just enough room to walk around. There were no curtains or blinds on the windows, and Libby could see that thick flakes of snow were still falling out of the sky.

Libby checked under the bed, while Bernie went over and opened the partially opened closet door all the way. Two pairs of slacks and a cashmere robe were hanging inside. Underneath was a twenty-inch suitcase, one of the expensive kind. Bernie bent and read the tag on the suitcase. It was Greta's.

“Some guest room,” Bernie said as she moved over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. “The cells at the Longely police station are more attractive.”

“At least they're brighter. Anything interesting?” Libby asked as Bernie went through the top dresser drawer.

Bernie shook her head. “Not so far. We have some very expensive lingerie, a pair of silk pajamas, three cashmere sweaters, and a cosmetic case.” Bernie opened it. “Which contains some very pricey products,” she announced, holding up a night cream that cost five hundred dollars an ounce. “This woman definitely has money. Not that we didn't know that before, but this confirms it.”

“Which she might have got from her Africa scam,” Libby said.

“And maybe she's spent it and wants more,” Bernie commented as she went through the second and third drawers, both of which proved to be empty. “Maybe Greta has a serious case of the entitlements.”

“Obviously, she's not a big reader,” Libby said, noting the lack of reading material on the nightstand. “And she wasn't planning on staying very long,” Libby added. “Either that or she is a light packer.” Libby tapped her fingers on her thighs as she looked around the room.

Bernie straightened up. “I think we can say with one hundred percent certainty that Geoff's not here.”

“Maybe he was and jumped out the window,” Libby suggested.

“No. I don't think so.” Bernie pointed to the lock on the upper window sash. “Not unless he is Harry Houdini. See that?”

“Yes.”

“It's locked.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, these locks only lock from the inside. In order to go out the window, Geoff would have had to have had an accomplice, otherwise the window would still be unlocked. And we haven't heard anybody else up here, and given the way the floor creaks and groans, I think we would have.” Bernie went over to the window and nodded toward the white expanse of snow. “And even if he did somehow manage to relock the window, if he landed in the snow, he would have left tracks. And there are none. Also, the snow on the windowsill would be messed up.”

Libby went back to gnawing on her cuticle. “Still, it's odd.”

“The whole thing is odd, if you ask me,” Bernie said as she yanked a hank of hair off her face and repinned it. “The first thing I'm going to do when we get out of here is cut this all off,” she muttered.

Libby didn't comment, since Bernie had been threatening to cut her hair off for the last ten years. “On to room number two,” she said instead.

A
s soon as Bernie opened the door to the next bedroom, she smelled tobacco smoke. She put up her hand for Libby to stop. “Oh, Geoff,” she called out. “We're here.”

Silence.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Bernie sang.

Nothing.

“If your voice doesn't make him come out, nothing will,” Libby cracked.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Bernie said as she gestured for Libby to take the closet while she looked under the bed. “I have a nice voice.”

“Is that why Mrs. Marconi forbade you to sing in the school chorus?” Libby asked as she took in the room.

It was a little bit bigger than the one she and Bernie had just been in, but not by much. However, since it had two single beds in it, instead of one, it actually felt smaller. Again, there were no blinds or curtains on the windows, which meant no one could be hiding behind them. Also, all the corners in the room were clearly visible, so that took care of that problem.

Libby quickly moved toward the closet, grabbed the doorknob, yanked it back, and peered inside. No Geoff. Just clothes, and not too many of those.

“Clear,” she said.

“Ditto under the bed.” Bernie got up and brushed the dust off her knees.

Libby bent down and checked the tags on the luggage. “So either Geoff was here and he's gone somewhere else, or Bob and Audie smoke.”

“Probably the latter possibility,” Bernie said.

Libby grunted as she went through the clothes on the hangers. There were two pairs of men's jeans, a pair of corduroys, two pressed white shirts, and two jackets hanging on the metal rod. Libby looked at the labels. She knew from Bernie that this particular brand of jeans sold for 250 dollars a pair and that the shirts on the hangers were equally expensive.

“Maybe Monty got the furniture at a big lots sale,” Bernie commented, looking around. “Same dressers. Same beds. Same night tables as in Greta's room. He must have gotten a discount. This feels as if it's made of cardboard,” she said as she pulled one of the nightstand drawers open.

“It could very well be,” Libby said. She closed the closet door and moved on to the dresser, while Bernie checked out the nightstand.

The top of the nightstand was bare, but when Bernie opened up the drawer, she saw a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Bingo,” she said, holding up the cigarettes. “Bob and/or Audie smoke.”

“So maybe Geoff wasn't in here,” Libby said. The top and middle dresser drawers contained boxers, socks, two pairs of pj's, and some sweatshirts.

“Or he was here and he left,” Bernie noted. She searched the rest of the nightstand. The only thing she found was a Swiss Army knife and a couple of dollars worth of spare change. For a moment Bernie debated about taking the knife but in the end decided against it. “Two rooms down and five to go,” she announced, closing the door to the room behind them.

“Don't you think it's odd,” Libby said as they walked down the hall to the third room, “that all the bedroom doors are closed?”

Bernie paused for a moment. “Odd? No. Indicating a major lack of familial trust? Yes.” She opened the door to the third room. “This has to be Melissa's,” she said when she got a gander at what was inside.

Melissa's room, like Geoff's, was frozen in time. A happier time. Melissa's mom had probably furnished it for her daughter, Bernie decided. Certainly Bernie couldn't see Monty doing it. The room was a study in pink. There were pink drapes on the windows, a pink coverlet on the bed, and a pink area rug on the floor. The walls were painted a soft off-white, and Bernie could see the faint outline of stars on the ceiling. Two posters adorned the walls. One was of Disney's Cinderella and the other was of Snow White. The top of Melissa's dresser was covered with a collection of dolls and stuffed animals, while a large stuffed penguin sat sentinel on her bed. The top of her nightstand was littered with diet books, none of which, Bernie thought, seemed to be doing Melissa much good.

Bernie quickly opened the closet door, while Libby looked under the bed.

“I don't know where Geoff is,” Libby commented as she got up, “but I have a feeling he's long gone from here.”

“I do, too,” Bernie said as she went through Melissa's clothes. Half of them were nurses' uniforms, and the other half were cheap jeans and sweatshirts. “She doesn't spend a lot of money on her clothes,” she said.

Libby looked up from the dresser drawer. “Ditto her underwear and T-shirts. Even mine are better than these.” Which was saying a lot.

Bernie looked at her sister. “Thank me for that. So either Melissa isn't interested in clothes or she doesn't have money to spend on them.”

“Unlike Greta.”

“Yes, unlike Greta. Who only buys the best.”

Libby closed the dresser drawer and went over to the nightstand. She picked up the watch that was sitting next to the lamp. “This probably cost ten ninety-nine.” She put it down and picked up a bracelet made of links. “And this probably cost less. I'm thinking dollar store.”

Libby opened the nightstand drawer. It was filled to overflowing with lottery tickets. She held one up to show to Bernie. “Well, at least we know what Melissa spends her money on.” Then Libby picked up a letter from Turning Stone, a casino near Syracuse, and opened it. The letter was comping Melissa for her next visit. There were several similar letters from casinos around the country.

“Casinos only send those to their good customers,” Bernie said after Libby had finished reading the contents of one of the letters to her.

“And I'm sure she is that.” Libby picked up the penguin, then put him down on the bed. He seemed like a sad little guy. She took another quick look around the room. If there was anything of interest there, she couldn't see it.

Libby walked out first and Bernie followed, closing the door behind her.

“So Monty's kids turn out to be a cokehead and a gambler,” Bernie said to her sister. “No wonder he didn't want to leave his business to them.”

“Maybe that's why they wouldn't kill him.”

Bernie stopped turning the doorknob on Lexus's door. “Excuse me?” she said.

Libby explained. “Well, apparently they're getting money from their dad.”

Bernie nodded. “Geoff is for sure because he works for him, and Melissa, being on the board of directors, is entitled to a share of the profits.”

“But if he dies and the business goes to someone else, then they'll be cut off.”

“Interesting. I see what you're saying. I'm not sure I agree, but it's definitely something to think about.” And on that note Bernie entered Lexus's room.

All the bed linen was off the bed, but other than that, things looked substantially the same since she and Libby had been there. Bernie took the closet, and Libby looked behind the curtains and under the bed.

“There's no sign of Geoff,” Libby said.

“Not that I expected there would be,” Bernie said. “Why hide in the room of your mortal enemy?”

“On the other hand, it would be the last place anyone would look,” Libby replied as Bernie quickly went through the closet.

Unlike those of the other family members, Lexus's closet was bursting at the seams. “This is a woman who likes to shop,” Bernie commented as she went through the clothes. “Lots of high-priced designer stuff. Except it's four to five years old. Then some newer, cheaper, dowdier stuff, the same kind of stuff that Melissa has in her closet. A definite disconnect.”

“Meaning?” Libby said.

“My best guess,” Bernie said, looking through Lexus's pocketbooks to see if anything was in them, “is that the old stuff is what Monty bought Lexus before they got married, and the new stuff is what he got her after.” She held up a black sheath dress that looked big enough to cover a postage stamp and a schlumpy black skirt. “I would not be happy if I were Lexus. She's young, she's pretty, and apparently she's on a very tight budget.”

“And this is how she copes,” Libby said, waving a baggie that she'd found in the nightstand. It was filled with pills.

Bernie walked over and took a look. “I see Ambien, Xanax, OxyContin, and Valium. Not a bad collection.”

“I guess this is what it takes to live with Monty,” Libby said.

“And she's not even getting anything for it.”

“But she might if he dies.”

“Not if the rest of the family has anything to say about it.”

“True.”

Bernie looked again at the bag of pills Libby was holding. For a moment she was tempted to take some of them but decided against it. She'd learned the hard way that she and that stuff didn't mix. Instead, she looked at her watch. “We need to finish up.”

“Bathrooms now or later?”

“Let's get them over with now,” Bernie said.

Which was what they did. Bernie and Libby looked in the linen closets and behind the shower curtains and in the towel hampers, even though there was no possible way Geoff could have fit in there. But the bathrooms proved to be empty, and the sisters went back to the bedrooms.

“Do you really think that Geoff is hiding in one of them?” Libby asked her sister as they walked down the hallway.

“Well, I thought there was a chance before, but now I'm not so sure,” Bernie admitted. She paused for a second, then said, “Actually, I don't think he's here at all.”

“Why?”

“Too still.”

“Too still?”

“Yeah. You know, like when you walk into an empty house, you can feel that no one is there. Well, that's the feeling I'm getting on this floor.”

“Then where do you think he is?”

Bernie shrugged. “It's a big house. He could be downstairs. In the garage. In the basement. Up on the roof. Who knows?” She paused in front of the bedroom she assumed to be Ralph and Perceval's. She was about to open the door when she thought she heard a noise. “I'm taking back what I said. Maybe I'm wrong about his being here, after all. Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I'm not sure. Something moving.”

“I don't hear anything,” Libby said.

Bernie put her right hand up and laid a finger on her lips. Libby stood there, listening. She could see Bernie concentrating on something, but she didn't know what. They both stood in the hallway for another moment, but all they heard were the voices of the Field family drifting up the stairs.

“I guess I was mistaken,” Bernie said after another moment had elapsed.

“You? Heh. Heh. Never.”

“Cute.” Bernie bit her bottom lip. “I think this place is getting to me,” she told Libby.

“I'm not surprised,” Libby answered. “It's already gotten to me.”

She pushed the door open and walked into Ralph and Perceval's room. Bernie followed. The room had the same institutional feel as Greta's, Bob's, and Audie's rooms. But unlike those of that threesome, Ralph's and Perceval's clothing was old and worn. The collars of their shirts were frayed, their sweaters were pilling and wearing out at the elbow, while the hems on their trousers had seen better days.

“Certainly not holiday wear,” Bernie said as she closed the closet door.

“And speaking of holidays,” Libby said as she spread out the contents of the nightstand drawer on one of the beds.

Bernie went over to take a look. There were three guidebooks to India, a slew of travel brochures, printouts of fares, and notes giving the names of hotel rooms and the names of guides.

Bernie picked up one of the brochures. “It looks as if they're planning a vacation.”

Libby picked up one of the proposed itineraries. “The hotels are all first class. So are the flights. And they're going to be gone for three weeks. Sounds nice.”

“Sounds spectacular.”

“We could do that, too.”

“Yes, we could. If we had the time and the money. Commodities that Ralph and Perceval are suddenly in possession of.”

“Of course, they could have been saving up for a long time for this trip.”

“They could have,” Bernie agreed.

“Do you believe that?”

“No. Do you?”

“Not at all.”

“Interesting that they're going off next month.”

“Isn't it?” Libby replied. “The timing is very interesting, indeed.” She held up a letter addressed to Perceval that had been lodged in one of the travel books and opened it. “Especially when Perceval bounced a four-thousand-dollar check a couple of weeks ago.”

Bernie whistled. “Probably just a minor bookkeeping error. Maybe Ralph has the money to cover the trip.”

“Why don't I think so?” Libby said.

“Funny thing, but I don't, either.”

Libby smiled. “It's nice when we agree on something.”

“Sometimes we do. For instance, we agree that butter is good.”

“I mean besides cooking.” Libby picked at one of her nails. “So I guess Perceval and Ralph are expecting to get a windfall of some kind. Like an inheritance.”

“Yes,” Bernie said. “Like an inheritance. Or access to a lot of spare cash.”

“Funny coincidence.”

“Yes. Isn't it?”

Libby gathered all the travel materials up and replaced them in the nightstand drawer. “Well, this certainly gives us something to think about,” she said. “I wonder if the rest of the family knows about the trip.”

Bernie grinned. “Let's ask.”

“By all means,” Libby said as she and Bernie went across the hall to Monty's room. “You'd expect Monty's and Lexus's rooms to at least be connected,” Libby said as she opened the door and went inside.

“Think of it as a metaphor for their relationship,” Bernie said, following.

Then she stopped talking. The room took her breath away. It gleamed. The furnishings were few, but everything in it was exquisite. The chest of drawers was Quaker, as were the nightstand and the bedstead. A Renoir hung on one wall, while a Cezanne and a Monet hung on another. A finely woven Oriental carpet covered the gleaming wood parquet floors, and a Tang horse sat in lone splendor on the dresser.