“And for Annabel,” Libby added. “Especially for Annabel.”
“Oh, definitely. Without a doubt,” Richard said hurriedly. “It must have been a little bit terrifying for you as well,” Richard continued. “Not to mention confusing.”
Libby wondered uncharitably how many more adjectives he’d find to apply to the situation. Maybe he’d consulted a thesaurus before she’d come.
“Yes,” he said into the ensuing silence. “I can see where it would be a very confusing situation for both of you.”
Confusing was not a word Libby would have chosen for what had happened.
“I don’t think the sequence of events is confusing at all,” Libby told him. “I thought it was extremely clear-cut. Annabel told everyone how much she hated them, she drank the wine, and she keeled over. Punto finito. Nothing very confusing about that.”
Richard ignored Libby’s clarification and went on.
“And agitating.”
“You already said that,” Libby told him before she remembered she was supposed to keep him talking for as long as possible so Bernie could go through the upstairs rooms. It was just that she was finding him so irritating that she just wanted him to get to the point and be done with it. Why did women find this man so attractive? It was a mystery to her.
A scowl flitted over Richard Colbert’s face and then subsided. “I did?”
“Different word, same sentiment.”
“I’m sorry if I’m rambling on here.” Richard put his hand to his heart. “It’s just that I feel guilty about all that you and your sister had to go through and I’m sure that Annabel, if she’d been in her right mind, would have felt guilty about the promise she elicited from you.”
“You think so?” Libby asked, wondering where this conversation was leading.
Richard nodded emphatically. “Without a doubt. What a terrible burden to put on someone.”
Actually her dad was enjoying working on the case. He loved puzzles like this. “Beats the crossword any day,” he’d said. But Libby was sure this was not what Richard wanted to hear.
“It is,” Libby said, seeking to draw Richard out.
She snuck a peek at her watch. She’d been here for ten minutes, but it felt like an hour.
Richard paused to regard the shine on his shoes for a moment. He strongly believed that you could tell a man’s worth by the shoes on his feet and the watch on his wrist. He’d come close to losing both—after all, you can’t afford custom-made shoes or a Philip Patek if you have no money—but fortunately, through no action on his part, the crisis had been averted.
He smiled and went on talking to Libby. “The police have said that what happened to poor Annabel was an accident, thereby rendering what she asked you and your sister to do null and void, to steal a legal phrase.” He looked at Libby. She didn’t say anything. “You do know that she was being treated for some…some psychological issues, don’t you?”
Libby sat up straighter. “Are you suggesting that she put flea spray and Malathion in the wine herself?”
“I didn’t say that,” Richard replied.
“You implied it.”
“No. I didn’t. You did. However, since you raised that specter I will say that I wouldn’t put anything past her, if doing it made her the center of attention.”
“Even if she wasn’t there to enjoy it?”
“She believed in the afterlife.”
Libby wasn’t prepared for that one. “I see,” she said after a moment had gone by. “And here I thought she did it because it improved the wine’s taste.”
Richard’s scowl came back. “Those toxins were not put in the wine. I’m telling you what I told the police. Two weeks ago, a bottle of Malathion spilled in our garage and Annabel wiped it up with paper towels. She didn’t use rubber gloves—not a wise thing to do. The following week, she was at Ramona’s kennel helping her treat a flea infestation. I fear the combined exposures were too much for her.
“I told Annabel to be careful with that stuff. I told her to always wear gloves when using insecticides. She was especially vulnerable given her heart condition. I told her she shouldn’t even be near that stuff. But she never listened. She never listened to anything I said. And now she’s dead.”
“That’s not what Annabel said when she tasted the wine.”
“My wife was delusional.”
“Well, she seemed pretty sane to me,” Libby noted.
Richard took a deep breath and blew it out again before he spoke. “Not in private. She was an extremely paranoid person who always thought people were out to get her.”
“You know what they say,” Libby said. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Be that as it may,” Richard said. His voice rose as he continued, “The conclusion that my wife died of accidental poisoning is not my conclusion. It is the conclusion the authorities have come to. Annabel’s death has been classified as an accident. The district attorney has declined to prosecute. If you think otherwise, then I suggest you take it up with them.”
“How could they say anything else when you threw out the wine bottle?” Libby demanded.
“You make it sound as if I did it on purpose.”
“You did!”
“No. It was an accident.”
“How could that be an accident?”
“I was cleaning up because it gave me something to do. I wasn’t thinking because I was upset. Surely you can understand that.”
“You didn’t look upset,” Libby countered.
Richard took another deep breath and let it out. “I’m not one of those people who wear their heart on their sleeve. Of course I was upset. What kind of person do you take me for?”
Richard sounded so sincere that for a second Libby believed him. Maybe he didn’t have anything to do with this, she found herself thinking. Maybe the whole thing was an accident. Maybe Annabel was nuts.
Maybe Richard was right. Maybe she had done this to herself in order to get back at everyone. After all, if you were going to kill someone why do it in such a public manner? Libby considered that idea for a moment before discarding it. No. Annabel just didn’t seem like the type. She had impressed Libby as too straightforward for that kind of thing. But when it came down to it, she really hadn’t known Annabel except in the most cursory kind of way.
Richard clasped his hands in front of him. “Listen,” he said to Libby. “We’re getting off on the wrong foot here. This is not the way I intended this conversation to go.”
Again with the supersincere tone, Libby thought. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll bite. How did you intend the conversation to go?”
He favored her with a boyish smile. “I intended to try to make amends for the situation. That is, if you’ll drop your hostile attitude and let me.”
“Really?” Libby said. Now that was interesting. She snuck a peek at her watch. Thirteen minutes. God. Bernie had asked her to keep Richard talking for half an hour at least. “Listen,” she said, stalling for time. “I hate to be a bother, but could you get me a glass of water?” The moment the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back. After all, she’d asked the person who might have poisoned his wife to get her something to drink. How dumb could you get! But then she decided she was being nutty. Richard had no reason to kill her. People didn’t kill people for no reason at all. At least, most people didn’t. It was that small percentage that was worrying her.
“Not a problem.” Richard sprang out of his seat and went off to the kitchen.
Libby figured that should buy her another five minutes at least. Libby got up. She’d just crossed the room to study the bookshelves when Richard came bounding back in through the door, glass of water in hand. The whole trip had taken him a minute at the most.
“That was fast,” Libby said in amazement. “Did you run to the kitchen and run back?”
Richard laughed. “No. No. You didn’t see it, but a little way ahead we have a guest suite with three b
edrooms and a small kitchen with a refrigerator. I always keep it stocked.”
“What a good idea,” Libby lied as Richard handed her the glass.
“It definitely makes things easier,” Richard said, sitting back down. “Actually, it was Annabel’s idea. When you live in a house like this you have to be efficient.”
Libby took her seat as well. Richard looked at her expectantly. Libby wondered what he was waiting for. Then she realized it was for her to take a drink.
“Thanks,” she said. She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip. It tasted okay. So far so good. She took another sip. Then she put the glass down. No sense in taking chances. “This is excellent,” she said, although she never got the whole artisanal water thing.
Richard beamed at her. “It should be. I get it flown directly here from my own private glacier in Alaska.”
“Very impressive,” Libby murmured as she took a leaf from Bernie’s book on handling the male species, instead of saying what she really wanted to say, which was, You’re kidding me, right?
Richard’s smile broadened. “I was joking.”
“Good. I was worried for a second.”
“I don’t believe in wasting money. Tap water is good enough for me. I think people who spend two and three dollars on a bottle of water are nuts. But back to what I was saying.”
Libby cocked her head and gave a masterful imitation of hanging on his every word.
“As I was saying,” Richard went on. “You girls have had a terribly stressful time and I’d like to compensate both of you for all the time and trouble you’ve taken in this matter concerning Annabel. I really appreciate your concern. You both are such gifted cooks that I’d hate to see you distracted from your primary task by this witch hunt that Annabel has sent you on.”
“So what are you proposing?” Libby asked.
“A couple of thoughts have occurred to me,” Richard told her. “As you know, I’m the head of Colbert’s, and I would love to have A Little Taste of Heaven cater some of our official functions down in our headquarters in the city. Naturally, you would be generously recompensed for your time. It would be a gold mine for you, a way to showcase your product to a wider audience. That’s one idea.”
“And the other?”
“I was thinking that you might need a sponsor.”
Libby frowned. “A sponsor? Like in stock car racing?”
Richard waved his hands. “Hear me out, because I think you’re going to like this. I would, in my capacity as owner of Colbert Toys, make a sizable contribution to your shop so you could remodel and possibly enlarge it—I have a connection with Hemstead Realty, the people who own…”
“I know who they are,” Libby told him.
Richard clapped his hands together. “Of course you do. How foolish of me. In any case, in return all I would ask is that you display some items from our product line.”
“Like the Puggables?” Libby asked.
“Exactly,” Richard said. He smiled broadly. It was like a lighthouse beacon.
Libby stood up. Richard did as well.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“I think you’re trying to bribe us,” Libby replied.
Richard’s smile died. “Heavens no. What a terrible thing to say.”
“Well, it certainly sounds that way to me.”
Richard crossed his arms over his chest. “The reason I asked for you specifically is that I thought you were the sister with the most common sense. Evidently, I was misinformed.” He took a step closer to her.
“By whom?”
Richard blinked.
“Who informed you?”
“That was a figure of speech. All I can say is that if I were you I would take my proposals back to your sister and I would think about them very carefully. Both of them are extremely generous.”
“I’ll ask her,” Libby told him. “But I can tell you right now that she and I are going to say no.”
“That would be a mistake,” Richard said.
“For you?”
“No. For you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Hardly.” The corners of Richard’s mouth turned up into something that resembled a sneer. “I’m simply pointing out that you’ll be missing an extremely good business opportunity if you proceed along the lines you were talking about.”
“It sounds like a threat to me.”
“Why would I threaten you?” Richard asked.
Libby detected a note of amusement in his voice.
“What would be the point?” he asked.
“To stop what we’re doing. To stop us from poking around.”
Richard threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m trying to be nice to you. I realize both of you are sincere but fundamentally misguided. If I wanted to stop you, I would have my lawyers slap a restraining order on you. But I don’t want to do that. I want to keep this as low-key as possible. Annabel would have loathed the media circus that this kind of thing generates. If you want to waste your time, go right ahead. You won’t find anything. And now I think you’d better go.”
Libby looked at her watch. She was ten minutes short of the thirty that Bernie had requested.
“Could you explain what you said again?” Libby asked. “I think I must have missed something.”
“I think I was perfectly straightforward.”
Then Richard looked at her. It was a calculating look, Libby thought. As if something had just occurred to him. Something having to do with her. She might have overstayed her welcome. No. She had definitely overstayed her welcome. She should never have asked him for an explanation of what he’d just said. She should have left. Bernie would do fine. She always did.
“I’ll let you know what my sister says,” Libby told Richard as she hurriedly gathered up her belongings and headed for the door. But before she could get there, Richard stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
“You keep looking at your watch. The whole time we were talking you were looking at your watch. Why is that?” he demanded.
“I have an appointment after this,” Libby said, putting as much conviction into the lie as possible.
“Is that a fact?”
Libby looked up at him. “Yes. It is. Or perhaps I just found our conversation boring.”
“Maybe yes and maybe no.”
“That I found our conversation boring?”
“That you have an appointment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” And Richard reached over and grabbed Libby by her shoulder.
“Not to me,” she told him as she tried to twist away and failed.
“Let’s go see if your sister is upstairs. Shall we?”
“What a ridiculous thing to say,” Libby spluttered. “Let me go.”
Richard laughed.
“If you don’t I’ll call the police,” Libby threatened.
“Be my guest.” And Richard dug his cell out of his pocket with his free hand and handed it to her. “Well,” he said when she hesitated to take it. “That’s what I thought.”
“I just don’t want to embarrass you,” Libby told him, remembering her father’s words of wisdom: In situations like this, never explain. Take the offensive. Of course, Libby reflected, if it wasn’t for her father she wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe she should have followed her mother’s words of wisdom: if it feels wrong, don’t do it.
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Really,” he said. “And here I am thinking that you don’t want to see your sister arrested.”
“Arrested for what?”
“Breaking and entering.”
Now it was Libby’s turn to laugh. “Hardly. If she were here, and I’m not saying she is, the most that would happen to her would be a trespassing charge.”
“Well, we can discuss that when the police arrive.”
“They’re not going to arrive, because she’s not here.”
“Then
you’ll have my apologies if I’m wrong and you’ll be facing court action if I’m not.”
“How about at least letting me go? You’re hurting my shoulder.”
Which was true. But only up to a point. Actually Libby was mildly uncomfortable. But that didn’t have the same ring to it.
“You’ll survive,” Richard told her.
“Thanks,” Libby replied. “I have to say I don’t think your wife was the delusional one in this partnership.”
“Let’s go before I lose my temper,” Richard said.
“Is that what happened to Annabel? Did she get you angry?” Libby asked.
“I refuse to have my privacy invaded by the likes of you,” Richard said as he dug his fingers more deeply into Libby’s shoulder and dragged her toward the stairs.
Chapter 17
Bernie heard Richard and Libby coming. The carpet muffled their footsteps, but Libby was doing a pretty good job of talking as loudly as possible. Fortunately, Bernie thought, this was a new house and sound traveled. So maybe there was something good about using wallboard after all.
She’d been through four rooms of the right wing and had at least six more to go that she was aware of, and there were even more rooms than that, because she didn’t know what was in the left wing of the house. This had been a mistake, Bernie decided, as she tried to figure out a way to get out of the house.
A big mistake. And she had no one to blame but herself. Libby had been correct—not that Bernie would ever tell her that. And to top everything off, you’d think that a place this size would have more than one staircase. Talk about chintzy. But it didn’t, so she was pretty much boxed in.
Actually, this had been more than a mistake. It had been a blunder. She hadn’t counted on the fact that there were simply too many rooms and too little time. Most importantly, she didn’t have a clue what she was looking for. Therefore, she couldn’t narrow the field down to drawers or closets. And—surprise—so far she hadn’t found anything that said, “Here. I’m the person who put the poison in the wine bottle. Arrest me.” And she probably wouldn’t either. That was usually the way these things went.
A Catered Birthday Party Page 13