A Catered Wedding (13 page)

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Authors: Isis Crawford

BOOK: A Catered Wedding
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“That has nothing to do with the police,” Sean pointed out.
“That's true,” Eunice conceded. “It doesn't. I'm mentioning it because my sister and I feel the way it was conducted is emblematic of the way Jura felt about his bride.”
“It was disgraceful,” both women said together. “There wasn't even an obituary in the papers.”
“Nothing,” Eunice said. “And even though I'm opposed to lavish funerary displays as a means of conspicuous consumption, still one should do something.”
“Okay,” Sean said. “Now here's my question to you: Why do you care so much?”
“Because,” Eunice began, “when the worker is exploited . . .”
“No, no.” Sean waved his hand. “Don't give me that. I want to know what your personal stake in this is. Why do you really care about what happened to Leeza Sharp.”
Sean watched while Gertrude and Eunice exchanged yet another set of looks.
“I guess that's fair.” Eunice finally conceded. “I suppose. . .”
Gertrude finished the sentence for her. “. . . we feel responsible since we were the people that got her her job.”
“You did?” Sean asked. Now that surprised him.
“Well,” Gertrude said, “Leeza wrote and told us she was coming when she moved out east. As old friends of her mother we felt an obligation to assist in any way we could.”
Eunice leaned forward. “The first job we heard of was in Harlem,” she told Sean. “But Leeza didn't feel comfortable working with people of color.”
“Naturally we were horrified,” Gertrude confided. “But we try and keep our opinions to ourselves.”
“Naturally.” Sean hoped he was managing to keep a straight face. “And I must say you do a wonderful job of it.”
Gertrude gave him a sharp glance before continuing on.
“So,” she said, “when we heard of this position opening up in Raid Enterprises, we told Leeza. We never dreamed things would turn out this way.”
“We really blame ourselves,” finished Eunice. “If it hadn't been for us, Leeza would be alive today.”
“That's a pretty big stretch,” Sean commented as he picked up a lemon bar, broke it in half, and took a bite.
“Well,” Gertrude said, “even though Eunice and I believe in the concept of personal responsibility we also believe that Leeza was in an injurious environment and since we put her there we have to take responsibility for that.”
“We should have known better,” Eunice said. “A firm that deals in a luxury item. We should have known something unsavory was bound to occur.”
“Okay,” Sean said to the sisters after he'd swallowed. “And what do you ladies want me to do?”
By now he'd have to be a moron not to know, but he wanted Eunice and Gertrude to say it because over the years he'd observed that the asker was always one down on the askee. It was like saying, “I love you.” You never wanted to be the first one.
“Obviously,” Gertrude said, “we want you to find out who killed Leeza Sharp. We're willing to pay all expenses. And a fair wage. We don't believe in people working for nothing.”
“Of course we'll want an accounting,” Eunice said. “Once a week will be sufficient, I believe.”
Sean raised his eyebrow.
“I'm shocked. Simply shocked. Are you suggesting a capitalist concept?”
“Just because we're communists doesn't mean we're fools,” Gertrude answered.
“And once you find out, we'll take it from there,” Eunice added.
“That's absolutely out of the question,” Libby said. At the same time Sean replied, “It will be my pleasure.”
Chapter 13
I
t was now ten o'clock at night and Sean reflected that he and his daughters, his eldest daughter to be precise, had been arguing since the store closed. That was two-and-a-half hours or one hundred and fifty minutes. Way too much time for him.
Four years ago he would have left and taken a drive in his car and come back when Libby had calmed down. But now he was trapped in this dratted chair. And his daughter knew it too, blast her hide.
“No,” Libby said again. Sean watched her as she paced back and forth from the window to the door, pausing every now and then to take a chocolate chip cookie from the plate sitting on the night table. “We don't need to get involved.”
“You know,” Sean told her for what he was sure was the fiftieth time, “even though, admittedly I have a few problems, I think I'm still capable of making my own decisions.”
Over the years he'd found that the best way of arguing with Libby was to pick one or two statements and just repeat them over and over again. Eventually the sheer repetition wore her down, but tonight she was hanging on. She was becoming more and more like her mother every day, Sean unhappily reflected.
“Then you're making a bad decision,” Libby informed him.
Bernie took a last sip of her Cosmopolitan and put her glass down.
“Hey, stay out of it if you don't agree with Dad,” she told Libby. “You don't have to participate in this if you don't want to. We're not asking you to.”
Sean threw his youngest daughter a grateful glance as Libby whirled around to face her sister.
“I'm sorry,” she told her. “But what you fail to grasp here is that this will have an impact on everyone in the family.”
“No it won't,” Bernie told her.
“Really?” Libby put her hands on her hips. “Then answer this. Who is going to be doing the work in the store while you're running around playing Nancy Drew? Who is going to be driving Dad around?”
“Who was working in the store before I came back?” Bernie challenged. “You should think about Dad and what he wants to do.”
“I am thinking about him,” Libby said. “And don't you dare suggest otherwise.”
Bernie snorted. “Yeah. Well, he's had more fun being arrested with me than he's had sitting up here in this room.”
Oh, oh, thought Sean. Things were not going in a good direction here. If he didn't do something now he'd have the girls not speaking to one another for the next week which would be inconvenient at best and downright unpleasant at worst.
“Time out,” Sean said before Libby could reply. Then he grabbed Libby's hand as she made another pass around the room. “I want you to come and sit down next to me,” he ordered. The principle of dealing with an angry daughter or a drunk was the same, he reflected. Divert the attention to something else. Give the person a new focus.
Libby sat down reluctantly, as Sean knew she would. After all he'd reasoned, how could you say no to a request like that from your dad, especially if he's crippled.
“Now I want you to calm down and listen to what I have to say,” Sean told her.
He watched his daughter bite her lip.
“I just don't want you to get worse, that's all,” she told him. “You know what the doctor said about stress.”
“Yeah, I do. If I listened to him I'd just shoot myself now and get it over with.”
“That's a terrible thing to say,” Libby told him. “Terrible.”
Sean patted Libby's hand. “Don't think I don't appreciate everything you've done for me for the last three years. You know I couldn't have gotten along without you.” Libby nodded her head and Sean could feel her hand relaxing under his. “But once I got out, I remembered how good it feels.”
“You got yourself arrested,” Libby told him. “Did that feel good?”
“I will say it was interesting being on that side of the equation.”
Libby pursed her lips. “So you're saying that Bernie's right?” she asked.
“I didn't mean that,” Sean quickly replied. He wasn't getting drawn back into a discussion on this topic. Not if he could help it.
“Then what did you mean?” Libby asked.
“That at least I wasn't sitting at home watching the Home Shopping Network. Even if that arrest thing was a slight miscalculation on my part,” Sean admitted. “But it doesn't obviate what I said.”
“Obviate?” Libby repeated.
“Rule out,” Bernie explained.
“Whatever,” Libby told her sister.
“Well, excuse me,” Bernie snapped.
Sean coughed. Both girls turned to look at him.
“The truth is,” he quickly continued, “I realized that I enjoyed being back in the game. And I also think Leeza Sharp deserves better than she got.”
“Even if she was a grade-A bitch,” Bernie interjected. “Well, she was,” Bernie said in answer to her father's glare. “Okay. She wasn't a very nice person. Is that better?” she asked.
“Marginally,” he replied. Talk about not helping the cause. He turned back to Libby. “Now,” he said, “I appreciate your concern and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I am going to do this. And you can help me or not. Either one is fine with me.”
Sean watched as Libby got up and snagged another chocolate chip cookie. He watched as she stared out the window for a moment while she thought about what to do. He reflected that even when she was little, she'd always taken a long time to make decisions; buying ice cream with her had been a nightmare, unlike Bernie and himself, who tended to decide things with the snap of a finger.
“Maybe you would be better staying out of this,” he said to Libby's back. “Especially if you're not comfortable.”
She turned around. “No. I'm in.”
“Are you sure?” Sean asked. He couldn't figure out why, but for some reason it meant a lot to him that Libby was joining him on this.
“I'm positive.”
“Can I ask what made you change your mind?”
Libby clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I guess I'd rather be with you guys,” she indicated her father and sister with a nod of her head, “no matter what. Even if I don't agree with what you're doing.”
Sean nodded. “Fair enough.”
“What I don't understand though,” Libby continued, “is how we're going to pull this off. We have no legal authority whatsoever.”
“We managed last time,” Bernie pointed out.
“Yeah, but last time we knew all the players,” Libby replied.
“We still do,” Bernie protested.
“Yeah, but they don't shop in our store. They all live in a different town.”
Sean grinned. “That's what's going to make this fun. The challenge. After all, anyone can investigate a crime if they have a badge.”
Bernie swung her leg off the chair she was sitting in and stood up. “I'm going to go get a bottle of Cristal. We should have a toast.”
Cristal, Libby thought. They couldn't afford that. Libby looked at her sister suspiciously. “Where did you get a bottle of Cristal?”
“Where do you think?”
Libby wiped her hands on her T-shirt. “Don't tell me this.”
“Then don't ask.”
“But how?” Libby was mystified. When had Bernie had the time?
“I put it in the car before Dad came.”
“I can't believe you stole a bottle of Jura's champagne.”
“Oh don't look so scandalized,” Bernie told her. “They had more then enough. Anyway, it's not as if they needed it for the guests.”
“Don't you have any ethics?” Libby asked her.
“Not where top of the line champagne is concerned,” Bernie cheerfully replied.
 
 
“Good, isn't it?” Bernie asked as Libby sipped her champagne.
“Very,” Libby reluctantly agreed.
Bernie raised her glass. “A toast to Simmons and Daughters. Long may we prosper.”
“I'll drink to that,” Sean said.
Sean, Bernie, and Libby clinked glasses, then drank down the champagne. Sean carefully set his glass on the nightstand in front of him. Despite what his doctor had told him alcohol seemed to steady his hands not make them shake more.
“How are we going to go about this?” Libby asked.
“I've been giving some thought to that,” Sean said and he sat back in his wheelchair and began to talk. “Usually when you investigate a crime you look for motive, means, and opportunity, agreed?”
“Agreed,” Bernie and Libby said in unison.
“In this case we know what the means are.”
Bernie and Libby nodded their heads again.
“So the first thing I'd like to know is who had access to the weapons? Who can shoot a compound bow?”
“Crossbow,” Bernie said.
“I stand corrected,” her father answered. “Though my question remains the same.”
Bernie tucked a ringlet of blond hair back behind her ear. “All right. From what Bree said and what we saw, I think we can safely surmise that the three brothers are proficient with weapons.”
“I concur,” Sean said. “And,” he continued, “it seems to me that almost anyone could have had access to the room where they keep the weapons. I didn't see a lock on the door. Did you?”
“No,” Bernie said. “I didn't.” She worked her onyx ring up and down her finger.
Sean nodded his head approvingly.
Bernie picked up the conversational thread. “Actually we don't even know that the arrow and the bow came from the estate. It could have come from the hunting lodge. Which would imply premeditation.”
“The whole thing was premeditated,” Sean pointed out.
“You don't rig something like that up on the spur of the moment.”
“No,” Bernie said, “you don't. But why Leeza's wedding day?”
Sean wheeled his chair back and forth. “Probably because whoever did it knew she'd be in the house. And then we come to the remote control car. Since they're mostly purchased in toy stores or hobby shops or electronic shops, if I were working this case I'd send people to canvas the vicinity to see if anyone had recently purchased a similar model. However, that would be too labor intensive for us.”
“Especially since you can purchase them on the Internet,” Libby pointed out.
“Good point,” Sean said. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that himself.
He looked out the window. His neighbor's cat was busy stalking a robin. The cat was almost there; he had another inch to go when the robin flew away. Reminded him of a few of his own cases Sean thought as he turned his mind back to the business at hand.
“So what we have at the moment,” he recapitulated, “is multiple suspects and no good, that is efficient, way to track their movements. That being the case it seems to me at this moment, the most fruitful thing we can do is concentrate our resources on trying to find out who had a motive for killing Leeza Sharp. Can we agree on that?” Sean asked.
“Sure,” Libby said.
“Ditto,” Bernie echoed. “However, I would like to note that if Leeza Sharp acted the same way with everyone else that she acted with us, everyone is going to have a motive.”
“I guess that's what we're going to find out,” Sean said.
“What if everyone does?” Libby asked.
“We'll worry about that when we come to it,” Sean told her. “Now anyone have any suggestions about how to accomplish this task?”
“Teacher, teacher.” Bernie waved her hand up and down.
“Pick me. Please. Please. Please.”
“All right,” Sean conceded. “Maybe I was being a little didactic.”
“Ya think?” Bernie told him.
“Do you have an idea or not?” Sean asked her.
“Do ants love peonies? Of course I do. I thought I could go see Esmeralda, Raid's administrative assistant, and tell her we have a big job and want to place a big order with her.” Bernie slipped her ring off and on her finger. “Lunch in a nice place is always a good way to get someone to talk.”
“She looked pretty loyal to me,” Libby noted.
“That's what I'm counting on. Poor Jura,” Bernie dabbed away fake tears. “Such a tragedy. Thank God he has you to rely on, you to protect him.” She dropped her hand and rearranged her hair. “And, of course, you and I can always go back to the Raid Estate and try and talk to the kitchen staff.”

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