Clyde rubbed his hands together again.
“Well, we’re not talking about the queen of England’s.”
“You’re kidding,” Sean said.
“Do I look as if I’m kidding?” Clyde asked him.
“No,” Sean allowed. He was so stunned he didn’t know what else to say.
Chapter 8
The more Sean thought about what Clyde had said, the more flabbergasted he became. He and Lucy had been at loggerheads ever since Sean had been forced out as chief of police of Longely for refusing to back off of a case. And then there had been the two murders his daughters had helped to solve. Both had been high-profile cases. That hadn’t endeared him to the chief either.
Clyde grinned. “Amazing world we live in, ain’t it, Cap? I was in the station house when Lucy got the call from Bree Nottingham. The chief’s expression was very instructive.” Sean watched Clyde’s smile grow to Cheshire cat proportions. “I haven’t seen him this angry since he caught Milo stealing Millicent Fishbinder’s panties.”
Bernie raised an eyebrow. Sean explained.
“That’s because Milo was taking them out of the chief’s desk drawer. Said he’d come across them wrapped around a car antenna.”
Just the thought made him chuckle.
“Girls, it was a beautiful thing to see.” Clyde agreed. Then he turned and looked fixedly at Libby.
When Clyde had walked in, Sean had bet himself that it would take Clyde at least ten minutes to get around to indicating he’d like something to eat. He’d done it in eight. A new personal best.
“I might be guessing here,” Sean said to him, “but before you go on, would you be wanting a little refreshment?”
Clyde nodded. “In this cold weather a man has to keep his strength up.”
“Pie has known strength-building properties.”
Clyde patted his stomach. “So I’ve been told. Unless it’s too much trouble, Libby.”
Sean watched Libby smile. She loved when people loved her food, and Clyde was one of her most stalwart admirers.
“No trouble at all,” she said.
“I don’t suppose you got any more of that pumpkin pie of your’s left?” Clyde asked. “The one you make with the fresh-baked pumpkin.”
“If you do, I’ll take a piece too,” said Sean.
Of course everything Libby made was good, but her pumpkin pie was one of his favorites, maybe because she used apple butter in it as well.
Libby beamed. “I’m pretty sure we have a whole pie downstairs,” she said.
“Nice girls you got there,” Clyde said after Bernie and Libby left the room.
“The best,” Sean said.
“You got lucky,” Clyde said.
Sean wheeled his chair over to the table across from his bed.
“I sure did.”
“Of course,” Clyde added, “it helped that they had a good mom.”
Sean nodded. He still didn’t like talking about Rose. It was too painful.
By mutual consent, he and Clyde made small talk until the girls returned.
Libby came in first, carrying a tray loaded with plates, coffee cups, saucers, spoons and forks, napkins, a whole pumpkin pie, and a bowl of whipped cream, while Bernie followed her in carrying a coffeepot in one hand and a steaming jug of what Sean correctly judged to be hot, spiced apple cider in the other.
“I substituted a half cup crushed pecans for the flour in the crust and added just a hint of cinnamon and sugar,” Libby explained to Clyde as she set the tray down on the table. “And this time I baked the pumpkin instead of boiling it. I think baking gives the pumpkin a somewhat drier texture as well as caramelizing the sugar in it, so it has just a hint of caramel. And, anyway, the color is prettier. I also glazed the pecans on top with sugar and just a dusting of black pepper, so you get a nice little contrast going.”
“Black pepper?” Sean said doubtfully.
Sometimes Libby tended to go a little too far in his estimation. If you have something that works, why fool around with it?
Libby shook her head in what Sean knew was mock dismay.
“You are such a traditionalist. If you don’t want to try it, just take the pecans off.” She turned to Clyde. “Do you want whipped cream on your slice?” she asked.
“Of course,” Clyde said. “Is there any other way to go?”
“Not in my mind,” Sean said.
As far as he was concerned, cholesterol be damned, this was food for one’s soul. After all, given his disease, he wasn’t going to worry about a heart condition.
“Perfect,” Clyde said after he took a bite of pie. “The dash of pepper is inspired. Try it,” he said to Sean.
“Yeah, Dad, go ahead,” Bernie urged.
Sean sighed and took a bite. The things he did for his daughters. He chewed. “Hey,” he said, “this really is excellent.”
Libby beamed. “I know.”
“So,” Sean asked Clyde after he’d taken another bite of pie. “Why is Lucy asking for Bernie’s and Libby’s help?”
“And yours,” Bernie put in.
Sean put down his fork. “Mine?” He’d assumed that Clyde’s ‘you guys’ had referred to his daughters.
“Yeah.” Bernie leaned over and patted him on the shoulder. “I told Lucy we come as a package deal. We can’t do something like this without you.”
Sean scowled. Bernie punched him in the arm.
“Ouch,” he said.
Bernie grinned. “Come on. Admit it. You’re pleased.”
“Okay,” Sean said grudgingly. “I’m pleased. Happy?”
“Yes,” Bernie said.
He was touched and flattered. Way too much emotion. He took a sip of coffee. It was excellent, but then Libby’s always was. She got fresh-roasted beans and ground them herself.
When he’d gotten himself back under control he said, “I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all.” He looked at Clyde, who was spooning another helping of whipped cream onto his plate. “Aside from everything else, why wasn’t there an announcement on TV?”
Clyde dipped his fork into his whipped cream and then licked it clean. “Just the right blend of sugar and vanilla,” he observed. “It’s so simple, yet such a difficult thing to accomplish—at least if my wife is an example.”
He cut himself another piece of pie with the edge of his fork. “To answer your question, Cap, there’s no announcement on TV because they’re not publicizing Hortense’s death.” Clyde conveyed the pie to his mouth. “At least not yet,” he said after he swallowed. “The media hasn’t been notified.”
Bernie chimed in. “The question is, if someone dies and the newspapers don’t report it, has it really happened?”
“How is that possible?” Sean asked. In his considerable experience, you didn’t notify the media, the media descended on you, especially in high-profile cases like this. Someone always talked. Always. “From what you say, it isn’t as if this happened in secret.”
Clyde dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin before putting it back on his lap. “Bree is riding herd on Hortense’s PR person. Plus Hortense has no family nearby, or at least no one she’s speaking to at the present time.”
“Friends?” Sean asked.
Clyde shook his head. “I guess she’s not the social type.”
“Staff?”
Clyde ate another piece of his pie. “The staff isn’t telling anyone on pain of being fired and sued,” he said after he dabbed his lips with his napkin again. “Evidently they had to sign a confidentiality agreement before working with her.”
“The contestants could talk.”
“They could,” Clyde agreed. “But then they’d lose their shot at twenty thousand dollars and the chance to do a two-week guest stint as the new host or hostess of the Hortense Calabash Show.”
Sean raised an eyebrow.
“Suggestive, isn’t it?” Clyde said.
“One might say so,” Sean said. He put a large spoonful of whipped cream in his co
ffee and watched as it dissolved. “How long is this going to go on?”
Clyde leaned over, poured himself some of the cider, and took a sip.
“Delicious.” He lowered his cup. “They want to stall for as long as they can.”
“And how long do you think they can?” Sean asked.
Clyde thought about it for a moment. “Five days at the outside. And that’s with a lot of luck.”
Sean nodded. That’s what he’d been thinking too. “And the rationale for this is?”
Clyde leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out.
“That’s interesting too. I overheard Lucy being told that they want everything settled before they announce Hortense’s death.”
“Because …” Sean prompted. Sometimes Clyde was a little slow.
Clyde covered his mouth with his hand and coughed. “They’re hoping that if they announce a new format, new host, etc., the news will be less sensational. That way the stock in Hortense’s company won’t take a nosedive because her shareholders are scared off.”
“Makes sense.” Sean took a sip of his coffee. “But you think there’s more.”
Clyde clinked his spoon against his cup.
“Indeed I do.”
Sean scratched behind his left ear. “So what’s your take on this?” he asked.
Clyde absentmindedly rubbed his right hand with his left thumb before continuing. “My sources—”
“Your sources?” Sean asked.
“Edna Bishop,” Clyde clarified.
“Ah,” Sean said.
Edna Bishop was Clyde’s sister-in-law and worked as a cleaning woman for a service. It always amazed Sean what people said in front of people like that.
“Anyway,” Clyde continued, “it seems as if Bree and Jim are hosting a big”—Clyde paused for a moment while he searched for the word—"gathering in the old Randall home for some developers tomorrow.”
Bernie snapped her fingers. “I know. A dolt of developers. No? How about a deal of developers?”
“How about you let Clyde continue,” Sean said.
Bernie put her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said through her fingers.
“Evidently,” Clyde went on, “the powers that be are trying to sell the house and the acreage off. They are envisioning”—Clyde gave the word a sarcastic twist—"making a new very upscale housing development, and they don’t want any nasty publicity to interfere with it.”
“As murder has a way of doing,” Sean noted.
“Indeed it does,” Clyde agreed. “Even though, technically speaking, Hortense’s estate isn’t in the township proper. And of course, what they’re doing isn’t illegal. They’re following all the rules and regs.”
“I suppose.” Sean took a sip of his coffee. “Looking at it that way, I guess you could say they’re just managing the media.”
“And doing a good job of it I might add,” Clyde observed.
Sean felt a pang of envy. Actually, if he was being honest with himself, it was more like a stab. There were plenty of times when he was chief of police that he wished he could have just dug a huge hole and buried the media in it.
Clyde continued. “And here’s something else. If you and the girls investigate and don’t find anything, then you guys take the fall. So anyway you go, Chief Lucy wins.”
“That had occurred to me,” Sean said.
Everyone sat and pondered that for a while.
Sean took a last bite of pie. “So what are they doing with Hortense?” he asked as he cleaned up the crumbs with the side of his fork. “Keeping her in the pantry off the kitchen? That would raise a bit of a stink.”
Bernie had a sip of her coffee. “I believe they’re conveying her to Libby’s boyfriend’s funeral home.”
“It’s Marvin’s dad’s,” Libby corrected.
“Libby, Marvin works there,” Bernie said.
“But technically speaking Marvin’s dad owns it,” Sean said, trying to head off trouble. He found it odd, but for some reason what Marvin did still bothered Libby.
Sean gave a little bow in his daughter’s direction.
“Sorry,” he said.
Libby nodded her head.
Sean sighed. “It’s unbelievable,” he said.
“Well, Lucy isn’t happy about the whole thing,” Clyde conceded.
“I wouldn’t be either,” Sean said. “He just doesn’t have the guts to stand up to Bree.”
“Maybe he’s thinking of what happened to you,” Bernie observed.
Sean put down his fork.
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Oh, come on,” Bernie said.
Then Libby chimed in with, “Remember, you said—”
“You may be right,” Sean replied, conceding defeat.
Well, Bernie was right, but then again she wasn’t. It wasn’t that simple. This wasn’t the time to explain all the details of what had happened to him to her though. One lesson he had taken away was that it never paid to tangle with the rich and famous.
Not that he regretted his decision. Okay, maybe he regretted it a little. But at least he hadn’t become Bree Nottingham’s errand boy like Lucy. The thought of Lucy’s discomfort at having to ask his girls for help brightened what had otherwise promised to be a rather boring day.
“Okay,” he said changing the subject. “Fortunately, I taped the show. I think it might be instructive if we watched it again and see if anything pops out at any of us.”
“Like what?” asked Bernie.
“Well, that’s what we’re going to find out, isn’t it?” Sean said.
Chapter 9
Sean watched Libby’s boyfriend Marvin squirm. He was sitting on the edge of the bridge chair that Libby had brought in for him. Sean was surprised Libby had chosen that particular chair because it wasn’t all that stable. Given Marvin, Sean just prayed he didn’t slip off and crash to the floor.
“Mr. Simmons …”
“Sean.”
Marvin let out a nervous snort that made Sean wince. Sean tried to smile, but he had an idea from Libby’s expression that it was coming out more like a grimace.
“Sorry,” Marvin said.
“There’s no need to be,” Sean told him.
Sean watched Marvin bob his head up and down. He looked thoroughly miserable. Had he been like that with Rose’s father? Sean wondered. He thought back. No. He’d been a little nervous, but nothing like Marvin. He realized Marvin was talking and tried to refocus his attention on what the kid was saying.
“I hope you don’t mind that Rob and I dropped in,” Marvin said.
“Of course he doesn’t mind,” Libby answered before Sean could reply.
Probably because she knew what he was thinking, Sean decided. Because he did mind. He minded a lot. Aside from everything else, he didn’t like having all these people in his bedroom.
Sean suppressed a surge of irritation as he pressed the STOP button on the VCR. On orders from his daughters, he was working on being polite, but his grip was somewhat tenuous with this form of social interaction. Always had been, actually.
“Not at all,” he lied. “We were just watching a rerun of Hortense’s cooking show.”
Sean further reflected that he should be glad that Marvin was there. He needed to talk to him anyway, and this just saved him from making a phone call. He was about to ask him about the status of Hortense when Marvin leaned forward and adjusted his glasses.
“Chair, chair,” Sean cried as Marvin began to tip over. How anyone could be so clumsy and still be alive was beyond him.
“Sorry.” Marvin straightened up and pushed his glasses back up his nose with the tip of his finger.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Sean told him.
Next thing you knew, the kid would be apologizing for breathing.
“Leave him alone,” Libby told him.
“I’m not doing anything,” Sean protested. “Marvin, am I doing anything?”
“No.” Then Marvin po
inted in the direction of the television. “You have a VCR?” he asked. “Wow. I didn’t think people had those anymore.”
“Well I do,” Sean snapped.
He tried to like Marvin for Libby’s sake, he really did, but the kid had a genius for saying and doing the wrong thing. He just hoped he didn’t have to drive with him again. He didn’t think his nerves could stand it.
“Dad’s technophobic,” Libby explained.
“I am not,” Sean said.
“You’re right,” Bernie agreed. “You’re not. You’re just cheap.”
“Hey, don’t say that about your dad,” Rob told Bernie.
Bernie turned around and punched him in the arm.
Rob rubbed his bicep. “That hurt.”
“It was supposed to. Don’t go ordering me around. I can say whatever I like.”
“Not about your dad, you can’t. He’s the man, right, Mr. Simmons? I mean Sean.”
Sean smiled as he reflected that Bernie’s boyfriend Rob, on the other hand, always had the right thing to say.
Marvin bobbed his head up and down. “Yes, he is,” he declared earnestly. “Yes, sir.”
Looking at Marvin, Sean decided he should really cut him some slack. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the kid had a jerk for a father. With a dad like that, anyone would need some help. And the kid did try. He had to give him that.
And he was better than Libby’s last boyfriend Orion. Rose would have said Marvin was nice. Whatever that meant. Of course, Rose’s father hadn’t thought he was nice. Not at all. He’d told Rose, he was a … Sean closed his eyes for a few seconds as he searched his memory for the word … a hooligan.
“Want some pie?” he asked Marvin. “Looks as if we’ve got a couple of slices left here.”
Marvin nodded. The kid loved to eat, a fact that was obvious from his waistline. Maybe, Sean thought, that was one of the reasons Libby liked him.
“I’ve got peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and apple tarts downstairs if you’d prefer,” Libby said.
Sean reflected that one of the nice things about his daughters running a catering shop was that there were always good things to eat around.
“No, the pumpkin pie is fine,” both Rob and Marvin said in unison.
“This is delicious. Did you make this?” Rob asked Bernie after he’d taken a bite.
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