“Of course,” Bernie reflected, “if Ada is paranoid in the clinical sense of the word, then nothing about her actions has to make sense.”
“Except to her,” Libby pointed out.
“But is she paranoid?” Bernie mused. “That’s the question. Let’s not forget that Peggy was poisoned ten years to the day after Ada’s father was, so maybe her assumption is correct.”
“If he was,” Libby said. “We don’t know that for a fact.”
Bernie sighed. “At least the thruway will be plowed,” she noted, trying to stay positive.
“And there probably won’t be any traffic on the road,” Libby commented. “After all, it’s Monday and Mondays are never that busy. Not to mention the storm,” she added. “Anyone with any sense is staying home.”
“Yeah, we’re the only morons out here,” Bernie noted.
“You said it, I didn’t,” Libby said.
“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” Bernie snapped.
“No. Sometimes I have to have the first word,” Libby snapped back.
“It was a rhetorical question!”
“I know what it was,” Libby said.
“Don’t be so pissy,” Bernie countered.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Libby said as she reflected that bad weather, like bad food, never brought out the best in people.
Bernie grunted her acceptance and went back to concentrating on the road.
As it turned out, Libby’s assessment was correct—traffic was nonexistent. Nevertheless, they got to the rest stop eight minutes late due to the weather conditions. In the summer, the parking lot would have been jammed with vehicles full of people going up to their summer camps, but this was a winter weekday on a bad weather day and the parking lot was empty except for a spattering of cars clustered around the entrance.
“Look,” Libby said, pointing to the light blue Chevy near the door. “That’s Linda’s car.”
“I guess Ada got here after all,” Bernie said as she pulled in next to it. Then she flipped up her parka hood, got out of Mathilda, closed the van door, jammed her hands in her pockets, and hurried inside with Libby following close behind her.
Chapter 14
“When was the last time you ate fast food?” Bernie asked her sister as she surveyed the vastness of the food court. Even with the bright overhead lights the place looked dim and it took Bernie a moment to realize that was because the snow was covering the skylights and blocking out the daylight.
“Garlic pizza. Last week,” Libby promptly answered.
Bernie brushed a couple of snowflakes off her shoulder. “Pizza is a staple. No. I mean like Mickey Dee’s or Burger King.”
Libby considered her answer for a moment. It had definitely been a while. “Probably a couple of years. The last time I remember was when we ended up in that small town in Pennsylvania when the van broke down.”
“Not since?”
“No. You?”
Bernie shook her head. “The same. Does that make us food snobs?”
“Bernie, I have news for you, we are food snobs,” Libby said.
“You’re right, we are. So, does that make us bad people?”
“No. It makes us foodies. Although,” Libby reflected, “I do like Mickey Dee’s fries and I loved their apple pies when they fried them.”
“Anything fried tastes good,” Bernie noted. “And I like Popeye’s chicken, so I guess that counts for something,” she said.
“And their biscuits,” Libby added. “I don’t know why, but I do.“
“Kind of like the way I feel about Hershey’s Kisses,” Bernie confessed as she looked around some more. “This place is practically deserted,” she observed, gesturing at the pastel-colored plastic seats and tables lined up in rows, standing at attention under fluorescent lamps, as they waited for people to sit at them. “I can’t imagine what the heat bill is in this place.” She turned to Libby. “Do you think the franchises pay it?”
“Absolutely,” her sister replied. “They pay a percentage in the mall. I’m sure it works the same here. And let’s not forget the salaries the franchises are paying out,” she said, nodding toward the servers standing behind their counters and chatting with each other or checking their cell phones as they waited to dish out hamburgers and tacos and fried chicken to people who weren’t there. Along the far wall, a man slowly dragged a mop across the floor. He reminded Bernie of a snail moving across the sidewalk, leaving a gleaming trail behind him.
Bernie shook her head. “A Little Taste of Heaven is so small time compared to something like this.”
“Yes, it is,” Libby agreed, “and that’s the way I like it.”
“Me too,” Bernie said. She gestured to the food concessions. “This would make me nuts.”
“I wonder what their net is,” Libby mused.
“A lot when they’re busy,” Bernie said, looking around. She counted a total of seven customers in the food court. Ada wasn’t one of them. “Do you see her?” she asked Libby.
Libby shook her head. “Maybe she’s gone to the bathroom,” she suggested.
“Or she’s buying something in the convenience store,” Bernie guessed, nodding to the shop that was tucked into a corner over on the right-hand side of the building. But when Bernie walked over and took a quick peek inside she didn’t see anyone in there except for two bored-looking clerks who were communing with their cell phones.
Bernie walked back slowly scanning every available inch of space, making sure she hadn’t missed anyone. She hadn’t. She was just about to suggest that Libby stay where she was while she checked out the ladies’ room when someone sitting across the room, in front of the Starbucks concession, put down their phone and waved at them.
“Over here,” the person cried, standing up.
Bernie blinked. It took her a moment to realize who it was.
“Oh my God,” Libby exclaimed, putting her hand to her mouth. “That’s Ada.”
“Yes, it is,” Bernie said as she scrutinized the person walking toward them.
Life on the run hadn’t been kind to Ada, Bernie decided. In the short time she’d been out of the house she’d lost weight and not in a good way. Her face was gaunt, she’d developed dark circles under her eyes, her skin was breaking out around her nose, and she’d acquired the pallor that people on the East Coast get in the winter. She’d cut and dyed her hair, having gone from a shoulder-length brunette to a pixie-cut blonde. But she must have done it herself, Bernie reflected, because her hair looked like straw and the cut had a hacked-off quality to it. That made Bernie wonder how she would look if she didn’t have a decent haircut, or makeup, or she couldn’t afford to go to the woman in Rye, New York, who shaped her eyebrows, or the seamstress in Longely who altered her clothes. She’d look a mess. Absolutely. No doubt about that.
Ada had also dispensed with her jewelry and makeup. Gone were the hoop earrings, bangles, and tangles of chains along with the glitter eyeshadow and bright red lipstick. Now, she was wearing a nondescript pair of skinny jeans; a gray T-shirt under an oversized, unzipped black hoodie; and a pair of dirty tan suede Uggs. She looked like your typical teenager, Bernie thought. She’d made herself look entirely unmemorable. You’d pass her on the street and not give her a second glance.
“I didn’t recognize you,” Bernie told Ada as Ada got nearer to them.
“That’s the general idea,” Ada said.
“You look about twelve,” Libby told her. “But in a good way,” she quickly added, hoping her comment wasn’t misconstrued.
“So, where are you staying?” Bernie asked, using her casual, no-big-deal, just-between-us-girls tone of voice. “Is it nice?”
“Why won’t you tell us? Don’t you trust us?” Libby asked Ada when she didn’t answer.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that you can never be too careful,” Ada told Libby as she led the sisters back to the table she’d been sitting at. Once there, she sat down, reache
d for her half-eaten breakfast sandwich, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.
“Your uncle was in the store looking for you,” Bernie told Ada as she took a seat across from her. “And he didn’t seem very happy.”
Ada stiffened. She put her sandwich down. “You didn’t tell him about our meeting, did you?”
“Of course not,” Bernie reassured her as she loosened her scarf. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” Ada responded.
“I find that hard to believe,” Libby said.
“Well, it’s true,” Ada protested.
“I see,” Bernie said.
Ada studied her hands.
“Let me guess,” Bernie said as she looked at Ada. “Does it have something to do with the notebook?”
Ada bit her lip. “Maybe,” she muttered. “I’m not sure.”
“Really?” Watching Ada gave Libby an idea. The idea was farfetched but she decided to try it out anyway. “Was the whole New Year’s Eve thing a setup?” Libby asked.
Ada squirmed around in her seat and looked everywhere but at Bernie and Libby.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Libby said.
“Kinda,” Ada admitted.
Bernie took a deep breath and let it out. She wanted to throttle Ada. Instead she managed to keep her composure and asked Ada to explain.
“I think you owe us that much,” Libby said.
Ada swallowed. Bernie reflected she looked on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I never meant anything like this to happen.”
“We know,” Bernie reassured her.
“I just . . .” Ada stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. “When I found Dad’s notebook, it made me stop and think about when he died and that it was ten years ago and how the police never caught his killer and I was looking at the notebook and it’s got all this stuff in it and I thought if I read it aloud and pretended all that stuff meant something . . .”
“Maybe it would flush out your dad’s killer?” Libby said softly.
“Because you still believe he was killed,” Bernie said.
Ada nodded. “But that’s not what happened,” she said. She started to say something else and then stopped. Her mouth fell open and the color left her face.
Bernie and Libby turned to see what she was looking at.
“Damn,” Bernie cursed.
Henry Sinclair was standing in the entrance to the food court, shaking the snow off his jacket, and looking around.
Ada slid down in her seat and leaned over so she could grab her backpack, which was on the floor next to her chair. “You said you didn’t tell him,” she said to Bernie and Libby.
“We didn’t,” Libby said. “I swear.”
“Then what’s he doing here?” Ada hissed, slinking even lower in her chair than Bernie thought possible and pointing at Sinclair.
“He must have followed us,” Libby told her. It was the only explanation she could think of that made sense. “He must have waited for us to leave.”
“He was the taillights behind us,” Bernie realized, thinking back. At the time, she hadn’t given them any thought. She’d just thought it was another vehicle. “I am so sorry.”
“Maybe there’s something in that notebook after all,” Libby observed. “Or at least your uncle thinks there is.”
“Unless he wants something else,” Bernie said.
“I have to go,” Ada declared. “I have to go now.”
“Don’t go, stay,” Bernie pleaded. “You’re safe with us.”
Ada shook her head. “Really? I don’t think so.”
“You haven’t even told us what you wanted to say,” Bernie said.
“It’s too late,” Ada answered as Henry Sinclair started walking in their direction.
Ada stood up abruptly, accidentally knocking her coffee cup over with her hand. Bernie watched the brown liquid pool onto the table, then drip onto the floor as her uncle barreled toward them. In another moment, he was standing in front of them. The odor of alcohol wafted off of him.
“Your mother and your aunt are worried sick,” Sinclair told Ada as he rubbed the top of his nose with his knuckle. His nose, Bernie noted, was even redder than usual. Probably due to a combination of the cold and booze, she surmised. “You need to come home.”
“No,” Ada replied, her voice rising.
“We have things to discuss,” Henry declared.
“No we don’t,” Ada told him.
“It’s time for you to grow up and take responsibility for your actions,” Henry told her.
“That’s a laugh coming from you,” Ada retorted.
Bernie and Libby both stood up. They wanted to be ready for whatever happened. Also, Bernie didn’t want to get any coffee on her new coat, the one she’d just gotten on sale at Barney’s.
“You’re the one that’s causing all the problems with your running around,” Ada told Henry as she grabbed her jacket and turned to go.
“No,” Henry Sinclair said, reaching over, taking Ada’s upper arm in his hand, and twisting her back around so that she faced him. “You’re not going anywhere. You and I are going to have a little chat,” he told her, as Bernie and Libby moved closer to him.
“Calm down, Henry,” Libby told him.
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” Henry snarled at her.
“Let go of me, Uncle Henry,” Ada demanded. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Sinclair squeezed Ada’s arm more tightly. “I think you do. No, I know you do. Don’t play the innocent with me. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk.”
“Let her go,” Bernie ordered.
Sinclair ignored her. All his attention was focused on Ada.
“I’m not talking to you, Uncle Henry!” Ada screamed. “I’m never going to talk to you again. You can go to hell.”
“I’m telling you to let her go,” Bernie repeated, plucking at the sleeve of Sinclair’s jacket as she tried to insinuate herself between him and Ada.
Sinclair glared at Bernie. “Don’t involve yourself in this,” he growled. “You’ll be sorry if you do.”
“I already am,” Bernie told him as she moved closer.
“I mean it, Simmons,” Henry Sinclair said.
“So do I,” Bernie replied as she half turned to her sister. “Hey, anytime you want to jump in here be my guest.”
“Why can’t we all just get along,” Libby said, not being a big fan of physical confrontation.
“I don’t know. Ask him,” Bernie retorted, nodding toward Ada’s uncle.
Libby was moving toward Sinclair’s left side when Ada kicked her uncle in his right knee.
“That’s my bad knee!” he screamed, gasping in pain. He loosened his grip just enough for Ada to slip out of his grasp and run for the door. “You’re going to pay for this, Ada!” he screamed after her as he shook off Bernie and Libby and began hobbling after her. “Your mother should never have let you come home in the first place.”
Sinclair hadn’t gotten very far when Bernie grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled. Sinclair whirled around. Bernie was taking a step back as Sinclair was raising his fist when she heard someone behind her say, “Is there a problem here?”
Bernie turned around. It was the security guard. His hand was on his Taser.
Henry Sinclair dropped his hand to his side and pasted a smile on his face. Then he said, “No, officer, no problem at all,” the lie falling out his mouth effortlessly. “My niece and I were just having a little family disagreement.” He chuckled. “You know how teenagers can get.”
“No. I wouldn’t know,” replied the security guard, who looked as if he wasn’t too far out of that age range himself.
Callow was the word that sprung to Bernie’s mind. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here,” he intoned, standing up as tall as his five feet six inches would allow and puffing out his spindly chest.
Henry Sinclair nodded. “And I
respect that. As I said, this was just a little family spat that got out of hand.” Henry raised his hand. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
Boy, is Henry Sinclair a good liar. Smooth as silk, as Mom used to say, thought Bernie as the security guard pointed to her and her sister with his free hand. “I suppose these are family members, too?”
“No,” Sinclair answered. “Just friends of my niece. I know they’re just trying to help, but they’re really making the situation worse.” And he gave the guard a big, disarming smile. “I’m sure you see this kind of thing all the time.” Then he paused for a moment and added, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go and see how my niece is doing. My vehicle is locked and I wouldn’t want her standing out in a blizzard on a morning like this.”
Double smooth, Bernie thought as the security guard nodded and told Sinclair to get out of there. Sinclair got. Bernie could tell the guard was relieved to see him go.
“And you two,” the guard said, turning to Bernie and Libby.
“Yes, officer,” Libby replied.
“Don’t get involved in things that are none of your business.”
“A sentiment my dad frequently expresses,” Bernie noted.
The guard didn’t crack a smile. “We don’t tolerate disruption. If you continue to engage in this kind of behavior you’ll get yourself banned from the food court,” he warned.
“Oh, no. Say it isn’t so,” Bernie quipped, putting her hand to her heart.
The security guard frowned. His eyes narrowed.
“She’s kidding, officer,” Libby quickly said. “This won’t happen again, officer. I swear.”
“It’d better not,” the security guard growled. He was resting both hands on his belt now, which Libby was happy to see.
“Are we free to go?” she asked.
The guard nodded. “Yeah.” He made a move-it-along motion with his hand. “Get out of here.”
Which they did. With alacrity. But by the time Bernie and Libby were out the door, both Ada and Henry Sinclair were nowhere to be seen. Not that the sisters had expected either of them to hang around and wait for them.
A Catered New Year's Eve Page 10