A Catered Thanksgiving (8 page)

B
ernie and Libby stood beside the door. No one saw them, everyone still being engrossed in their conversations. The sisters took a moment to study the room and the people in it. Bernie estimated that the study was twelve feet by fourteen feet at most.

Crowded with mismatched sofas, chairs, and coffee tables, the room was a study in disharmony. The bookshelves looked as if they'd been bought at a deep, deep, deep discount store, probably, Bernie decided, because there wasn't much of a call for lilac bookshelves. In fact, she couldn't think of any reason why anyone would want to own something of that hue. Of course, the orange shag rug the bookshelves were standing on didn't bring out the best in the lilac, and the cheap dry-mounted reproductions hanging on the walls fought with the color scheme.

Lexus was by the window, and Bernie thought that judging from her appearance, it looked as if she'd recovered enough from the trauma of finding her husband's body to have reapplied her make-up and put her hair into an updo. Ralph and Perceval were situated a short distance away. They were standing next to a large oak desk, whose top was piled high with what Bernie presumed to be the contents of the drawers that had been pulled out.

Meanwhile, Melissa was leaning against the far wall, hugging a picture to her chest—
Must be the Potter,
Bernie thought—while Greta and Greta's two companions were sitting on the sagging sofa that was backed up against the near wall. Geoff was sitting off from everyone, with his head buried in his hands, inhabiting a cracked red leather chair that Bernie would have consigned to the rubbish pile.

It was almost a minute before the Field family became aware of Bernie's and Libby's presence, and it probably would have been longer still if Libby hadn't sneezed.

“Don't worry, folks,” Libby said as everyone turned to look at her. “I'm not contagious.”

Bernie plastered a big smile on her face and waved. “Hi, everyone. How's it going?” she said.

No one answered.

So much for the amenities,
Bernie thought. “It's still snowing out,” she announced.

“So we noticed,” Ralph replied.

“It appears as if we're stuck here for the night,” Bernie continued.
Nothing like stating the obvious,
she thought. If she expected anyone to offer her and Libby a room to sleep in, she was mistaken. “Are the sofas comfortable to bed down on?” she asked.

“I couldn't tell you,” Melissa said. “I've never had the pleasure.”

“I guess we'll find out,” Libby said into the ensuing silence. “I mean, it's not as if we can go anywhere.”

“Clearly,” Perceval said, although the expression on his face, as well as the ones on everyone else's, said that they wished otherwise.

“I can't believe it,” Geoff moaned, evidently oblivious to the hostilities swirling around him.

Either that or he was doing a really good job of acting, Libby thought. In any case, up until now he'd had nothing to contribute to the conversation, at least nothing that Libby had heard.

“You already said that,” Lexus told Geoff. She'd added an expensive-looking white fur scarf to her outfit since she'd seen Monty's body.

Obviously not a PETA member,
Bernie thought as she studied the scarf. She thought it was ermine, although she wasn't sure, since she'd never seen any outside of photos in fashion mags.

“In fact,” Lexus continued, stroking her scarf, “you've said it multiple times. Everyone seems to be repeating themselves today.”

Libby decided that she'd never seen a less grief-stricken individual than Lexus. Actually, that observation pretty much went for all of the Field clan.

“This is terrible,” Geoff said, ignoring Lexus's rebuff. “Who would do something like this?”

“Obviously, someone who wanted Dad dead,” Melissa replied.

Geoff let out another moan.

“Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic here?” Perceval asked.

Geoff gave him a stricken look. “How can you say something like that?” he demanded.

“Simple, Geoff. Admit it. You hated him just as much as the rest of us.”

“No, Perceval. I didn't.”

“You said to Melissa that you'd like to kill him.”

“That was a figure of speech,” Geoff cried. “Whatever he was, he was my father.”

“Obviously,” Melissa said.

Lexus rolled her eyes. “Well, someone here murdered Monty.”

“It wasn't me,” Geoff said.

“Hmmm.” Lexus adjusted her fur scarf. She tapped her fingernails on her chin, then, after pausing for dramatic effect, raised one perfectly manicured hand and pointed to Bernie and Libby. “Maybe you're right, Geoff. Maybe it wasn't you. Maybe it was them.”

“Or maybe it's the aliens,” Bernie shot back. “Yes. I think I vote for them.”

“You're absurd,” Lexus replied.

“So are you,” Bernie snapped. “In fact, the more you insist that Libby and I are responsible, the more it makes me think that you're responsible for Monty's death.” Lexus opened her mouth to speak, but Bernie steamrollered over her. “Think about it. Why would Libby and I kill your husband, especially like that? That's not exactly good advertising for our business, is it? Of course it isn't,” she replied when no one answered. “People would be afraid to buy anything we made.” She turned to Lexus. “You should think before you make accusations.”

Lexus shrugged. “I didn't accuse you. I was merely thinking out loud. And remember, I wasn't the one that called and told the police you killed Monty. Perceval was.”

Perceval glared at Lexus before turning to Libby and Bernie. “It was an impulsive action. I was in shock when I called the police and spoke without thinking,” he told them. “I've already explained that to you.”

Libby stifled a cough. She hoped she wasn't coming down with a cold from the chill she'd gotten standing in the snow. “Well, I want to thank you for calling them back and retracting that statement,” she said, being one of those people that believed in complimenting a person when they'd done something praiseworthy. Her dad called it her kindergarten mode.

Ralph frowned. “To be honest with you, I'm regretting that my brother did take his statement back.”

“Regretting?” Bernie echoed. “How can you be regretting that?”

“Because,” Ralph said as he buttoned up his sweater, “the more I think about it, the more I can't get around the fact that you were the people that stuffed the turkey.”

“But we didn't stuff it with a bomb,” Bernie said. “We used oyster stuffing, which someone took out and replaced with an explosive device, something, I might add, neither Libby nor I have any experience with, unlike all of you.”

“So you say,” Lexus said.

“Yes, we do,” Libby shot back.

“Oyster stuffing doesn't explode,” Bernie pointed out.

“Maybe you put some chemicals in it that made it do that,” Melissa said. “I mean, we don't know what was in the stuffing, do we?”

“Celery, onions, garlic, cubed bread, oysters, salt and pepper were what was in the stuffing,” Libby promptly replied. “Gunpowder was not one of the ingredients. And in any case, I have to ask you once again, why would we want to kill your father? You keep saying that, and you still haven't answered the question.”

Melissa shrugged. “Lexus was the person who originally made that statement, not me. You should keep your facts straight.”

“I don't care who made it. That's not the point at issue,” Bernie said. Despite her best efforts, she could hear her voice getting louder. Talking with the Fields was like mud wrestling. Every time she thought she had hold of someone, they slithered away. “We have no motive.”

Greta raised an eyebrow. “Let's be honest,” she said, chiming in. “Monty was not a well-loved man.”

“I'll take your word for that,” Libby said, “because we've just seen him. He never came in our shop.”

“But your father did,” Ralph said.

“How is that relevant?” Libby demanded, remembering what Monty had said about her mother's cooking and wondering if that tied in with anything in some tenuous way.

Ralph snickered and turned to Perceval. “She wants to know how it's relevant,” he said to him.

“Yes, I do,” Bernie countered. “My father had contact with pretty much everyone in Longely. He was the chief of police.”

“That's not what I was talking about,” Ralph said.

“What are you suggesting?” Libby demanded, not liking the way the conversation was going.

Ralph smiled. “I'm not suggesting anything,” he said. “I'm stating a fact. Ask your father what he did to my brother.”

“Don't worry, Ralph. I will,” Bernie replied, putting a good face on Ralph's comment, but inside she was confused. “But even if he did, so what? Whatever happened then has absolutely nothing to do with what happened today. I think you should spend a little more time looking a little closer to home.”

B
ernie tried not to bite her lip while she thought. Was this why her dad hadn't wanted her and Libby to take the job? What was going on here? Why hadn't he said anything? Or was Ralph making this whole thing up as a way to distract her from the obvious? That was always a possibility, too. She decided to call her dad as soon as possible and find out what the story was.

Bernie took a deep breath to calm herself down. “I hate to tell you this,” she said, going on the attack, “but when the police get here, they're going to realize it was one of you who killed Monty.”

Ralph put his hands on his hips. “And why is that?” he demanded.

“Because from listening to the conversation all of you were having, it's clear to me that every single one of you has a motive for doing him in,” Libby said.

“You were spying on us?” Ralph spluttered, indignation oozing out of every pore.

“Coming from you, that's pretty funny,” Libby replied. “And we weren't spying. You were shouting at each other. We couldn't help hearing what you were saying.”

“We weren't shouting,” Lexus replied. “We were discussing, but even if we had been arguing with each other, that doesn't mean we killed Monty.”

“One of you did,” Libby told her. “After all, contrary to what you were implying, the turkey didn't explode on its own. Someone jerry-rigged it.”

“Ah, now, there's a term I haven't heard in a long time,” Ralph said, stroking his chin.

“I don't care what you've heard,” Geoff yelled at Ralph as he jumped up from the chair he'd been sitting in and strode into the middle of the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. “This conversation is ridiculous.”

Ralph raised an eyebrow. “Ridiculous? Would you care to elucidate?” Ralph asked Geoff.

Geoff waved his arms in front of Ralph's face. “Yes, I would. We should be focusing on Dad's body.”

Perceval gave Geoff a puzzled look. “What do you want us to do with it?”

Geoff turned to face him. “We have to move it, obviously,” he said.

“Unfortunately, we can't,” Bernie informed Geoff. “It's a crime scene. We can't tamper with the evidence.”

Geoff glared at her. “Well, we just can't leave my father lying halfway in the oven,” he said. “It's not right.”

“I agree,” said Melissa.

“I sympathize,” Bernie said. “But we really have to wait for the police to come.”

Geoff pointed out the window at the falling snow. “That could be days.”

Bernie privately agreed that could be the case. “We still have to wait,” she said.

Lexus's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, we can't move him?” she demanded. “How dare you say that? You aren't in charge. You can't tell anyone what to do. This is my house now. I give the orders here.”

“So you say,” Ralph said.

Lexus put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I do. And let me tell you there are going to be a lot of changes around here.”

“The only change around here is going to be your leaving,” Perceval told her.

Lexus laughed, cackled, really. “Don't you wish.”

Please get me out of here,
Bernie thought as she watched Lexus's nostrils twitch. Dealing with an exploding turkey and a dead guy was bad, but dealing with this family was worse.

“I'm not trying to tell anyone what to do. It's just a matter of preserving the evidence,” Bernie explained to Lexus in as even a tone as possible. This, she decided, was going to be a very long night.

Lexus tossed her head. “I don't care. It's disgusting, and I don't want it where I have to see it. We're going to have to go in there, after all.”

“Now your husband is an
it?”
Bernie commented. “That's certainly an interesting turn of phrase.”

Lexus adjusted the neck of her white cashmere sweater. “Well, he certainly isn't a person anymore, is he?”

Bernie was about to reply when Perceval jumped into the conversation.

“Do whatever you want with my brother's body. I don't care. But, I'll tell you what I'm going to do,” he said, facing everyone. “I'm going to turn up the heat. Now that my brother has passed on to that great place in the sky…”

“Hardly,” Ralph murmured.

Perceval glared at him.

“Well, it's true,” Ralph insisted. “He'd be in the other place. That is, if you believe in that kind of thing. Which I don't.”

Perceval shot him another dirty look. “Let's leave theology out of this for the moment, if you don't mind. Now, as I was saying, there's no reason why we have to freeze to death anymore now that Monty isn't around.”

“Good point,” Melissa said. “I'll get the key….”

“From his body?” Greta squeaked.

“Would you rather freeze to death?” Melissa asked her. “No, I thought not,” she said when Greta didn't reply. “Fine then. I'll get the key and turn up the thermostat. Perceval, you help Geoff and Ralph with Dad.”

Bernie sighed. What was the expression she was looking for? Something along the lines of being outnumbered and outgunned. “Fine,” she said. “You do that and I'm calling the Longely police.”

“Don't bother. I will,” Lexus shot back as she whipped her cell off the side table.

Bernie had a bad feeling as she watched Lexus punch in the numbers. When Lexus got someone on the line, she asked to speak to Lucas Broadbent, chief of police, and Bernie's bad feeling grew worse.

“He wants to talk to you,” Lexus said to Bernie once she had explained the situation to him, her smile leaving no doubt as to the outcome of the conversation.

Bernie took the phone reluctantly. Lucas Broadbent, known as Lucy to his detractors—which were legion—was not a big fan of her father or, by extension, of her and Libby.

“Yes,” she said to him.

“How many times have I talked to you about interfering?” he bellowed in her ear.

Bernie held the phone back. “By that you mean solving cases, right?” she countered. “Or is it because Libby and I make you look bad?”

“You're just like your father,” Broadbent yelled. “You never know when enough is enough, do you? I'm telling you to stay out of this.”

“‘This' meaning Monty Field's murder?”

“What else am I talking about?”

“Just clarifying. I'd love to, but I don't think I can,” Bernie told him.

“You'd better,” Broadbent warned.

“Or you'll do what?” Bernie asked.

“I don't have time for this nonsense,” Broadbent blustered. “I have people stranded all over the place. We'll take care of this Field thing when we can get up there.”

“So it's okay for the family to move the body and tamper with the evidence?” Bernie persisted.

Broadbent muttered something Bernie couldn't catch. She thought he said, “Unbelievable,” or words to that effect, before he hung up.

“See?” Lexus said as she took the phone out of Bernie's hand. “I told you.”

“Don't you care about who killed your husband?” Bernie asked her.

Lexus took a hefty slug of the wine in her glass. “Of course I do,” she said.

Her tone, Bernie decided, was anything but convincing.

“You certainly don't act that way,” Bernie told her.

Lexus picked an invisible piece of lint off her sweater. “Ask me if I care what you think,” she said.

“Obviously you don't.”

“Obviously, you're correct.”

“I guess we've reached a stalemate.”

“I guess so.”

Bernie repinned her hair, something she always did when she was thinking, and veered off to another topic. “I didn't know you were a friend of Lucy's,” she told Lexus.

Lexus smirked. “I have lots of friends,” she purred.

Bernie looked her up and down. “I just bet you do.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Lexus demanded.

“What you think it does,” Bernie told her. Then she nodded to Libby. “Come on, sis, let's get out of here.” And the two of them walked out of the room.