Bernie turned to Timberland. “I came to see if you had married Amethyst.”
Timberland just stared at her.
“I guess not,” Bernie said.
It took another minute before Timberland recovered himself. “You’re kidding, right? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Her being married or married to you?” Bernie asked.
“Both,” said Timberland.
Bernie turned to Sadie, who had burst out laughing. Laughing was not a reaction she had expected. “Pretty silly, huh?”
“Well, yeah,” Sadie said. “How did you ever get that idea?”
“Just sprung into my head,” replied Bernie.
“I mean Zach would never marry her, not after what she did with his daughter, and she really wasn’t too fond of him,” said Sadie. She looked at Timberland. “Well, it’s true. She wasn’t. She told me you were a real asshole.”
“So obviously, you knew her,” said Bernie.
“I knew who she was, and we said hello, but that was about it. I didn’t know her, if you get my meaning,” said Sadie. She looked at Bernie, and Bernie nodded to show that she understood. “I ran into her down in the City when I was getting my consult at this really cool lingerie shop down in SoHo. It has the best things.” She mentioned the name of the store, one Bernie knew from reading the fashion magazines. “She told me she was getting married.”
Bernie leaned forward. “Really?”
Sadie nodded.
“When?” asked Bernie.
“Pretty soon. She was very excited. I’ve never seen her so excited,” said Sadie. “And she was buying all this cool new underwear. Lace bras. Thongs. The whole bit. She showed me her diamond. Five carats.” Sadie gave Timberland a meaningful look.
Timberland, I hope you have lots of money, Bernie found herself thinking, because you’re going to need every cent of it with this one. The thought pleased her.
“So, Sadie,” Bernie said. “Did she happen to mention who she was marrying?”
“Yeah, she did. But I’ve forgotten the name,” said Sadie. “I was kinda half listening because I was looking at some really hot teddies at the time. I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t have lots of time, because I was going to have to make the four thirty-seven back to Longely.”
Bernie took a deep breath and told herself to stay calm. “Do you remember anything?”
“Well, it was her old boyfriend. She’d just met up with him again,” said Sadie.
“Anything else?” asked Bernie.
“Actually, it was more than an old boyfriend. It was the first boy she’d ever kissed,” replied Sadie. “Isn’t that sweet?”
“Very,” Bernie said. “By any chance was his name Ken Marak?”
Sadie clapped her hands together. “That’s it,” she squealed. “How did you know?”
“I’m psychic,” Bernie replied.
When she was back in her vehicle, Bernie got out her cell and hit her dad’s speed-dial number. He didn’t pick up. Bernie wondered what the point of having a cell was if you always forgot to take it with you. She tried Libby next.
“You’re not calling to tell me you want another two hours, are you, Bernie?” Libby said when she answered.
“You could at least say hello. And no, I’m not,” Bernie replied. “I’m calling to tell you something much more interesting.”
Chapter 31
The dining room at the Haunted House was draftier than usual, Libby decided as she listened to what her sister was saying. Even with wool socks on her feet, they were beginning to feel like Popsicles.
Libby looked up from the cookies she was arranging on a platter. “I think you’re nuts,” she said to Bernie when she’d finally paused to take a breath. “One hundred percent certifiable.”
Bernie dipped the knife she was using to cut the pumpkin cheesecake in a bowl of water, dried it with a towel, and went back to cutting. “No, I’m not.”
“Talk about cobbled together,” Libby said as she put the platter she’d just finished next to the chocolate cupcakes with orange frosting. “You don’t have a lick of proof. This is all speculation and hearsay.”
“How can you say that given your dream?”
“That’s why I’m saying it. This is like saying that Konrad and Curtis’s tapes are real.”
“Maybe they are. And, anyway, it’s not just the dream. It’s the plastic surgery….”
“More speculation…”
“But it works in conjunction with everything else,” said Bernie.
Libby sighed and started arranging the cinnamon spiced shortbread cookies on a second platter. It was enough already. She and Bernie had been going at it since this morning. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. At least she thought she didn’t, but before she knew it, words were spilling out of her mouth again.
“I really am sorry I told you about my dream. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“You shouldn’t be sorry,” replied Bernie.
“Well, I most definitely am.”
Libby shut her eyes for a moment and opened them again. Nope. Everything was still the same. If she could only keep her mouth shut, half of her problems would be solved. When Bernie had called her on her way back from Timberland’s house, she’d been in the middle of writing “Happy Halloween” in a nice cursive script on a chocolate frosted yellow cake.
She’d been admiring the n she’d just made and thinking that her fourth-grade teacher would have been proud of her—she’d always had the best handwriting in the class—when all of a sudden it had hit her. Maybe writing “Happy Halloween” had jogged her memory, or maybe it had been hearing the name Ken Marak, or maybe it had been having them both happen at the same time—Who knew?—but she had suddenly seen the letter n that had been in her dream. The a had appeared next. Then she’d seen the rest of the tiles.
She’d been so excited that when Bernie had walked in the kitchen, she’d blurted the name out before she could stop herself. She should have kept quiet because, as she could have predicted, Bernie had come up with this incredibly stupid, half-baked idea, which Libby had been trying to argue her out of ever since.
Bernie dipped the knife blade back in the water and wiped it off again. That was the problem with cheesecake, Libby thought. It was hard to make good, clean cuts, especially when the cheesecake was at room temperature. Cheesecakes were much easier to slice when they were cold, but she hadn’t wanted to take the chance of cutting them in the shop and having them fall apart.
“Okay, Libby,” she said. “Then give me a better explanation.”
“I can’t,” Libby said. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one, and that isn’t the point.”
“It certainly is.” Bernie made her final cut on the cheesecake, wiped the blade off again, and went on to the pies. They were much easier to slice. The only trick here was to make all the slices even. “Dad agrees with me. He said my explanation was possible.”
“Dad is just saying that to humor you.”
“No, Libby. He’s not.”
“Yes, Bernadine. He is.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry,” Libby said, but Bernie could see that she didn’t look remotely contrite.
“What about Bob Small?” Bernie asked her sister.
“What about him?”
“Don’t you care what happens to him?” asked Bernie.
Libby looked indignant. “Of course, I do.”
“You’re not acting that way.”
“Now that is a rotten thing to say.”
“No, it’s the truth. If we don’t do something, he’s going to go to jail for a long, long time for this.”
“Not necessarily,” said Libby.
Bernie banged the knife down on the table and turned to face her sister. “Yes, necessarily.”
“Something could come up,” Libby countered.
Bernie put her hands on her hips. “Like what?” she demanded.
Libby remained silent.
“Exactly my point,” Bernie said. “You can’t think of anything, can you? And even if some small scintilla—”
“Excuse me. What does scintilla mean?”
“It means a little bit, a shred.”
“So why don’t you say that?” asked Libby.
“I just did. Anyway, even if a bit of evidence does come to light, no one is going to follow it up or, for that matter, go looking for new leads, and you know it as well as I do. Don’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to. It is true,” Libby conceded.
That was one point Libby couldn’t argue. She knew from her father how the prosecutor’s office worked. How could she not? She’d seen them in action. When they had someone they liked for a crime, they didn’t go running around, looking for alternate explanations. They stuck with what they had. “They’re like pit bulls,” her dad used to say. “Once they hang on, you can’t get them to let go.”
Libby knew that it was the defense attorney’s job to sniff out new leads, but a good defense lawyer cost lots of money, a commodity Bob was notably lacking. And who was he going to borrow it from? His wife? His business partner? Not too likely. The Simmons family was all he had.
Libby started filling up the pitchers with waffle batter. “Fine. I admit that it seems as if Bob is the fall guy for Amethyst’s murder. Happy?”
Bernie brushed a crumb off the table and onto the floor. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. At least we’re in agreement about that. He’s like a custom-made suit. If you’d ordered him up, he couldn’t fit this job any better.”
“And Ed Banks?” Libby asked. “What about him? How does he fit into this mess?”
“Simple. He was collateral damage. Killing him was merely a matter of tying up a loose end.”
Libby stopped to wipe a blob of batter off the rim of the pitcher she’d just filled. “But once again,” she continued, “we come down to the inconvenient fact that you have no proof for any of this.”
Bernie snagged one of the extra lemon cupcakes with a ginger glaze and took a bite. If she had to say so herself, it was pretty good. “I know,” she said.
“And there’s no way of getting any.”
“That’s not true. It’s more a question of Bob Small not having the money,” Bernie replied. “If he did, we could hire someone to go through the records, but since we don’t have a state where the marriage occurred, much less a town, it would be pretty expensive. That’s why I’ve come up with my plan, such as it is.”
“Such as it is, is right.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I do my schtick and stand back and see what the reaction is. It’s called stirring the pot.”
“I don’t think Dad would approve,” said Libby.
“That’s why we’re not telling him.”
“I still think we should.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” Bernie insisted. “You know what he’s like. He’d be down here in a flash, even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees to get here.”
Libby couldn’t argue that point, either. When it came to her and her sister, her dad was incredibly overprotective. Always had been and always would be. Bernie finished the cupcake, crumpled up the paper wrapper, and threw it in the trash.
“Okay,” Libby agreed. “But what happens if you don’t get any reaction?”
“Then we’ll come up with something else.”
“But then he’ll know you suspect him, and he’ll move away.” Something else occurred to Libby. “What happens if he takes out a gun and shoots you?”
Bernie stopped for a moment.
“Obviously,” Libby said, “you haven’t considered that possibility.”
“Why are you always so negative?”
“I’m not negative,” Libby said, forcing the words out between gritted teeth. “I’m realistic. And you haven’t answered me.”
“He won’t,” Bernie said.
“That’s your answer? He won’t?”
“That’s right,” Bernie said.
“And why not? Because you wear cute shoes? Because you’re carrying a Prada bag?”
“Ha-ha. For starters, I don’t think he has a gun. If he did, he would have used it on Banks and Amethyst. It would have been a hell of a lot easier than what he did do.”
“So he won’t use a gun. He’ll use a knife. This man has murdered two people,” said Libby.
“Yeah. But he did it for revenge.”
“Excuse me. According to you, he didn’t kill Banks for revenge. He killed him to keep him from talking.”
This, Bernie was forced to admit, was true. She clicked her tongue against her teeth while she thought. “I’ll tell you what,” she finally said. “How about if I talk to him where there are lots of people about? In five more minutes, this place is going to become extremely crowded. Is that okay with you?”
Libby nodded reluctantly. It was better than nothing.
“And if worse comes to worst, Konrad and Curtis can step in.”
“Now that’s reassuring,” Libby mumbled.
“I think they’ll be okay. They’re going to be pretending they’re taping, so if things get funky, I’ll signal them and they’ll come over.”
Libby bit on the inside of her cheek. She attempted to think of some more objections and couldn’t. She’d pretty much covered them all.
“Bernie, I still think this is nuts.”
“Well, it’s not the best plan I’ve ever come up with,” Bernie said. “But then again, it’s not the worst. Basically, it’s the only thing I can think of to do. I mean, we do have to do something. We can’t just stand there and do nothing.”
“You’re right,” Libby said softly. “We do.”
“If this doesn’t work, at least we will have tried.”
Libby nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. She surveyed the table. They were almost ready for customers. All she had to do was put out the napkins, knives, spoons, and forks, and they’d be good to go.
“I almost feel sorry for him,” Libby mused. “Amethyst probably deserved what she got.”
“I’m sure she did. However, laying the blame on Bob Small isn’t very nice.”
“No,” Libby said. “I suppose it isn’t.”
“Nor was killing Banks. So are we ready?” Bernie asked.
“Ready as we’ll ever be. Just be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” Bernie retorted.
Libby snorted. Now that was a big fat lie if she’d ever heard one.
“Well, I am,” Bernie flung over her shoulder as she marched out the door.
Libby wondered if her sister was feeling nervous, because she was certainly feeling nervous for her.
Chapter 32
Bernie fought her way through the crowd of people waiting to go into the Haunted House. It used to be that only kids dressed up at Halloween, but that wasn’t true anymore. Today everyone did.
Bernie looked around the hallway. It was like being at a masked ball. There were witches and goblins and ogres, X-Men, Pillsbury Doughboys, Harry Potters, and Voldemorts. There were people in rhinestone and feathered masks, people with bright purple wigs and false noses, and people who had dressed up like Bush, not to mention all the women in bustiers.
Bernie looked down at what she was wearing. It was really pretty lame. Some people wouldn’t even think it was a costume. It wasn’t sexy or ironic or clever or cute. She wasn’t a superhero or a famous person, although why anyone would want to be Paris Hilton for an evening totally eluded Bernie. In fact, she was pretty sure no one would know who she was supposed to be except her target, and she wasn’t too sure about that. Maybe she wouldn’t get the big response she was hoping for, after all. Oh well. She guessed she’d find out soon enough.
Bernie had modeled her clothes on the picture of Bessie hanging on the wall in Amethyst’s apartment. She was wearing penny loafers, kneesocks, a pleated skirt, a white oxford shirt, and a cardigan, all of which she’d managed to find in t
he vintage clothes shop three blocks down from A Little Taste of Heaven. She’d gotten the tortoiseshell frames she was wearing from a costume store, ditto the brown, straight-haired wig.
She stood off to one side and scanned the crowd. She could see Konrad and Curtis fiddling with their tape deck near the restrooms. She gave them a slight nod, and they waved back. She sighed. Obviously, they weren’t totally clear on the concept of being inconspicuous, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Going over and talking to them would only make matters worse.
After shaking her head at them, she started studying the crowd in earnest. She knew the person she was looking for had to be here somewhere. She looked around the room. Nope, wasn’t here. Maybe he was in costume. She scanned everyone’s face again. Still nothing. And then, a few minutes later, she saw her target. No. She locked on her target. She liked that phrase better. Much more military. He’d just come in from the dining room and was standing in front of one of the doors that led to the back portion of the house, the portion that hid the scary stuff.
Bernie reflexively patted her shirt pocket. The mini tape recorder she’d bought this morning was in there. That was the nice thing about cardigans and oxford shirts. They hid stuff, unlike her Dolce & Gabbana black Lycra shirt. She figured that as soon as she got close to her target, she’d turn the tape recorder on.
Hopefully, it would work better than that huge thing Konrad and Curtis were using, and she’d get an admission of some kind that she could hear. The guy at the shop had said that the model she’d bought would pick up anything, and it had seemed to work pretty well when she tried it out in the shop. But you never knew with this kind of stuff. Just when you needed them the most, things like this tended to poop out.
Not that a tape recording was admissible evidence. In fact, it was illegal to tape-record someone without their knowledge; you could get arrested for it. Bernie wasn’t worried about that. All she wanted to get was some sort of admission that she could hand over to Bob’s court-appointed lawyer. Hopefully, he would then get the ball rolling on this stuff.
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