“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Marvin suggested.
“I know that,” Libby said. Then she looked at the crushed expression on Marvin’s face and thought, I have to be a little less sharp.
She looked at her watch. Bernie was supposed to have been here twenty minutes ago, but then she’d never known a time when Bernie wasn’t late and she wasn’t annoyed about it.
“She’ll be here soon,” Rob said.
He read my mind, Libby thought.
“Nice dinner,” he added.
Marvin turned to her. “I don’t think you’ve ever made anything I didn’t like.”
Libby could feel herself flush. It embarrassed her when people said nice things to her. The picnic had been impromptu but one of the nice things about running A Taste of Heaven was that there was always plenty of food around.
She’d simply gathered up some lemon chicken and roasted vegetables, added a potato salad, a green salad, sliced French bread, and several different varieties of fruit tart—all stuff she had on hand at the store—and packed everything in a picnic hamper and that had been that.
And now it was a little after eight o’clock and she, Marvin, and Rob were sitting in the park overlooking the Hudson, waiting for the sun to set. She breathed in the air, which smelled slightly of the river, watched a motorboat making its way downstream, and listened to Rob and Marvin chatting.
Rob, who was sitting across from her, took another sip of his beer. “So how did you get along with the old man?” he asked Marvin.
Marvin pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “He makes me nervous.”
“He makes everyone nervous,” Rob said.
“Even you?” Marvin asked.
Rob chuckled. “He would if I were driving him.”
Marvin pushed up his glasses. “I nearly had three accidents. In a row.”
“I’ve done worse,” Libby confided turning towards him.
“Dad used to have this demerit thing when he was teaching me how to drive.” She imitated his voice. “That’s one demerit. That’s two demerits. He made me so nervous that one day I stomped on the accelerator instead of the brake and went right into the front of Mrs. Johnson’s store.”
“It was years before he’d get in a car with her again,” Bernie said as she plopped down next to Rob on the blanket and hugged him. “He told Mom he’d rather bust a crack house than be in a vehicle when Libby was behind the wheel.”
“You’re making that up,” Libby told her.
“Well, maybe a little,” Bernie conceded. “Actually I should thank you for doing that. When he taught me how to drive he kept saying, ‘Now relax. You’re doing fine.’ Poor guy. He used to white knuckle it the whole time we were out.” Bernie laughed as she took Rob’s beer out of his hand and took a sip.
“Hey, drink your own,” he protested, taking the bottle back.
“Then get me one,” she told Rob. She began playing with the silver and onyx ring on her finger. “Dad really is a sweetie,” she assured Marvin. “He just doesn’t want to let anyone know it.”
Marvin shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You just have to tell him to back off,” Bernie said.
Marvin sighed. His shoulders slumped. “That doesn’t work with my father,” he replied. “It just makes him angrier.”
Bernie patted Marvin on the arm. “Well it works with our dad. If you have a good point he’ll listen, even if it looks as if he isn’t. Anyway, he said he had a good time with you.”
Marvin looked dubious. “He did?”
Bernie raised her hand. “I swear. Of course,” she reflected, “he also said you were a terrible driver and he’d never get in a car with you again.”
Libby interrupted. “Bernie, did Dad tell you what he told Ditas?”
“About coming around to talk to him? Yeah. He told me.”
“But why would this guy Ditas do that?” Rob asked as he opened a beer for Bernie and handed it to her. “I know I wouldn’t.”
“You might. People are strange. They like to talk.”
“That certainly covers you,” Rob observed.
Bernie whacked him with the flat of her hand and kept on going. “As I was saying, people like to talk, to explain themselves even when it isn’t in their best interest to do so. After all, confession is the basis of religion. And psychotherapy. It used to be the basis of most criminal justice systems before they went high tech. Dad was just giving him permission to do something that he wants to do anyway.”
Rob smirked. “I like it when you get all intellectual on me.”
Bernie snorted. “Everything comes down to one thing with you.”
“Which is what you love about me,” Rob retorted as Marvin put some more potato salad on his plate.
“It’s true Ditas was upset at the cremation,” Marvin noted after he swallowed. “But still. Talking to your dad?”
“Ten bucks says he will,” Bernie said.
Rob took out his wallet and slapped a ten-dollar bill down on the blanket. “A sawbuck says he won’t.” He looked at Marvin. “Are you in or are you out?”
“In. I guess.”
“Sucker,” Bernie crowed as she held out her hand for Marvin’s money. “Libby will hold it, won’t you?” she asked her.
“That’s me. Reliable,” Libby said.
Bernie patted her knee. “There, there. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I boosted two lipsticks in tenth grade,” Libby confessed.
“I’d forgotten about your criminal career,” Bernie said at the same time Marvin said, “You did?”
Libby nodded. “They called my dad and he came and got me. It was awful.”
“What did he do?” Marvin asked.
“Nothing,” Libby replied. “He just took me home. He said nothing he could do to me was as bad as what I could do to myself. It would have been better if he had hit me.”
Marvin lowered his voice. “I stole my dad’s BMW.”
“You’re kidding,” Bernie said.
“No. I did. I wanted to go to a concert in New Paltz and he wouldn’t let me.”
“Did he find out?” Rob asked.
“Oh yeah,” Marvin said.
Rob snorted. “Mine gave me a real good whack when he found out I’d taken his truck.”
“Mine didn’t talk to me for two months.”
“I think I’d rather be hit,” Rob said.
“I would have, too,” Marvin said.
Poor guy. How awful to have someone like that for a father, Libby thought as she watched Marvin shovel another spoonful of potato salad into his mouth. Now would be a good time to change the subject she decided.
“It would be nice if Ditas did come in and talk.”
“He will.” Bernie took a piece of the lemon chicken Libby had made and bit into it.
“Because,” Libby continued, “we haven’t turned up much, and the sisters called to tell Dad they’re coming in the day after tomorrow to talk to him.”
“Boy, I bet that’s going to make him happy.”
“I think he’d be happier if he had something to tell them.”
“I think he’d be happier if he were having a root canal. But he does have things to tell them,” Bernie countered.
“Like what?” Libby asked.
“Motives. We got lots and lots of motives.” Bernie touched the chicken leg to each finger as she enumerated each item. “We know that the brothers are having business problems. We know that Esmeralda is in love with Jura. We can surmise from what Marvin said about Ditas’s conduct at the funeral that he felt something for Leeza. We don’t know what that something is yet. But hopefully we will.
“I think we can also surmise from Jura’s decisions concerning the funeral that he was really pissed at his bride-to-be—unless the way he treated her body is some kind of weird Estonian ritual, which I’m pretty sure it isn’t because I went on the net and checked.”
“I don’t know,” Libby said dub
iously.
“When are Eunice and Gertrude arriving on Sunday?” Bernie asked.
“Around four. Why?”
“Good. That leaves us plenty of time.”
“To do what?” Libby asked even though she really didn’t want to know. She’d sleep better that way.
Bernie smiled. “We’re going to the estate tomorrow and try and talk to the household staff and see what else we can dig up.”
“It’s Saturday,” Libby protested. “Everyone will be home. Jura won’t let us in.”
“You’re quite right he won’t—if he’s there. No one is going to be at home. Everyone is at the hunting lodge for the weekend using big guns to shoot poor innocent furry creatures.”
“One of the things I like about you,” Rob said giving Bernie’s arm a squeeze, “is that you’re always so hesitant about giving your opinion.”
“And one of the things I like about you,” Bernie cooed, “is that you’re never sarcastic.”
Libby coughed and Bernie and Rob turned to face her.
“But how do you know that?” Libby asked.
“The cook told me.” Bernie finished the rest of her chicken and started on another piece. “I called up the house and told the cook I wanted to stop by this Saturday to drop off a thank you present for allowing us to use her kitchen and we got to chatting and she said that everyone was off hunting.”
“Then wouldn’t the staff be gone too?” Marvin asked.
Bernie nibbled the last scrap of flesh off the chicken leg with her front teeth, deposited the leg in the container reserved for bones, and wiped her hands on a napkin before replying.
“No,” she said when she was done. “They get every other Saturday off. Which is good for us.”
“But if no one is there,” Rob said. “What’s the point?”
Bernie reached for a fruit tart. “Someone I was going with once had a job—and I’m not making this up—on this big estate in Montana. The only thing he had to do was drive the owner’s Bentley around the property for exactly one mile at eight-fifteen in the morning. Then he brought it back to the door, kept the motor running, and waited for the owner to come out. Not bad, huh?”
“But why?” Rob asked.
Libby picked the slice of kiwi fruit off the top of the mini fruit tart and popped it into her mouth before replying.
“Because that’s what the owner wanted,” she said after she’d swallowed. “Something about breaking the engine in. The point is: If you’re rich no one questions you.”
Chapter 20
“You worry too much,” Bernie told Libby as the guard buzzed them through the gates of the Raid Estate. “I told you we’d get in.”
“They didn’t even bother to check and see if we’re expected.”
Bernie turned the windshield wipers on again. “Why would they? We’re caterers. No one gives people like us a second glance. For all practical purposes, we’re invisible,” Bernie said.
Libby picked off a speck of chocolate icing that she’d somehow managed to get on her white T-shirt.
“Not completely,” Libby said, thinking of the guard’s reaction to Bernie. He’d spent all the time Bernie had been talking to him staring at her boobs, not that Bernie seemed to care. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it.
“What do you mean?” Bernie asked.
“Nothing,” Libby replied as Bernie continued down the road that led to the rear end of the house. “I just thought Jura would have left instructions to keep us out. That’s all.”
“Why should he?” Bernie asked her sister again. “He didn’t know we were coming.”
Libby grunted. Bernie looked at her. She was staring out the window.
“Every time we come here it rains,” her sister complained.
“Seems to be the case,” Bernie agreed.
Again Bernie noted that the farther away from the front they got, the worse the road became. As she parked the van next to the entrance to the kitchen she reflected it was always interesting to see the non-public face of households. It was a little like peeking into someone’s bedroom. You got to find out what really went on. In the back of the Raid Estate the grass was overrun with weeds and there were no flowerbeds or specimen plantings. A line of five garbage cans stood up against the outside wall.
“Do you know,” Bernie said, “that in Estonia the groom’s friends try to kidnap the bride during the bridal procession and the groom has to defend her. How emblematic is that?”
“Emblematic?” Libby asked.
“The word originally meant a raised ornament on a vessel, but now it means . . .”
“I know what it means,” Libby snapped.
Instead of asking her why she’d asked then, Bernie opened her door. Over the years she’d noticed that her sister always got snarky when she was nervous.
“Shall we go?”
Libby began working at a cuticle with her teeth. “Dad said we should talk to the shopkeepers.”
“That was because we all decided we couldn’t get in the estate. And don’t worry,” Bernie assured her. “We’ll talk to the shopkeepers later.”
“I still think we should have discussed this with Dad,” Libby said. “He’s going to be upset when he finds out.”
“We’re not ten and he’ll get over it. Tell me something,” Bernie asked Libby. “Why did you come along with me if you feel this way?”
Libby sighed. “Honestly?”
“Yes. Honestly.”
“Because I didn’t think they’d let us in the gate.”
Bernie shook her head in mock dismay. “Oh ye of little faith. Well they did let us. And here we are.”
Libby studied the house for a moment before replying. “I still don’t think they’re going to talk to us. Why should they? They’d lose their jobs.”
Bernie pointed to the package of chocolate-chip cookies she’d taken from the store. “That’s why we have these along.”
“I think you’re giving them too much credit.”
“Well, cash would be better,” Bernie allowed. “Unfortunately I’m short of that commodity these days.”
“Fine. But you’d didn’t have to take the ones with the macadamia nuts,” Libby grumbled. “Macadamias are expensive.”
“I’ll buy you a jar,” Bernie told her.
Libby grunted again.
“Two jars.”
“Better.”
“That’s extortion,” Bernie complained.
“Take it or leave it.”
“Obviously I have to take it,” Bernie told her as she pulled up the strap of her camisole.
Instead of replying Libby opened the car door and got out. The girls walked to the back door. A moment later a young woman answered the door.
The woman was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and her bleached blonde hair was buzzed. As Bernie introduced herself and Libby she wondered how she’d do in a hair cut like that? It was a definite look for sure. Rob would probably hate it though.
When the woman began to speak she had a heavy accent that Bernie couldn’t place.
“Estonian?” she asked, hazarding a guess.
I must be right, Bernie told herself as the woman’s face lit up and she started babbling away. Bernie was getting one word out often when Joe Raid glided up behind them. Great, Bernie thought as she ignored Libby’s I-told-you-so expression. Okay. So maybe Dad was right. So much for interviewing the household staff.
But then Bernie thought: No. Joe Raid showing up like this might not be such a bad thing after all. In fact, it was a good thing. Neither she, her sister, nor her dad had spoken to him yet. This would be a good opportunity to find out a little more about him. Karma at work again. Maybe she should increase her meditation time.
“Yes?” he said.
Bernie pointed to the falcon perched on the leather gauntlet Joe was wearing on his arm.
“Nice peregine,” she said.
“That’s Maghid.” He scratched the back of her neck with his free hand. “I’m beginning her tra
ining. So you know something about these birds?”
“I’ve done a little reading. What made you become interested in falconry?” Bernie asked. “Not many people are.”
“I’ve always been interested in raptors. The idea of joining your spirit with something like this . . . to partake of a pastime that goes back three thousand years.” Joe shrugged as a man dressed in a T-shirt and jeans appeared next to him.
“Take her back to her cage,” Joe told him. He gave the bird another scratch. “Good-bye, my sweet. I will see you soon.”
He stripped the glove off as the man carried Maghid away. “They sense things you know. They sense things that people don’t. Now, may I help you?” he asked.
“Yes. We’re here to get our pots from the cook.”
“Ah.”
Bernie watched as Joe took a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his shirt, extracted one, lit it, and took a puff. His movements were methodical. The cigarettes were Camels, the lighter was gold. Probably Tiffany, Bernie decided.
As she watched him put his lighter back in his pocket Bernie had the feeling she could strip down naked and he wouldn’t care. So either he was gay or unlike his brother Ditas he wasn’t, in her mother’s phrase, susceptible to female blandishments. Bernie knew that there were some men like that—fortunately she hadn’t met too many of them.
Joe blew a cloud of smoke out into the air. “She did not tell me this.”
Bernie held out the box of cookies. “We’ve also come to give the cook a present for storing our stuff.”
Joe held out the hand without the cigarette. Bernie noticed that his nails were manicured.
“I will take them and give them to her.”
Bernie turned up her smile another couple of watts. “So how is Jura doing?” she asked. She’d always found that when you didn’t get the response you want, ignore it and try again.
“Jura?” Joe asked.
“Well all of you really. That was so terrible. On Leeza’s wedding day too,” she gushed.
“Yes, it was terrible,” Joe agreed. “The worst thing imaginable.”
But he doesn’t sound as if he means it, Bernie thought. He doesn’t sound that way at all. He could be talking about getting a parking ticket.
“And now with all your business problems.”
A Catered Wedding Page 16