“I hope so,” Libby said. “But I’ve got to say that that high-pitched whining I’m hearing at the moment doesn’t sound fine to me.”
“Even if worse comes to worst, and I’m not saying it’s going to, you’ve been saying for a while now we need to get a new vehicle.”
“But not like this,” Libby shot back. “And not now,” she said, thinking of all the catering jobs they had lined up. Christmas and New Year were their busiest times of the year, followed by Easter and Valentine’s Day.
“It’ll be fine,” Bernie repeated. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough,” Libby retorted.
Bernie just grunted and kept her eyes on the road. They were reaching a tricky spot, and she needed to focus on navigating through it and not ending up in a ditch on the side of the road. Three minutes later, Bernie took a right onto McClellan, and streetlights appeared.
“See,” she said to Libby, “we made it.”
“This time,” Libby replied as she massaged her hand. She’d been gripping the seat so tightly her fingers were cramped.
“You always have to get the last word in, don’t you?” Bernie remarked.
“I try,” Libby said.
Three cross streets later, they came to Meadowbrook, the enclave where Rose lived. Meadowbrook was one of the older areas in town and was being considered for a historical designation. Three-quarters of the houses there had been built by a developer called Winnifred Brown.
He was an adherent of the Arts and Crafts movement, which meant that most of the homes in the five-square-block area sported oak trim throughout the interior, beamed ceilings, and small-paned windows. The area had traditionally attracted those of the artistic persuasion, so it wasn’t surprising that that’s where Rose Olsen had chosen to live when she’d moved up here from New York City.
Four minutes later, Bernie and Libby were in sight of Rose’s house. They watched as Rose pulled into her driveway.
“Am I good or am I good?” Bernie crowed to Libby as she came to a screeching halt behind the silver Subaru.
“You’re lucky.”
“I’m also good.”
“Fine. If it makes you feel any better, you’re good,” Libby told her sister as Bernie jumped out of the van and raced toward Rose’s vehicle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked Rose as Rose opened the car door.
“Going home,” Rose said. She peered up at a glowering Bernie. “Is something wrong, my dear? You look a little upset.”
“You could say that.” Bernie bent down a little. She could see Alma in the front seat and Pearl in the back. “How are you ladies tonight?”
Pearl tittered. “We’re fine. Thank you so much for asking.”
“How’s poor Amber doing?” Rose asked.
“Amber is doing fine,” Bernie said, “all things considered. Of course, she’d be doing even better if she had her aunt’s recipe book and the recipe for the cookie Millie was going to submit for judging.”
“What difference does it make?” Alma asked, her face crinkled in genuine puzzlement. “She’s not in the contest.”
“She may be,” Bernie told her. “She’s asking the producer if she can take Millie’s place.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rose blurted out, echoing Barbara’s and Teresa’s sentiments.
“Not really,” Bernie said. “Not if you think of it from the producer’s point of view. It would introduce a sentimental note into the proceedings. Probably boost the ratings,” she added, rubbing salt in the wound, so to speak.
Before Rose or Alma could say anything else, Pearl jumped into the conversation. “Amber doesn’t have the recipes?” Pearl said, shaking her head. “I could have sworn that she did.”
“No. She doesn’t,” Bernie replied, “as you well know.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Pearl said in an injured voice from the backseat of the Subaru.
Rose turned to her. “It’s okay,” she told her. “The jig is up.”
“What jig?” Pearl asked. “What are you talking about?”
Rose turned back to Bernie. “Pearl’s had a long day,” she explained to Bernie. “Sometimes she tends to get a little confused.”
“I do not,” Pearl huffed. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
Bernie ignored her. “So have Libby and I,” Bernie said to Rose. “It started at five-thirty in the morning, but of course our day didn’t include breaking into our friend’s house.”
“Oh dear.” Rose turned off her car. “We didn’t break in. The door was open when we got there.”
“Sure it was,” Bernie said.
Rose pointed to herself, Alma, and Pearl. “Look at us. Do you suppose any of us are capable of breaking into someone’s house?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to think anymore,” Bernie told her.
“Neither do I,” Libby added, having come up behind her sister.
Rose sighed. “I suppose,” she said to Bernie, “that we owe you and your sister an explanation about why we were in Millie’s house.”
“I’d very much like to hear it,” Bernie said.
“Me too,” Libby added.
“What I want to know,” Alma said as she exited the car, “is how did you get here so fast?”
“We took Route 31 and Voorhees Hollow,” Libby informed her.
Rose got out of her car. “Oh dear,” she said. “That’s such a dangerous road. You could have had an accident. Plenty of people have. It’s supposed to be haunted. Did you know that?”
“No,” Bernie said, “I didn’t.”
“Well, I’m just glad both of you are safe,” Rose told her. “That’s the important thing.”
“I think so too,” Bernie said as she studied the three women standing before her.
Alma was small and slightly stooped, with a crown of fluffy white hair that reminded Bernie of a bichon frisé she’d once had, while Pearl was heavyset, with breasts that came into the room before she did and brightly dyed red hair that always veered toward the orange. Rose looked like the ballet dancer she’d been in her younger years. Her posture was erect and her hair was, as usual, drawn back in a tight French twist. Looking at the three women, Bernie thought that what Rose had said was true. She couldn’t believe any of them had broken into Millie’s house. They didn’t fit the profile. On the other hand, there was no denying they’d been there.
“I suppose,” Rose said, reading Bernie’s thoughts. “That you and your sister would like to know why we did what we did.”
“We’d like that very much,” Libby said.
“It’s simple, really,” Rose said. Then she stopped talking.
Libby and Bernie waited. They were both eager to hear how Rose was going to spin this.
After a few beats, Rose began again. “The truth is we thought we’d get Millie’s recipe book and put it away in a safe place. It seemed like the least we could do for her, considering how much she valued it.”
“That was very nice of Rose, don’t you think, Libby?” Bernie said to her sister.
“Definitely, Bernie.”
“I thought so,” Rose replied, overlooking Bernie’s and Libby’s sarcasm. “We decided to take my car, since I’m the best driver . . .”
“At night,” Alma clarified. “I’m better during the day. She can’t parallel park.”
Rose gave her an annoyed glance, and Alma put her hand to her mouth and muttered, “Sorry.”
“So,” Rose continued, “as I was saying, I parked on the roadway and let Alma and Pearl off.”
“How were they going to get in?” Libby asked.
“Well,” Rose said, looking Bernie straight in the eye, “Millie had a spare key that she left under the garbage can . . .”
“Who knows about that?” Bernie asked her.
“Everyone,” Rose replied.
“It just strikes me as odd that a woman who was paranoid enough to keep her recipes in a safe would leave an ext
ra key around,” Bernie observed.
Rose sighed. “You’re right. It is off. But you have to understand that the safe was a recent thing. Frankly,” she confided, leaning forward, “I think Millie was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s. Naturally, when we arrived and found the door open, we thought she’d forgotten to lock it. Which was why we didn’t call the police. But then when we went into the kitchen and found that mess, we realized we were wrong.”
“It was horrible,” Alma said, taking up the story. “Simply horrible. Who would do something like that?” she exclaimed. “It was a desecration, what with the way Millie kept her house and all.”
“So why didn’t you call the police then?” Libby asked.
Pearl shook her head. “I’m not sure I can explain. I guess we were just caught up in the moment.”
“And then,” Alma said, “we went upstairs and found the empty safe. It was shocking.”
“I can only imagine,” Libby said dryly.
“It was,” Alma insisted. “Ask Pearl. She’ll tell you.”
“It absolutely was,” Pearl parroted. Libby noted that she didn’t look at all upset.
“Can I ask you a question?” Bernie said to Alma.
“What?” Alma said nervously.
“How did you propose to open the safe?”
“I don’t understand,” Alma replied.
“Well, you ladies don’t look like safecrackers.”
Rose giggled. “Millie had the number taped to her computer. I saw it when I dropped Millie’s reading glasses off.”
“That’s not very secure,” Libby observed.
“Maybe not,” Alma said. “But at least she could remember it.”
“True,” Bernie said. That was the reason she didn’t use a combination lock at the gym. “Go on.”
Alma looked at her. “Go on with what?”
“With the rest of the story.”
“Well,” Alma said, “we were just debating what to do when Rose called and told us you were pulling into the driveway.”
“I panicked,” Rose confessed. “Totally panicked, I’m ashamed to say, and I drove away. I really don’t know what came over me.”
“I don’t either, leaving us behind like that,” Alma snapped.
“Which wasn’t very nice at all,” Pearl added as she glared at Rose.
“But I came back.” Rose said. “I had a moment of weakness, but I redeemed myself.”
“Yes, you did,” Alma grudgingly admitted.
“That’s when we hatched our plan,” Pearl said.
“The one about running down the stairs and almost knocking us over?” Bernie asked. “You mean that plan?”
“Well, it wasn’t a very good plan,” Alma admitted. “I agree. But we got scared. After all, we were in a compromising position, and we couldn’t think of a good place to hide. It would have been worse if you’d found us under the bed.”
“Or in the closet,” Pearl said.
“In either case, we thought you’d blame us for the empty safe and the mess in the kitchen,” Alma said.
“Fancy that,” Bernie said.
“Why would you say something like that?” Libby added.
“I would have in your position,” Alma said.
“What we did looked really bad,” Pearl said. “And it’s not as if you didn’t know who we were.”
“Yes. There is that,” Bernie couldn’t keep herself from adding.
“Which is why,” Rose told her, taking up the narrative thread, “we realized, on the way home, that we should call you and apologize for our conduct,” Rose said. “It was really quite wrong of us.”
“And explain,” Pearl added.
“We were just about to call you when you showed up,” Rose said, looking at Libby and Bernie. “I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“No,” Bernie answered, “there are no hard feelings, especially if you have Millie’s recipes.”
“Of course, we don’t have them,” Rose cried. “Haven’t you been listening to what we’ve been saying?”
“I’ve been listening,” Bernie responded. “It’s the believing I’m having trouble with.”
Rose gasped and took a step back. “Are you calling us liars?” she demanded.
“No,” Bernie said, “I’m not. I’m calling you fabricators of an alternative reality.”
Alma sniffed. “I don’t have the vaguest idea what you’re talking about.”
Libby explained. “I think my sister is saying that your story doesn’t exactly hang together.”
“That’s an understatement,” Bernie said.
Rose looked at Alma and Pearl before turning back to Bernie. “Come, girls, I think it’s time we went inside and had a spot of tea with something a little stronger in it for sustenance. It’s been quite the evening.” Then she turned to Bernie and Libby. “I think you owe us all an apology for your outrageous innuendos,” she told them.
“Right,” Bernie said.
Rose drew herself up to her full height. “Fine. I will call the producer and tell her about your conduct and have you removed as judges.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Bernie told her.
“Your mother would have been sorely disappointed in you,” Rose said. With that, she marched up the stairs to her house with her two friends trailing behind her.
“Do you think Mom would be disappointed?” Libby asked Bernie after Rose had slammed her front door shut.
“No,” Bernie said, “I think she’d be proud of us.”
“Me too,” Libby said.
“You know what I’m thinking?” Bernie said as she turned and headed for the van.
“That we should go home and go to bed?” Libby asked.
“No. I’m thinking that this has been a long, frustrating day and that we need a drink.”
Libby jammed her hands in her pockets. “Like tea?”
“Like Scotch,” Bernie said.
Libby groaned.
“Come on, Libby, we’re almost at RJ’s.”
“We’re fifteen minutes away. RJ’s is on the other side of town.”
“Fine.” Bernie put up her hands. “You caught me. We are fifteen minutes away. We’ll just have a drink and go.”
“You swear?” Libby asked.
Bernie grinned. “Absolutely.”
Libby sighed. She didn’t believe her sister, but she was too tired to summon up the energy to argue.
Chapter 11
It had started snowing again as Bernie drove through town. By the time she and Libby got to RJ’s the wind had picked up, whipping the flakes into a frenzy. All Libby could think of as she watched the snow covering the streets was the shoveling she and Bernie were going to have to do first thing tomorrow morning.
“Not many cars in the lot,” Bernie commented as she parked the van in front of the bar.
“Naturally,” Libby told her. “Anyone with any sense is home by now. Which is where we should be,” she added as she thought longingly of a pot of jasmine tea and a hot bath.
“We will be very soon,” Bernie assured her as she got out of the van.
“What’s your definition of soon?” Libby challenged.
But Bernie didn’t answer. She was too intent on getting inside. The wind was blowing the snow in her eyes and down her neck as she hurried toward the bar’s entrance. Libby was right behind Bernie as she pulled open the wooden door and stepped inside. Bernie was thinking about what kind of scotch she was going to order and whether Brandon had forgiven her yet for waking him up the way she had when she spotted Penelope Lively, the producer of Baking for Life, and her production assistant nursing their drinks at the bar. Bernie came to a dead stop, causing Libby to plow into her.
“Damn,” Bernie muttered.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Libby snapped. “You stopped short.”
“That’s not it,” Bernie told her, nodding in Penelope’s direction.
“I thought she was supposed to be back in the city,” Libby sai
d as she caught sight of Penelope.
“Obviously not.”
“See, Bernie, I told you we shouldn’t have come,” Libby hissed. “Let’s go home.” The last thing she wanted to do right now was discuss the show.
Bernie was just about to agree when Penelope turned and waved to them. “Hi,” she called out over the sound of the newscast on the TV. From the look on her face and the way she was tapping her nails on the bar, Bernie decided she wasn’t a happy camper. But then, most producers Bernie had met weren’t.
Bernie tried to think of an excuse not to join her, but she couldn’t. If it had been the weekend, the place would have been so jammed she could have pretended she hadn’t seen or heard Penelope, but this was Tuesday and that wasn’t happening. Tuesdays were always slow nights at RJ’s. There were ten people sitting at the bar, a handful at the tables, and another handful split between the dartboard and the pool table.
“We have to talk to her, don’t we?” Libby said out of the corner of her mouth.
“I’m afraid we do,” Bernie replied. “Unless you can think of a reason not to.”
Libby shook her head. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t come up with anything. “Sorry,” she said.
Libby took a deep breath, and she and Bernie plastered smiles on their faces and made their way over to where Penelope and her assistant were sitting. Discarded peanut shells crackled beneath their feet as they walked. It was one of the things Bernie liked about the place. That and the popcorn machine, the bowls of shell-your-own peanuts and pretzels on the counter, and the dusty old beer ads mounted on the wall. Or maybe, Bernie decided, she liked the place because she and her friends had been sneaking in here since they were seventeen. Of course, there was the fact that Brandon worked here—always a plus. The biggest plus, actually.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Penelope said as Bernie and Libby took seats next to her.
“I thought you’d be back in the city by now,” Bernie said.
Penelope shook her head. “We reality TV producers never sleep. I was just about to call you.”
“Really?” Bernie said.
“Yes, really,” Penelope answered. “But before I tell you why, I’d like to thank you for siccing the ladies of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club on me.”
“Siccing is a little extreme, don’t you think?” Bernie asked. “Given Millie’s accident, the ladies had questions about the taping schedule, and I told them you were the person to answer their questions. That is your job, isn’t it?”
A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) Page 10