“It’s sad, really,” Libby said to her sister when Bernie came back from setting up the coffee urn in the living room, “that Leeza doesn’t seem to have had any friends.”
“Maybe that’s because she was such a bitch,” Bernie replied.
Libby lifted her head up. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Bernie snorted. “Why not? It’s the truth.”
“You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead.”
“Why? Because they’ll come back and haunt you?”
Amber stopped rubbing cloves of garlic over slices of French bread. “They will?” she squeaked.
“Jeez,” Bernie told her. “It was just a figure of speech. All I’m saying is that I’ve never understood why when someone dies they automatically turn into a saint.”
“Maybe it’s because they can’t defend themselves,” Libby replied.
“Why do you always have to be so namby-pamby?” Bernie asked.
“And why can’t you use normal words?” Libby demanded. She patted the tomatoes she’d just washed dry, placed them on the cutting board, then picked up a knife, sliced one tomato, and put the knife down. “I have to say though that Jura seemed more upset about the caviar than he did about Leeza.”
“Exactly.” Bernie got out the creamer and began filling it.
Libby picked up her knife again and looked at the tomatoes. She didn’t want to think of where this conversation was leading. She had enough to worry about. Like when were the police going to let them out of here. Like the muffins she had to bake for tomorrow morning for the store. Like what would they do with the food and the cake? Like would Jura pay her the rest of the money he owed her? At least she’d gotten most of it up front.
“I don’t suppose anyone’s seen any basil?” she asked.
Bernie and Amber both shook their heads.
Libby sighed. She was just thinking that the tomato and mozzarella sandwiches would have to get made without it when Bernie’s cell phone rang. “That has the most annoying ring,” she said to Bernie as she retrieved her phone from the counter and placed it to her ear.
“Hi Ina,” she said. “How’s lunch going?” There was a pause and then she said, “What do you mean he’s not there?”
“Who’s not there?” Libby asked.
Bernie turned her face from the phone to answer. “Dad. He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Exactly what I said. Ina went upstairs with his tray and no one was there. Alice said she heard a noise on the stairs and when she looked out the window she saw Clyde loading Dad into his minivan.”
Libby could feel her chest constrict. She should have saved the cookie.
“Relax,” Bernie told her. “I’m sure everything is fine.”
Libby knew she was being ridiculous. She knew that Bernie was right, but her father hadn’t left his bedroom since he’d gotten sick three years ago because he’d refused to be seen in his wheelchair. She told herself there had to be a reasonable explanation for his disappearance, but offhand she couldn’t think of one.
Chapter 9
Twenty minutes later, Sean and Clyde were at the back kitchen door watching Amber, Libby, and Bernie working. There had been a few minutes there Sean reflected when it looked as if the police weren’t going to let them through the gate, but good old Clyde had played the concerned parent card and ended up convincing them to let them in. Sean was just thinking about how lucky he was to have a friend like that when Libby turned around and spotted him.
She ran over. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.
Sean threw his arms out and put on his biggest smile. Always take the offensive when possible. When it wasn’t, play dumb. “Hey, what’s this? I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
“Pleased to see you? Pleased to see you?” Libby cried. “We’ve been worried sick. Ina called and told us you weren’t there.”
Clyde sighed. “Told you we should have waited around, Cap. Guess she didn’t get the message on her answering machine.”
“Evidently.” Bernie took the kitchen towel she had slung over her shoulder and wiped her hands. “Ina was very upset.”
“She said that?” Sean asked.
“No. But I could tell from her voice.”
“That’s too bad.” Sean hoped he looked properly contrite. “She’s a nice lady.”
“Yes, she is,” Bernie replied. “What am I going to tell Rob?”
“Tell your boyfriend the truth. He’ll understand.”
“I’m not sure he will.” Bernie took a deep breath and folded her arms across her chest. It was weird but she felt like the parent. “Now what are you doing here?”
Sean looked his daughter straight in the eyes and lied.
“I came to make sure you girls were okay. Your dad was worried about you.”
“Really?”
Sean looked in Clyde’s direction. “Isn’t that so?”
“Sure is, Cap.”
Sean decided that Bernie looked unimpressed. When Bernie put her hands on her hips and leaned towards him he realized he should have tried something else.
“That is a load of BS, and you know it,” she told him. “At least if you’re going to lie put some effort into it. You’re Irish for heaven’s sake. You ought to be able to do better than this.”
“Now you’re maligning your ancestors.” Sometimes doing indignant worked, but Sean could see from the expression on Bernie’s face that it was having no effect on her, either. Not that he was surprised. Of the three women in his life, she was the one who was hardest to fake out, the one least likely to defer to him, the one—unfortunately—most like him.
“Don’t try and change the subject,” she told him.
“I’m not.”
“Oh yes, you are. You always do.”
“How can you say that?” Sean protested.
“Because it’s true. If you didn’t want to have lunch with Ina that badly why didn’t you tell Libby or me when we made the arrangements?”
Sean decided he’d rather have his teeth pulled without Novocain than continue with this discussion.
“Look,” he said. “I thought that you’d be glad I finally got out of the house, but if you want me to go back home . . . .”
Bernie lifted her hands in the air and dropped them. “Don’t do your poor me, humble pie act with me,” she told him.”
Sean turned and appealed to his eldest. “Libby,” he said.
Libby sighed and went over and planted a kiss on his forehead. Sean grinned. Libby could never stay mad at him for long. Just like his wife. “So tell me what’s going on?”
Bernie glared at him, but Sean could tell she was thawing.
“Come on,” he told her. “You know that you want to.”
Bernie wavered for another second, but it was obvious to Sean that was just for show.
“Fine,” Bernie said and she and Libby filled him in.
“Alex Fisher?” Sean said when Libby and Bernie were through with their recital.
“You mean Officer Fisher?” Bernie asked.
Sean nodded. He and Clyde exchanged glances.
“What about him?” Bernie said.
Clyde stroked his chin. “Let’s just say he’s not real fond of your dad.”
Libby looked towards the living room. She really had to get another pot of coffee going so she could refill the coffee urn. “Why’s that?” she asked.
“Because your dad ticketed him for indecent exposure.”
“He was taking a leak outside of R.J.’s,” Sean said, chuckling as he recalled the incident. “As he’d just given your uncle a speeding ticket in West Vale, I decided to return the favor.”
Bernie tapped her ring against her teeth. “Well, that explains a lot,” she said.
“It certainly does,” Sean agreed. Things, he decided, were on the upturn.
“Dad,” Bernie began, “as long as you’re here, I was thinking. . .”
Never a good sign, Sean
knew. “Yes?” he said in a cautious voice.
“I was just thinking that you might want to see the arms room and kinda check things out.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Libby told him. “You shouldn’t be going there.”
“Sure he should,” Bernie replied.
“And why would I want to do that?” Sean asked.
“Hum.” Bernie laid a finger on her cheek. “Let’s think. Because you owe me for standing Ina up. She’s a very nice lady.”
“I’m not sure I agree about owing you.”
“Really?” Bernie said.
“Yes, really,” Sean replied although he wasn’t sure that he liked the smile playing around his daughter’s lips.
“Fine then. If you want to stay here I’ll just nip into the living room and tell the Walker sisters you’ve arrived. I’m sure they’ll want to speak to you.”
Sean looked at his daughter in horror. He’d known they were here; but, in his haste to get away from Ina’s ministrations, they’d slipped his mind.
“That’s blackmail.”
“No. It’s creative motivation,” Bernie replied complacently.
“You wouldn’t.”
“You know I would.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Clyde asked.
“No, you don’t,” Bernie told him. “You shouldn’t have helped him run away from Ina. That was rude.”
“But . . .” Clyde began but before he’d gotten the next word out of his mouth Sean interrupted him.
“I’ll do it,” he told Bernie.
Libby looked dismayed. Sean was sorry he was upsetting her, but he knew there was no appealing to Bernie once she an idea in her head. She would tell the Walker sisters he was here, and the idea of listening to a polemic on Marxism and the evils of the capitalist West, not to mention a cross-examination of his personal life, was more than he could bear right now, even for Libby’s sake.
“All right,” he told her. “What am I looking for?”
“Crossbows and arrows.” And Bernie described the arrow embedded in Leeza Sharp’s chest.
“Sounds like a carbon one to me,” Sean said.
“Whatever. You’re looking to see if there are any there that match that one.”
“And why do you care?”
“Because I’m curious,” Bernie said. “Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
Sean had to allow as how it was. Certainly that motivation had operated in his professional life more than he would like to admit.
“And, oh yes,” Bernie said flashing a defiant look at Libby. “I’m coming along with you.”
“Can you tell me where the room is that they keep the weapons in?” Bernie asked the burly man hurrying down the corridor. She’d gotten her and her dad lost, which given the way the mansion was laid out was fairly easy to do.
The man made a miniscule adjustment to his uniform jacket before replying. “The arms room is in the second corridor, third door to the left.”
“You work here?” Bernie asked him.
The man gave a slight bow. “Yes, Madam. I am Mr. Jura’s personal assistant. Are you one of the hunting party?”
“Yes,” Bernie lied thinking as she did that this guy could bench press lots of pounds.
“Because you’re quite early. In fact, Mr. Ditas did not expect anyone until tomorrow after the ceremony.”
“Our transportation arrangements got confused,” Sean told him. “Ditas knows. I e-mailed him.”
The man looked at Sean but didn’t say anything. It was the look of a person used to assessing people, Sean decided. A cop look.
“What’s your name?” Bernie asked him.
“Vladimir, Vladimir Meyers.”
“Well, Vladimir, you’ve been very helpful, but I think we can manage on our own from here on out.”
Vladimir bowed his head to indicate he’d heard, then turned and hurried off in the direction he’d been going.
“You think he believed us?” Bernie asked her dad after Vladimir had rounded the corner.
“No. I think we should pick up the pace.”
Bernie nodded her agreement. “Hunting, huh?”
“You ask me, someone’s gotten an early start.”
“True enough,” Bernie replied. She moved her ring up and down her finger. “What I want to know is why would an Estonian have a Russian working for him considering what Russia did to Estonia?”
“From what you told me about Jura that might be the point,” Sean told her.
“You might be right,” Bernie conceded as they moved in the direction Vladimir had indicated. She pointed to the portraits lining the walls as they went by. “Do you think there’s a Decorate a Castle company in the phone book? You know, you just call and they bring over all the family portraits, crests, everything a social climber needs?”
Sean laughed. “I can’t imagine living in a place like this.”
“Me either,” Bernie agreed.
Five minutes later they had finally located the arms room.
“This room is like something out an English country house,” Sean said looking around.
He hadn’t spent time watching Public Television for nothing. There were plaster busts dotted around the room and trophies hanging on the wall that ranged from deer to tiger heads.
“Well these people definitely hunt,” Bernie observed.
“They most certainly do,” her father agreed as his eyes took in the rest of the room.
The windows were flanked by heavy drapes and the walls were painted a dark green and hung with weapons, both new and old. These people had everything from old silver-plated Remington rifles, antique Smith & Wessons to AK-47s, Glock 9mms, and .22s.
“The hell with hunting. These people are serious weapon collectors,” Sean observed. “You could arm a small military force out of this room. I’m surprised they don’t have rocket launchers around some place.”
Bernie pointed off to the far wall on the right. “I think what we want is over there, beyond Homer’s bust.”
Sean headed off in that direction on his motorized wheelchair.
He stopped when he was about a foot away and gazed up at the wall. The cross and compound bows were neatly arranged in a horizontal line. There were no gaps, which meant none of them were missing, although that didn’t mean that someone hadn’t used one from here and replaced it with a similar one. Unfortunately there was no way to tell by eyeballing. The arrows might be a better bet.
“You know, Bernie . . .” he was saying when he heard footsteps. He turned around just as Officer Fisher entered the room.
“Well, well,” he told Sean when he saw him. “You’ve definitely made my day.”
That was fast, Sean thought as he took in the gleam in Alex Fisher’s eyes. Vladimir must have gone straight to the cops.
Chapter 10
Libby glanced at the clock on the wall. She couldn’t believe it was only ten o’clock. It felt like two in the afternoon, possibly because this was the first break she’d had since she’d opened the doors at seven-thirty this morning. The store had already sold out of scones, and they were nearly out of muffins. Nothing like a little murder to bring in customers, she reflected. At least this time she’d known enough to bake extra.
Boy, she would have given anything if she could have closed up shop and gone back to bed. But that was not going to happen. Libby looked at the clock again. The minute hand had scarcely moved. She had nine more hours to go. It was going to be a long, long day.
And on top of everything else—thanks to Bernie—her eyes felt as if they had grit in them. Libby began rubbing them, then stopped herself. It felt so good, but she knew it would only make them worse. What she needed were some eye drops, which, unfortunately, were in the bathroom upstairs, meaning she’d have to climb a flight of steps to get them.
Libby took another sip of her coffee while she debated whether or not it was worth the trouble. After a moment, she decided it wasn’t. Her eyes would just have to go on stinging.
What with everything that had happened yesterday it was a little after midnight by the time she’d left the West Vale police station. Clyde had told her to go home, but she couldn’t. The only good thing was that one of Clyde’s buddies was a judge and he’d come out to the courtroom.
When she’d gotten home she’d gone straight to bed, but she was still so angry all she’d done was toss and turn. Then, just when she was drifting off to sleep her alarm had rung.
Somehow she’d managed to drag herself out of bed and stumble down to the kitchen to do what she’d been too tired to do the night before: put the chickens up for the chicken salad and grill the tuna for the salad nicoise. Then she’d started in on the homemade mayonnaise but for some reason the eggs and oil had refused to emulsify and after remixing it, she’d been forced to throw out the batch and whip up a new one.
Next she’d cooked and peeled the new potatoes for the potato salad, blanched the string beans for the bean and tomato salad, and baked the quail originally intended for the wedding dinner, and after that she’d tackled the raspberry and blueberry scones and baked the lemon ginger, carrot, and chocolate chip muffins. By the time she was done she would have given anything to have crawled back into bed.
Libby added another spoonful of sugar to her coffee and stirred. Her sister could go without much sleep, but she’d always needed at least seven hours, ten was even better, and yet between last night and staying up the night before to finish the wedding cake she hadn’t gotten more than two hours sleep in the last two days.
When she thought about it, it was a miracle she hadn’t cut or scalded herself this morning. Of course, she could have woken Bernie up and gotten her to help. But then she would have had to have talked to her and Libby hadn’t been ready to do that yet. By seven o’clock this morning though, she’d been forced to concede she would have to—not that her sister knew that Libby wasn’t speaking to her since Libby hadn’t informed her of that fact, which was good because it relieved Libby of the humiliation of asking Bernie for her help.
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