A Catered Wedding

  “Doesn’t it though.” Libby wiped her hands on her jeans and began picking flour out from underneath her nails. “Maybe someone is switching product around. You know packaging one thing and selling it as something else. Osetra for beluga. Or paddlefish for sevruga.”

  Last one, Sean vowed to himself as he took a last bite of his ginger bar. “The old bait and switch. It’s heart warming to know the old scams never go out of style. The question as I see it is: Where did this happen? In Russia or here? Then the second question would be: How frequently is this occurring? And the third question would be: Who is responsible?”

  “I was just thinking,” Libby slowly said. “That if this were happening with a certain frequency you could ruin the name of the company, and in this kind of business, your name is your guarantee. If you don’t have that, you don’t have anything. I mean look at what would happen if I started serving bad food. A Taste of Heaven would be out of business in a month. Of course we don’t know that this is happening.”

  “We don’t,” Sean agreed. “You’re right. But for the moment let’s assume it is. Then we’re back to our first question. Where is this happening? In Russia? Here? Is actual caviar being switched or are empty tins marked Beluga being filled with an inferior product. To do that you’d need to buy the tins.”

  “Anyone could do that,” Libby observed.

  “Yes, they could,” Sean agreed. “But it would be easier for someone in the company.” A picture flashed though his mind of his mother canning tomatoes. “Of course you’d have to have a machine that seals tins. Not that that would be too hard to get.”

  “They sell them in most big home-store type places,” Libby pointed out.

  Sean thought about the Raid Estate. The place was enormous. Someone could set up a canning operation there. Hell, someone could put a herd of llamas in the garage and no one would be the wiser.

  “But what about the inventory?” Libby asked. “You can’t just have extra cans showing up or going missing. They must have a computer program to keep track of that.”

  “Good point. Which means,” Sean said after a moment’s thought, “either whoever is doing this is reselling the original product to someone and then refilling the tins, thereby making even more money, or someone in the company is fiddling with the books.”

  “If it’s taking place at Raid Enterprises,” Libby said.

  “Yes,” Sean said. “If it’s taking place at Raid Enterprises. But something tells me it is. Something tells me this has to do with the Raid family.”

  “Why do you say that?” Libby asked.

  “Just an old cop’s gut talking.”

  Libby nodded remembering how her father had always known when she’d done something wrong when she was a kid. Then she thought about Jura’s expression of surprise when he’d tasted the caviar.

  “Well, if it is a family thing I don’t think Jura is in on it.”

  “Which leaves his two brothers.”

  “Or it could be someone else in the company,” Libby pointed out.

  “Also true,” Sean agreed. “But in the meantime we should go speak to Joe.” When he’d run cases he’d liked to start with the principals. For him reading their faces always proved more illuminating than reading a crime scene.

  “And Ditas,” Libby added.

  “Definitely Ditas,” Sean concurred. “Definitely Ditas. Almost sounds like the name of a song. I can see someone tap dancing to it.”

  “Me, too.” Libby laughed. Then she broke off a piece of one of the ginger bars and ate it. These are very good, she decided. Using candied Jamaican ginger had kicked them up a notch. “So how does Leeza come into this?” she asked her dad. “After all that’s what we’re supposed to be investigating, isn’t it?”

  Sean stroked his chin.

  “Maybe Leeza was involved in the caviar scam.”

  “And he found out and killed her?”

  “It’s possible,” Sean replied. “Not that we have any proof. And she would need other people to pull this off.”

  “Maybe she was teamed up with Jura’s brother Ditas,” Libby pointed out. “He seems to have been the only one that cares that she’s dead.”

  “Maybe.” Sean wheeled his chair around so it faced the window “Or maybe Ditas was doing it and Leeza found out and was going to expose him to his older brother and he killed her to silence her.”

  Sean stopped talking. He could see waves of heat rising from the street. Things were too diffuse. He couldn’t get his hands around anything substantive, yet. But his gut told him that the more he and his daughters dug, the more likely that they’d find what they were looking for, even if they didn’t know exactly what it was yet.

  Over the years he’d found that’s the way these things proceeded. You just went out and talked to people and got these random pieces of information and eventually they all came together and made sense. He always thought that it was like doing a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. First you made the frame and then started fitting the pieces until eventually you came to the center.

  That’s why he was going over to the West Vale Country Club this afternoon. To hopefully hear what some of the club members had to say about the Raid brothers. Maybe that would shed some light on the situation.

  “What else did Bernie say?” Libby asked when her father didn’t say anything else.

  “That Esmeralda now has blond hair and implants. Big ones.”

  “How big?” Libby asked.

  Sean blinked. Bernie had said watermelon size but he wasn’t going to repeat that to Libby. “Big enough.”

  “She was all over him at the house,” Libby mused.

  “So Bernie told me.”

  “Maybe now that Jura’s free she’s decided to make a move . . .”

  “And,” her father continued, “Esmeralda knows that Jura liked Leeza . . .”

  “So why not try and copy some of the elements,” Libby finished. “After all, they worked before.”

  “Exactly,” Sean said, beaming at his daughter. She was definitely coming along.

  “I wonder if she helped Leeza out of the picture,” Libby said.

  Sean summoned up a picture of Esmeralda in his mind. He’d caught a quick glimpse of her before Fisher had bundled him off. She hadn’t struck him as someone who could engineer a booby trap, but that didn’t mean anything. Over the years he’d ceased being surprised by the talents people managed to summon up when they needed them.

  “She’s not on the top of my list,” Sean said. “But she’s definitely there.”

  “I don’t know,” Libby said. “As a motive I think love beats out money any day of the week.”

  “It certainly equals it,” Sean allowed.

  Chapter 17

  “It’s good you got the elevator installed,” Marvin told Sean as he loaded Libby’s dad’s wheelchair into his car. “Libby said it was really tricky getting it put in because the stairs are so narrow.”

  Sean grunted as he carefully maneuvered himself into the front seat of Marvin’s Outback. Marvin stuck his head in the door.

  “Here,” he said handing Sean one of A Taste of Heaven’s takeout bags. “Libby said to give these to you. She said they were for the trip.”

  Sean peeked inside. Libby had packed a dozen assorted bar cookies in there. Sometimes his daughter was a little much.

  “It’s only a half an hour drive,” Sean said. “We’re not going to Alaska.”

  Marvin shrugged and closed the passenger side door.

  “I could have gotten it,” Sean snapped.

  As Marvin winced Sean wondered how the kid had managed to survive up till now. He’d been here all of five minutes, and Sean was already annoyed with him. He’d been expecting to go with his friend Paul, but at the last minute Paul had gotten hung up in court and had to cancel.

  Since Bernie was still down in the city and Libby had to mind the store, she’d suggested Marvin. Given that he was the only possibility Sean had agreed. He didn’t know why the kid rubbed
him the wrong way, he just did. Maybe it was because he was always trying too hard. He was always just there. Like a sack of flour. Looking like he’d flinch the moment anyone said boo.

  But then Sean reflected he’d never liked the kid’s father either. But for different reasons. And there was the fact that Marvin’s father wasn’t real fond of him. Maybe because he’d caught Bob coming out a motel with one of his neighbor’s wives.

  But that wasn’t why Sean didn’t like him, even though he didn’t have much use for a man that cheated on his wife. No. It was that Bob had always impressed him as a cold sonofabitch. At least you couldn’t say that about Marvin. If anything, he cared too much.

  Sean took another gander at Marvin. His glasses were slipping down his nose, and his belly was tugging at his tee shirt. If this guy had to run a mile he’d probably drop dead from a heart attack. He’d never make the force.

  Why Bernie was so interested in hooking up Libby with Marvin was beyond him. It’s true Marvin was nice enough. And he was intelligent. Admittedly if he weren’t, he never would have gone to Cornell. But he didn’t know how to hold a hammer or cut down a tree or even replace a washer in a leaky faucet.

  Okay, maybe those things weren’t that important—it’s true you could always hire a plumber or a carpenter—but things just threw the guy. No, Sean thought, he wouldn’t want him covering his back out in the field.

  On the other hand, Marvin was better than Orion. He wouldn’t walk out on his daughter. That was a big plus. But it would also be nice if Marvin weren’t such a lummox. He couldn’t even get into his car without hurting himself, Sean reflected as he watched Marvin bump his head on the doorframe.

  Sean shook his head while he regarded the spectacle of Marvin trying not to wince in pain. Unbelievable.

  “So,” Marvin said way too brightly for Sean’s taste. “Ready to go?”

  Sean nodded.

  “You know, your daughter is a very good cook,” Marvin said as they pulled out of the driveway onto Ash Street.

  “Car! Car!” Sean yelled as Marvin almost sideswiped an oncoming Ford Explorer.

  Marvin braked and Sean fell forward.

  “Sorry,” Marvin said.

  Sean could see a trickle of sweat working its way down Marvin’s forehead. “It’s okay,” he told Marvin as he silently cursed Paul. “Just watch the road.”

  “Right. Right,” Marvin said and started up the car again.

  Sean watched him as he inched out onto the street. “You could go a little faster,” he finally said. At this rate they’d get to West Vale tomorrow afternoon.

  Marvin nodded and stepped on the gas. The Outback sprang forward.

  “Not that fast!” Sean cried as it looked as if the Outback was about to climb up the ass of the Toyota Land Cruiser in front of them.

  “Sorry,” Marvin repeated as he slowed down.

  “Better,” Sean said. He leaned back in his seat. It was going to be a long trip. They’d driven two blocks and despite himself Sean kept looking at Marvin. He was griping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were practically white.

  He was starting to remind him of a guy called Jitters. Jitters (he never had found out his real name) was a Vietnam vet that had turned up in town one day, stayed for a while, and left. Well, maybe Marvin wasn’t as bad. He was still functional. All you had to do with Jitters was yell “Incoming!” and watch him dive to the floor. Some of the guys had thought it was real funny before Sean had put a stop to it.

  “You can relax your grip on the wheel,” he told Marvin even though he’d sworn he wouldn’t say another word about his driving.

  Marvin nodded. Then he turned his eyes toward Sean. “Listen . . .” he began but before he could get any further Sean pointed to the street.

  “Concentrate on the road, please.”

  Nothing annoyed him more then someone who drove and looked at his passengers at the same time. He’d seen too many accidents happen like that. And that was especially true for someone like Marvin whose motor coordination skills were—to be charitable—down in the bottom quarter.

  But maybe he was being harsh, Sean reflected. After all Marvin probably wasn’t used to talking and driving at the same time. Most of the people he transported were dead.

  “You mind?” Sean asked, gesturing to the CD player.

  “Not at all.” And Marvin reached over and clicked it on.

  Strains of a Mozart sonata poured out. At least the kid has good taste in music, Sean thought as he turned and looked out the window. He had to give him that.

  As Marvin drove through Longely, going exactly thirty miles an hour, Sean thought about how when he was chief of police here he used to know every inch of this town. Every friggin’ nook and cranny. But not anymore. There had been a fair number of changes in three years. Some big. Some small.

  For example, Dobb’s ice cream stand on the corner was gone. They’d made the best coffee ice cream and hot fudge sauce he’d ever tasted. Now a small boutique selling really expensive children’s clothes stood there. Then the diner on the corner of the next block was out too.

  He’d liked going there in the morning to get bacon and eggs and hash browns. Now the place was under new management and everything there was three times the price. And the coffee. My God what a production. They had five different kinds that changed daily. Who wanted to decide whether you wanted it from Guatemala or Sumatra at seven o’clock in the morning? Not him.

  But that was the way it was. All the old places were closing up and being replaced by new, expensive, yuppie stuff. Like hardware stores with fancy garden hoses and fireplace screens that cost three hundred dollars a pop.

  If this kept up pretty soon he wouldn’t be able to afford to live here. But on the up side the value of the store had gone up. When he and Rose had purchased the place, they’d paid almost two-hundred thousand dollars. Now they could probably get double that. If not more.

  Sean snuck a quick look at Marvin as they drove out of town. He seemed to be doing a better job paying attention. When they were almost in West Vale, Sean decided he’d chance some conversation.

  “So I heard you were in charge of Leeza Sharp’s funeral,” Sean said.

  Marvin nodded but kept his eyes glued to the road. “Yes, Mr. Simmons.”

  “It’s Sean.”

  “Okay, Mr. Simmons.”

  “Sean.”

  “Right. Mr. Simmons. I mean Sean.”

  “So tell me about the funeral.”

  “I already told Libby.”

  “Well, tell me.”

  As Marvin pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose for what Sean was sure was the tenth time in as many minutes he wondered why he didn’t fix them. All it took was a mini screwdriver. Hell, they sold kits to do that in the hardware stores. They were even right by the checkout counters in supermarkets and mini-marts.

  Marvin hemmed and hawed.

  “Go on,” Sean prompted.

  “There’s really nothing to tell,” Marvin said after another moment’s hesitation.

  “Is this classified information I’m asking you?”

  Marvin let out a nervous little laugh.

  “No. But there wasn’t actually a service.”

  “Is that normal?”

  Marvin bit his lip.

  “Well?” Sean insisted. Marvin looked so miserable Sean almost felt sorry for him.

  “Not really,” Marvin stammered. “Most people have something.”

  “Something.” Sean repeated the word then paused. It was a trick he’d learned when talking to suspects. “Can you think of why Jura didn’t have a service?”

  “Well, clergy cost money,” Marvin blurted out. He put a hand to his mouth. “My father would kill me if he heard me saying that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sean told him as he could see the muscle jumping under Marvin’s right eye.

  Great, Sean thought, now he’s developing a tic and Libby’s going to blame me for it.

  Marvin gave S
ean a quick glance before looking at the road again.

  “He says I shouldn’t talk about our clients. He says that it’s bad for business.”

  “That’s true,” Sean agreed. “Up to a point. But we’re trying to solve a homicide here, so I don’t think the same rules apply. Do you?”

  “No,” Marvin stammered. “I guess not.”

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Sean said as he watched the twitch under Marvin’s eye. “So what happened?”

  “Just what I told Libby. There was no viewing. Jura chose an inexpensive casket. It was one of our least expensive,” Marvin confided. “He had me dress Leeza up in her wedding dress, and I put a crossbow in the casket and a butterfly pin . . .”

  “Butterfly pin?” Sean said. “You didn’t say anything about a butterfly pin to Libby.”

  “I thought I did.” Marvin turned to face him.

  “Road!” Sean yelled as Marvin started drifting into the oncoming lane.

  “Sorry,” Marvin said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me today.”

  “No problem,” Sean lied.

  He took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. He was sorry but Bernie was wrong. The kid was a basket case. The idea of Libby driving around with this guy filled him with terror. His daughter had to be able to do better than this.

  “Well, if you did say anything about a pin to Libby, she forgot to tell me,” Sean informed Marvin once he was sure Marvin’s eyes were on the road.

  “It was a small pin,” Marvin said.

  “Is that strange?”

  Marvin shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  “How come?”

  “Well people usually do that when they’re burying people, not cremating them.”

  “Interesting. Did you put anything else in the casket?”

  “No. Just the pin and the crossbow.”

  “What was the pin like?”

  “It was made out of enamel. I don’t think it was very expensive. Of course I’m not really that good with jewelry.”

  “Why do you think Jura did that?” Sean asked Marvin who was slowing down to read the street sign.

  “Like I told Libby, most people do it because they want to send along their loved one’s favorite things with them into the next life.”