“So you and he didn’t have a good sex life? I’m sorry. It must have been hard to be married to someone who gave his best, so to speak, to someone else. If I were you I’d certainly want a little payback.”
Sheryl got up slowly. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes had narrowed to slits. “What do you think you’re playing at?”
“Nothing.” Bernie ate another cookie. “I’m giving you a compliment. I think you did the right thing.”
“What right thing?”
“You took care of the problem. Sometimes a final solution is the best solution.”
“You’re saying I murdered my husband?” Sheryl demanded of Bernie.
“And Peggy Graceson,” Libby added helpfully.
“All I’m saying,” Bernie continued, “and I think this goes for my sister as well, is that if my husband was leaving with someone else, I’d be pretty upset. At least, I imagine I would, not being married and all.” Bernie finished her cookie and brushed the crumbs off the front of her pale blue angora sweater and adjusted the cameo she had pinned to its neckline. “I can certainly understand why you did what you did. Bad enough he was seeing Peggy. But running away with her? To Australia no less. I have to say I really admire you. It took a lot of work to forge Ada’s dad’s notebook. And making Ada the fall guy. Brilliant. She has a history. She’s easily influenced.”
“And no one likes her, whereas everyone likes you,” Libby observed, “so it was only natural that they’d blame her. But what I really don’t understand is why . . .”
Bernie interrupted, “. . . you left the note and the tracker? That was overkill.”
“Up until then you had us in the palm of your hand,” Libby added.
“I want you to leave.” Sheryl’s face had turned sheet white.
Interesting, Bernie thought. Up until now she’d thought that was just an expression.
“Libby and I didn’t mean to upset you.” Bernie stood up and lifted up her sweater. “See,” she said, “I’m not wired.”
Libby rose and did the same. “Neither am I.”
She and Bernie both sat back down.
“This is just between us girls,” Bernie said.
“The police have already arrested Ada,” Libby said.
“Your execution was flawless except for that. Tell us,” Bernie urged. “We can’t do anything. You’ve won. We just want to know. For our own satisfaction.”
Sheryl bit her lip. “You’re both crazy,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do,” Bernie said. She leaned forward, reached out, and put her hand over Sheryl’s hand and patted it. “You know,” she said to Sheryl, “I just want to repeat that I really do admire you. I think you did the right thing.”
“I think so too,” Libby said as her sister sat back in her chair. “What you did took real guts. You shouldn’t have to stand by and be a victim, take abuse. Both of them got what was coming to them.”
Bernie nodded vigorously. “I hope I have the guts to do what you did if I ever get in that situation. You made the world a better place. I mean, running away to Australia. That must have been the final straw.”
“It was,” Sheryl admitted, the dam breaking.
“After everything you did for him,” Bernie replied.
“I did do a lot,” Sheryl said.
“That’s what everyone says,” Bernie assured her.
“I was a good wife.” Then Sheryl sat back in her chair and studied the kitchen walls. Bernie noted that her color had returned to normal.
After a moment, Sheryl spoke. “The notebook was pretty good, wasn’t it?” she allowed, pride shining through her voice.
“It was excellent,” Libby said.
Sheryl smiled. “It took a long time to do.”
“I bet it did,” Libby told her. “But how did you get Ada to go up to the attic and find it?” Libby asked. “That’s the part that puzzles me.”
“That was the simple part,” Sheryl replied. “I told her I’d been up there and found one of her dad’s notebooks and I thought there was something in it she should see. Then after she found it—I hid it in a box of old clothes—I pointed the pages out to her and told her the whole thing was in code. I told her if she read certain passages out loud the guilty party would reveal themselves.”
“Kind of like that scene in Hamlet,” Bernie noted.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Sheryl told her.
Bernie waved her hand in the air. “Forget it,” she said. “It’s not important.”
Libby leaned forward. “But there was no guilty party, was there? Ada’s dad died a natural death, didn’t he?”
“Ada never believed that,” Sheryl said. Then she pointed to Bernie’s and Libby’s cups of coffee. “You haven’t had any.”
Bernie smiled at her. “Give us a moment. We had a cup before we came.”
Sheryl nodded.
“So why the tracker and the note?” Libby asked.
“I got nervous,” Sheryl admitted. “I thought it would be good to have a backup subject. Just in case.”
“That was your Plan B? It was as simple as that?” Bernie asked.
“It was,” Sheryl answered. Then she blinked. “Do you hear that?” she asked.
Bernie and Libby both shook their heads.
“I don’t hear anything,” Bernie said, silently cursing under her breath.
“Neither do I,” Libby agreed, backing up her sister.
“Well, I do,” Sheryl said. “Maybe it’s the UPS man. I’m expecting a package.” And she got up to take a look.
Libby and Bernie exchanged a glance as they rose and accompanied Sheryl to the door. They were a little behind her, but they could see three cars; one was blocking the driveway while the other two were parked in front of Sheryl’s house. McCready and three other men were getting out of their vehicles and heading for the house.
Sheryl spun around. “And I believed you,” she growled. “Oh my God,” she said as a realization dawned on her.
“What an idiot I am.” And she dashed into the kitchen, grabbed Bernie’s bag, and turned it upside down. Everything in it fell onto the table and Sheryl pawed through the contents until she found Bernie’s phone.
“Hey, give that back,” Bernie cried as Sheryl grabbed it.
“You recorded me, didn’t you?” Sheryl said.
Instead of answering, Bernie grabbed onto Sheryl’s wrist and tried to pry the phone out of Sheryl’s hand, but Sheryl was stronger than she looked. She twisted away from Bernie and ran to the sink and dropped the phone into the garbage disposal and flicked the switch. There was a terrible rattling noise. Bernie reached for the switch but Sheryl took hold of Bernie’s arm and bit it. Bernie screamed and pushed Sheryl away. Sheryl fell into Libby as Libby was reaching for the off switch, knocking Libby’s hand away, but Bernie managed to get to the switch and turn the disposal off.
“No you don’t!” Sheryl yelled, picking up a paring knife that was on the counter and lunging at Bernie. Bernie sidestepped and Sheryl whirled around and went for Libby. Libby took a couple of steps back, but her progress was blocked by a chair, and before she knew it Sheryl was standing in front of her holding the knife to her throat.
“Turn the disposal back on,” she told Bernie, “or I’ll stab your sister.”
Bernie put both hands in the air. “Let’s all relax,” Bernie said in as calm a voice as she could manage.
“Do it!” Sheryl screamed.
“Listen to her,” Libby managed to get out.
“Yes, do,” Sheryl told Bernie.
“Fine,” Bernie said. She was reaching for the switch when there was a loud crash. Sheryl startled and Libby grabbed her arm and tried to wrestle the knife out of Sheryl’s hand as McCready; Chuck Pullman, the current head of the Hollingsworth PD; and two detectives came charging into the kitchen.
“Drop the knife!” one of the detectives yelled as he reached under his coat and took o
ut his gun.
Sheryl ignored the order and kept trying to stab Libby. “Do what he says,” Bernie told her.
“Go to hell,” Sheryl spat out.
“Okay, but just listen,” Bernie said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “You destroyed my phone.”
“That’s true,” Sheryl said.
Bernie smiled encouragingly. “So there’s no record of what you said. There’s just a you said/we said sort of thing.”
McCready nodded. “She’s right.”
“Yes, she is,” Pullman said.
“Go on,” Sheryl said.
Bernie nodded and continued. “But, if you don’t put that knife down there’s a strong possibility that one of the gentlemen over there”—Bernie nodded in the detectives’ direction—“is going to shoot you. At this point in the game, all you’ll be charged with is . . .”
“Aggravated assault,” Pullman said.
“So put the knife down,” Bernie said.
“Please,” Libby told Sheryl, Libby’s voice coming out in a croak.
Sheryl did. Libby rubbed her neck as the detectives moved in. While they were taking Sheryl into custody, Bernie stuck her hand into the garbage disposal and pulled out her phone. The blue plastic case was nicked and scored and the glass was cracked. Bernie held her breath and turned it on.
“Oh my God, it works,” she said as the screen lit up. She entered her password, then went to video, pressed the icon, then pressed video. A moment later, Sheryl’s voice floated out into the air.
Bernie looked at Sheryl and smiled. “I guess what they say in their ads about this case being indestructible is true.”
Sheryl screamed and lunged at Bernie, but it was too late. Her arms had already been cuffed behind her back.
The Hollingsworth chief of police nodded at the uniforms and they marched Sheryl out to the squad car.
“You said you were going to give us a half hour,” Bernie said to Pullman.
Pullman shrugged. A tall man who always gave the impression of bending down to hear what people were saying, he pointed to McCready. “It was my predecessor’s call.”
McCready nodded. “Blame your dad. He said he’d shoot me if I let anything happen to you, and I think he would.”
Bernie was going to say she agreed with McCready when a black Infiniti screeched to a halt in front of the car blocking Sheryl’s driveway. The passenger door opened and Ada got out. A moment later Linda Sinclair and her two children joined Ada. The four of them ran over to Sheryl, who was standing next to the vehicle in the driveway.
“I’m going to kill you!” Ada screamed at her.
“How could you?!” Linda yelled. Her face was red.
Ada lunged at Sheryl and the two officers standing there moved between them and told Ada to step back.
“Dad must have told Ada,” Libby said as she watched the scene outside unfolding.
“Probably not the smartest thing to do,” Bernie observed as the shouting continued.
By now Rick and Rachel had gotten embroiled in the dispute as well.
“Maybe Dad was right after all,” Bernie said, watching the Sinclairs screaming at Sheryl and the officers trying to keep them away from her. “Maybe people don’t change after all.”
“At least not these people,” Libby said.
“Remind me not to answer if Ada calls,” Bernie told Libby.
“Don’t worry,” Libby replied. “I will.”
Chapter 41
Sean whistled as he parked the car he’d bought from McCready, in the parking lot near Gossman’s dock.
“There she is, ladies,” he said, pointing to the Mary Jane as he got out of his car. The fishing boat was cleated in the fourth slip on the dock. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Be still my heart,” Libby muttered as she looked at the forty-foot wooden-hulled fishing boat bobbing up and down in the water.
Sean gestured to the sky above them. It was a bright blue and the sun was shining. “It’s going to be a great day,” he announced. Then he turned and patted his new vehicle. It was a pale green 2005 Buick LeSabre. “And we got to come here in my new car.”
“Your new old car,” Libby pointed out.
“An oldie but a goodie,” Sean said, grinning. He knew his daughters’ opinion on his recent purchase and he didn’t care. “You know,” he reminisced, “being here brings back memories of me and your mom.”
“You and Mom came here?” Bernie asked.
Sean nodded. “All the time. Your mom loved Montauk.”
“Did you go fishing?” Libby asked.
Sean nodded. “For tuna. In the beginning of June. Just like we’re doing now. We’d rent a motel room—I think the motel was called the Dusty Rose; it was right on the beach—and spend a couple of days fishing, and then we’d hang out at some dive bar at night and shoot pool. Of course, the place was different then. Not all built up and fancy. That was the Hamptons. This was a fishing community. A lot of those guys were Portuguese. There was a bakery up the street”—Sean waved to a line of stores on the left—“that made the best sweet rolls.”
“Maybe they still do,” Bernie suggested.
“Nah,” Sean said. “They’ve been gone a long time.”
“We could make them,” Libby said.
Sean grinned and turned back to get the thermos of coffee and his daughters’ blueberry muffins that he’d forgotten to get out of the LeSabre. “That would be nice,” he said. “I would like that.” Then he started for the boat. This one wasn’t big; he’d been on those. This one just took on six people. Which was good, he thought. The girls would like that better.
“Got your bands?” Sean asked Libby.
Libby nodded. She heard they were better than Dramamine for seasickness. She guessed she’d find out.
“It’s just a matter of willpower, you know,” Sean said to Libby. “If you think you’re going to get sick to your stomach you will be.”
Libby was just about to answer and not in a nice way, but Bernie got there first and changed the subject.
“How did you know?” she asked her dad.
He looked at her. “How did I know what?”
“That Sheryl forged Ada’s dad’s notebook? That she was behind the whole thing?”
“She was too nice,” Sean declared.
“That’s it?! She was too nice?! What does that even mean?”
“Exactly what I said. From what you told me, everyone else at the New Year’s Eve party was groaning and moaning and trying to prevent Ada from reading from her dad’s notebook. Sheryl was the only one who was telling everyone to let her. If she hadn’t done that, there was a good possibility, from what you said, that everyone else would have shouted Ada down.”
“But why did you hit on the notebook?” Libby asked. “How did you know it was a forgery?”
“I just kept thinking about it. About everything. Nothing made sense. It was like there was too much, and then I started thinking that judging by what you said nothing in that notebook pointed to a motive for murder. It was all dates and observations and then I thought about how sure Ada had been that her dad had gotten murdered and how easy she was to mislead. She was like a sitting duck waiting to have her neck slit.”
“Graphic,” Libby murmured.
“But true,” Sean said. “Ada would have believed anything that pointed to her dad being murdered, and once I decided on that and you found the plane tickets and Linda finally remembered that Sheryl had gone into her attic to supposedly get an old picture for a promo—a promo that wasn’t on the books—well the whole thing made sense.”
“So, Sheryl did this because her husband was leaving her.” Libby shook her head. “Killing two people and framing another one seems a bit excessive. Most people would get a divorce.”
“But not the Sinclairs,” Sean replied. “They always took and obviously continue to take things to the limit. And then there’s the money. With two more people gone Sheryl stood to get a bigger percentage of the money, an
d she needed it. Evidently, she owed a fair chunk of change to the bookies. At least that’s what McCready managed to dig up.”
The three walked on in silence for a little while. Then Bernie said, “I was right about where she got the cyanide.”
“I just never thought Sheryl even knew about the dark web, much less how to get on it. Evidently I was wrong,” Libby said.
“Yes, you were,” Bernie couldn’t resist saying. She turned to her dad. “But why did Henry come looking for Ada? Why did he want the notebook?”
Sean pulled the brim of his hat down to block the sun. “I think he suspected the notebook was a forgery and wanted to get hold of it so he could take it to the police. I think he knew that his wife had killed Peggy Graceson and was afraid that he’d be next. And he was right. He was.”
“But why didn’t he go to the police?” Libby asked.
“And say what? He probably didn’t think they’d believe him. Would you have?”
“No,” Bernie said. “I wouldn’t.”
“Exactly,” Sean said. They were now at the dock. He breathed in the smell of the ocean and listened to the caws of the seagulls circling overhead. God, he was happy. “Here we go, girls,” he said as he stepped onto the dock. “We’re going to have a good time. You’ll see.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Libby muttered.
“You know,” Sean reflected while he walked toward the Mary Jane, “the trick in life is to keep things simple. That goes for crime as well as anything else. As O. Henry wrote, ‘It was beautiful and simple, as all truly great swindles are.’ ”
“Amen to that,” Bernie said as she saw McCready, Eckleburger, and Clyde coming toward them out of the corner of her eye.
“I figured we owed them something,” Sean explained.
“I figure you’re right,” Bernie agreed.
Recipes
It is traditional on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day to serve something like lentil soup or Hoppin’ John (made with black-eyed peas) to ensure a prosperous new year. This recipe for lentil soup comes from renowned children’s book author Bruce Coville. It’s delicious and worth making any time of the year.
A Catered New Year's Eve Page 26