“She certainly did that,” Bernie said, thinking back to Ada’s mom’s remarks when she answered the door.
“To use your words, I’m guessing it’s emblematic of Ada’s relationship with her mom. She doesn’t even call her ‘Mom,’ for heaven’s sake. What does that say?”
“That they don’t have a warm, fuzzy relationship.”
“Seems to be the case,” Libby said. “She probably knew her mom would say no and since Ada wanted us there this was her work-around.”
“It certainly doesn’t promote good family feelings,” Bernie remarked.
“No, it doesn’t,” Libby said. “The Sinclairs don’t seem like the pleasantest group of people,” she added. “At least not when they’re all together.”
Bernie shifted her weight from her right to her left foot. “No, they don’t, do they. So much for my vision of family picnics and Sunday dinners with newfound relatives,” Bernie said as she put two bowls of the chocolate-covered strawberries they’d made this morning on the trays next to the glasses.
“I thought they would say something when they saw us, didn’t you?” Libby asked Bernie.
“Like what?”
“Like something along the lines of ‘It’s been a long time since our families got together,’ instead of ‘I’d like a bit more wine’ or ‘How did you cook these carrots? They’re delicious.’ ”
“Maybe they don’t know,” Bernie said.
“Of course they knew,” Libby replied. “Ada’s mom told them.”
Bernie thought about it for a moment. “Maybe she didn’t tell the younger ones.”
“Doubtful,” Libby replied. “Ada knows. Why shouldn’t the others?”
Bernie frowned. “In that case, I think it’s even weirder that nobody said anything to us about the family feud. I mean, wouldn’t you have, if the positions had been reversed? Instead of pretending we’re just here to serve the meal.”
“They haven’t said anything because they don’t want to,” Libby answered.
“So much for family reunions,” Bernie repeated. She sighed. “Oh, well. It was a nice thought.”
“What I want to know is, did someone in that family do what Ada is accusing them of doing?” Libby asked.
“If they did, that certainly takes whoever we’re talking about out of the realm of the merely unpleasant and puts them in a whole different category.”
“And if they didn’t, that puts Ada in front of the pack in terms of nuttiness.” Libby shook her head. “That whole conspiracy theory thing she was trotting out is a bit . . . much.”
“Well, Ada certainly has a flair for the dramatic,” Bernie observed. “I’ll give you that. I wonder what her stepmom was referring to when she said to Ada’s mom, ‘Remember what happened the last time?’ ”
Libby frowned. “I’m guessing Ada had some kind of breakdown.”
“That’s what I’m figuring, too,” Bernie agreed. “I wonder what Ada thinks is so revealing about what she read?” Bernie mused as she picked up one of the trays. “I didn’t hear anything even vaguely suggestive of naming a murderer, let alone indicating a crime had been committed, did you?”
Libby shook her head. “All I heard were to-do lists, lists of places to try to sell Re-Grow! to, random observations about things like the weather and commuting on Metro-North, and possible product advertising slogans. Unless those entries were in some sort of code,” Libby posited.
Bernie scoffed at the idea. “Now that’s what you call grasping at straws,” she said.
“Granted,” Libby said. “Although,” she reflected, “it wouldn’t surprise me if Ada believed that to be the case. Why else would she say what she did?”
“You may have a point, Libby.” Bernie moved one of the bowls with the strawberries a fraction of an inch so that it lined up with the glasses. “Given the way she’s acting, Ada might indeed, although if that were the case I’d think she would have told us what the code was and translated it for us.”
“Okay. You’re right. So, let’s retire the diary code thing for the moment.”
“Works for me,” Bernie told her sister.
“But what if she’s right about the other thing?” Libby asked.
“You mean the conspiracy she was talking about?” Bernie asked.
Libby nodded.
“On what basis are you proposing this idea?”
“On the basis that two people died in questionable circumstances. . .”
Bernie raised an eyebrow.
Libby corrected herself. “Okay. Might have died in questionable circumstances . . .”
Bernie raised a second eyebrow.
“Granted, there’s a very thin chance that they did die in questionable circumstances,” Libby allowed. “But”—and she held up one of her fingers to emphasize the point she was about to make—“there evidently is a lot of money at stake here and money never brings out the best in people.”
“No, it does not,” Bernie agreed, thinking back to the cases she and Libby had solved. “But that said, you’re proceeding on a pretty flimsy hypothesis.”
“I know, but there’s always the chance that Ada is correct and we missed something,” Libby continued. “What if everyone is in this together?”
Bernie snorted. “Seriously? A la Agatha Christie?”
“It could happen,” Libby protested. “I mean it is a possibility. After all, just because someone is paranoid doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”
“And Mathilda can go one hundred miles an hour and we’re entering her in the Indy 500 tomorrow.” Bernie glanced down at her watch. They had to get a move on. The magic hour was approaching. “And I wouldn’t worry about the diary being in code if I were you.”
“I’m not,” Libby said. “I was just proposing it as a theory.”
“Because whether the damned thing is or isn’t in code—and I don’t believe it is—I have an idea that Ada’s going to tell us the meaning of each and every entry that she read whether we want to hear it or not.”
“We probably won’t be able to stop her,” Libby reflected gloomily, thinking of the conversation to come. “You shouldn’t have told her we’d talk about what we saw later.”
“I know,” Bernie agreed. “But I was trying to get her out of here.”
Libby shook her head and tucked the hem of her shirt back into her pants. “I would like to get out of here, too. For that matter, I’m sure everyone here feels the same way.”
Bernie nodded her head in agreement. “Nothing like having someone accuse you of murder to put a damper on the festivities.”
“And according to her family this is nothing new. It’s something she’s done on a regular basis,” Libby said as she looked out the kitchen window at the snow. It was blowing in sideways sheets, making the streetlights hard to see. The storm had arrived in all its majesty.
“Do you think that’s true?” Bernie asked.
“Yeah. I kinda do, not that it makes any difference.”
“I think it’s better if we just agree with everything Ada says. . . .”
“I wasn’t the one disagreeing with her, Bernie,” Libby pointed out. “You were.”
“I already said I made a mistake.”
Libby looked out the window again and let out a long sigh. “I just hope that Mathilda starts.”
“Me too,” Bernie said. “But that’s not what I’m worried about. What worries me is going up the hills. I just hope that the roads are plowed so we don’t get stuck going up that hill on Piedmont and slide back down.” They’d done that last winter. Fortunately, the road had been empty at the time.
Libby picked up one of the trays. “Come on. The new year awaits.”
Bernie nodded. “Indeed it does.”
Ada’s mother was handing out the Christmas poppers as Bernie and Libby walked into the living room.
“We are going to be rich,” Bernie heard Ada’s uncle, Henry, say as she and Libby approached everyone with their trays.
“I’ll drink t
o that,” Ada’s stepmother said, taking a glass from Bernie’s tray.
“It’s about time our work paid off,” Peggy observed to the room at large as Libby proffered her the tray she was holding. Peggy took a flute and nodded her thanks.
“Ah,” Ada’s mom said to Bernie as Bernie offered her a glass of champagne. “Just in the nick of time.”
Everyone else in the room took a glass as well and Libby and Bernie put the bowls of strawberries on the coffee table and left.
“To us,” Libby and Bernie heard Ada’s mom say as they returned to the kitchen.
“To making more money than we know what to do with,” Ada’s uncle added.
“To travel and good times,” Peggy Graceson said. Once they were back in the kitchen the sisters picked up the glasses filled with champagne that they’d set aside for themselves and raised them.
“To a good new year,” Bernie said.
“To our family,” Libby said. “And to getting home in one piece.”
“To a new sofa and to not having Dad’s prediction come true,” Bernie added.
“To no fishing,” Libby added.
“I’ll drink to that,” Bernie told her. Then she and her sister gently clinked glasses and downed their champagne.
A moment later, they were back at work. Bernie and Libby finished packing their supplies in the cartons they’d come in, after which they wiped down the counters and the kitchen table and swept the floor. Then they went back into the living room to collect the empty champagne flutes and tell Ada they were going to leave after they’d washed the crystal and put it away. To the sisters’ relief, Ada just nodded and turned back to watching the television. Evidently she had nothing more to say about her father’s diary.
“Make sure you’re careful washing those glasses,” Linda called out to them as they collected the flutes from the coffee and side tables. “They’re Baccarat, you know.”
“Yes, we know,” Bernie said. “Don’t look at me that way,” Bernie told her sister as they walked back to the kitchen. “Crystal or glass? What difference does it make?”
“It evidently makes a difference to her,” Libby observed.
“Exactly my point,” Bernie told her.
The sisters spent the next five minutes carefully washing Linda’s glasses in warm soapy water and drying them. They were putting them back in the kitchen cabinet when they heard a crash followed by a scream followed by an “Oh no.”
Libby looked at Bernie and Bernie looked at Libby.
“Maybe someone saw a mouse and dropped their glass,” Libby said.
“I’ll go with that,” Bernie agreed.
“We could keep packing and pretend we didn’t hear it,” Libby suggested.
“We could,” Bernie said, weighing the possibility. “We could wait for someone to come get us.”
There was another scream. This one was shriller.
Bernie sighed. “Another fifteen minutes and we would have been out the door.”
“Which would have been lovely. Unfortunately, we’re here,” Libby pointed out as she put down the carton she’d just picked up.
“Unfortunately,” Bernie echoed.
“Dad would have found out anyway.”
“Yes, he would have,” Bernie agreed. She didn’t know how, but their dad always knew everything.
“By now we should know better than to bet with him,” Libby said. “He always wins.”
The third scream was the scream that did it.
“I guess we should see what’s going on,” Bernie said as she and Libby started toward the living room.
“Nothing good,” Libby predicted.
“That’s for sure,” Bernie replied.
Chapter 9
When Bernie and Libby ran in, Ada was backed up against the far wall gnawing on her fingernails and muttering to herself. Everyone else was standing near the end table on the left-hand side of the sofa looking down at something. At first, Bernie and Libby couldn’t see what it was because they were blocking the view, but then Ada’s uncle moved to the right and they spied Peggy through the space he’d left. She was foaming at the mouth while she thrashed about on the Oriental rug.
“Peggy, are you all right?” Ada’s stepmother was saying when Bernie and Libby walked in.
“Of course, she’s not all right,” Linda snapped at Vicky. Then she half knelt and said, “Peggy, what’s wrong? What’s the matter? Tell us.”
“She can’t,” Ada cried. Everyone turned to face her. “She’s dying.”
“No, she’s having a seizure,” Linda said.
Ada began to rock back and forth. “I knew something bad was going to happen,” she moaned. “I just knew it. This day is cursed. Cursed. I should never have done it. This is all my fault. My fault.” And she covered her face with her hands and began to sob.
“Someone shut her up,” Ada’s sister Rachel said, which made Ada cry harder.
“For heaven’s sake, do something!” Ada’s aunt yelled.
“About Ada?” Ada’s mother asked.
“No. About Peggy,” Ada’s aunt retorted.
“What would you suggest?” Ada’s mother snapped.
“CPR,” Ada’s aunt replied.
“She’s not having a heart attack, she’s having some kind of seizure,” Ada’s mother replied. “I already told you that.”
“She could be having rabies,” Ada’s stepbrother suggested. “It’s really contagious. I don’t think anyone should go near her.”
“What is the matter with you, Lance?” Marty demanded of Ada’s stepbrother as Bernie and Libby elbowed their way through everyone.
“Nothing.” Lance pointed at Peggy. “She’s foaming at the mouth. Isn’t that what happens when you have rabies?” he asked. “I saw it on the nature channel.”
“That’s not people, you moron,” Marty snapped at him. “That’s animals.”
“No, they said it could happen to people, too. Anyway, look who’s calling who a moron,” Lance retorted as Bernie and Libby brushed by him to get to Peggy.
“What happened?” Bernie inquired as she squatted down on one side of Peggy while Libby knelt on the other side. Peggy didn’t look good. Her body was twitching and a small amount of white froth was coming out of her mouth. Bernie looked up at the faces staring down. “Someone? Anyone?” she asked when no one answered immediately.
Ada’s mom was the first to speak. “I don’t know,” she said. “One minute Peggy was fine and the next minute she fell down and started doing this.”
“She’s obviously having some sort of seizure, Linda,” Ada’s uncle, Henry, observed.
“I think we’ve already established that, Henry,” Linda told him.
“Somebody should put a pillow under her head,” Henry suggested.
“I’ll get one,” Ada’s brother, Rick, volunteered.
“Not one of the good ones,” Linda called after her son as he ran off.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sheryl asked her.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Linda told her. “What a thing to say.”
“Not one of the good pillows?” Sheryl repeated, mimicking Linda’s tone. “Seriously.”
“Excuse me if I just don’t want Rick to get my two-hundred-dollar pillow. I need it for my neck. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”
“What’s wrong with that is that you’re thinking of yourself—as per usual,” Sheryl replied.
“Like you’re one to talk,” Linda snapped.
“I’m just saying you’d have a lot more if you spent less on things you didn’t need,” Sheryl replied. “Like a two-hundred-dollar pillow. That’s ridiculous.”
“Not if you have neck problems, it’s not,” Linda said. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with pain.”
“Maybe I don’t, but your husband certainly did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Sheryl?” Linda demanded.
“You know. His little habit. And he lived with you, didn’t he?” Shery
l said. Then Henry dragged her away before she could say anything else.
Libby ignored the bickering raging around her as she bent over Peggy. “Peggy,” she said, “can you hear me?”
Peggy moaned.
Bernie leaned closer. “Peggy, talk to us.”
But instead of answering, Peggy’s body stiffened, arched, and came back down. Libby reached over and placed two fingers on the side of Peggy’s throat. Her pulse was weak and thready. “Has someone called nine-one-one?” Libby asked without looking up.
“I did. They’re on their way,” Marty replied.
“I don’t understand,” Vicky said, shaking her head in dismay. “Peggy was fine a minute ago.”
“We’d just drank our champagne and pulled our Christmas poppers and then blammo,” Ada’s stepmother explained to Bernie and Libby as Ada’s brother came into the room with a pillow in his hand, went over to Peggy, and slipped the pillow under her head. “This happened.”
Bernie got up. “What happened?” she asked Vicky. “Exactly.”
Vicky looked at the ceiling for a moment while she collected her thoughts and then she started talking. “Peggy had this funny look on her face—I don’t know how to describe it—and she started swaying back and forth. I asked her if she was okay and she said no. Then she grabbed for the table—I think she wanted to steady herself—but she missed and grabbed the lamp instead. Then she fell and the lamp went with her. Next thing I know, she’s doing that.” Ada’s stepmother pointed to Peggy. “I just screamed. She really scared me.”
“At first I thought she was fooling around,” Ada’s mom said.
“You’d have to be an idiot to think that,” Vicky snapped.
“She was always playing practical jokes,” Linda protested.
“Yes,” Vicky answered. “But little stuff. Mostly at work. You know, like taking your lunch and hiding it. But nothing like this.” And she nodded toward Peggy to make her point. Then she looked at her watch. “I wish the EMTs would get here.”
“Me too,” Bernie said. She thought she heard the faint wail of a siren, but she wasn’t sure. “Although,” she observed, “between the snow and it being New Year’s Eve it might take a while.”
“Let’s hope not,” Sheryl said as Bernie took the throw off the sofa and covered Peggy with it.
A Catered New Year's Eve Page 6