Libby frowned at the memory. “I was tracking Bernie through the woods. I was afraid she’d gotten shot or knifed or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bernie told her.
“I’m not,” Libby cried. “I was terrified when you didn’t come back. I thought I’d find you lying somewhere.”
“So now this is my fault?” Bernie demanded.
“Wow.” Brandon held up his hands. “Ladies, both of you need to calm down,” he told Bernie and Libby. “I just want to know what happened, without a side of bickering please.”
“It’s been a long day,” Libby admitted.
“And I guess neither of us is in the best of moods,” Bernie allowed.
“That’s an understatement,” Brandon said as he got himself a drink of water.
“And Lucy was waiting for us when we got back to the shop,” Bernie said.
“What was he doing there?” Marvin asked.
“He’d come to gloat,” Libby explained. “Because, evidently, calling wasn’t enough.” Libby took a sip of her beer. “This has not been a good day,” she reiterated. “Way too much drama for my taste.” Then she put her glass down and began to talk.
When she was through, Brandon looked at Libby and said, “You do know Allison’s a crack shot, don’t you?”
“How would I know that?” Libby protested.
At the same time Bernie said, “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not,” Brandon replied. “She belongs to the Longely Rod and Gun Club. Correction. Did belong to it. She got thrown out after she got arrested.”
“They threw her out because she got arrested?” Libby asked.
“No,” Brandon replied. “They threw her out because Susie insisted on it.”
Bernie tilted her head and looked at Brandon. “And you know this how?”
“The same way I know everything,” Brandon told her. “People tell me.”
“Are you sure?” Bernie asked.
Instead of answering, Brandon turned and called down the bar to a portly middle-aged man wearing a baseball hat, a white polo shirt, and plaid Bermuda shorts. “Hey, Mike,” he cried. “Tell these ladies about Allison Hardy.”
Mike looked away from the TV on the wall. “What about her?”
“She can shoot, can’t she?”
“She sure can,” Mike said and went back to watching the Yankees.
“Well?” Bernie asked. “Can she shoot well?”
“Very well,” Mike answered, this time without turning his head away from the TV. “She’s an excellent shot.”
“And there you have it, folks,” Brandon said before he went to wait on another customer.
Libby took another sip of her beer and put it down. “What do you think that means?” she asked, turning to Marvin and Bernie.
“It means she could have shot you if she wanted,” Marvin said, pointing out the obvious.
“Well, this certainly puts my poison ivy in perspective,” Libby said.
“Obviously, she wanted to get you out of there,” Brandon said, having temporarily discharged himself of his waiterly duties. “There must have been something in there that she didn’t want you to see.”
“I can’t think of what,” Libby said after she’d gone over everything in the house in her mind.
“Neither can I,” Bernie said. She’d been doing the same thing as her sister. “There wasn’t very much there.”
“Well, then, maybe she was just pissed you were in her space, and she decided to teach you a lesson,” Brandon suggested.
“I guess it’s possible,” Bernie said. It seemed like a pretty extreme step to her, but then Allison was a pretty extreme kind of person.
Marvin ate a pretzel. “There is another possibility,” he said slowly.
Bernie, Libby, and Brandon turned toward him and waited.
“She could have done it to add validity to her story,” Marvin said.
“Validity. That’s a nice word,” Brandon said. “You back to using the Word of the Day Calendar?”
“Yeah,” Marvin said, putting on his tough-guy face. “You got a problem with that?”
Brandon laughed, grabbed a handful of pretzels out of the dish in front of Marvin, and started throwing them in his mouth. “Is that your toughest tough-guy face?”
“Ignore him,” Libby said as she patted Marvin’s hand. “He’s just jealous.”
Brandon hit his chest with his fist. “You got me,” he cried before moving off to wait on another customer.
“So, what do you think?” Marvin asked Libby.
“About your word?” Libby replied.
“No. About my idea,” Marvin spluttered.
“It’s possible,” Bernie said, jumping into the conversation. “Unlikely but possible, but then, that statement applies to everything about this case.”
“What a mess,” Libby said.
“Indeed, it is,” Bernie agreed. “Too bad Dad didn’t talk to Marie,” she noted. She finished off the last of her wheat beer. “Now we have to.”
“Unfortunately,” Libby said.
“I wonder what she’ll have to say for herself,” Bernie mused.
Libby frowned. “The same as everyone else, I warrant. That Susie was a bad person, that she had done her wrong, that in spite of this, she did nothing to harm Susie, that her hands are clean . . .”
“And so on and so forth,” Bernie said. Half of her wanted to stay at RJ’s, but the other half remembered Lucy’s grin earlier in the day as he asked her if they’d discovered anything else since the last time they’d spoken, and she knew they had to go. “Okay,” she said, standing up. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“To where?” Libby asked.
“To talk to Marie, of course.”
“Of course.” Libby pointed at the clock on the wall. “It’s late.”
Bernie disputed her sister’s assertion. “It’s nine thirty. Nine thirty isn’t late.”
“For some people, it is.”
“I guess we’ll find out if Marie is one of those people or not.”
“She’ll be annoyed if she’s settled in for the evening,” Libby pointed out.
“She’ll be annoyed if we come tomorrow morning,” Bernie said as she started feeling around in her tote for her car keys.
“But she’ll be more annoyed if we come now,” Libby replied. “I know I would be.”
“She’ll be annoyed whenever we come,” Bernie told her sister, “because she’s not going to want to talk to us.”
Libby didn’t have a comeback, because what her sister had said was true.
“Aha,” Bernie said a minute later, having located the keys. She turned to Libby as she held them up. “Yes? No?”
Libby sighed. “I guess,” she said as, unable to help herself, she bent down and scratched her ankle again. They were going to have to do this sometime. She supposed now was as good a time as any.
Chapter 34
Marie Summer lived one-quarter mile away from Susie. A dimly lit winding road went through the Pines, connecting all the houses, and although the landscaping gave the illusion of the houses being far apart from one another, they really weren’t. Probably not more than a ten-minute walk.
As Bernie drove down the road, Libby considered the implications of that fact: both Charlene and Marie could have walked home, returned to Susie’s house, and killed her in the requisite time. Libby sighed. The idea gave her no joy. It seemed as if the deeper she and Bernie delved into the situation, the farther away from a solution they got.
Marie’s house, like the houses surrounding it, was a wood and brick midcentury colonial surrounded by a rolling lawn, with a large weeping willow in front and a spacious yard in back. Unlike Susie’s home, it was practically indistinguishable from its neighbors. There were no large neon cats greeting you as you drove in, no cat pictures on the white shutters, nothing jarring, nothing that hadn’t been there fifty years ago. The house was probably just the way her parents had left
it, Bernie couldn’t help thinking as she turned into the driveway.
An old-fashioned streetlamp cast a gentle glow on the road, illuminating a mailbox with a cute picture of a log cabin painted on it; the path up to the house, lined with bedded petunias, impatiens, and fairy lights; and the arborvitae hiding the house’s foundation.
When Bernie got closer, she noticed the house wasn’t as perfect as it appeared from the distance. She spotted alligatored paint on the wood on the second story, chinks of missing mortar between the first-story red bricks, and grapevines and deadly nightshade winding their way over the arborvitae.
“It is a lot of house to maintain,” Libby noted, echoing her sister’s thoughts, as they neared the garage. She pointed to two vehicles parked in front of the garage. “Evidently, Marie has a visitor.”
Bernie frowned. “That’s just ducky.” Now they’d have to come back. More time wasted. She was about to turn the van around when the front door of Marie’s house opened. A man came out, strolled down the three steps that led from the porch, and headed for the Civic.
“Isn’t that Travis, the groundskeeper from Susie’s estate?” Libby asked as they drew closer.
Bernie nodded. “I believe you are correct,” she said as she brought the van to a stop next to the passenger side of the Civic. Then she rolled down the window. “Hey, Travis,” she called.
Travis looked over, smiled, tipped his hat, and said, “Have a good evening, ladies.” Then he got in his vehicle and drove away.
“I wonder what he was doing here?” Libby asked as she watched him take a left onto Ash Road, his taillights disappearing behind a neighbor’s privet hedge.
“Maybe Marie will tell us,” Bernie replied as she and Libby got out of their vehicle. They marched up to Marie’s front door, and Libby rang the bell.
Marie flung the storm door open before the chimes had stopped. “Travis,” she said, smiling. Then she saw who was standing in front of her, and her expression changed from happy to disappointed to hostile in two seconds. “Oh. You,” she said, emphasizing the word you.
She was wearing an off-the-shoulder light blue knit sundress and white sandals with kitten heels. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was slightly mussed, and Bernie reflected that she looked as if, to use her mother’s words, she had just been entertaining a gentleman caller, really entertaining him.
“What do you two want?” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest.
“World peace,” Bernie answered.
“Definitely world peace,” Libby said, seconding this.
“You two are a couple of real comedians, aren’t you?” Marie observed.
“We like to think so,” Bernie replied. “We like to think we bring a little bit of joy into everyone’s day.”
“Well, maybe you should take another think,” Marie told her.
“I must say you’re not being the gracious, welcoming hostess I heard you were,” Bernie replied.
“I’m not trying to be,” Marie informed her as she glowered at the sisters.
“You could have fooled me,” Libby said as she started scratching her wrist, realized what she was doing, and stopped. Please, God, don’t let the poison ivy be there, too, she prayed before she asked Marie another question. “What was Travis doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“He was helping me with my sink, if you must know, and I do mind your asking. Now, if we’re all done here, it’s late and I want to go to bed.”
“I thought you already had,” Bernie said.
“That’s it,” Marie declared. “I don’t need to be insulted in my own house.”
“I wasn’t insulting you,” Bernie replied. “I was complimenting you.”
Marie pointed to the road. “Leave. Leave before I call the cops.” She began to close the storm door, but Bernie was faster.
Good job, Bernie told herself as she stepped into a small vestibule with a tiled floor. Nothing like antagonizing the person you’re trying to interview, I always say, Bernie thought as she noticed the door to the house looked old and worn and needed to be replaced. She could hear meowing coming from behind it.
“Sorry,” Bernie told Marie. “I was out of line.”
“Yes, you were,” Marie agreed, looking slightly, the operative word being slightly, less put out.
“My sister has no filter,” Libby explained, indicating Bernie with her chin. “She says whatever comes into her head.”
“Evidently,” Marie agreed.
“Think how I feel, having to live with her,” Libby said to Marie, who smiled at the comment.
“Hey,” Bernie cried. “That’s not very nice.”
Libby ignored her sister and concentrated on Marie. “So how do you know Travis?” Libby asked, making small talk.
“He used to work for a lawn service that I hired.” Marie gave out the information like she was parting with her Social Security number. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because my sister and I are looking for a plumber,” Libby lied. “Is he any good?”
“Good enough,” Marie said. She made a big deal of holding her arm up and studying the face of her watch. “Now, it’s late, and I’m getting ready to turn in.”
“Fair enough,” Bernie said, taking up the conversational baton. “That’s not why we came here, anyway.”
“Do I look like I care?” Marie asked, reverting to hostile mode.
“Actually, you kinda do,” Bernie replied.
“It was a rhetorical question,” Marie spit out. She turned to Libby. “Your sister is an extremely annoying person.”
“Believe me, I sympathize,” Libby said.
“Marie, don’t you want to know why we’re here?” Bernie persisted.
“To ask me for a recommendation for a plumber?”
“Seriously, Marie, you might want to hear this,” Libby told her. “It’s important.”
“I doubt that,” Marie answered.
“Well, we’re going to tell you, anyway,” Bernie said, “because that’s the kind of people we are.”
Marie held up her hand. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said.
“Allison had some interesting things to say,” Bernie continued.
Marie snorted. “That nutjob? Let me guess.” She frowned. An expression of disgust crossed her face. “She was probably going on about how cruel I am to keep my cats indoors. How they need to be outside in the fresh air.”
“Actually,” Bernie said, “she accused you of murdering Susie and then trying to kill her.”
Marie laughed. “Get serious.”
“We are,” Libby said.
“This is your big news?” Marie put air quotes around the word news. “This is what you came to tell me?”
“Indeed, it is,” Bernie confirmed, motioning to herself and her sister.
“You could have saved yourself the trip,” Marie scoffed.
“Really?” Libby asked. She, too, could hear cats mewing behind the door. She wondered if Marie had as many cats as Susie had had.
“Yes, really,” Marie snapped.
Bernie raised an eyebrow. “So, we’re supposed to ignore what Allison said?”
“Yes,” Marie replied. “You are. I can’t believe you’d take the word of a convicted felon, someone who’s been in jail, someone who is a pathological liar.”
Bernie shrugged. “I don’t know about the liar part, but just because someone’s been in jail doesn’t mean they’re not telling the truth.”
Marie put her hands underneath her breasts and yanked her sisters up. This, Bernie reflected, was why she didn’t wear strapless dresses unless they had a built-in foundation.
“How many cats do you have?” Libby asked Marie.
“Eight, unlike someone else I could name,” Marie said. She shook her head. “Talk about gall. Allison really has some nerve.”
“Then why did she say what she did?” Libby wanted to know.
Marie gave them a “How dumb are you?” look. “So she could lift
the suspicion off herself, of course.”
“Of course,” Libby echoed.
“I’m serious,” Marie told her. “Think about it. After all, it was Susie who had Allison arrested, Susie who was responsible for her being fired from her job, Susie who was following her around like some avenging angel.”
“On the other hand,” Bernie said, “Susie was going to take your house. Plus, there’s that whole cat title thing. Let’s not forget that.”
“So,” Libby added, “that’s why we figure you’d like to tell your side of the story to us.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” Marie told Libby and Bernie. “There’s no ‘my side of the story’ to tell. I’ve already given my statement to the police, and that’s quite enough, thank you.” She put her hand over her heart. “I can’t bear talking about it. Just seeing Susie like that.” Marie shook her head, indicating she was overcome by emotion.
Bernie couldn’t help it. She snorted. By now the mewing had become louder and more insistent.
Marie glared at her. Then she did a half pivot and faced the door. “I’m coming,” Marie said to the cats. She turned back to Bernie. “My kiddos need me,” she explained before turning back to the door.
Bernie watched as Marie turned the doorknob and opened the door a crack. Literally, a crack. But evidently, it was enough. Two Russian blues managed to squeeze through the opening.
“Oh no,” Marie cried as she slammed the door shut before any of the other cats could get out. “Get them,” she yelled at Bernie as the cats brushed against Bernie’s ankles. Bernie bent down and tried to grab them, but by then, the cats were already out the storm door and racing down the steps.
“Sadie, Stanley,” Marie yelled as she ran down the steps after them. “Come back.”
But the cats didn’t come back. They didn’t even stop. They kept on going.
“I have tuna,” Marie cried, and she made a clicking noise with her tongue.
The cats weren’t impressed. They ran faster.
“Damn,” Marie cursed as she went after them.
“Oh dear,” Bernie said as the cats and Marie rounded the house and disappeared.
Libby sighed. “I think our conversation is over.”
“It was over before,” Bernie pointed out.
A Catered Cat Wedding Page 20