“Excuse me, ladies,” Nigel said. “Sorry to interrupt, but are you talking about the one I wrote in high school?”
“Are there others?” Bernie asked.
“Several.”
“But Janet said . . .”
“Janet doesn’t know everything,” Nigel said, cutting her off. “And yes. You’re perfectly correct. He did plagiarize that book from me, and I never did anything about it, not even when it was evident that it would be a success.”
“Why didn’t you?” Libby asked, genuinely curious.
Nigel pulled the sheet tighter and sat down on the edge of his bed.
“Well,” he replied. “I suppose I thought no one would believe me. I was never very good in school, you see. It was only later that I found myself.”
“So you must have resented Lionel,” Libby continued, thinking that if anything happened, Bernie could protect her. “He was successful and you weren’t. All these years of watching him succeed . . .”
“And I couldn’t take it anymore?” Nigel said.
“Exactly.”
“Well, you’re partially correct,” he conceded. “I did resent him. I resented him for years. Resentment can corrode your soul if you let it.”
Libby and Bernie exchanged looks.
“But then, at a friend’s urging, I took a two-day seminar at the Institute for Change and learned that the universe is infinitely bountiful. I went home and began writing again, and when I had gotten something I liked I called up Lionel and he agreed to publish it.”
“Out of the goodness of his heart, no doubt,” Libby said.
“No doubt,” Nigel said.
“You were blackmailing him into publishing it.”
“Not at all. My stuff is good.”
Bernie thought about what she’d read of his and decided silence was called for.
“He just decided to do the right thing,” Nigel continued.
“Lionel? After all these years?”
Nigel shrugged.
“Far be it from me to question the ways of men. I prefer to think that he thought I would sell, but maybe he felt guilty. Who knows? In any case his house was giving him an imprint . . .”
“Which you just happened to know about,” Bernie interjected.
“It wasn’t a secret. I read about it in Publishers Weekly. I was to be his first pick. So as you can see, killing him would be the last thing I would do. No Lionel. No imprint. No book for me. And as for Geoff—what did I have against him? Tell me that?”
“It’s what he had against you.”
Nigel raised both eyebrows. “Would you care to elucidate?”
“I certainly would,” Bernie replied. “You were his stockbroker.”
“His financial advisor.”
“Whatever. You still lost a lot of his money,” Bernie hypothesized.
Nigel inclined his head. “I did indeed. But that hardly makes me unique. Everyone is in the toilet these days. The bubble’s burst, or haven’t you heard?”
“And he got mad,” Bernie continued.
“No one likes losing money—not, I might add, that there was much money left to lose after Lionel got through with him.”
Bernie wondered where to go next. There was only one thing she could think of.
“He wrote a letter of complaint to your firm.”
Nigel took a step towards Bernie.
“Did Janet tell you that?”
Bernie raised the knife she was holding.
Nigel looked at it and said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then back up.”
“Fine.” Nigel stepped back. “Satisfied?”
Bernie nodded.
“Now will you answer my question?”
“I don’t know why I’m bothering.” And Nigel whirled around and strode over to his night table. Libby and Bernie watched apprehensively as he rummaged through the drawer.
“What are you doing?” Bernie asked nervously as Libby mouthed the word gun at her.
“Looking for something.”
Bernie had just nodded her head towards the door and said, “Now?” to Libby when Nigel turned around. Bernie was relieved to see he was holding a piece of paper in his hand. He took a couple of steps forward and flung it at Libby’s feet.
“Read this.”
Libby picked it up and scanned it.
“He’s cleared,” she told Bernie.
“Of any misconduct,” Nigel told them. “I was just doing what Geoff wanted me to. He authorized every single one of those trades. I told him not to do options, but he wouldn’t listen. He thought he could get back the money he’d lost with Lionel. It was a case of very bad timing.”
“Then why are you drinking?” Bernie asked.
Nigel glared at her.
“Since when do I have to answer to you?”
“You don’t. It’s just that Lionel dies and you start hitting the bottle. You have to admit the coincidence is . . . tantalizing.”
“Tantalizing?” Nigel scoffed. “Hardly. Minorly interesting perhaps. I assume you heard this from Janet.”
“She’s concerned about you.”
“If that’s what she says.”
“She is, you know.”
“Then you can tell her I’m drinking to mark the end of my fledging literary career.”
Bernie sighed. The last thing she wanted was to be a go-between for these two.
“I think you should tell her yourself.”
“I can’t since I’m no longer speaking to her.”
And with that Nigel walked over to the night table, took the bottle of Wild Turkey that had been sitting on it, and poured some into the glass sitting next to the bottle. He lifted the glass in a toast. “Bottoms up, ladies.” Then he gulped it down and poured himself another.
“Maybe you should join AA,” Libby suggested.
Nigel looked at her and sneered.
“That did Tiffany a lot of good, didn’t it?”
Chapter 32
Libby took a step towards Nigel. “What are you implying?”
“Implying? I’m just stating the obvious. Now get lost and leave me to my drinking.”
“Come on Libby. Let’s go,” Bernie said before her sister could say anything else. Then she took Libby’s hand and dragged her out of Nigel’s bedroom, down the stairs, and out the door. “Well, that went well, don’t you think?” Bernie said when they were standing by her father’s Caddy.
“This is why I never took to crime.” Libby looked back at Nigel’s house. “Somehow I don’t think he’ll be asking me to cater any more of his dinner parties.”
“Somehow I think you’re right.”
“Are you going to tell Janet what Nigel said?”
“Hum.” Bernie thought for a moment. “No. In my experience being the messenger never works out well.”
Libby brushed a bee off her arm.
“He was always so polite too.”
“Maybe that’s because you weren’t walking in on him with his clothes off.”
Libby started to giggle. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You should have seen the expression on his face.”
Bernie grinned. “I can only imagine.”
Suddenly Libby stopped laughing as a thought occurred to her.
“You’re not going to tell Dad about this, are you?”
“Good heavens, no!” Bernie exclaimed. “We’d never hear the end of it. He’d probably have one of his old buddies following us around for the rest of our lives.”
“For sure.”
Libby and Bernie watched a cardinal alighting on the fir tree in front of Nigel’s house. Then Bernie sighed and straightened out her tank-top strap.
“I have to admit,” she said, “I am disappointed. I really liked Nigel for this.”
“It would have been nice,” Libby said wistfully. “He could still be guilty.”
“Yes, he could,” Bernie agreed. “But his explanations make sense.”
“If they’re true.”
&n
bsp; “Well, there is that,” Bernie conceded. “But they’re easy enough to check. One of us should call up Lionel’s publisher and find out.”
Libby went over to her van and got her sunglasses and put them on.
“Maybe there’s something else going on that we don’t know about. I mean, why didn’t he call the police on me if he doesn’t have anything to hide? I know I would have in his situation.”
“I don’t know.” Bernie swatted at a flying ant. “Just be glad he didn’t.”
“I think it’s because he does have something to hide,” Libby said.
“Everyone has something to hide,” Bernie pointed out as she looked down at the knife she was still holding. “It might be a good idea if I returned this to him.”
“Did I say thanks?” Libby said when Bernie got back from putting the knife in Nigel’s mailbox.
Bernie waved her hand in the air. “You can do the same for me sometime.” And she changed the subject back to Nigel. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think Nigel didn’t call the police because he was embarrassed. The story he told us makes him and Lionel look bad.”
“So you believe him?”
“Yes, I do. Why else would he say something that makes him look like an idiot?”
Libby sighed.
“And after all this we still don’t know why Geoff had Janet’s name scribbled on his pad. Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe it isn’t important. Maybe we’re just fixating on it because it’s all we’ve got.”
“Maybe.” Bernie twirled her silver and onyx ring around her finger.
“I should get back to the store,” Libby said.
“Wait up,” Bernie said. “Didn’t Geoff have a . . .”
Libby snapped her fingers.
“A cousin. Janet Grady.”
“I thought she was out in Marina del Rey or someplace like that.”
“Maybe she’s visiting her parents.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out.”
And Bernie reached in her bag for her cell. Libby watched her while she dialed Directory Assistance. Bernie shook her head a couple of minutes later.
“Right house, but I’m getting the answering machine,” she mouthed. She left a message and hung up. She tapped her phone against the palm of her hand. “Wouldn’t it be nice if Bree Nottingham was the killer,” Bernie said.
Libby startled.
“Where did that come from?”
“Wishful thinking. Of course she would have committed the perfect murders.”
“She is annoying, isn’t she?”
“Annoying is hardly the word I’d pick. By the way, she wants to talk about the whatever-it-is she’s holding for Lionel at Susan Andrews’ house.”
“She’s already talked to me about it at least a dozen times.” Libby stifled a yawn. Suddenly she felt exhausted. “I really do have to get back to the store. I have all that potato salad to make.”
“Meet you there,” Bernie said and got into her car and drove off.
Libby sat in the van for a few minutes and ate a couple of the cookies that she had stashed in her bag and reflected on what could have happened. Then she put the van in gear and started towards the shop.
She was thinking that she should offer filled picnic baskets for the summer in three different price ranges when she spotted a white panel truck with the name Janet’s Automotive Parts painted on the side.
“Janet,” she said to herself as the truck turned left. Of course. She hung a left too. The potato salad could wait. The truck drove down Ash Street, took a right onto Beech, and crossed Lotus with Libby right behind it. Halfway down it pulled into the parking lot of Roy’s Body Shop and came to a halt.
Libby pulled in after it, put the van in park, and jumped out.
“Excuse me,” she called as the driver got out of his truck.
He turned around.
“I know this is going to seem weird to you, but were you slated for a delivery at Geoffrey Holder’s Body Shop yesterday morning?”
“A pickup, but no one was there. Then I heard why on the radio.” The driver picked up his gimme cap and scratched his head. “It’s kind of creepy thinking that I was knocking on the door and Geoff was just lying there.”
“Eight-fifteen. That’s pretty early for a pickup, isn’t it?”
The driver put his hat back on and hitched up his jeans.
“Not in this job. I start my rounds at seven in the morning.” The driver looked at her more carefully. “Hey. I know you. You’re the woman that runs the food shop A Little Taste of Heaven. My wife buys stuff from you all the time.”
“Tell her to come by and I’ll give her a couple of free scones,” Libby said.
Generosity never hurts, Libby thought as the man smiled. Then she turned and hurried towards the van.
“Bernie,” she said when her sister picked up her cell. “You’re not going to believe this, but I know who Janet is—or rather what Janet is.”
“That’s okay. Wait till I tell you what Dad told me,” Bernie countered.
Chapter 33
Bernie looked at her watch as she walked into R.J.’s. It was a little after nine. She was on time but not too on time. Too on time would mean she was anxious, which was something she didn’t want to give the appearance of being. Especially considering who—or, if she was being grammatical correct, whom—she was meeting.
The place hadn’t changed much since she’d left, she reflected as she spotted Rob nursing a beer at the bar. Same paneling on the walls, same dartboard on the far wall, same pool table in the back, same sign in front of the bar proclaiming, The Hell with Apples. Two Pills a Day Keeps the Doctor Away.
Since it was a weekday night, the place wasn’t crowded. As Bernie made her way towards Rob, she estimated she knew maybe five people here. In days past she would have known everyone. She couldn’t decide how she felt about that. Bittersweet would be a good word. That or conflicted.
“Not like L.A.,” Rob noted as Bernie sat down on the bar stool next to his.
At least he was on time, she thought. Joe had always been a half hour late. Usually more.
“That’s for sure.” She surveyed the crowd. The people who frequented R.J.’s tended to be teachers and contractors and small shop owners. Unlike the bars she’d gone to in L.A., where everyone was in “The Industry” or wanted to be. “I like this better. It’s more relaxed.”
“Me too.”
Bernie took a deep breath.
“There’s something I should tell you before we proceed.”
Rob cocked his head.
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve sworn off men.”
“Really?” Rob said.
“Yes. Really.”
“What a coincidence,” Rob replied. “I have too. See. We have a lot in common already.”
Bernie laughed.
“Bad time out in L.A.?” Rob asked.
“You could say that.”
“Me too. See. There’s another connection.”
Bernie could feel herself relaxing and she didn’t want to. This guy is way too charming, she thought as the bartender came up.
“Hey, Brandon,” Bernie said to him. “I thought you’d be in Maui by now.”
“I was and now I’m here again. All that sun and surf began to get to me.” He smiled at Bernie. “I’d heard you were in town.”
Bernie spread her arms.
“And here I am back at the old place.”
“And looking really good too, I might add.”
Bernie grinned and made a mental note to thank Janet for selling her the skirt and top.
“I also heard,” Brandon continued, “that Libby wasn’t too pleased about paying your cab fare.”
“You could say that. She’s deducting it from my salary.”
“Harsh.” Brandon put his elbows on the bar and leaned on his hands. “Very harsh. You back for good?”
“For the summer at least.”
“Cool. It’ll make life around here m
ore interesting. Be careful of her,” Brandon confided to Rob. “She stirs things up.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Rob grimaced and Bernie wondered if he was thinking of Geoff Holder’s body as she indicated the bottle of Brooklyn Brown in front of him.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she told Brandon.
“Another similarity,” Rob noted. Then he said to Brandon, “I’ll have another one and some of those peanuts.”
Brandon nodded. A moment later he was back with their order. He set the beers, glasses, and peanuts down in front of them.
“How’s Libby doing?” he asked Bernie.
“Okay,” Bernie said. “Considering . . .”
“She must be feeling bad about Tiffany.”
“Well, she’s not feeling good.”
“The police were in here asking me and Mary about her before they arrested her.”
Bernie furrowed her brow.
“Asking what?”
“If she’d ever said anything bad about Lionel. Stuff like that. I told them no.”
“And had she?”
Brandon laughed. “Shit. Who hasn’t?” And he moved away.
Rob watched him go. “That’s helpful.”
“But true. Actually, no one but Tiffany has ever said anything nice about Lionel. At least not that I remember.”
Rob nodded absentmindedly. “I didn’t know your sister was Tiffany’s friend.”
“Best friend,” corrected Bernie.
“And that’s why you were out at the place?”
“You got it.” Bernie poured her beer into her glass. “Did you know that an iced glass makes beer foam up more, not to mention kills the taste?”
“Why am I not surprised you know this?”
“I know lots of things.”
Rob raised both his eyebrows, then lowered them.
“I bet you do,” he agreed.
Bernie could feel herself flush. Red alert. Red alert, she told herself. Change course. She smoothed down her skirt, suddenly conscious that it was riding up around her thighs.
“So,” she said. “Where did you grow up?”
Rob popped a peanut in his mouth and poured his beer into his glass.
“Changing the subject, huh? That’s okay. I’m a military brat so I grew up everywhere. How about you?”
“I’ve always lived here, and I’ve wanted to leave for as long as I can remember.”
A Catered Murder Page 19