A Catered Wedding (19 page)

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Authors: Isis Crawford

BOOK: A Catered Wedding
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“You sure?”
Ditas nodded.
“Is the rest of my party here?”
“They came about an hour ago. I'll be here if you need me,” the guard said, backing up about a foot or so.
Judging from his stance, the guy's ex-army,
Sean thought before redirecting his attention to Ditas.
“Nice ride,” Sean said. “How does it do on fuel?”
“Just get on with it,” Ditas ordered.
“Okay. I want to talk to you about Leeza Sharp's death,” Sean continued.
Ditas gave him a second look. “Now I remember. You're the guy that Fisher arrested at the house, right?”
“Correct.”
“The one that the Walker sisters hired to investigate Leeza's death.”
“Correct again.”
“You're not a delegated officer of the law.”
“I used to be.”
“But you're not anymore.”
“That's true,” Sean conceded.
“So that means I don't have to talk to you. You have no legal rights in this matter whatsoever.”
“You're correct. I don't,” Sean agreed.
“I could call up and have Fisher come down and arrest you.”
Sean looked around. “Be a waste of a trip. We're out of West Vale jurisdiction, and I don't think you want to bring the Staties in. It would waste your time.”
“And why would I care?”
Sean nodded towards Ditas's car. “Slow your hunting down.”
Ditas straightened up. Sean noted that his face was expressionless.
“Get out of here,” he told Sean.
“Fine,” Sean said. “I was just doing you a favor.”
“And what would that be?” Ditas asked.
“I was giving you a chance to talk to me now rather than come to see me in Longely.”
“And why would I do that?” Ditas asked.
“Simple,” Sean said. “Because you seem to be the only one that gives a damn about Leeza Sharp. When you want to call, my number is in the book,” Sean told Ditas. Then he reached down and brought out Libby's bag of cookies. “Cookies,” he said. “For you. They're really very good.”
Sean noted that Ditas took the bag instead of dropping it on the ground, which he interpreted as a favorable sign.
“Try the ginger bars,” Sean advised. Then he tapped Marvin on the hand. “Let's go home,” he told him. As Marvin turned around Sean waved at Ditas. “Until later,” Sean said. He was interested to see that Ditas kept looking at them till they were practically out of sight.
“What was that all about?” Marvin asked when they were a couple of miles down the road.
Sean stifled a yawn. He felt a nap coming on. God he was getting old.
“Planting seeds,” Sean said. “Planting seeds.” Then he added, “I hate people like that.”
“People like what?” Marvin asked as he turned his eyes away from the road.
“Watch where you going!” Sean yelled.
“Sorry,” Marvin said as he righted the wheel, overcorrected, and almost put them in a ditch.
“It's okay,” Sean said in his most soothing voice. He wasn't going to have the kid punk out on him now. “I don't like people that hunt,” Sean continued once he was sure that Marvin was paying attention again. Fortunately, there was no traffic on the road—if you didn't count the tractor coming towards them. How could the kid be such a bad driver and still be alive? “Correction. People that hunt like that.”
“Like what?”
Sean made sure Marvin's eyes were still on the road before replying.
“I'm talking about canned hunting. I'm talking about people who pay big bucks to go in and shoot something down. The people who don't want to get their hands dirty. They might as well just have the animal pose for them and pull the trigger. It demands the same level of skill, which is none.
“I don't know why they don't make these goddamned hunting preserves illegal. They should and they would if the politicians had any guts and weren't getting all their money from people like Jura Raid and his brothers.”
“So you're against hunting?” Marvin asked.
“No. I didn't mean to say that,” Sean replied. “I have no problem with the guy who goes out in the woods and does what he's supposed to do. I have a problem with people who think they can do anything because they're rich.”
Suddenly he felt exhausted. The day had caught up with him. It had been a long while since he'd spent so much time outside. He closed his eyes.
As he drifted off to asleep he couldn't help thinking that the crossbow that had killed Leeza Sharp had probably come from the Raids' hunting preserve. Not that he could get in there to find out.
Chapter 19
“P
lanting seeds?” Libby said to Marvin. “My dad can't keep a cactus alive.”
“I don't think that's what he meant,” Marvin suggested.
“I know that,” Libby said. Then she looked at the crushed expression on Marvin's face and thought,
I have to be a little less sharp.
She looked at her watch. Bernie was supposed to have been here twenty minutes ago, but then she'd never known a time when Bernie wasn't late and she wasn't annoyed about it.
“She'll be here soon,” Rob said.
He read my mind
, Libby thought.
“Nice dinner,” he added.
Marvin turned to her. “I don't think you've ever made anything I didn't like.”
Libby could feel herself flush. It embarrassed her when people said nice things to her. The picnic had been impromptu but one of the nice things about running
A Taste of Heaven
was that there was always plenty of food around.
She'd simply gathered up some lemon chicken and roasted vegetables, added a potato salad, a green salad, sliced French bread, and several different varieties of fruit tart—all stuff she had on hand at the store—and packed everything in a picnic hamper and that had been that.
And now it was a little after eight o'clock and she, Marvin, and Rob were sitting in the park overlooking the Hudson, waiting for the sun to set. She breathed in the air, which smelled slightly of the river, watched a motorboat making its way downstream, and listened to Rob and Marvin chatting.
Rob, who was sitting across from her, took another sip of his beer. “So how did you get along with the old man?” he asked Marvin.
Marvin pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “He makes me nervous.”
“He makes everyone nervous,” Rob said.
“Even you?” Marvin asked.
Rob chuckled. “He would if I were driving him.”
Marvin pushed up his glasses. “I nearly had three accidents. In a row.”
“I've done worse,” Libby confided turning towards him.
“Dad used to have this demerit thing when he was teaching me how to drive.” She imitated his voice. “That's one demerit. That's two demerits. He made me so nervous that one day I stomped on the accelerator instead of the brake and went right into the front of Mrs. Johnson's store.”
“It was years before he'd get in a car with her again,” Bernie said as she plopped down next to Rob on the blanket and hugged him. “He told Mom he'd rather bust a crack house than be in a vehicle when Libby was behind the wheel.”
“You're making that up,” Libby told her.
“Well, maybe a little,” Bernie conceded. “Actually I should thank you for doing that. When he taught me how to drive he kept saying, ‘Now relax. You're doing fine.' Poor guy. He used to white knuckle it the whole time we were out.” Bernie laughed as she took Rob's beer out of his hand and took a sip.
“Hey, drink your own,” he protested, taking the bottle back.
“Then get me one,” she told Rob. She began playing with the silver and onyx ring on her finger. “Dad really is a sweetie,” she assured Marvin. “He just doesn't want to let anyone know it.”
Marvin shook his head. “I don't know.”
“You just have to tell him to back off,” Bernie said.
Marvin sighed. His shoulders slumped. “That doesn't work with my father,” he replied. “It just makes him angrier.”
Bernie patted Marvin on the arm. “Well it works with our dad. If you have a good point he'll listen, even if it looks as if he isn't. Anyway, he said he had a good time with you.”
Marvin looked dubious. “He did?”
Bernie raised her hand. “I swear. Of course,” she reflected, “he also said you were a terrible driver and he'd never get in a car with you again.”
Libby interrupted. “Bernie, did Dad tell you what he told Ditas?”
“About coming around to talk to him? Yeah. He told me.”
“But why would this guy Ditas do that?” Rob asked as he opened a beer for Bernie and handed it to her. “I know I wouldn't.”
“You might. People are strange. They like to talk.”
“That certainly covers you,” Rob observed.
Bernie whacked him with the flat of her hand and kept on going. “As I was saying, people like to talk, to explain themselves even when it isn't in their best interest to do so. After all, confession is the basis of religion. And psychotherapy. It used to be the basis of most criminal justice systems before they went high tech. Dad was just giving him permission to do something that he wants to do anyway.”
Rob smirked. “I like it when you get all intellectual on me.”
Bernie snorted. “Everything comes down to one thing with you.”
“Which is what you love about me,” Rob retorted as Marvin put some more potato salad on his plate.
“It's true Ditas was upset at the cremation,” Marvin noted after he swallowed. “But still. Talking to your dad?”
“Ten bucks says he will,” Bernie said.
Rob took out his wallet and slapped a ten-dollar bill down on the blanket. “A sawbuck says he won't.” He looked at Marvin. “Are you in or are you out?”
“In. I guess.”
“Sucker,” Bernie crowed as she held out her hand for Marvin's money. “Libby will hold it, won't you?” she asked her.
“That's me. Reliable,” Libby said.
Bernie patted her knee. “There, there. I didn't mean to insult you.”
“I boosted two lipsticks in tenth grade,” Libby confessed.
“I'd forgotten about your criminal career,” Bernie said at the same time Marvin said, “You did?”
Libby nodded. “They called my dad and he came and got me. It was awful.”
“What did he do?” Marvin asked.
“Nothing,” Libby replied. “He just took me home. He said nothing he could do to me was as bad as what I could do to myself. It would have been better if he had hit me.”
Marvin lowered his voice. “I stole my dad's BMW.”
“You're kidding,” Bernie said.
“No. I did. I wanted to go to a concert in New Paltz and he wouldn't let me.”
“Did he find out?” Rob asked.
“Oh yeah,” Marvin said.
Rob snorted. “Mine gave me a real good whack when he found out I'd taken his truck.”
“Mine didn't talk to me for two months.”
“I think I'd rather be hit,” Rob said.
“I would have, too,” Marvin said.
Poor guy. How awful to have someone like that for a father,
Libby thought as she watched Marvin shovel another spoonful of potato salad into his mouth. Now would be a good time to change the subject she decided.
“It would be nice if Ditas did come in and talk.”
“He will.” Bernie took a piece of the lemon chicken Libby had made and bit into it.
“Because,” Libby continued, “we haven't turned up much, and the sisters called to tell Dad they're coming in the day after tomorrow to talk to him.”
“Boy, I bet that's going to make him happy.”
“I think he'd be happier if he had something to tell them.”
“I think he'd be happier if he were having a root canal. But he does have things to tell them,” Bernie countered.
“Like what?” Libby asked.
“Motives. We got lots and lots of motives.” Bernie touched the chicken leg to each finger as she enumerated each item. “We know that the brothers are having business problems. We know that Esmeralda is in love with Jura. We can surmise from what Marvin said about Ditas's conduct at the funeral that he felt something for Leeza. We don't know what that something is yet. But hopefully we will.
“I think we can also surmise from Jura's decisions concerning the funeral that he was really pissed at his bride-to-be—unless the way he treated her body is some kind of weird Estonian ritual, which I'm pretty sure it isn't because I went on the net and checked.”
“I don't know,” Libby said dubiously.
“When are Eunice and Gertrude arriving on Sunday?” Bernie asked.
“Around four. Why?”
“Good. That leaves us plenty of time.”
“To do what?” Libby asked even though she really didn't want to know. She'd sleep better that way.
Bernie smiled. “We're going to the estate tomorrow and try and talk to the household staff and see what else we can dig up.”
“It's Saturday,” Libby protested. “Everyone will be home. Jura won't let us in.”
“You're quite right he won't—if he's there. No one is going to be at home. Everyone is at the hunting lodge for the weekend using big guns to shoot poor innocent furry creatures.”
“One of the things I like about you,” Rob said giving Bernie's arm a squeeze, “is that you're always so hesitant about giving your opinion.”
“And one of the things I like about you,” Bernie cooed, “is that you're never sarcastic.”
Libby coughed and Bernie and Rob turned to face her.
“But how do you know that?” Libby asked.
“The cook told me.” Bernie finished the rest of her chicken and started on another piece. “I called up the house and told the cook I wanted to stop by this Saturday to drop off a thank you present for allowing us to use her kitchen and we got to chatting and she said that everyone was off hunting.”
“Then wouldn't the staff be gone too?” Marvin asked.
Bernie nibbled the last scrap of flesh off the chicken leg with her front teeth, deposited the leg in the container reserved for bones, and wiped her hands on a napkin before replying.
“No,” she said when she was done. “They get every other Saturday off. Which is good for us.”
“But if no one is there,” Rob said. “What's the point?”
Bernie reached for a fruit tart. “Someone I was going with once had a job—and I'm not making this up—on this big estate in Montana. The only thing he had to do was drive the owner's Bentley around the property for exactly one mile at eight-fifteen in the morning. Then he brought it back to the door, kept the motor running, and waited for the owner to come out. Not bad, huh?”
“But why?” Rob asked.
Libby picked the slice of kiwi fruit off the top of the mini fruit tart and popped it into her mouth before replying.
“Because that's what the owner wanted,” she said after she'd swallowed. “Something about breaking the engine in. The point is: If you're rich no one questions you.”

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