“But you’re staying at his house now,” Bernie said.
“No,” Monica corrected her. “I’m renting a room in my brother’s house for a couple months before I start my job in New York.”
“I see.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
“Then tell me.”
Monica shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Bernie tried again. “I guess he cared about the money he lost.”
“What money?” Monica demanded, folding her arms across her chest.
“The money you loaned Jack Devlin that he lost in a bad business deal.”
“So what? I was stupid, but it was my money and it had nothing to do with my brother.”
“The way I heard it your brother was supposed to get some of it and he didn’t. As a consequence, he lost a great deal of money in a business he was supposed to go into.”
Monica started laughing and kept on laughing. Finally she stopped and got her breath back. She put her hand to her chest. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard. I bet you got that story from Sanford.”
Bernie didn’t say anything.
“You did, didn’t you?”
Bernie nodded.
“He’s lying, you know.”
“Why should he do that?”
“Simple. Because he hates my brother and he wants to get him in trouble.”
“And the reason for that would be?” Bernie asked.
“Because David’s wife Cora was stepping out with Sanford. When my brother found out, he flipped out. Sanford was supposed to do a refi and David made sure that didn’t happen.”
“How could he do that?”
“Simple,” Monica said. “He’s good friends with people at the bank.”
Bernie clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. She needed a cheat sheet to keep track of everyone’s activities. She wanted to know where these people found the time, let alone the energy, to do what they were doing. “I thought Sanford was going out with Juno for a while too.”
“So what if he was? Devlin wasn’t the only player in town, you know.”
“Obviously,” Bernie answered. “But none of the others have ended up dead.”
Monica didn’t say anything.
Bernie looked her in the eyes. “Then we come back to you. I can see you wanting Devlin dead.”
Monica snorted. “After all these years? Give me a break.”
“Two years isn’t that long. I know people who have held grudges for twenty years,” Bernie said, thinking of her dad.
“It’s long enough. If I’d wanted to do anything, I would have done it at the time. I would have slit Devlin’s throat and watched him bleed out.”
Bernie raised an eyebrow. “Charming visual.”
Monica took a deep breath and let it out. “You wanted to hear the truth. That’s the truth. But I didn’t do that then and I certainly haven’t done it now.”
“How do I know you didn’t?” challenged Bernie.
“Simple. For openers, I wasn’t at the reenactment. I was looking at a sublet in Williamsburg. Then there’s the question of motive. Why would I kill Jack Devlin now? I mean look at me.” She indicated herself with her hands. “You said it yourself—I look better than I ever have. I feel fantastic, and I owe it all to Jack Devlin.
“If he hadn’t done what he had, I never would have gone to India and found a new life. In retrospect, his doing what he did to me was the best thing that ever happened. No. I wanted to thank him.” Monica made a mournful face. “Alas, it was not to be. And you know what? Juno told me she feels the same way. If it wasn’t for Devlin, she never would have found her spiritual side. She would have continued along the material path until her soul withered away.”
“That’s certainly a very generous interpretation of events,” Bernie said.
“I’m serious.” Monica’s tone was fierce. “You want to know who killed Jack Devlin, talk to Sanford Aiken and Gerard. Those guys had a long history with Devlin and it wasn’t a good one.” Monica paused for a minute then continued, “There’s always Elise Montague. I’ve got to say, she’s a real piece of work.”
“Meaning?” Bernie happened to share her opinion, but she was curious to hear what Monica was going to say.
“Meaning exactly what I said.” Monica looked at her watch. “I have a massage in half an hour so if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish shopping.”
“Call me if you think of anything else,” Bernie told her even though she was pretty positive the likelihood of that ranged from slim to none.
Chapter 32
Sanford Aiken’s plumbing supply store was located at the shabbier end of Main Street. The stores were smaller, the windows dirtier, and the trees were scrawnier. Bernie and Brandon were sitting in his truck drinking coffee and eating bagels with cream cheese while they waited for Aiken to come back. The sign on the shop door read WILL RETURN IN TEN MINUTES. By Bernie’s watch that meant they had nine more minutes to go.
“These bagels are too soft on the inside,” she complained after she’d taken her third bite.
“Picky, picky, picky.” As far as Brandon was concerned, they were fine.
“I’m not being picky,” Bernie countered. “I’m just saying that they’re not New York City style bagels.”
“Maybe that’s because we’re in Westchester not New York City.”
“Yes, but the store is called New York City Bagels, which means that’s what they’re supposed to be.” Bernie tore off a piece of crust and waved it in Brandon’s face. “In fact, these bagels suck. They should be denser and the crust should be chewier. And the flavors? Pomegranate bagels? Please. Also, I can taste the agar in the cream cheese. Given the rent these guys are paying and the quality of their merchandise, I’m betting they’re not going to be in business long.”
Brandon gave a noncommittal grunt. He took another bite and chewed. Okay. So maybe they were a little soft. Maybe peanut butter flavored bagels weren’t the best idea in the world, but they weren’t horrible. They certainly weren’t worth the indignation Bernie was expending on them.
“Do you believe what Monica told you?” he asked after he’d swallowed.
Bernie wrapped up the rest of her bagel and put it back in the bag they’d come in. She was still hungry, but she wasn’t that hungry. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“So that whole tale that Aiken was telling me at the bar was just bull?”
“Not all of it. Not the Monica and Devlin part. That was apparently accurate, the rest maybe not so much.”
Brandon rubbed his chin. “So Aiken has something against David Nancy?”
“According to Monica he does.”
Brandon thought about that for a minute. Then he said, “You realize that that means Aiken couldn’t have killed Jack Devlin.”
Bernie gave him a puzzled look. “No, I don’t realize that at all. Why are you saying that?”
“Well, whoever killed Devlin set Marvin up, right?” Brandon wiped a smidgen of cream cheese off his cheek.
“My dad thinks that might not be the case,” Bernie objected.
“Might being the operative word here.”
Bernie held up her hand. “Let’s not debate that. Let’s just go back to what you were saying before.”
“Fine. If Aiken hated David Nancy that much and he was the one who killed Devlin, why didn’t he set up Nancy instead of Marvin?”
“Hypothetically speaking?”
“Yes. Hypothetically speaking.”
“I’m not sure,” Bernie admitted. She took a sip of her coffee and made a face. It tasted as if someone had dunked a couple coffee beans in it. The word dishwater came to mind.
“So you agree with me?” Brandon asked.
“I didn’t say that. Anyway, you can’t prove a positive with a negative.”
Brandon laughed. “Explain.”
“Okay. Two things.” Bernie raised one finger. “First of all, even if Aiken did shoot at Marvin that doesn’t prove that h
e killed Devlin. The two things might not be related.” She raised a second finger. “Secondly, we only have Monica’s word that her brother hated Aiken. She could just as easily be lying as not.”
“Let’s address your first point,” Brandon said. “I know what your dad said about the two things not being related, but common sense says otherwise. It just seems to me as if whoever is doing this is determined to get Marvin in trouble one way or the other.”
Bernie rolled down her window and dumped out her coffee. It wasn’t worth drinking. “Okay. Then answer me this. Who hates Marvin?”
“No one, near as I can tell,” Brandon admitted. He didn’t have to think about the answer.
“I rest my case,” Bernie said. “I think Marvin is collateral damage.”
Brandon took another sip of his coffee. “Poor Marvin. That sucks.”
“Yes, it does. How can you drink that coffee?” Bernie asked, switching subjects.
“It’s not that bad,” Brandon protested.
“It’s swill.”
“When you need caffeine, you need caffeine,” Brandon replied, taking another sip in the face of Bernie’s disapproval. “Plus, I put eight sugars in it.”
Bernie made a face. “So you’re drinking sludge.”
“Caffeinated sludge.”
“You should—”
“I know,” Brandon said, interrupting her. “I should be careful of what I eat. I’ll start tomorrow.”
Bernie sighed. There was no point in pursuing the conversation. They’d been over it too many times before so she changed the subject. “What do you know about Elise Montague?” Bernie had been thinking about her ever since Monica had mentioned her name.
“Aside from the fact that she’s an unpleasant lady, is a lousy tipper, and has man hands?” Brandon asked.
“Yes. Aside from that.”
“Probably the same amount that you do. She goes into your place, too, doesn’t she?” Brandon asked.
“On Mondays and Wednesdays she gets an order of gingered chicken, a green tossed salad, a pint of coleslaw, and a brownie to go. But she never says anything, except to complain if the chicken isn’t warm enough or someone forgets to put extra napkins in her order.”
“Same with me. She usually comes in to RJ’s on Fridays around six-thirty, has two Stellas with a slice of orange, and an order of chicken wings, extra spicy She stays for a couple hours, and leaves by herself.”
“I wonder what she does the other four nights?” Bernie said.
Brandon shook his head. “Not a clue. I don’t know who she hangs with and I never see her out and about.”
“Have you ever had a conversation with her?”
“Nope. She just gives me her order and sits at the bar and watches TV.”
“Does she come in with anyone?” Bernie asked.
“Not that I’ve seen. She’s not big on talking to people, either . . . unless she’s telling them to be quiet. You can guess how well that goes over.”
“Does she ever come in with Samuel Cotton?”
Brandon shook his head. “Not when I’ve been on, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t some other time. You want me to ask Jules and Andy?”
Bernie nodded. “Please. I know she had something going on with Jack Devlin.”
Brandon laughed. “Who didn’t?”
“I didn’t. Libby didn’t,” Bernie replied.
Brandon amended his statement. “I meant aside from you guys. There is one other thing you might find interesting.”
Bernie waited.
“I have a friend who worked a party at the Musket and Flintlock Club. He told me a story about Elise behaving badly. There was this Memorial Day party up there and she got really drunk and needed to use the bathroom, but someone was in it so she went out to the front lawn, pulled her dress up and her undies down, and took a piss. I understand it was quite a show. Especially when Devlin started screaming at her and calling her a slut. Then he dragged her out.”
Bernie leaned forward. “Nothing like being humiliated in public, I always say.”
“I suppose it’s as good a reason to kill someone as any,” Brandon allowed.
“Public humiliation? I’d say so. And she does know how to use a gun. Did your friend tell you anything else?”
“About Elise?” Brandon asked.
“About Elise and anyone else at the club?”
“No. He told me they have a mouse problem and that the members drink Bud Light, God help me, and that’s about it.
“Has he worked there since?”
“Nope. Too much work, too little pay.” Brandon finished his bagel and gestured to the bag with Bernie’s bagel in it. “Are you going to eat that?”
Bernie handed the bag to him. “Be my guest.” She checked her watch. It was almost time. She nodded toward Sanford Aiken’s store. “You coming in with me on this one?”
“Nope. You seem to have done so well the last time I think I’ll leave you to it.” Brandon yawned. “Just think of me as backup.” He pointed to Sanford Aiken who was slowly walking down the street. He was wearing a navy polo shirt with a frayed collar and a pair of creased khakis.
“He doesn’t look so great,” Bernie said, alluding to the gray pallor visible underneath his tan.
“He drinks too much,” Brandon commented. “I wouldn’t be surprised if his liver isn’t happy.” He clapped Bernie on the shoulder. “Looks like you’re up, champ. Have fun.”
“Always.”
Who knew? Maybe if she played this right she could get Aiken to shed some light on why he’d said what he’d said to the police. Or at least what Clyde said he had said to the police.
Chapter 33
Sanford Aiken had opened his shop door and was putting the cup of coffee he’d been carrying down when Bernie entered.
“Yes?” he said, looking up. “Can I help you with anything?”
“As a matter of fact you can,” Bernie replied as she approached the counter.
“A leaking faucet at the shop? A blown gasket?”
“No.” Bernie smiled her winningest smile. “Problems of a different nature.”
“Ah.” Aiken drew out the ah. “I take it you’d be referring to what happened at the reenactment.”
“You would be right.” Bernie tried to sound as if he was the smartest guy in the world for figuring out the answer.
He leaned forward, careful not to knock his coffee over. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Really?” Bernie kept smiling. “Why’s that?”
“Well, I heard you and your sister were going around asking questions and generally stirring up trouble.”
Bernie pouted. “Is that what people are saying?”
Aiken nodded gravely. “It is indeed.”
Bernie tapped her nails on the counter. “Stirring up trouble is an interesting phrase.”
Aiken took no notice of the nail tapping and lifted the lid off his coffee, blew on it, and took a sip. “Especially when it applies to you two. You especially. You’re never content to leave things alone, are you?”
“It sounds to me as if you’re worried,” Bernie replied.
“Me?” Aiken pointed at himself. “What would I be worried about?”
“Sounds to me as if you have a guilty conscience.”
Aiken made a dismissive noise. “Hardly. All I’m sayin’ is that shopkeepers shouldn’t go messing around like you’re doing. You lose customers that way.” He looked up at her. “Frankly, what you’re doing is a waste of time. If you ask me, you should be spending your time finding a good lawyer for Marvin because he’s going to need it.”
“I’m not asking you . . . at least not about that,” Bernie told him, forgetting about being charming.
Aiken sniffed. “Have it your way. But why bother with this investigation you and your sister are trying to conduct?”
“Trying to conduct,” Bernie repeated. “How about are conducting?”
“If it makes you feel better to say that, then by all
means.” Aiken straightened out the collar of his polo shirt. “But a reliable source has told me that the police are going to arrest Marvin soon. After all, he is the obvious suspect, isn’t he?” Aiken shook his head. “You can’t deny that.”
Bernie crossed her arms over her chest. “To me or Libby or my dad, he’s not.”
“Well, he is to everyone else,” Aiken shot back.
“And who, exactly, is everyone?” Bernie demanded.
Aiken harrumphed. “The town.”
Bernie raised an eyebrow. “The entire town?”
He corrected himself. “I was speaking metaphorically. I meant the people at the reenactment.”
Bernie didn’t say anything.
“Well,” Aiken continued, “you have to admit the evidence against Marvin is pretty damning.”
“It’s all circumstantial,” Bernie told him.
Aiken shrugged. “If that’s what you wish to think. Not that I necessarily agree with the town,” he hurriedly added. “I don’t want you to think that.”
“Then what do you want me to think?” Bernie asked.
Aiken swallowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s a simple question, Sanford.”
“All I’m trying to say is you’re a tad prejudiced what with your sister and all.” He pointed to himself. “I was there. I saw what happened.”
“That is what I want to talk to you about.” Bernie was tired of dancing around. It was time to ask the questions she’d come to ask.
Aiken turned his hands palms upward. “I don’t know what I can tell you that you don’t already know. After all, you were there, too.”
“Yes, but I was in the gazebo setting up for the picnic. You were down near the shed.”
“I know where I was,” Aiken retorted.
“You were there when the weapons were given out.”
“They weren’t given out. Marvin put them on the bench and we took our own.”
There it was. The statement Bernie had been waiting for. “Then why did you tell the police that you thought you saw Marvin handing a musket to Devlin out of the corner of your eye?”
“I . . . I . . . did think I saw it,” Aiken insisted.
Bernie frowned. “So let me get this straight. First, you’re telling me Marvin dumped all the muskets on the bench and then you’re telling me he gave a musket to Devlin. Which is it?”
A Catered Fourth of July Page 20