A Catered St. Patrick's Day

by Crawford, Isis

  Bernie looked around. “I’m confused. I don’t see a dog or a pony. Do you, Libby?”

  “Definitely not, Bernie.”

  Patrick’s jaw muscles tightened. “I’m tired of listening to you two. I am done,” he said, enunciating each

  word. “Finished. Are we clear?”

  Bernie smiled. “No need to get offensive. I think we’re done too. Just let me ask my sister to make sure. Libby. What do you think? Do you have anything else to add to what’s already been said?”

  Libby shook her head. “Nope. I think we’ve said everything we have to say.”

  Bernie reached over and clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Good luck. You know where we are. If you ever want to tell us anything, don’t hesitate to give us a call. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too late. And if it is, we’ll be at your funeral.”

  And with that Libby and Bernie strolled out of the bar.

  Chapter 21

  The silence hit Bernie and Libby as soon as they id, afonstepped outside of RJ’s.

  “I must be getting old,” Bernie said to Libby. “I mean I never thought I’d say this, but the quiet is nice.”

  “I always thought so,” Libby said. She reflected that whereas Bernie had loved going to rock concerts and sitting in the front row so she could feel the bass pulse through her body, she had always preferred folk music with an acoustic guitar accompaniment. Libby paused to zip her hoodie back up. Then she popped a chocolate kiss in her mouth, while Bernie took a deep breath of fresh air.

  “That was fun in a weird kind of way,” Libby said after the chocolate had dissolved in her mouth.

  Bernie stuck her hands in her jacket pocket and started toward the van. “Kind of like bear baiting.”

  “I’m surprised Patrick didn’t slug us,” Libby told Bernie as she fell in step with her sister. “We were incredibly annoying.”

  They skirted the cars and climbed the grass incline to the neighboring parking lot.

  Bernie chuckled. “If we were guys he would have, that’s for sure. I mean if I were him I would have wanted to kill me in there. But that’s the advantage of being female. We can be as annoying as we want and all Patrick can do is be rude or leave. He can’t even yell that loudly at us. At least not in public. It makes him look bad to treat a female that way.”

  By now Libby and Bernie were at the van.

  “That’s so unPC, Bernie,” Libby said as she walked around to the passenger side and hopped in.

  “I know. And I don’t care. After all, we all have to work with what we have,” Bernie replied once she was inside their vehicle.

  Bernie inserted the key in the ignition, then left it there. It was chilly in the van, but she didn’t want to turn it on, thereby possibly attracting attention to it. She was thinking she should have worn warmer socks and brought some gloves along, as well as a flask of hot chocolate—not cocoa—chocolate with cinnamon and maybe a pinch of red pepper—when Libby spoke.

  “Speaking of work,” Libby was saying, “do you think this will?”

  Bernie shrugged. “Well, I think what we did in there is definitely going to stir things up a bit,” she replied. “At least I hope it will.”

  “So what do we do now?” Libby asked.

  “We sit and we wait,” Bernie said, rubbing her hands together.

  “For how long?” Libby asked. “Because I’m freezing. Can’t we turn on the van?”

  “No. We can’t,” Bernie said. “Patrick might see the exhaust when he comes out and change his mind about what he’s going to do.”

  “That’s if he comes out, Bernie.”

  “When he comes out, Libby.”

  “He could just call. That’s what I would do.”

  “Not if he’s paranoid.”

  Libby crossed her arms over her chest and sank down in her seat. “Fine. All I know is that if I get pneumonia it’s going to be your fault.”

  “Stop whining. I’m cold too.”

  “I’m not whining,” Libby said.

  “Then what would you call it?” Bernie demanded.

  “Being cold and uncomfortable and communicating that fact to you.”

  “Jeez,” Bernie muttered. “What aredem" crybaby.”

  Libby turned toward her. “What did you just say?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

  “Good.” Libby took two more chocolate kisses out of the pocket of her hoodie and offered one to Bernie.

  Bernie shook her head. “No thanks. Do you have an inexhaustible supply of those things?”

  “Pretty much. Some people have Xanax, I have chocolate. Personally, I think chocolate is better.” Libby was quiet for a moment while she unwrapped the kisses and popped them into her mouth. “I don’t see how people do stakeouts,” Libby said after she’d savored the taste. She knew lots of foodies disdained milk chocolate as inferior, but Hershey’s Kisses were her comfort food and she was sticking with them. They’d seen her through her mom’s death, her breakup with Orion, and holidays at the store and she wasn’t about to abandon them now. “And anyway,” Libby continued, “we’re going to have to go soon because I have to pee.”

  “Tell me you’re kidding,” Bernie said.

  “Nope. I’m not,” Libby said, even though she really didn’t have to go that badly. She was just tired and bored and wanted to go home.

  “Why didn’t you do it when we were in RJ’s?” Bernie demanded.

  “Duh. Obviously because I didn’t have to go then. I think it’s the cold.”

  Bernie shook her head. “Can you wait a little while, at least?” Sometimes she just wanted to murder her sister.

  “I guess,” Libby said. “What’s your definition of a little while?” she asked.

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine,” Libby said, trying not to smirk. “I’ll try for fifteen minutes, but I’m not promising anything.”

  Three minutes later the door to RJ’s opened and a group of people came walking out. As they stopped to button up their coats, Bernie pointed to the man at the far right. “Look,” she said to Bernie. “There’s Patrick.”

  Libby leaned forward and squinted slightly. Bernie was right. It was Patrick. She and Bernie watched as he hurried across the parking lot and jumped into an Infiniti.

  “Expensive car,” Bernie observed.

  “Would you expect anything less?” Libby asked.

  “No. Not really,” Bernie replied as she started the van.

  “We’re not going to be able to keep up,” Libby commented as Bernie put the van in gear.

  “There is that problem,” Bernie allowed, since the van didn’t go over forty miles an hour on a good day and the Infiniti probably did ninety without even thinking about it. “But hopefully—fingers crossed—Patrick will take the town streets and then that won’t be a problem.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Libby demanded.

  “Then,” Bernie said, “we’re going to be out of luck.”

  But as it turned out, the sisters weren’t. Patrick’s car took a right on Ash and a left onto New Castle. Then it traveled five blocks and made a sharp left onto Kramer and another sharp left onto Mountainview.

  “Where is he going?” Libby asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Bernie said.

  She dropped back so Patrick wouldn’t spot her, which would be easy enough to do because the van was nothing if not visible. When she made the turn onto Fellows, she thought s shand he’d lost him, but then she spotted the Infiniti turning into the drive of a brown ranch house in the middle of the block.

  “Isn’t that Connor’s parents’ house?” Libby asked Bernie. They’d catered a surprise birthday party for Mrs. Connor last year.

  Bernie nodded. “Now that I think of it, I overheard Mrs. Dorchester telling Mrs. Stein that they were down in Florida until mid-April.”

  “Maybe they came back early,” Libby said, indicating the lights in the house.

  Bernie shook her head. “That’s not their car in t
he driveway. They had a Honda Civic. I remember because I had to move it.” She indicated the Jeep Cherokee parked in front of Patrick’s Infiniti. “I think that’s Connor’s car.”

  Libby watched Patrick get out of his car, slam the door shut, and stride up the driveway. He looked furious. “I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

  “I guess we will,” Bernie said.

  “Can’t you get any closer?” Libby asked her. “It’s hard to see from here. Or hear anything for that matter.”

  Bernie moved the van another three feet. “Yeah. We need to get one of those miracle ear things that let you eavesdrop on conversations five hundred yards away.” She put the van in park. “How’s that?” she asked Libby.

  “Better but not great.”

  “Well, I can’t get any closer. I mean we do have A Little Taste of Heaven airbrushed on both sides of the van.”

  “I know,” Libby said. “It’s certainly not the ideal vehicle to do detective work in.”

  “That’s for sure.” Bernie watched Patrick ring the doorbell. “The only saving grace is that I think Patrick is too upset to notice us.”

  “And if he does we can always drive off,” Libby said.

  Bernie made a noise of agreement. She wasn’t answering Libby because all of her attention was focused on the door. A moment later, Connor answered.

  “Now, that’s interesting,” Libby said. “What’s he doing here? He owns a co-op down in the Pines and I heard he and his wife were closing on a McMansion in Liberty.”

  “Maybe he’s house sitting for his parents,” Bernie said.

  “Maybe he is, but knowing Connor, I don’t think so. He’s not a helpful kind of guy.”

  Bernie rubbed her hands together. The chill was beginning to get to her. “Speaking of his wife, I wonder where the good Priscilla is? Such a charming creature.”

  Libby laughed. “You’re just jealous of her sense of style.”

  Bernie smiled. “Yes. That must be it.”

  A moment later Bernie’s question was answered when Priscilla joined Connor at the door.

  “God, she’s like a refugee from the cover of a bad pulp fiction novel,” Bernie said, looking at her. Priscilla was wearing skintight leopard pants, a slinky low-cut black top that her boobs were falling out of, and platform shoes. Bernie shook her head. “She amazes me no matter how many times I see her—and I don’t mean that in a good way.”

  “I figured,” Libby said.

  “You,” Priscilla screeched. “What are you doing here?”

  For a moment Bernie thought Priscilla was talking to her. Then she realized that she was screaming at Patrick.

  “I told you never to come nev widthere,” she yelled at him.

  “Listen,” Patrick began, but Priscilla cut him off. “No, you listen. You and your friends are responsible for this. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. Now get out of here and don’t come back.” And she slammed the door in Patrick’s face.

  Patrick rang the bell again. No one answered. He gave the door a kick, then he turned around and headed back to his car.

  “What do you think that’s about?” Libby asked.

  “I’d say bad investments,” Bernie said as she watched Patrick take out his cell and make a call. Then he backed out of the driveway and zoomed off.

  A moment later the door to Connor’s parents house opened again and Connor came out. Bernie and Libby could hear Priscilla screaming “don’t you dare leave” in the background, but Connor slammed the door and headed for his SUV.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Bernie said to Libby as she watched Connor pull out into the street and make a left, the same left that Patrick had made. “We did stir things up.” When Connor was about a quarter of a block away she started the van and pulled out into the road, but by the time she got to the end of the block Connor was nowhere in sight. “Drats,” she said to Libby. “Should we go left or right?”

  Libby looked down the block in either direction. She couldn’t see any cars moving. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think we may have lost them.”

  Bernie sat in the middle of the street with the van’s engine idling. “They could be heading back to RJ’s,” she said.

  “Or the park or movies or the library or to get a slice of pizza,” Libby said. “We really don’t know.”

  “Maybe we should drive around and see if we can spot them,” Bernie said.

  “I have a better idea,” Libby told her sister. “Let’s go back to the house and talk to Priscilla.”

  Bernie nodded as she turned the idea over in her head. “I like it. I like it a lot. Except there is one tiny flaw with that plan, Libby. She hates me.”

  “Everyone hates you. Maybe she’s forgotten what you said by now.”

  “I so doubt it. Priscilla is the kind of person who still remembers who sat in front of her in second grade.”

  “You could be right,” Libby said. “But even if you are, what do we have to lose? After all, the worst she can do is slam the door in our faces.”

  “And you do have to pee,” Bernie said.

  “Yes, I do,” Libby agreed even though she didn’t. But she wasn’t going to go back on her lie now. That would have been bad form.

  “Okey-dokey,” Bernie said as she turned the van around and parked it in Connor’s parents’ driveway.

  “It really wasn’t very nice what you said about Priscilla’s eyelashes,” Libby said to Bernie as Bernie put the emergency brake on, because the driveway was on a slant and the van had a tendency to roll.

  “I didn’t mean for her to hear it,” Bernie replied. “I didn’t thi

  nk she would repeat it.”

  “You can’t say everything that pops into your head,” Libby told her sister.

  “Can I help it if her eyelashes did look like caterpillars? My God. They were awful.”

  And with that she and Libby got out of their vehicle, walked up the path lined with fairy lights and dotted with little wooden cows, and climbeds, elash up the five slate stairs that led to the entrance way. The sisters could hear the sound of the television coming from inside the house.

  “Go on and ring,” Bernie said to Libby. “It was your idea.”

  Libby hesitated for a moment. Then she put her hand up and pressed the bell.

  Chapter 22

  Sean looked up at Orion standing in front of him. To say Sean was surprised to see Orion standing there like that was putting it mildly. Especially since he’d just gotten off the phone with him less than twenty minutes ago.

  Orion unzipped his jacket. “You look surprised,” he said.

  Sean put his coffee mug down on the side table. “That’s because I am.”

  “But you said you wanted to talk to me when I spoke to you on the phone just now, that you wanted to hear what it was I had to say.”

  “And I do.” Sean sat up straighter in his chair. “I just never figured you for popping up here. I figured you’d want to talk somewhere else. Somewhere ...ah ... a little more neutral.”

  Orion shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Hey, if you don’t want me here I understand. I’ll be happy to leave.”

  “No. No. It’s fine with me. But let’s just say that Libby would most definitely not like seeing you here,” Sean told him, indicating the flat with a nod of his chin. He was surprised at how much he still disliked the guy. Even after all this time. But business was business and in this case that came first. After all, over the years he’d talked to lots of people he didn’t like in order to get the information that he needed.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Orion said. “Give me some credit. Why do you think I don’t come in the shop anymore?”

  “Because you’re afraid of being poisoned?” Sean asked, breaking the tension between the two men.

  Orion laughed. “She would, wouldn’t she?”

  Sean grinned despite himself. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be eating anything Libby offered me if I were you—although to be fa
ir she’s not as rabid as she once was—so maybe she’d just make you really sick instead of dead.”

  “Whew.” Orion passed the back of his hand across his brow in a mock gesture of relief. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  “Figured it would,” Sean replied.

  Orion scratched behind his ear, then put his hand down by his side. “The only reason I’m here is that I was passing by right after I spoke to you and I saw Libby and Bernie going out, so I figured why not come up and save you the bother of meeting with me.”

  “Very thoughtful of you.” Sean looked Orion up and down. “You seem to be doing well for yourself.”

  “I’m not doing badly,” Orion allowed.

  Sean pointed to Orion’s shoes. They were brown and cream-colored saddle shoes. “Aren’t they like the ones Mike Sweeney was wearing when he was killed?”

  Orion glanced down at his feet. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were. Lots of the guys are wearing things like that now.”

  “So what does a pair of those cost?” Sean asked.

  “Five hundred dollars a pair, give or take a couple of bucks. What. Sheem"> can I say, Mr. Simmons?” Orion continued, catching the expression on Sean’s face. “The market has treated me well.”

  “Evidently.” It amazed Sean that those shoes would go for that much. He remembered his mom trying to get him to wear saddle shoes when he was in high school, but he’d absolutely refused. Too preppy. “I’ll say this,” Sean continued. “You’re certainly doing a lot better than you were doing when you were with Libby. You didn’t even have a job half the time. No. Scratch that. You almost never had a job. Most of the time you didn’t have enough money to put gas in your car and here you are buying five hundred dollar shoes. Nice to know that the American dream is still alive and well.”

  “It has been for me.” Orion looked down at the floor, then back up at Sean. “The time I was with Libby was a bad patch in my life.” He spread his arms apart. “I treated a lot of people very badly, Mr. Simmons. I acted in ways I’m not proud of.”

  “Like stealing Libby’s car and picking up Suzy and going down to New York City for the weekend?” Sean said.