“Meaning?” Bernie asked.
“Obviously meaning we will take care of the problem ourselves,” Gertrude told her.
“But you can’t,” Bernie protested.
“Of course we can. In other circumstances we would invoke the justice system, but since the justice system in this country is controlled by the capitalist cabals . . .”
“Don’t you mean cabal as in singular,” Bernie interjected.
Gertrude ignored her and continued on. “To wit, we as the proletariat have the right and the duty to perform this function.”
“And how would you do that?” Bernie asked feeling both horrified and fascinated at the same time.
“By any means necessary,” Eunice said.
She stood. Gertrude followed.
“We are leaving for Tanzania at the end of the week,” Gertrude announced. “So we expect this matter to be resolved by then. If it isn’t, we’ll want our money back.”
“We will expect to hear from you,” Eunice said.
Bernie watched as the two women turned and marched down the stairs. “Tell me they’re not thinking about doing what I think they’re thinking about when they said they’d take care of the problem themselves?” she said to her father after she’d heard the door shut.
“That was quite a sentence,” Sean replied. “But yes, I think they might have been talking about killing him.”
“No they weren’t,” Libby objected.
“Then what were they saying?” Sean demanded.
“That they’d take care of the problem.”
“And exactly how are they going to do that?” Sean asked when Libby didn’t reply.
“Don’t be silly,” Bernie protested. “Eunice and Gertrude couldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Maybe,” Sean said. “But remember when they thought their neighbor had killed their cat and they rigged the door handle of his car so that he got a shock when he touched it? Or when they were going to make a bomb in their basement and blow up the bank to protest their loan policies towards minorities.”
Libby went over and got a cookie. “That was a long time ago,” she protested. “They were a little more . . . intense . . . then.”
“People don’t change,” Sean replied.
He massaged his forehead. He should have known better than to have anything to do with the sisters. They were like Mary and her lamb, only wherever they went chaos followed.
Bernie got up and started pacing. “But the bomb didn’t go off, and they shorted out the car.”
Sean looked up at his daughter. He wished she’d sit back down. Watching her was making his head worse.
“Okay,” he said. “So maybe this time they won’t get fancy. They’ll get real simple and decide to shoot this guy instead. They’ve won trophies for skeet shooting in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Shooting at a clay pigeon is different than shooting at a person,” Bernie retorted.
“With them you never know,” Sean said.
“You’re just saying that because you don’t like them,” Bernie protested.
“No,” Sean said. “I’m saying that because they’re crazy, and you never know what a crazy person is going to do. That’s what makes them dangerous.”
“Maybe he’s right, Bernie,” Libby chimed in. “I mean what if they did do something awful.”
“They’re not going to.”
“But what if they do?” Libby insisted.
Bernie moved her ring up and down her finger. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to cover our bases,” she conceded. “What would you suggest?” she asked her dad.
Sean motioned for the phone. “I think it’s time to call Clyde.”
Libby ate the rest of her cookie. “Why?”
“Hopefully,” Sean said, “he’s going to make sure that Eunice and Gertrude don’t hurt anyone or get hurt themselves.” Because calling the cops was out of the question. His dear, departed wife would never forgive him if he did.
Sean watched Clyde tuck into a piece of Libby’s blueberry pie.
“You didn’t have to come over,” he told his old friend. “We could have talked on the phone.”
“And miss the pie?” He patted his stomach. “After all I can’t let this shrink down. That’d make my doctor too happy. So, Libby,” he gestured towards his plate. “What kind of thickener do you use in your pie?”
“Just a teaspoon of tapicoa. Otherwise the filling gets too gummy.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Clyde said as he took another bite. “My dear wife puts in five or six tablespoons of flour. Way too much.”
Sean took a taste. There was no denying it. The pie was stellar. In his opinion it was the pinch of cinnamon that made it.
“So?” he asked Clyde as he decided that Clyde ate faster than anyone else he knew. “What do you think?”
“About the sisters?”
“Well, I know what you think about the pie.”
Clyde put his fork down and dabbed the sides of his mouth with his napkin before speaking.
“Okay,” he began. “From what you tell me their comments could be interpreted as a threat. Is it a credible threat? It might be, but then in my experience lots of people make threats and most of them don’t carry them out. And Eunice and Gertrude are always running off at the mouth about something or other. Of course they do have those rifles and they are good shots.”
“Very good shots,” Sean reiterated. “I think it’s better to err on the side of caution in this case.”
Clyde drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “We’re talking about covering the sisters for five days at the most, right?”
“That is correct,” Sean said.
“And then they’ll be out of the country,” Bernie interjected, “so we don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
Clyde nodded. “The problem as I see it is manpower. I can put in a couple of hours trailing around after them and so can a couple of my friends, but they’re gonna be times when I can’t get anyone on them. Although we are talking about two senior citizens here. They can’t be doing too much.”
“You’d be surprised what they can do if they put their mind to it,” Sean noted.
What had Rose once called them in a moment of absolute exasperation? It had been something like havoc and woe, hadn’t it?
“What about using Marvin as a fill-in,” Bernie suggested. “Unless we have something like a typhoid epidemic he usually has some spare time on his hands.”
The last time he was in a car with Marvin flashed through Sean’s mind.
“Why don’t we hold him in reserve,” he suggested.
Libby’s mouth turned down. “Why? He’s a good driver.”
“No, he’s not. We almost got into four accidents in less than an hour.”
“You were yelling at him. You made him nervous.”
“Okay. Okay.” Sean put his hand up to stop Libby from talking. “Marvin can help. If it’s okay with Clyde.”
Clyde nodded. “It’s fine with me.”
After all, Sean thought how hard was it going to be to keep tabs on Eunice and Gertrude? Even Marvin should be able to manage that.
Chapter 27
Libby was studying the bunches of zinnias for sale at one of the stands in the West Vale Green Market when her cell phone rang. It was Bernie.
“What do you mean Clyde lost them?” she demanded. Then she lowered her voice as the man in front of her shot her a nasty look and said something to the effect of people talking on cells should be shot. “How could Eunice and Gertrude disappear? It’s not as if they’re exactly inconspicuous.”
“Clyde said he was following them in the mall and they went into the ladies room and they never came out. Or rather, to be precise, he didn’t see them when they did. After twenty minutes, he asked a woman to go in and check and they weren’t there.”
Libby thought for a moment. “I bet they put on wigs.”
“I bet you’re right,” Bernie agreed. “If they had regular brown hair no one would
notice them. And maybe they changed their clothes to something a little drabber than usual.”
“Which meant they knew Clyde was following them,” Libby concluded, glad that it wasn’t Marvin that had screwed up.
“And they’re not at their residence here,” Bernie added. “Clyde already checked. Then he and Dad drove down to the city and schmoozed up the doorman at Eunice’s and Gertrude’s apartment building. They haven’t come back there either. Dad said Clyde is really pissed.”
“I’m sure he is,” Libby said.
“Serves him right for being overconfident,” Bernie said.
“Agreed,” Libby said. “So what now?”
“Well, Clyde is going to keep a watch on the Stanford Place in case they come back there and he asked Marvin to keep an eye on Eunice’s and Gertrude’s apartment building down in the city. I mean they have to turn up sometime, right?”
“Right,” Libby said as she dodged around a woman with a stroller. “Although . . .” She hesitated.
“What?” Bernie said.
“Well, they’ve obviously picked up on Clyde. Maybe they’ve checked into a hotel.”
“That wouldn’t be good,” Bernie said.
“No it wouldn’t, would it?” Libby agreed. “Not good at all.”
“Well, let’s not think about that at the moment. How are things coming on your end?”
“I’m just about to make contact now,” Libby told her.
“And you remember what you’re going to say?”
“Every word,” Libby told her and she clicked off, dropped her cell in her bag, and plunged into the greenmarket.
Although now that she was actually here, the plan she and Bernie had worked out last night over a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade and about a pound of ginger cookies seemed disingenuous at best. What if the cook didn’t come up with the answers she wanted? Then what? How she was going to move the conversation from food to Leeza Sharp?
Of course it had been her idea to try to run into the cook here. She was positive she’d show up at the greenmarket. Why go to the supermarket when you could get wonderful and interesting produce for less? She figured the cook would be here around eleven after the vendors set up because that’s when the best stuff was available. After twenty minutes or so of waiting, sure enough there she was, a canvas shopping bag dangling from her wrist, sipping from her cup of coffee.
Libby watched her study the piles of carrots in one of the booths. Her attention was totally focused on the vegetables as she picked up first one bunch of carrots, put it down and reached for the next one.
She looked the way she had the last time Libby had seen her, small and nondescript. Only this time she was dressed in a denim skirt, T-shirt, and sneakers. A baseball cap was perched on top of her head. As Libby moved towards her she noted that her hands and shoulders were out of proportion for her size which made Libby wonder if hers were too from all that chopping and lifting and stirring she did.
“What do you think of these carrots?” Libby pointed towards a small bunch of carrots that were dark red. “Have you tried them? I understand they’re sweeter.”
The cook looked up and shook her head. “Jura and his brothers are very unadventurous when it comes to food. They’d never eat carrots that color.”
“It must make your life boring,” Libby said.
The cook shrugged. “A little, but working there beats working in a restaurant any day of the week. So what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to try the goat cheese from Albemare Farms. I hear it’s quite good.”
The cook pointed to her left. “They’re over in the third aisle towards the back. Their feta isn’t bad, though it’s a little too tangy for my taste.”
“So how are things back at the estate?” Libby asked.
The cook sighed. “Pretty much back to normal, except now we have all this construction since Jura decided to build a large outdoor entertaining center down by the creek where the tent was. Silly waste of money if you ask me.
“And the falcons don’t like the commotion one bit. Joe said something about moving them to the hunting preserve for the duration. It couldn’t happen soon enough to suit me. Beady-eyed little buggers give me the creeps.”
Libby picked up a bunch of red carrots and indicated to the seller that she’d take them.
“The Walker sisters said everyone is still very upset. Must make it difficult for you. I’ve always found people are crabbier when they’re emotionally overwrought.”
The cook harrumphed. “I don’t know why they’re saying that.”
“They said your niece told them that.”
Libby was interested to see the cook’s face darkening at the mention of her niece’s name.
“You know what college kids are like. They think they know everything.”
“Even when they don’t,” Libby said.
“Exactly,” the cook agreed.
“It must be nice to have a niece,” Libby continued. “I don’t think my sister will ever get married.”
“I’ll give this one to you,” the cook said. “She’s a real piece of work.”
“She’s young.”
“Not so young she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
The cook looked up and motioned for someone to come over. Libby followed her gaze. It was Vladimir. Damn, what’s he doing here, Libby thought as the cook nodded in his direction.
“She even tried to go after him. And then she got mad when nothing happened. And then she got even madder when I laughed. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but when I explained why I was laughing she called me . . . well she called me something I don’t want to repeat . . . and walked out leaving me to finish prepping for a dinner for twenty people.”
“I don’t understand,” Libby said.
The cook made a derisive sound. “Can’t you tell?” she said.
“Tell what?”
“Vladimir is gay.”
“No, he’s not.”
The cook pointed to the man standing near Vladimir. “There’s his boyfriend right there. Not that Jura knows about him,” she added. “Vladimir would be out on his ass if he did. He doesn’t like men that are light in the loafers, if you get my drift.”
“Definitely,” Libby said as Vladimir came over.
He, his friend, the cook, and Libby chatted for a few moments. Then Libby said goodbye and moved on. She still had to talk to the shopkeepers about the Raid brothers. After all, someone had to do it and Libby had decided it might as well be her. Besides, one of the stores carried the type of almond paste she needed for tomorrow’s pear and almond tart.
“Light in the loafers, huh? I haven’t heard that expression before,” Bernie mused as she watched Libby unpacking the loot she’d scored at the farmer’s market. “I wonder where it comes from?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Libby said as she regarded the bunches of emerald green arugula she’d just purchased.
Maybe she’d make a salad with the greens, a handful of chopped walnuts, and a sprinkling of parmesan cheese. The arugula looked so perfect she wanted to do something that would highlight the greens’ innate spiciness.
Bernie peeled away the broken tip of one of her fingernails. “If what the cook said is true, why do you think the niece said what she did to the sisters?”
Libby wrenched her gaze away from the arugula. “Haven’t the foggiest. Maybe Vladimir is bi and he did sleep with Leeza. But then if he is bi he wouldn’t be crazed with jealousy when Leeza went off with someone else, would he?”
“No, he wouldn’t be,” Bernie agreed. “Maybe the cook was lying about his being gay.”
Libby considered the possibility for a moment. “I didn’t get that feeling,” she replied. “Anyway, why would the cook lie about something like that?”
“I don’t know,” Bernie allowed.
“Sometimes you make things too complicated,” Libby observed.
“Maybe I do.” Bernie conceded. Her dad always said that s
implest is best. She looked at the bunches of stubby, red carrots Libby had just taken out of her shopping bag. “What are you going to do with those?”
“I thought I’d make them into a carrot salad, Moroccan style.”
Bernie picked up the bunch and weighed it in her hand. “It’s interesting because the first carrots showed up somewhere between the eighth or tenth century in Asia and they were a reddish purple. And here we are going back to the beginning again.”
“Indeed.” Libby took the carrots out of Bernie’s hand broke off the tops and started washing them.
“Did you talk to the shopkeepers?” Bernie asked her.
“Yes. Nothing of interest. The consensus seems to be: The Raids have standing orders placed; they pay their bills regularly; there is very little contact with the staff because the orders are delivered; and they don’t tip. Has Dad made any progress so far with the financial stuff?”
“Nothing of any interest. Bree was right. All of the Raid brothers’ living expenses are paid out of corporate funds and Raid Enterprises isn’t doing so well. Business is down around 30 percent, but then everyone’s is down. Except for security firms that is.”
“We’re not down,” Libby pointed out.
“No. We’re not, are we?”
“You know what interests me,” Libby said as she took a large saucepan, filled it with water, and placed it on top of one of the burners, “is that despite the dip in revenues, Jura spent all this money on the wedding. I would never do something like that. Talk about divisive.”
Bernie flicked a speck of dirt from one of the carrots off the counter. “Isn’t it though. For all practical purposes, the money for the wedding came directly out of Joe and Ditas’s pockets. I mean imagine what you’d feel like if I took all of the money out of our joint savings account—if we had one—and spent it on something for me.”
“I’d want to kill you.”
“Exactly my point,” Bernie said. “And then, on top of everything else, Leeza was an outsider.”
Libby gave Bernie a quizzical glance. “Outsider?”
“A non-Estonian. Not one of them.”
“So what?”
“Estonians are tight.”
A Catered Wedding Page 21