A Catered Fourth of July

by Isis Crawford

  “Eight o’clock is hardly the middle of the night,” Bernie pointed out.

  “And accuse me of killing Jack Devlin.” Chuck hiccupped. “You got a lotta nerve. That’s all I can say.”

  Bernie watched his eyelids begin to close.

  He opened them again. “I think I need another drink,” he mumbled as he turned and stumbled into the house. Juno closed the door after him.

  “So much for finding whether he left before or after Jack Devlin was murdered,” Libby said.

  Chapter 28

  “Must be great being married to him,” Bernie said to Libby as they walked toward their van.

  “I don’t think she’s any prize package either,” Libby noted. “I wonder if she hit him with something?”

  “He probably deserved it.”

  “Possibly.” Libby sighed. “I don’t think that talking to them has gotten us any closer to solving this mess.”

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Bernie told her.

  “How do you figure?” Libby asked.

  Bernie brushed a fly away. “Maybe we stirred things up. Maybe somebody will do something.”

  “That’s a whole lot of maybes.”

  “It sure is,” Bernie agreed.

  The sound of a tugboat horn floated up from the Hudson River. A dog started singing along. Bernie paused and glanced back. The porch light had been turned on. The sisters continued walking to their van. A moment later, the sprinklers came on and Bernie jumped sideways to avoid getting drenched. “I bet they did that on purpose,” she muttered.

  Libby frowned. “Do you think Chuck was talking about Monica Lewis when he started talking about money being the motive?”

  “Who else?”

  “Then why didn’t Chuck give us her name?” Libby challenged.

  “Or her brother’s name. Remember we’re talking about David Nancy and Monica Lewis.”

  “True.”

  “Maybe Chuck thought we’d believe him more if he played the reluctant witness instead of giving them up.”

  “Maybe,” Libby said. “But Chuck didn’t strike me as a subtle kind of guy. He’s more of a bull-in-a-china-shop type of fellow.”

  “Maybe he was so drunk he blanked on their names.”

  “Now that I would believe,” Libby told her.

  Bernie clicked her tongue against her teeth while she organized her thoughts. “Nancy is a strong suspect,” she hypothesized. “Unlike Monica, he was near Devlin.”

  “And Chuck and Juno were not. I think we can cross them off our list. Juno was busy dancing and Chuck was behind the oak tree, a fact verified by Rick Evans.”

  “Or,” Bernie replied. “Maybe Chuck left early because he was bored.”

  “Or disgusted by the level of amateurism displayed,” Libby said.

  “Or maybe Chuck did hand Devlin the musket and he didn’t want to stick around to see what was going to happen.”

  Libby made a face. “That’s a stretch. The guy whose wife you are boffing comes up and hands you a musket. Would you take it?”

  “Well, when you put it that way, it does seem a little unlikely,” Bernie conceded. She was silent for a moment then she said, “I know we’ve already discussed this, but maybe the musket was meant for someone else. Maybe Jack Devlin getting the musket was an accident. Maybe the musket was meant for Marvin.”

  “Because of the shot someone took at him?”

  Bernie nodded.

  “Yeah. I’ve thought about that a lot.” Libby’s face was grim. “But I can’t figure out why anyone would do that. On the other hand . . .”

  “Lots of people had reason to want Jack Devlin dead,” Bernie said, finishing Libby’s sentence for her.

  “Too many people. Too many possibilities.”

  Bernie frowned. “Like Dad says, I guess we’ll just keep poking around until something turns up.”

  Libby sighed. “Hopefully for Marvin’s sake that will happen sooner rather than later.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Bernie replied as she started up the van. It came to life with a sputter and a cough. She wondered how much longer it would go before they had to replace it.

  “Do you think what Chuck Grisham was saying is true?” Libby asked after another moment of silence had passed.

  Bernie pulled out onto the road. “You mean about Jack Devlin’s death being about money?”

  “Yes.”

  “You just asked me that.”

  “I know. I just wondered if you wanted to revise your opinion?”

  Bernie thought for another moment. “It’s possible,” she admitted. “Unlikely, but possible. Though I still vote for sex.”

  “Me too,” Libby said.

  “Sex and money. The two big motivators for human behavior.”

  “And revenge,” Libby suggested. “Don’t forget that.”

  “A dish best eaten cold,” Bernie mused. “Or so they say. Do you believe that?”

  “No, I don’t,” Libby said as she bounced up and down in her seat. They were going over a stretch of potholed road.

  “Me either,” Bernie said, stopping for a herd of deer—seven to be exact—that were crossing the road.

  Recently, the deer population had exploded and they were all over the place, eating plants and shrubs, dining out of bird feeders, bounding across roads in the middle of the day. There was a lot of talk about shooting them, but the thought made Bernie sad. She didn’t care if the deer had become pests. They were elegant and graceful and she liked watching them. Plus, she didn’t garden. Eventually, the last of the deer, a doe and her fawn, ambled across the road and Bernie continued driving.

  “Too bad Hilda can’t really tell us what happened at the reenactment,” Bernie noted as they pulled up in front of the shop. “She was probably the only impartial observer out there.”

  “And she did like Jack Devlin,” Libby noted, flashing back to when he had picked up Hilda. “If pigs could coo, she would have.”

  “That’s right,” Bernie said, remembering. “Didn’t he say something to you and me like, don’t worry we’re old friends, before he picked her up?”

  “Yes, he did,” Libby said.

  “So that confirms Brandon’s story about Devlin and Juno hooking up.” Bernie looked around. No one was out. Everyone was in for the night. “Or at least it proves that Devlin was at her house.” She began to get out of the van, but Libby put out a hand to stop her.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “Let’s finish this up before we go inside.”

  “Works for me,” Bernie said and she closed the van door and faced her sister.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Libby said, continuing with what she’d been saying, “I bet Devlin wasn’t there to fix her toaster.”

  “Unless toaster is a word for a particular part of the female anatomy,” Bernie suggested.

  “Rick might well be right about Juno and Chuck. Maybe Chuck was jealous because of an affair she’d had with Devlin . . . especially if she was doing what she wasn’t supposed to be doing in their bed.”

  “Maybe Chuck came home and saw them together,” Bernie opined. “That would certainly do it.”

  “On the other hand,” Libby said, playing devil’s advocate, “we don’t know that she did have an affair. Just because he made that comment to Hilda doesn’t prove anything.”

  Bernie gave her sister an are-you-out-o f–your-mind look.

  “Okay,” Libby conceded. “So maybe it does.”

  “Why should she be different from anyone else?”

  “He hasn’t slept with everyone in town,” Libby said.

  “No. But he’s made pretty good in-roads.”

  Libby nodded, acknowledging the truth of Bernie’s statement. “I’ll say one thing for him. He certainly had a lot of energy. Given his extracurricular activities, it’s amazing he had time to work.”

  The sisters were silent for a moment.

  “So maybe Chuck is responsible,” Bernie said.

  “How did he give Devlin th
e gun?” Libby asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bernie admitted.

  “What’s his motive?”

  “Jealousy. Revenge.”

  “Why now?”

  “I don’t know that answer to that one, either,” Bernie confessed. She stifled a yawn. “I feel as if we’re just going around in one enormous circle.”

  “That’s because we are,” Libby told her.

  “Unfortunately,” Bernie said. They both got out of the van. Suddenly Bernie felt an overwhelming desire for some ice cream. The question was what kind? Did she want to go with salted caramel or peach? On the other hand, coffee ice cream also sounded good, especially if she put some salted roasted almonds and a small ribbon of chocolate sauce on top.

  There was vanilla in all its pristine purity with its flecks of grated Madagascar vanilla bean sprinkled through it, as well as a few grindings of black pepper. Sweet and spicy. The combination always worked. That would certainly be good plain, or with a few slices of Pennsylvania peaches and some raspberries she’d gotten from the farmer’s market sprinkled on top. Or she could always have a little bit of each. So many choices. Fortunately, there was enough time to sample them all. A banana split minus the banana was coming to mind.

  She was leaning toward that choice as she studied A Little Taste of Heaven’s shop window. They changed it six times a year. She and Libby had decided on a historical theme in keeping with the Fourth of July. They’d decorated it with sepia tinted photos of life in Longely in the 1800s, photos they’d borrowed from the Longely Historical Society and hung from the ceiling on strings. Old wooden milk crates they’d gotten at the grist mill had been placed upside down.

  They’d taken old tin and toleware—mostly trays and pie plates—put them on the crates and piled them high with sugar cookies and cupcakes iced in red, white, and blue after which they’d put glass milk bottles filled with sparklers in front of them. Their last touch had been draping old-fashioned red, white, and blue bunting around the window. At first, Bernie had been afraid there’d be too many elements, but somehow the whole thing worked.

  “It looks nice,” Libby said.

  “It looks very nice.” Bernie bent down, picked up a napkin lying on the sidewalk, and threw it in the garbage can. “I have to say, I think we do a good job.”

  “With some things,” a voice behind them said.

  Bernie and Libby spun around as a man stepped out of the alley shadows.

  Chapter 29

  “Oh, it’s you,” Libby cried, clutching her chest.

  “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lucy, aka Lucas Broadbent, Longely Chief of Police stepped closer.

  It was apparent to Libby and Bernie that he was not even remotely repentant.

  “What do you want?” Bernie demanded.

  “To talk to both of you,” he replied.

  “Why don’t you try calling instead of lurking around in the dark?” Libby demanded.

  “I’m hardly lurking, although as chief of police if I wanted to lurk I am fully entitled to do so. As it so happens, I was coming down after talking to your father and heard your voices, so now I’m talking to both of you, as well.”

  Lucy hitched up his pants. He was five-foot ten inches tall and weighed close to three hundred pounds. Since he’d taken over as the Longely Chief of Police his girth had increased every year. He reminded Bernie of an egg, with his smallish bald head, white skin, big belly, and small feet.

  “Wonderful,” she muttered. “The perfect end to a perfect day.”

  Lucy scowled at her. “What was that you said?”

  “Nothing. I merely said it was wonderful that you wanted to talk to us.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?” he demanded suspiciously.

  “No, of course not. My sister and I love talking to you, don’t we, Libby?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, my father often comments on how much he misses the talks you two used to have.”

  “Does he, now?” Lucy remembered their talks quite well. Enjoying them was not the phrase that came to mind.

  “Oh definitely,” Bernie said, backing up Libby.

  He took another step toward them. “I’ve had complaints about you.”

  “Complaints?” Bernie said.

  “About us?” Libby put her fingers to her lips. “Oh dear. That’s terrible. I’m appalled. Was it something we baked?”

  “We did have problems with the blueberry muffins this morning, didn’t we, Libby?”

  “I’ll say, Bernie. The berries kept on sinking to the bottom.”

  “That’s because we put too much milk in the batter.”

  “It was my fault,” Libby confessed. “I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”

  “My sister has a tendency to ditz out.”

  Lucy put his hands on his hips and glowered at them. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know about funny. Maybe moderately amusing,” Libby replied.

  “Or mildly humorous,” Bernie suggested.

  He shook a finger in their faces. “You two are going to get yourselves in a lot of trouble if you keep going down this road.”

  “Which road?” Bernie asked. “You mean like going down Main Street? I don’t know how we’d get to our shop otherwise.”

  “No, Bernie. He means that as a threat.”

  Bernie widened her eyes. “Wow, Libby. I did not know that.” She pressed her hands against her chest. “I’m really scared.”

  “Me too.” Libby turned to Lucy. “Why are you threatening us? That really isn’t very nice. We’re just trying to make a living.”

  “I’m not threatening you,” he told them, raising his voice in a fit of exasperation.

  “It sounded that way to me. Didn’t it sound that way to you, Libby?”

  Libby nodded her head. “Indisputably.”

  “I’m warning you.” Lucy’s words came out through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, why didn’t you say that?” Libby asked. “Warning’s much different than threatening.”

  “I’m not so sure, Libby.”

  “Maybe you should look it up on your cell, Bernie.”

  “And maybe you two can stop talking and pay attention to what I’m saying to you,” he gritted out.

  “Of course,” Bernie said.

  “You had but to ask,” Libby reiterated. “So is this about the muffins?”

  Lucy turned red. “No. It isn’t about the muffins. It’s about the questions you’ve been asking around town.”

  “You should have said that in the first place.”

  “I did,” he snapped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I didn’t know I was doing anything,” Libby told him.

  “What you’re doing is sticking your nose into the Jack Devlin investigation.”

  “It’s true we’re ascertaining a few facts,” Bernie conceded.

  “You’re doing a hell of a lot more than that. I just got off the phone with Rick Evans. He and his wife are not pleased.”

  “They don’t look like people who would be pleased. About anything. It’s not our fault that his grand plan went bad.”

  Lucy shook his finger at the girls again. “I want you to keep away from him. I want you to keep away from everyone.”

  “We would,” Libby said, “if you’d do your job and start investigating and stop targeting Marvin.”

  “You can complain to his lawyer after he’s arrested,” Lucy said.

  “Are you doing this because you don’t like my father and Marvin is my boyfriend?”

  Lucy sniffed. “I’m doing this because your boyfriend is guilty.”

  “You have no proof,” Libby cried.

  Lucy smiled. “The DA seems to think I do and that’s all I need.”

  “You are not going to arrest him,” Libby said.

  “Yeah. I am. And I’m going to enjoy doing it, too. Now I’m telling you two for the last time, leave this alone.”

&nbs
p; “And if we don’t?” Bernie asked.

  “You’re likely to find yourself in jail, as well.”

  Bernie turned to Libby. “He’s threatening us again.”

  “No, Bernie,” Libby corrected. “He’s warning us.”

  “You’re right. They are the same thing.”

  “If you think you can save him you are very, very wrong,” Lucy told them.

  “No. You are,” Libby said before turning to Bernie. “I think we’re done here, don’t you?”

  Bernie nodded.

  “Good. Because so am I.” With that Lucy turned, got in his car, and drove away.

  Libby and Bernie watched him go.

  “He really wants Marvin bad,” Libby observed once Lucy had turned the corner.

  “We’ve got to talk to the rest of the people on our list,” Bernie said.

  “And we have to find out if one of the muskets was marked or not,” Libby added.

  “Maybe Clyde can do that,” Bernie suggested.

  As it turned out, he couldn’t so Sean decided to do it, instead.

  Chapter 30

  While Bernie was out with Brandon talking to Sanford Aiken and Tony Gerard and Libby was filling a last-minute order for five coconut cream and four lemon chiffon pies, plus two strawberry shortcakes, Sean and Marvin were on their way to the Longely Police Department.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Marvin said as Sean lit a cigarette and cracked open the hearse’s front window.

  “You never think anything is a good idea,” Sean observed.

  “At the very least you should have told Libby where we’re going.”

  Sean inhaled and blew a smoke ring out the window. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t want to tell her because she wouldn’t think it was a good idea, either.”

  “I don’t want to tell her,” Sean said, “because she would have wanted to discuss it and we don’t have time for that. Clyde said everyone is going into a staff meeting now and he’s leaving the back door open for us.”

  “Us?”

  “Me,” Sean clarified. “I’ll be in and out in five minutes maximum.”

  “How about if someone goes in the back and sees you?”