“And when do you propose we do that?” she asked her sister.
“Tomorrow before the taping.”
“Excuse me,” Libby said. “But in case you’ve forgotten, we have two parties to get ready for.”
“I’ll go,” Bernie said.
Libby went over and ladled some of the wine into a mug. She took a sip. Bernie was right. This was good.
“If Clyde has a lead.”
“I bet he will,” Bernie said. “He knows everything.”
“And then what?” Libby asked.
“And then we’ll see,” Bernie said. She patted Libby’s arm. “Cheer up. If we’re lucky, we could be done with this whole business.”
“That would be wonderful,” Libby told her. “Absolutely wonderful.” And then right after she said it she felt guilty, because if that were true, it was going to be because Pearl was the guilty party.
Chapter 26
“This must be the place,” Bernie said to herself as she parked the car in front of O’Brien & Sons Hobby and Train shop and turned off the van’s headlights.
This was one of the things she hated about this time of year, Bernie thought. It got so dark so early. Of course it could be worse. She could be in someplace like Nome, Alaska, where they got four hours of sunlight a day.
But still. Even though it was a little after five, it felt like midnight; but then maybe it felt like that because she’d gotten three hours of sleep the night before. Bernie rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers.
As her guru back in L.A. kept telling her, the trick was to stay in the now and not think about everything else she had to do. Just focus on what you have to do next, she told herself. Not that that would be hard to do—if she could stay awake to do it.
According to Clyde, Jean Claude O’Brien had been the first officer on the scene of Pearl’s “accident.” When Bernie had looked up his name on the computer, she’d found a listing for a Jean Claude O’Brien three towns away.
The name wasn’t all that common, so she figured he was her guy. A little further research had showed that he had opened a hobby shop, at which point she’d checked out his Web site. Luckily for her, there’d been a picture of him and his son standing in front of their storefront.
When she’d shown the picture to Clyde, he’d confirmed it was the guy he’d been talking about. Sometimes the Web was a wonderful thing. Clyde had wanted to call him, but Bernie had decided she’d rather surprise him. Now as she looked at the gift she’d brought him, she wondered about the wisdom of her choice.
Bernie sighed as she assessed the store window. She and Libby had done a better job on A Little Taste of Heaven’s. O’Brien’s decorations were rather perfunctory. There was a train going around and around, a plastic Santa, and four elves. Not very imaginative. Of course, maybe she felt that way because she hated model trains.
Had ever since her dad had run over her pet chameleon with one. The tail had been on one side of the tracks and the lizard on the other. Actually, the lizard had been fine. Evidently they shed their tails whenever they got nervous, some sort of survival mechanism, but it had taken her father hours to convince her of that. Her mother had not been amused, but if truth be told, she usually wasn’t.
And then there was that guy in Venice Beach who had turned one room of his apartment into a perfect replica of some historic railroad site in Rhode Island. Or maybe it was Vermont. She wouldn’t have cared so much, but the apartment had only two rooms. That was a relationship that hadn’t lasted too long. She’d had to duck under the trestles to get to the bathroom.
One day she’d had one glass of wine too many and accidentally destroyed a major road. Bernie started to laugh thinking about it, although at the time it hadn’t been so funny. God, she hadn’t thought about Ned in years. She was wondering what had happened to him when her cell phone rang. It was Libby.
“No,” she told her when she’d fished her phone out of her pocketbook. “I haven’t forgotten to pick up the sugar, and yes, I know I have to be at the studio soon. That’s why I’m dressed the way I am.”
Jeez, Bernie thought as she stashed the phone in her jacket pocket. Give me a break. Like she was going to forget something like that. She walked into the store. Jean Claude O’Brien came toward her. He sure didn’t look like any Irishman she’d ever seen. Or Frenchman. Actually, he looked Puerto Rican.
“Anything I can help you with?” he said.
Bernie handed him the basket she was carrying. It contained three fancy plastic bags filled with chocolate chip, gingersnap, and oatmeal cashew cookies, a jar of strawberry jam that Libby had made last summer, and three walnut-oatmeal scones. When in doubt, come armed with food. That was her motto.
He frowned. “What’s this?” he asked.
“A present from Clyde Schiller over in Longely.”
Bernie was not happy to see that instead of thanking her, much less oohing and aahing over the basket, O’Brien just took it and put it down on the counter. That was not the way things like this usually went.
“Haven’t heard from him in a while,” O’Brien said. “Is he still doing the same thing?”
Bernie nodded.
“I hear Lucas is chief of police now.”
Bernie nodded again.
“Good going. That other guy who was there before him …”
“Sean Simmons,” Bernie said.
“He was a net loss.”
Bernie couldn’t restrain herself. She knew she shouldn’t, but she said it anyway. “That man is my father.”
O’Brien shrugged. “Doesn’t change the truth.”
Bernie could feel herself flush. “You have no right to say that.”
“It’s my store. I can say what I want. I’m sorry you don’t want to hear it, but I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”
Bernie leaned over and grabbed the basket. “Good for you.”
“That’s not very nice,” O’Brien said.
“You’re not very nice,” Bernie replied, and she marched out the door.
“Talk about a total waste of time,” Bernie muttered to herself as she turned the key in the ignition of Libby’s van. The damned thing wouldn’t start. Bernie slapped the dashboard with the palm of her hand. “Don’t do this to me,” she cried. She was turning the key again when she realized that O’Brien was by her window. She rolled it down.
“What do you want?” she snarled.
“How come you came over here in the first place?”
“What do you care?”
O’Brien lifted his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Listen. I’m sorry about what I said back there. Me and your father have some history.”
“So?”
“So. It’s Christmas. I’m trying to be nice.”
“Well, you’re not,” Bernie snapped.
O’Brien shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it.” And he turned to go.
It was the way she wanted it, Bernie decided as she watched him trudge back toward his store. She didn’t need to hear what he had to say.
But the trouble was she did.
What was her father always telling her about not letting the personal get in the way of the job? He’d probably be telling her that now if he was here. No probably about it. That’s what he would be telling her. She took a deep breath. All right, Bernie, she told herself. It’s time to grow up.
“Wait!” she cried.
O’Brien turned back toward her.
“I have a question for you.”
O’Brien nodded. “Shoot.”
“Clyde said you were the person to ask.”
“I’m waiting.”
“It’s about Pearl—”
“The dead baby-sitter,” O’Brien exclaimed. “How could I forget. That baby-sitter was the first dead person I’d ever seen.”
“Do you think Pearl—”
“Did it on purpose?” O’Brien asked.
“How did you know what I was going to say?”
“It was the question everyone
was asking.”
“And?”
O’Brien scratched his cheek. “I thought she did, the ADA thought she did, but her parents were rich and had a good lawyer, so she got off with probation and some serious shrink time.” O’Brien shrugged. “That’s the way these things go sometimes. Why do you want to know?”
Bernie made a vague gesture. “Oh, I’m thinking of writing an article,” she lied.
O’Brien grinned. “I didn’t know you were a writer.”
“In my spare time.”
“I see.”
Bernie decided O’Brien had a cat-ate-the-canary smile on his face. She wondered why as he gestured toward the basket on the front seat.
“Any chance of getting that back?”
Bernie reached over and handed it to him. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
“Same to you. And by the way, good luck on the cooking show.”
“What?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard O’Brien right.
He pointed to his watch. “You should be getting moving shouldn’t you? You’re going to be on the air soon.”
“But how—” Bernie began.
O’Brien cut her off before she could finish. “My wife’s been watching the show on TV. So where’s Hortense?”
“She broke her pelvis.”
“I thought it was her hip.”
Damn me, Bernie thought as she watched O’Brien’s grin grow even bigger.
“Following in your dad’s steps, are you?” he said.
“Not at all,” Bernie replied. She tried the van again. This time it turned over. She put it in gear and shot out of there.
When she got around the corner, she reached into her bag, pulled out her cell phone, and called Libby.
“It’s her,” she told her.
Chapter 27
Libby watched Pearl for a moment as she flitted around the green room. The woman hadn’t stopped moving since she’d walked in the door. First she’d rearranged the chairs that were lined up against the wall so they were exactly a quarter of an inch apart, then she’d done the same thing with the chairs around the conference table, and after that she’d gone to work on the food table. She’d gotten done with the bagels and the muffins and was now reorganizing the jam by flavors.
Libby turned to Bernie. “Don’t ever call me obsessive-compulsive,” she told her sister.
Bernie laughed. “I won’t.”
“I can’t imagine what living with her would be like.”
“I know.” Bernie leaned in closer. “Do you think she ever stops?”
“No. Being like that must be exhausting.”
Bernie moved her ring up and down her finger. “Not to change the subject or anything,” she went on, “but what do you think about getting a DVD player for Dad?”
Libby nodded. “Good idea. Then I’ll get him a DVD burner.”
Bernie shook her head. “God, look at Pearl’s clothes.”
Libby clicked her tongue against her teeth. Her clothes were amazing. And not in the good sense either. The bright green sweater with the line of bells across the top and the red and green plaid skirt that Libby couldn’t help noticing made Pearl’s hips look bigger than her own were definite showstoppers. She and Estes were running neck in neck in the bad taste department. Libby shook her head. What was wrong with her? She usually didn’t care about things like that.
Bernie nudged her. Libby turned back toward her sister.
“Whatever do you suppose possessed her to wear that?” she asked.
“She probably thought it was festive.” Libby wiped a drop of sweat away from her forehead with the end of her napkin.
It was too hot in here. There were just too many people crowded in this room, Libby decided. They were taking up all the air. Either that or she was nervous, although Libby couldn’t figure out why she should be.
She and Bernie weren’t scheduled to cook today. Which was good. On the other hand, they were going to cohost the show with Eric Royal. This was the price of winning yesterday’s contest. She was just glad that Bernie was with her, because Libby hadn’t even thought about what she was going to say. She liked to be prepared, but there’d been too much going on.
Bernie shook her head. “She looks like she’s wearing wrapping paper, and cheap wrapping paper at that. I mean, why do people have to dress in themes?” Bernie continued. “They’re not shop windows. And Christmas is the worst. All those sweaters with reindeer and snowflakes. Feh.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Libby told her.
“Well, I would.”
Libby sighed.
“What’s the matter?” Bernie asked her.
“Just thinking,” Libby replied.
“About Pearl?”
“Yup,” Libby admitted.
Bernie stroked her arm. “It’s hard when the criminal turns out to be someone you like.”
“Thanks,” Libby replied. She smiled at Bernie. Maybe they did bicker a lot, but when it came down to it, Bernie always knew what she needed to hear.
“Maybe she won’t be guilty after all.”
“Dad thinks she is.” She was about to say something else when Consuela started talking.
“Will you stop that,” Consuela said to Pearl, who was in the process of lining up all the coffee cups on the table so that their handles faced the same way.
Pearl froze.
“I’m not doing anything,” she stammered.
“Yes you are. You’re annoying me,” Consuela told her.
Brittany stepped forward. “I second that.”
Libby could see Pearl looking at her.
“Am I annoying you too?” she wailed.
Libby shook her head. She felt terrible. “Not at all.”
“Then you’re as crazy as she is,” Brittany told her.
“Now, that is not necessary,” Bernie shot back.
I should stick up for myself, Libby thought as Brittany rounded on her sister.
“I’m just making an observation,” she told her, at which point her cell phone started ringing.
“Talk about annoying,” Bernie said. “Shouldn’t that thing be off? Or why don’t you get one surgically implanted in your ear and save us all the bother of hearing it.”
“Excuse me.”
Libby watched Brittany stick her neck out. “I need to talk to my people.”
“Your people?” Bernie scoffed. “You don’t have any people.”
“I most certainly do,” Brittany told her.
Bernie put her hands on her hips. “Yeah? Like who?”
“I don’t have time for this stupidity,” Brittany retorted.
“Then you should look at yourself,” Libby told her.
But Brittany didn’t hear her comment. She’d already turned her back on her and Bernie and was talking into her phone. Typical of me, Libby thought as she observed Pearl looking around the room. When I finally decide to talk, no one listens.
Libby nodded in Pearl’s direction. “She looks as if she’s going to cry,” she said to her sister.
“Doesn’t she though,” Bernie agreed.
Pearl spread her arms out and appealed to everyone. “I just want to make things even. What’s so wrong with that?” she asked.
La Croix looked at her and shook his head in disgust. “What’s so wrong is that you are flitting around, going here, going there.” He did a pantomime of Pearl’s actions with his hands. “You are making it impossible for me to concentrate.”
Consuela snorted. “What a load of nonsense. You have nothing to concentrate on.”
“This is not true,” La Croix shot back. “I must retain my focus so that I may be in tune with the harmony of the universe.”
Brittany rolled her eyes as she put her cell back in her bag. “Spare me. You’re not the one that’s going on next. I am.”
“So what?” La Croix said. “You have nothing to think about.”
“I have my menu to consider,” Brittany told him.
La Croix’s eyebrows shot up.
“You can’t plan that. Unless, of course, you already know the ingredients you are going to use.”
“And how would I know that?” Brittany demanded.
“Perhaps because you are”—La Croix paused and made what Libby’s mother would have called a rude gesture—"doing this with Eric Royal.”
Libby watched as two spots of color appeared on Brittany’s cheeks.
“How dare you?” she demanded. “I’ve never used sex to get what I want in my life, and I never will.”
Reginald Palmer turned around from the Christmas tree in the far corner and came forward. “Maybe that’s because no one wants you, my dear,” he suggested.
Brittany whirled around and faced him. “At least I’m not a whore.”
“Excuse me,” Reginald said. “And what, exactly, did you mean by that?”
“You know exactly what I meant,” Brittany told him.
“No, I don’t.”
“You and Hortense were quite the item.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Brittany laughed. “Oh please. Everyone knows you were sleeping with her. She owned you.”
I didn’t know, Libby thought. She looked at Bernie. Bernie looked back at her and gave an imperceptible shake of her head. Evidently Bernie hadn’t known either. This is getting more interesting by the second, Libby thought as Reginald started talking again.
“That’s ridiculous,” Reginald said. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe it’s ridiculous, but it’s true,” Brittany said.
Reginald stepped in front of Brittany. Libby could see that he’d made his hands into fists.
“Take it back,” he said.
“Like hell I will,” Brittany said.
Reginald raised his hands. “I said take it back.”
He had a tone in his voice that Libby didn’t like. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d stepped between them.
“That’s enough,” she said.
Reginald glared at Brittany, who glared back. For a second, Libby thought she was going to get punched, but then both Reginald and Brittany stepped away from each other.
“At least I haven’t poisoned anyone,” Reginald said.
“That allegation was entirely untrue,” Brittany cried.
Reginald smiled. “Was it? That’s not what I heard. That’s not what I heard at all. Good thing you have a rich daddy who can buy your way out of things like that and save your ass. How much did he spend? A couple of million? Must have been at least that—maybe more.” He wagged a finger at her. “Salmonella. Tsk-tsk. But I guess that’s what happens when someone like you gets into a business they know nothing about. It’s a good thing your daddy has the money to buy all your books. Otherwise they’d never sell.”
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