A Catered Christmas

by Isis Crawford

  “They’re going to win,” Rob said.

  Sean took another swallow of his Bud. “Of course they’re going to win,” Sean told him. Could there be any doubt? They were his daughters, weren’t they?

  Sean noticed that Marvin was shaking his head.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “This Reginald fellow is pretty tricky. Look at what he’s doing.”

  Sean could see what Marvin was pointing to. He watched Reginald oh so casually walking by Libby and Bernie’s station. His neck was craned in their direction.

  “He’s looking to see what they’re cooking,” Marvin muttered.

  Sean shot him a look. “Don’t worry. My girls can take care of themselves.”

  “But it’s not fair,” Marvin observed.

  Clyde snorted. “Welcome to the world.” He ate a peanut and leaned forward a little. “Look at what the miscreant is doing now.”

  As Sean watched, he saw Reginald “accidentally” slip and bump into Libby’s shoulder.

  “No,” he cried as she almost dropped the pot she was carrying.

  But she didn’t. Somehow she managed to hold on to it.

  “That was a foul,” Clyde said.

  “It certainly was,” Sean agreed. “He should be penalized for that move.”

  That son of a bitch. He hadn’t liked Reginald Palmer from the second he’d been introduced on screen. In the old days, if someone had tried something like that with his girls, he would have found himself on the wrong end of some really bad luck. It was amazing how karma worked.

  Sean smiled as one of the guys down the bar called out, “You go, girl,” to the television screen.

  Someone else hooted and hollered. “Yeah,” he yelled at the screen. “You show him a thing or two,” as Bernie “accidentally” stamped on Reginald’s foot.

  Sean laughed as he watched Reginald trying not to grimace as he hobbled back to his station.

  Clyde shook his head. “Who woulda thunk? Cooking as a blood sport.”

  “Well, it certainly can be,” Sean said, thinking of what had happened to Hortense. You couldn’t get much more lethal than that.

  He swallowed down the last of his beer. This was so good. Nectar of the gods. Maybe it was because it was the first one he’d had in ages. Bernie’s cocktails were all right, but a straight-up brew was what he craved.

  He’d asked her to buy him a six-pack from time to time, but she’d always come home with this strange stuff that people—unfathomably, in his opinion—paid huge sums of money for, so he’d stopped asking. Who would want to drink something like apricot ale or an eggnog porter or a raspberry stout? What had happened to plain old beer?

  And he couldn’t exactly tell Bernie that he didn’t like her selection. First off, it would have been rude, and secondly, there was always the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be drinking anyway. Not really. According to the doctors, it wasn’t good for his condition.

  Ha! Screw his condition. What the hell did the medical establishment know? They were real good at telling you what not to do, but they weren’t so good at telling you what would make you better. Recently Libby had been trying to enforce that particular prohibition. She’d probably skin him alive if she found out what he was doing. But who was going to tell her? Certainly not Clyde or Rob.

  Then Sean’s glance rested on Marvin.

  Ah, yes.

  He’d forgotten about him. Sean sighed as he looked at him cracking peanuts open and eating them. He’d have to have a word with him, Sean decided as Marvin brushed peanut shells from his shirt and watched them fall on the floor. He’d have to make sure they were on the same page, as it were.

  Sean turned back to the TV. Bernie was glazing the walnuts, dipping them in sugar syrup, and then carefully laying them out on wax paper to dry. He had to say she was doing a great job.

  “So what do you think?” Clyde said.

  Sean answered without taking his eyes off the set. “I think I’m sorry I’m not going to have a chance to eat the meal they’re cooking.”

  “No,” Clyde said. He dropped his voice. “I’m talking about the other thing.”

  “Oh, that thing,” Sean said, his eyes still glued to the screen.

  “Yes. That thing.”

  “What about it?”

  “Who do you think is the one …?”

  “That killed Hortense?” Brandon said.

  Sean looked up at him. He’d forgotten how big the guy was. He was really huge. Plus he had enormous hands. When Sean had been on the force, he’d seen the result of some of his work. But that had been a while ago. He’d calmed down since then.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sean told him. He felt he should at least make a minimal effort at denial.

  Brandon grinned. He wasn’t buying it, but Sean had known he wouldn’t.

  “Sure you don’t,” he said.

  “Really,” Sean insisted.

  Brandon’s grin grew even wider. “We have a pool going. Care to wager a small amount of money on the guilty party?”

  Sean laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He wondered how much longer Bree was going to be able to keep a lid on this thing. Not much longer, he wagered.

  “Here.” Brandon pushed the can of beer he was holding across the counter to Sean. “On the house. A welcome back present. Although”—he softened his voice—"don’t tell Libby I gave you this.”

  “Not too likely,” Sean replied. “So why do you think that Hortense is dead?” he asked Brandon.

  Brandon snorted. “Easy. Bree Nottingham’s cleaning lady told me. She heard the great lady, as she likes to think of herself, talking on the phone.”

  Sean threw up his hands. It was ridiculous to even try and pretend. “So who is the odds-on favorite in the pool you got going?”

  Brandon scratched his chin. “Right now we have Reginald out in front, followed by Consuela and La Croix, with Brittany and Pearl bringing up the rear.”

  “What about Estes and Eric?”

  “Eric. Estes.” Brandon slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I forgot about those two. How could I be so dumb? I gotta put them on the board. This is going to mess up everything.”

  Sean laughed as Brandon went charging off.

  “You think I should blow him in for illegal gambling?” Clyde asked.

  Sean nodded. “Yeah. Call up right now and have the guys come down and raid the place.”

  Marvin’s eyes widened. He looked at Clyde. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  “He’s kidding,” Sean told him. He shook his head. Even though Libby said he did, as far as he could see, Marvin had no sense of humor at all.

  “So who’s your favorite?” Clyde asked him.

  Sean thought his answer over. “I’d have to say Brittany.”

  “Brittany?” Rob voice was incredulous. “Why Brittany? The only thing she seems capable of doing is talking on her cell phone.”

  Clyde jumped in before Sean could answer. “Well, she’s capable of a few other things,” he said.

  “Like what?” Rob demanded. “I can’t see her booby-trapping an oven.”

  Sean popped a peanut into his mouth. “First of all, it’s not that difficult, and second of all, you should never underestimate the power of a woman,” he said, remembering the time his wife had managed to break into his safe so she could throw out the pictures of his old girlfriend.

  “All right,” Rob conceded. “Maybe what you say is true. Maybe she can booby-trap an oven. But why would she want to?”

  Clyde looked at Sean.

  “Tell him,” Sean ordered.

  “Well,” Clyde replied, “she did get a whole heap of people sick with salmonella poisoning.”

  “She seems like such a nice lady,” Marvin said.

  Sean heard himself groan.

  “Even though one thing has nothing to do with the other,” Marvin hastily concluded.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Clyde agreed. “It has to do with sanitation. This
happened at a Bar Mitzvah at Congregation Concordia out in Jersey. Sent three people to the hospital. The admitting nurse’s sister worked for Hortense. Word gets around.

  “I figure maybe she was using that information to make Brittany do whatever she wanted. After all, if anyone found out, Brittany would be ruined. No more book sales for her. People don’t usually buy cookbooks from people who have sent other people to the hospital with food poisoning.”

  “But how do you know Hortense was blackmailing Brittany?” Rob asked.

  “He doesn’t,” Sean told him. “It’s just a working theory. Actually, I’m hoping Libby asked Brittany if Hortense was blackmailing her.”

  Marvin put his beer glass down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Why should she do that?” he inquired.

  “Because I asked her to,” Sean told him. “I called her up right before she went on the air.”

  “And you expect Brittany to admit to something like that?” Brandon asked.

  Sean looked up. Brandon was drying his hands with a dish towel. He didn’t remember Brandon moving so quietly. Quite the opposite.

  “That would give her a motive.”

  “No,” Sean answered. “I don’t expect Brittany to admit anything. I just want to see what her reaction is.”

  Brandon shook his head and moved down the bar to wait on someone who was signaling him.

  “Did the admitting nurse’s sister tell you too?” Marvin demanded.

  Sean took a sip of his new beer. “The Internet is an amazing thing,” he noted. “If you know where to look. Actually, it’s a matter of public record.”

  “Like with Boomer …” Clyde said.

  Marvin wrinkled his nose. “Who is that?”

  “Jean La Croix,” Sean said. “It’s on record that he served time in Attica and that he worked for Hortense in an early release program when he got out.”

  “Poor guy,” Clyde added. “He must have thought he was walking into a good thing. He must have thought he could just smooth his way through everything.”

  “Yeah,” Sean said. “He didn’t realize he was spending time with someone that would make Ma Baker look nice.”

  “Who’s Ma Baker?” Marvin asked.

  “A well-known criminal,” Sean answered. “Don’t they teach you anything in school these days?”

  “Personally,” Clyde said, “when all is said and done, I’m liking Reginald for this. According to my sources, Hortense got him kicked off whatever that fancy food magazine is called for taking bribes. From what I understand, it was a good gig.” Clyde paused to eat another peanut. “That might make a man cranky.”

  “True,” Sean answered. “But let’s not forget La Croix. Hortense could have ruined his reputation. How many people do you think would be buying stuff from him if they knew he learned how to cook in Attica instead of Paris? All those Brooklyn ladies would be running in the opposite direction.”

  Clyde grimaced.

  “You don’t agree?” Sean asked him.

  “I’m not so sure, Cap. These days people in Brooklyn are pretty liberal.”

  Sean was about to reply when Marvin broke into the conversation. “So why don’t you question him?” he asked.

  “Because,” Sean explained, “we have no evidence, and since we have no official power—”

  “Bree Nottingham not withstanding,” Clyde added.

  “We just have to watch and wait and see what develops.”

  Clyde ate another peanut.

  “While we’re on the subject of people with lots to lose, there’s always Consuela.”

  “And Pearl. Don’t forget Pearl,” Sean reminded him. “Charging people twelve dollars a pound for reconstituted mashed potatoes. That’s almost fraud.” He took another sip of his beer. “The problem as I see it is there are an embarrassment of suspects or as Bernie would say, ‘A surplus of suspects.’ What we need is another angle.”

  Clyde brushed the mound of peanut shells in front of him onto the floor. “I wonder if Hortense kept records?”

  “Hasn’t Lucy looked?” Sean asked.

  “Not as far as I know,” Clyde replied.

  “Interesting,” Sean said.

  “Isn’t it though.”

  Sean smiled at Clyde. Clyde smiled back.

  This is why Bree had called his daughters in. Lucy did a slipshod job. Always had, always would. In most investigations of this kind, you started with the victim and worked outward. Media stories to the contrary, strangers didn’t kill most people. People they knew did. And it was usually for one of three reasons: money, love, or revenge.

  Sean stroked his chin. He really needed to get a better razor. He’d ask Bernie to get him one the next time she went out.

  “The question is how to get to them?”

  “I think you left your glasses in the house,” Clyde said.

  “I think so too,” Sean agreed.

  “But you don’t wear glasses,” Marvin said. “I do. Oh,” he said when Sean didn’t reply. “I get it.”

  “Very good.” Sean took another sip of his beer.

  Of course, they could just let things go and see what developed. Or they could be a little more proactive. Over the years, Sean had always found that the proactive approach worked better for him. His dad always used to say, “If you wanted to get the apples down, you had to shake the tree.” Or was it, “You had to crush the grapes to get the wine.” It didn’t matter. The idea was the same. Sean consulted his watch. If they left now, they’d have time to carry out what he had in mind.

  “No point in telling Lucy. I’m sure he’s busy with his holiday preparations.”

  “True, true,” Clyde said. “Got to make the house look nice and wrap all those presents.” He nodded toward the TV set. “And everyone there is busy with the show.”

  Sean nodded.

  “Probably will be for a while,” Clyde continued.

  Sean nodded again.

  “I’m thinking Rob and I should take a drive up to the estate.”

  Marvin raised a hand. “And me,” Marvin said. “I can help too.”

  “No,” Sean said. “You stay here and keep Clyde company. I need you to report on what Libby and Bernie did so that I can talk to them about it.”

  Marvin hung his head. “Fine,” he mumbled.

  Oh God, Sean thought. Give me a break.

  “Libby will never forgive me if something happens to you.”

  Marvin didn’t say anything. Sean tried again. “Neither will your dad.”

  Marvin shrugged his shoulders. “So what,” he muttered. “Who cares?”

  Great, Sean thought. Just great. Marvin. Just what he wanted to deal with. A sensitive soul. He and Clyde exchanged looks. He knew he should just tell Marvin good-bye and get going. But somehow he couldn’t. After all, the kid had stolen his dad’s hearse for him. He did owe him something.

  And Libby would get upset if she found out that Sean had excluded him. Although maybe not from this. Maybe she’d be upset if she included him. That was the trouble with Libby. She was so emotional. You never knew what was going to set her off. But this he did know: He was going to regret what he was about to say. He said it anyway.

  “All right,” he told Marvin. “Let’s move.”

  Marvin beamed. “Super,” he cried as he jumped up.

  Amazing, Sean thought as he watched him get his leg tangled up in one of the barstool legs. Both he and the barstool hit the floor.

  “Good going,” one of the guys down toward the end yelled.

  Everyone else in the place clapped and hooted and hollered.

  “You okay?” Sean asked Marvin as he got up.

  Marvin didn’t say anything. He just picked up the stool and dusted himself off.

  “Are you okay?” Sean repeated.

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

  Sean noticed that Marvin’s ears had turned as red as Santa’s suit.

  Sean turned and looked at Clyde. He was standing there shakin
g his head.

  I am losing my mind, Sean thought as he and Rob and Marvin headed for the door. The only consolation he had was that this time Marvin wasn’t driving.

  Chapter 22

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all,” Rob said to Sean.

  “It’ll be fine,” Sean assured him, even though he was beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of his plan himself. Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this. On the other hand, he couldn’t think of another way to get the information he needed.

  Sean looked at Hortense’s mansion through the light veil of snow that had begun to fall. His perceptions were off. The place was bigger than he’d remembered. Like twice as big. He sighed. Well, they’d just have to move faster, that’s all. But between his slowness and Marvin’s clumsiness … he hated to admit it, but now he was a little worried.

  But it was still going to be an easy in, easy out deal. That hadn’t changed. They were going to use the studio entrance and go from there into Hortense’s office and master bedroom, both of which, according to Clyde (Sean didn’t ask him how he knew; maybe he should have), were located in the west wing of the house, as opposed to the studio, which was in the east wing.

  Sean didn’t expect anyone to stop them. Why should they? Everyone was in the studio filming the cooking show. And if there was a security man posted, they could always turn around and leave. Or as his dad liked to say, “No harm, no foul.”

  “I still don’t understand what we’re looking for,” Marvin grumbled as Rob parked his car behind the curve that led into the parking lot.

  He was doing that per Sean’s instructions. No point in being seen if you didn’t have to be, Sean reckoned.

  “Marvin, it’s simple,” Sean told him, trying to keep impatience out of his voice. “We’re looking for anything that looks suspicious.”

  “But how will we know?”

  “Tinkerbell will point the way.”

  Marvin blinked.

  Great, Sean thought. Now I have to apologize again. He took a deep breath and told Marvin he was sorry. Libby would never forgive him if he didn’t. And he did have a tendency to be intolerant. And sarcastic. After all, Marvin’s question was fair. Maybe, Sean told himself, he was annoyed with himself because, if truth be told, he really didn’t know what they were looking for either, at least not in the definitive way that Marvin wanted to hear.