“Pigheaded would probably be a better term.”
Bernie would have hit him but her hands were so cold she couldn’t make them into fists.
“Almost there,” she said.
She turned and looked at Libby and Marvin. They were talking to the policemen. No one was looking in their direction.
“Okay,” Bernie said as they neared the Dumpster. It was a small one, smaller than the one that they had behind A Little Taste of Heaven. She opened the top that was designed to keep out the raccoons, cats, and dogs and looked inside. There were four large plastic garbage bags, plus a crumpled-up brown paper bag with grease stains on it.
“I think it’s in here,” Bernie said as she lifted it out.
“How do you know that?” Rob asked her as she started opening it up.
“Because the others come from the kitchen. This bag was probably something he had a slice of pizza in. It would just be easier for him to put it in here and toss it in the Dumpster and be on his way.”
Bernie drew out the camera. “I can hardly wait to show Dad,” she said.
He was going to be very pleased.
“Should we call him?” Rob asked.
Bernie shook her head. She wanted to surprise him.
Chapter 35
The cooking show was over, and Sean had to admit that he rather liked it without Hortense, although he had liked it with her too. Just not as much. Hortense had been unpredictably predictable, but with Eric Royal you never knew what was going to happen. He looked so nervous that you wanted to watch just to cheer him on.
Sean reflected that Libby hadn’t looked as nervous as she had the first time she was on the show. Of course, she hadn’t been cooking either. Sean was thinking about the face she’d made when she’d tasted the lobster and bread stuffing as he channel surfed. It was the same face she’d made as a little girl when his wife had forced her to eat liver.
He was thinking about how ironic it was that now liver wasn’t good for you when back then it was when he heard the door downstairs open. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He put the remote down and listened. They weren’t Clyde’s; even his weren’t that heavy, and they certainly weren’t his daughters. He called out and Estes answered, which was a shock. It had taken him a few minutes to climb the stairs, which didn’t surprise Sean, given the man’s size. What did surprise Sean was that he was here. He felt a twinge of misgiving, but Sean told himself that was because he didn’t like surprises. Experience had taught him that they were never good. As Estes came through the door, Sean thought of something else.
“Was the downstairs door open?” Sean asked him. “Usually my daughters lock it.”
Estes took a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and blew his nose. “I guess they must have forgotten.”
“I guess they did,” Sean agreed. But he wondered. Libby was a fanatic on that particular subject. He felt a faint stirring of unease in his guts.
“So the girls aren’t here?” Estes asked.
Sean shook his head. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I thought they were.”
“Why would you think that?”
Estes blew his nose again. “I just assumed they’d come home after the show.”
“Obviously they didn’t. You should have called them.”
“I tried. They’re not answering their phones.”
Sean felt another flutter of alarm. Libby might turn her cell off, but Bernie always had hers on. That left two possibilities: either the girls were injured or Estes was lying. Sean chose to go with the second possibility. If Bernie and Libby had been involved in some sort of misadventure, he would have heard by now.
“So what did you want to talk to them about? Maybe I can relay a message,” Sean said to Estes.
Estes ignored his question and pointed to the table in front of Sean.
“Is that fruitcake?” he asked.
Not answering was not a good sign, Sean thought. It was not good at all. “Yes. Libby made it for me.”
“You like fruitcake?”
“Not particularly.”
“Mind if I have a slice?”
Sean shrugged. “Be my guest. In fact, let me call my daughters and tell them you’re here.”
“Remember, their phones aren’t working.”
Sean forced a laugh. “Oh yes. Well then maybe I should call my friend Clyde. He can find them for you.”
“I think your phone might be out too,” Estes said.
“Really?”
That’s probably because you cut the line, Sean thought as he feigned surprise at what Estes was telling him. I should have gone to R.J.'s, Sean thought. I don’t even have my service revolver in the house anymore, much less a twenty-two. He’d gotten rid of them when his hands started shaking so badly he couldn’t hold them anymore.
He should have kept them anyway, because now he was alone with a guy who had most likely killed two people. Sean cursed himself. How could this man have escaped his radar? He hadn’t even seen him coming. The only good thing was that Libby and Bernie weren’t here. He just hoped the situation stayed that way.
Sean cleared his throat. “So what makes you say the phones are out?” he asked in a calm, even tone. He didn’t want to get Estes upset. He didn’t know what Estes had in mind, but he had the strong suspicion that it was going to be something that he wasn’t going to like, so the longer he could postpone it, the better off he’d be.
As Sean watched Estes shift his weight from one foot to the other, he thought about how large Estes was. At least four hundred pounds. Maybe more. Then as Estes sniffed, then sniffed again, Sean realized something else. This man was coked out. How could he have missed that?
“I guess they had a malfunction somewhere,” Estes told him.
Sean’s eyes wandered around the room. He didn’t see his cell anywhere. He’d probably left it in Marvin’s van. Of course, even if it was here, given that he walked like a ninety-year-old man, getting to it would be problematic anyway.
Estes took out his handkerchief, rubbed his nose with it, and put it back in his pocket. Then he reached over and broke off a piece of fruitcake.
“You called Eric,” he said.
“Yes, I did. So how’s the guy doing? He seemed a little stressed.” When Sean had first joined the force, it had been hard to make polite chitchat in situations like these, but he’d learned.
“Eric is fine. He told me you were asking about how the show is doing without Hortense.”
Sean nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment. If he could get to the bathroom, he could get Bernie’s hair-spray. That or any aerosol product and a match and you had a flamethrower. For the first time in his life he regretted not smoking.
“Why do you care?”
“It was just a question.”
“Policemen don’t just ask questions.”
“I’m not a policeman anymore.”
“No. But you still think like one.”
Sean managed to get up. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I have to use the little boys’ room.”
Estes smiled at him. Well, not exactly smiled, Sean decided. It was more like a snarl.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I really have to go.”
Estes pushed him back in the chair. “A little self-discipline is good for the soul.”
“We’re not talking about my soul.”
“I am.”
So much for Plan A, Sean thought. On to Plan B. Too bad he didn’t have a Plan B.
Estes loomed over him. Sean looked up.
“You think I killed them, don’t you?” Estes asked Sean.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then why did you ask about how the show was doing?”
“Because my daughters are on it.”
Estes sniffed again. “You know,” he said, “Hortense was a witch.”
Sean grunted. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to hear what
he was positive was going to be Estes’ confession. Because after that … well, he didn’t want to think about after that. Estes went on anyway.
“You know,” he said, “respect is an amazing thing. Now I get invitations to parties. Nice people ask me to their homes. They invite me out to restaurants. Before, they wouldn’t look at me. And you know why? I’ll tell you. Because now I’m respectable. And you know why I’m respectable? Because I’m successful. I’m a successful television producer.”
“A very successful television producer,” Sean echoed. Even at his healthiest and strongest he would have had trouble bringing this guy down without the aid of his weapon.
Estes smiled. “The Hortense Calabash Show was a success.”
Sean nodded. He wondered how Estes was planning on killing him. Maybe he was going to sit on him. That would work
“An unqualified success,” Estes reiterated. “But I forgot the number-one rule. I forgot you have to diversify. My grandmother always said, ‘Never put all your eggs in one basket,’ and she was right. I should have been working on several projects at once.” Estes sniffed a couple of times, then started speaking again. “Americans always want new things. Better things. If you want to stay on top, you have to give them that. Hortense wouldn’t admit that her numbers were slipping. I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t want to listen. I mean, what could I do? Especially since she held an IOU on me.”
“Yeah. Women. They can be like that. Totally unreasonable.”
Estes let out a barking laugh. “You’re a funny guy.”
“Glad you think so,” Sean replied.
What can I use to defend myself? Sean wondered as he scanned the space in front of him. There was nothing here. Just three days worth of newspapers and a stack of magazines. The plate the fruitcake was on. Maybe the fork on the plate. He could use that. But where would he jab it? It would have to be someplace in Estes’ face to do any good. No. That wouldn’t really work.
And then Sean’s eyes fell on the can of Christmas snow that Bernie had been going to use to write on his windows before he’d stopped her. She was going to take it downstairs, but obviously she’d forgotten, because it was still next to his chair where he’d put it after he’d grabbed it from her. That might work. No. That would work. He blessed his youngest daughter.
All he needed now was a match. With luck he could get Estes to back up out of the room. With even more luck he’d trip and fall down the stairs. And even if he didn’t, hopefully Sean would have enough time to get back inside his bedroom and lock the door behind him.
Then he could stick his head out the window and start yelling. If the gods were with him, Ned or someone driving by would see him. It wasn’t a great plan. It probably wouldn’t even work. But it sure as hell beat sitting there and waiting for Estes to do whatever he had in mind.
“The thing is,” Estes continued, “you have to change with the times. If something doesn’t work, you have to discard it and move on. That’s the way the market is these days. It’s impersonal. A force of nature. You have to get rid of what doesn’t work to make room for what does.”
Sean nodded. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. You wouldn’t have a cigarette on you, would you?” he asked.
“I didn’t know you were a smoker.”
Sean shrugged. “My daughters think I’ve given it up.”
“Sure,” Estes said. “Why not.”
It’s like he’s giving me my last cigarette, Sean thought as he watched Estes go into his pocket and take out a packet of Camels and his lighter.
“That used to be my brand,” Sean said as Estes handed them to him. Sean pointed to the piece of fruitcake Estes was holding. “Aren’t you going to give that a try? You’d be doing me a favor.”
Estes nodded. He took a bite. Then he took another. “A little dry,” he said, but he kept right on eating.
Sean took a deep breath. What if he was becoming paranoid in his old age? What if he was wrong? What if Estes wasn’t looking to kill him? What if he hadn’t killed Hortense and Pearl? But if he hadn’t, then what was all that business with the phones about? Why was he here?
And what was that business about getting rid of things that didn’t work? Every instinct that he had gotten in his years on the force was telling him this man didn’t wish him well. And if he was going to make a mistake, then so be it. Better to be wrong than dead.
Sean took another deep breath, put the cigarette Estes had given him in his mouth, and picked up the lighter. He allowed it to slip through his fingers.
“Damn,” he said. “I can’t hold on to anything these days.”
Estes didn’t even look at him. He was too busy eating Libby’s fruitcake.
“Here goes,” Sean muttered to himself as he bent over and picked up the lighter and the can.
He just hoped he could take off the top of the can and hit the spray button. Last year he wouldn’t have been able to do that. But in the last two months the trembling in his hands had subsided, and he was gaining strength back in them thanks to the exercises he did five times a day.
He looked up quickly. Estes was still eating. Sean pulled at the top of the spray can. It moved slightly. He pulled some more. The top came off.
“Look what I found,” he told Estes as he straightened up. Then he hit the button and lit the match.
An arc of flame came out of the can right near Estes’ face. He took a quick step back. I missed, Sean thought. Now I’m done for. It took him a second to realize that Estes wasn’t coming toward him, wasn’t yelling at him. Instead he was making strange noises and pointing to his throat.
My God, he’s choking on the fruitcake, Sean thought as he heard the downstairs door open. A chorus of “Dads” and “Seans” floated up from Libby, Bernie, Rob, and Marvin. Sean reflected that it looked as if the cavalry had arrived just in time to save Estes from choking to death on Libby’s fruitcake.
Bernie burst through the door. “Hey, Dad,” she said, waving what looked like a camera at him. “Look what we got. Evidence that Estes killed Hortense.” Then she stopped short and looked down.
“Oh,” she said. “What’s with Estes?”
By now Estes was turning blue.
“He’s choking.”
It took a minute but Rob finally managed to dislodge the piece of fruitcake from Estes’ throat. Sean explained what had happened as he told Rob and Marvin to tie Estes up; not that he was going anywhere, Sean reflected. The man looked in terrible shape. He doubted he could get anywhere right now. He was just leaning up against the wall, wheezing.
Sean borrowed Libby’s cell phone and called the Longely Police Department.
“See,” Sean heard Bernie say to Libby as he waited to speak to Lucy, “I told you that fruitcake was way too dry.”
Chapter 36
Libby carefully smoothed down a wrinkle in the pale pink linen tablecloth. It was in surprisingly good shape, considering that her mother had gotten it on her honeymoon in Ireland. She used to say it was the only thing her father had let her buy.
Usually they didn’t use the dining room to eat, hadn’t even when her mom was alive and her dad was well, but tonight was Christmas Eve and Christmas Eve was special. Especially this one, Libby reflected as she checked the glasses and the silverware for last-minute spots. Thank heavens her father was as resourceful as he was. Otherwise … well … she wasn’t going to even think about otherwise.
Libby’s gaze rested on her mother’s good bone china. She picked up a plate and turned it over. The pattern was called Prince Albert. She didn’t know why she always forgot that. Because she loved it. She loved the gold rim and the delicate red and pink roses on it. I should really use them more often, she thought as she picked up a piece of her mother’s crystal stemware and held it up to the light. Little prisms of light danced in front of her eyes. She should use these more often too.
Libby smiled as she glanced out the window. A light snow was falling. The streets were quiet. Everyone was home cel
ebrating. She and Bernie had closed the store an hour and a half ago, and they were staying closed till Monday. Libby was looking forward to that. They had a blessed weekend with nothing to do. Tomorrow, Rob, his mother, and Marvin and his father were coming over for Christmas dinner, but tonight it was just her, Bernie, and her dad. Given what had happened, that was fine with her. No. It was more than fine. It was perfect.
Libby turned as Bernie carefully set the white tureen full of pumpkin bisque on the table. Originally she’d debated serving the soup in a pumpkin but decided she liked the contrast of the pale orange and white better.
“The table looks nice,” her dad observed as he came through the door.
The look of anticipation on his face made Libby smile.
He added, “I’m glad we’re having an old-fashioned Christmas dinner.”
Bernie laughed. “What? You don’t want smothered cardoons and lobster stuffing?”
Sean shuddered. “No, thank you.”
“I bet you’ve never tried cardoons.”
“And I don’t intend to.”
“Don’t knock them,” Bernie continued. “Cardoons are from the thistle family. They’re extremely nutritious, and they’re really not that bad tasting.”
Libby lit the candles. “They’re not that great either, or as Mom would have said, ‘Damning with faint praise.'”
They all sat down. Libby ladled the soup into everyone’s bowl. It was simple but delicious, mostly just pumpkin sautéed with onion, seasoned with freshly ground salt and pepper and a couple of scrapings of fresh nutmeg; then she had pureed the vegetables, carefully combined them with some chicken stock and half and half, and heated the mixture through. Sometimes simple things are the best.
“Delicious,” her father pronounced as he took a taste.
Libby reached over and took one of the Parker House rolls she’d just made out of the silver bread basket and broke it in half. She inhaled the smell of fresh yeast as she buttered it and took a bite. Nothing was better than rolls still warm from the oven. After this they’d have a capon stuffed with apples and apricots and corn bread, Brussels sprouts with chestnuts, green beans with toasted pine nuts, and potatoes lyonnaise.
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