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Authors: Isis Crawford

BOOK: A Catered Wedding
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“Like the Egyptians,” Libby said.
“Exactly.”
“Go on,” Libby prompted.
“Well,” Marvin said, “Jura insisted that we put a crossbow in Leeza's coffin before we closed it.”
Libby leaned forward.
“Did he say why?”
“He said she liked to hunt. It was her passion.”
“It was evidently someone else's too,” Libby observed.
Chapter 15
B
ernie looked down at the page in her hand that she'd ripped out of the store Yellow Pages. Libby would have killed her for doing that—if she'd seen her. She was so OCD. But she hadn't and taking the page with her was easier than copying out a list of all the stores in New York City that specialized in caviar. Well, actually there weren't that many shops. Six to be exact.
Bernie could hear Libby telling her she could have gotten the list off the computer. Which was true. But then she couldn't have caught the earlier train and that would have meant she wouldn't have had time to stop at a copy store and get new business cards made up.
She would have done the business card thing last night, except she'd just come up with this idea this morning when she'd been brushing her teeth and she figured that as long as she was going into the city anyway, it seemed silly not to try and combine two tasks into one trip.
Bernie checked her watch. She had an hour and a half left before she had to meet Esmeralda Quinn at the restaurant. That should be enough to cover at least one, possibly two of the stores on her list, both of which were within a ten-block radius of each other.
The first shop,
Caviar and Nothing Else
, was only eight blocks away from Grand Central Terminal, so Bernie headed there first. A burst of hot, humid air hit her as she stepped out onto Lexington Avenue. Bernie loved New York but not in the summer time. Then it was sticky and smelly, and she could practically feel her hair frizzing up as she walked down the street—a good reason in her opinion why she'd never live in Florida. But at least she reflected, she was wearing a mint green silk tank top and a matching green and light blue print short silk skirt. Even if she felt hot, she didn't look it—which was a good deal of the battle.
Half an hour later Bernie had arrived at Caviar and Nothing Else, the line at the copy shop being considerably longer then she had anticipated. She paused for a second to consider the window display, which consisted of a tin of caviar sitting on a black velvet draped pedestal that was surrounded by a variety of fancifully carved ivory and horn spoons suspended from the ceiling on wires. Something like that wouldn't work in Longely, Bernie decided as she opened the door and walked inside. Too minimalist.
A burst of freezing cold air greeted her. This is why people get sick she thought as she marched up to the counter and handed the clerk behind the counter one of the business cards she'd just had printed. It read: Bernadette O'Brien. Travel/Food Writer for the
Los Angeles New Times.
Well she
had
worked there. And O'Brien
was
an Irish name, even if it didn't happen to be hers.
“Could you tell your manager I'd like to speak to him,” she told him the sales clerk behind the counter.
“Can I say what this is about?” the clerk asked.
“Yes. I'm writing an article about holiday gifts and I was thinking of mentioning your store.”
The clerk nodded and departed. Now Bernie knew that some people, such as her sister, would have discussed what she as about to do with her dad, but Bernie figured, why bother? All she was doing was acting on a hunch. The worst that could happen was that the manager would refuse to speak to her, and the best that could happen was that she'd glean some information that she didn't have before.
Okay, maybe she was diverging from the agreed upon plan, maybe there was the small problem of misrepresentation, but so what. That's what doing the kind of work her dad was doing involved. How else was she going to find out something? It had been her experience in the food industry that if you wanted to find something out you talked to the vendors and retailers. They were always the first to hear the gossip, the first to know if something was going wrong. She had to assume the same principles obtained here.
As she waited for the manager she took stock of the shop. Whoever had designed it had done an excellent job. The place screamed money. The walls were painted a rich golden hue. A big vase on the far side of the counter was filled with a variety of expensive, exotic blooms and just enough common flowers to show that whoever had done the arrangement understood the concept of juxtaposition.
The display case in front of her was filled with artfully arranged tins of Russian, Iranian, and American caviar as well as cunning ramekins of various types of pâté and small piles of quail eggs. A second display case was stocked with a variety of jewel-like fresh fruit tarts, which had been placed on white polished pebbles making them look like expensive pieces of art.
Bernie was wondering if they could do something like that at
A Taste of Heaven
when the manager came out holding her card in his hand. He was cuter then Bernie had expected. And younger. And hipper. He'd shaved his head and was sporting a goatee. Her father would have hated him. He disapproved of excess facial hair.
Bernie smiled at him and he smiled back. They shook hands.
“Paul,” he said. “Paul Nelsen.”
“Bernie,” she said. “Bernie O'Brien. I know that you're probably very busy,” she cooed. “But if I could just take a few minutes of your time for an article I'm writing about Christmas presents.”
“Let's go in the back and talk,” Paul Nelsen said.
“Love to,” Bernie replied. Twenty minutes later, she left with his cell number, a small tin of caviar, and the information she'd come to find out.
 
 
Bernie looked around Shamus's as she waited for Esmeralda to join her. It was a little after one-thirty in the afternoon and the place was just beginning to empty out. She'd chosen it, partly because it was close to the office building Raid Enterprises was housed in, and partly because she'd read a review of it in
Food Works
and wanted to try it out.
Somehow the idea of combining the words, haute, fusion, Irish, and food together in the same sentence let alone the same place seemed somewhat problematic, but—hey—she'd been wrong before and the place
had
gotten a rave review.
Not, Bernie knew, that that meant anything. After all, people had always been trying to bribe her in subtle and not so subtle ways to say good things about their places when she'd been writing restaurant reviews out in L.A. She'd always said no, but that wasn't true of some other people that she knew. Like her ex, Joe, for instance.
Of course, she thought as she ordered a sidecar from the waiter, Libby was right. She could have scheduled this meeting with Esmeralda Quinn in a coffee shop or the equivalent. There was no reason to be eating in a place this expensive. Except that it was fun and the sisters were picking up the check. Plus, Bernie had a feeling that a coffee shop wouldn't have packed the same clout with Esmeralda as this place did. She'd certainly sounded impressed when Bernie had told her where they were meeting.
Bernie was perusing the menu and wondering what thin-sliced maple-glazed corned beef combined with avocado and Indonesian cold slaw served on a bed of radicchio would actually taste like when Esmeralda walked into the room.
Bernie blinked twice.
Esmeralda had certainly done more than a little bit of work in the appearance department since Bernie had seen her at the Raid Estate. She definitely wasn't Miss Dowdy anymore.
For openers, Esmeralda had dyed her hair blond and spiked it up. Then she'd changed her make-up. She was now wearing eyeliner and mascara and a fair amount of blush and lip-gloss.
She'd also lost a lot of weight—probably Atkins or some kind of liquid fast. And her boobs definitely looked bigger. A lot bigger. Bernie had to admit that she looked pretty good in the black slip dress she was wearing. As Esmeralda came towards her Bernie had the oddest feeling that somehow or other she was metamorphosing into Leeza Sharp. But that was ridiculous, Bernie thought. Really silly.
“Wow, you look fantastic,” Bernie said to her.
Esmeralda smiled. “Why, thank you. I'm trying.”
“Well, whatever you're doing it's working.”
Esmeralda smiled again. “I'm sorry, but I can't stay too long,” Esmeralda said as she placed a black leather portfolio on the table. “Jura needs me.” Then she sat down and began to unzip the portfolio.
A waiter appeared next to her. “I'll just have water,” she told him. “No ice and a slice of lemon.” Then she opened the portfolio and took out a catalog, and handed it to Bernie.
“You must be very busy,” Bernie said to her.
“You have no idea,” Esmeralda said. “I'm doing my own job, plus Leeza's. Jura doesn't want to replace her yet. I can understand why, but . . .” And her voice trailed off.
“These things are so hard,” Bernie said. “You look as if you could use a drink.”
Esmeralda shook her head.
“It'll help you relax a little.”
Esmeralda shook her head again.
“Just a little one,” Bernie urged. “It's good to go off your diet once in a while.”
“I suppose you're right,” Esmeralda conceded.
Bernie summoned the waiter and pointed to Esmeralda. “Bring her what I'm having,” she told him. Then she said to Esmeralda. “What made you change your hair color if you don't mind my asking.”
Esmeralda bit her lip. “You're going to think I'm silly.”
“No, I won't,” Bernie assured her.
Esmeralda looked away. “Well I did it as an homage to Leeza. I just felt as if I had to do something and then—well one thing led to another. I almost feel as if she's beside me urging me on.”
She'd been right, Bernie thought. Very weird. Kind of like some of those tribes that eat their enemies.
“What a wonderful idea,” she told Esmeralda.
Esmeralda bobbed her head. “I'm glad you think so. I had my doubts, but Jura seems to think it's a good idea.”
I bet he does
, Bernie thought as Esmeralda indicated the catalog with her chin. “I've taken the liberty of circling some of the items you might be interested in. Usually we don't sell retail.” She stopped talking as the waiter returned with her drink. Her eyes followed his movements. The moment he set it down she reached over and took a sip. “My, this is good,” she said.
Bernie nodded and pretended to read the catalogue.
“So,” she said when Esmeralda had taken another healthy sip of her side car, “how is Jura holding up?”
Esmeralda sighed and took possession of the menu the waiter handed her. “He's taking this very hard.”
“I'm sure he is,” Bernie said thinking of what Marvin had told Libby about Jura's conduct at the funeral.
“He's so grief stricken. He couldn't even bear the thought of a funeral.”
“Ah,” Bernie said, “I can understand how Leeza's death must have been a terrible shock.”
“You have no idea,” Esmeralda said. “And now he's relying on me more than ever.”
“Well, you seem to be bearing up pretty well,” Bernie noted.
“I'm trying,” Esmeralda replied. “But it's hard. I feel as if I have to be available to Jura night and day.”
Bernie managed not to make the obvious comment as Esmeralda glanced at the menu.
“At least you have the funeral behind you,” Bernie said instead.
Esmeralda nodded.
Bernie regarded her for a moment as she took another sip of her drink. “It must be very difficult for you to deal with everyone.”
Esmeralda looked startled. “Why do you say that?”
Bernie shrugged. “I've just found from my own experience that in family businesses when something goes wrong with one member of the family it has an impact on everyone else. Everyone is so tightly intermeshed. That's why when there's a fight in a family business it's so nasty.”
Esmeralda lowered the menu.
“Well I have to say that Joe and Ditas aren't making things any easier.”
“That must be horrible for Jura.”
Esmeralda took another sip of her drink. “You can't imagine how terrible. First poor Jura loses his bride-to-be and now his brothers aren't speaking to each other.”
“So he must be relying on you more and more,” Bernie commented.
“I feel as if I have to be there for him,” Esmeralda said as the waiter came by. “He has no one left he can talk to.”
Bernie ordered the corned beef special while Esmeralda ordered a hamburger topped with portobello mushrooms and caramelized onions served on two pieces of toasted sourdough bread.
“So why isn't anyone talking to each other anymore?” Bernie asked.
Esmeralda shook her head. “It's nothing important. A business disagreement. It's just that the three of them are so intense.”

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