Chapter 8
Monday morning and the thermometer was showing eighty-five degrees, unseasonably warm for early June. It was, as Bree Nottingham, real estate agent extraordinaire, would say, a glorious day in Longely. The smell of bridal wreath and early blooming roses hung in the air. The morning scrim of commuters rushing to catch their trains into the city had abated. The streets were quiet with the kind of hush that money brings.
On Oak, shopkeepers were getting ready for the new day, hosing off the sidewalk outside their shops, rolling down awnings, and opening up registers. All was serene except at A Taste of Heaven, where people were lined up two deep in front of the counter waiting to be served.
“Where are they all coming from?” Libby whispered to Bernie as she went by her on her way to the back of the store to get some more scones. “I’ve never seen half of these people in here before.”
“Told ya,” Bernie replied. “Trust me. A little crime never hurt anything.”
“Too bad I didn’t know sooner. I could have arranged to have a murder staged every week. Then I could have sold the concept to the Cooking Channel and be hosting my very own show. How does Homicide and Hummus sound?” Libby nibbled at her nail. “Or maybe Murder and Madeleines.”
“Why not Crime and Crumpets? Or Battery and Butter? Alice B. Toklas has a chapter in her book entitled Murder in the Kitchen where she talks about suffocating a pair of pigeons.”
“Oh, I could never kill an animal.”
“Just a person.”
“The world would be a better place without some of them.”
“Speaking of which, how did your evening with Orion go?”
“Good,” Libby said.
Bernie scrutinized her for a minute and then said, “I think you’re making a mistake.”
“At least it’s something,” Libby said.
“Marvin is something. Orion is a dead end.”
“Don’t you believe that people can change?”
“Hummm.” Bernie put her finger to her cheek. “Let me think about that. No, I don’t.” She picked off a speck of flour that had landed on her T-shirt.
This afternoon, Bernie told herself, come what may she was going shopping. The alternative was wearing Libby’s clothes, and she wasn’t ready to play suburban matron yet.
“Well, I do,” Libby informed her while she hurried off into the back room and Bernie went to help Amber with the customers.
“I know,” Bernie called after her. “That’s your problem.”
From the doorway Libby could see Googie carefully removing the scones from a baking sheet and transferring them to cooling racks while his body swayed in time to the music he was listening to on his Discman.
She wondered if Orion would call tonight as she tapped Googie on the shoulder. He jumped. “I need you out front at the register.”
Googie straightened up and saluted.
“Yowza, boss woman.”
“Stop calling me that and leave your Discman on the shelf,” she told him as he began heading out the door. “It’s inappropriate when you’re waiting on customers.”
Libby watched as he reluctantly took the Discman off and put it next to a stack of plastic containers.
“People have worked to music for thousands of years,” he grumped. “I’m following a long, honorable tradition.”
“You’re in retail, you’re not unloading a barge.” Libby pointed to the front of the store. “Just go,” she told him.
Googie clicked his heels together, bowed from the waist, and left.
One of these days I’m going to kill him, Libby thought as she picked up the spatula Googie had been using and carefully continued removing the scones to the cooling rack. Of course, then she’d just have to find someone to replace him.
The timer rang and Libby went over to the oven, opened the door, and breathed in the aroma of fresh-baked scones. As she took them out, she noticed that their tops were nice and rounded, just the way they ought to be. Her scones were pretty good if she did say so herself.
They contained heavy cream that she’d gotten from a farm ten miles away and grade AAA butter, not to mention fresh fruit in the spring and summer and dried fruit and nuts in the fall and winter. And she never made too many at once, because they weren’t as good the next day. Like all goods of this kind, they staled quickly. That was another secret to the shop’s success. Always having absolutely fresh, top-rate merchandise on hand.
Following in her mother’s footsteps, at the end of the day she took the scones and muffins that were left over and donated them to the All Sinners Church food kitchen, as her father liked to call the place. But the way they were selling, it didn’t look as if there were going to be any left today, thought Libby as she carefully piled the scones on the tray she’d brought in and went back out front with them.
As she reentered the store, Bernie came over and whispered in her ear. “Susan Andrews wants to speak to you.”
Libby groaned.
“Is she still as crazy as ever?” Bernie asked.
“Crazier since her husband died. I told you. She’s turned into this fiber person. All she talks about is weaving. And this will get you.” Libby shifted the grip on her tray. “She’s weaving her French poodle’s hair into things.”
Bernie shuddered.
“Here she comes,” Libby said as Susan Andrews began calling out her name and pushing her way through the crowd. “Take these.” She gave the scones to Bernie. “I’ll see what she wants.” Libby wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing and stepped out from behind the counter.
Susan ran over and hugged her.
“Oh, Libby,” she cried. “I just had to make sure you’re all right.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“After Saturday night.” Susan put her hand on Libby’s cheek. “What do they say? In life we are in the midst of death.”
“Something like that.”
“My heart is still thudding. Here. Feel it.” And she clasped Libby’s hand in hers and pressed it to her bosom. “See?”
“Absolutely.” Libby hastily worked her hand free.
“I hardly got any sleep at all. I went into my workshop and spun until I calmed down. You may find this odd, but working at my spinning wheel helps me realize the hand of God is in everything.”
“That’s wonderful. It really is.” Libby gestured to the people by the counter. “Susan, I’d love to talk to you, but as you can see, I’m really busy right now.”
“Of course. I just wanted to tell you how much I and everyone at my table admired the way you kept your composure.”
“Well, thank you,” Libby said. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” And she started to walk away, but Susan grabbed her wrist.
“I just have to share this with you. Before we sat down to dinner, Laird was telling me that when he died he wanted me to put a stake through his heart, so he couldn’t rise again. At first I thought he was joking. But he wasn’t. He wanted to protect his friends from himself. Wasn’t that considerate ?”
“Very,” Libby said.
Bernie was signaling to her. She had to go, but for a small lady Susan Andrews had a powerful grip. She wondered if wrenching her arm away would be considered insufferably rude and decided it would be.
Susan shook her head. “He believed. He did. The thought of becoming one of them terrified him. But his saying that.” Susan choked back a sob. “It was as if he knew.”
Libby almost said, If he knew, then why the hell did he go ahead and drink the water? But she managed to restrain herself.
“Who would do something like that to him?” Susan asked as she released Libby’s wrist.
“I’m sure the police will find out.” Libby held up her hand, indicating she’d be with Bernie in a second. She had to get back behind the counter. More and more people were coming in the store, not that Susan seemed to notice as she dabbed at her eyes.
“I certainly hope so. Well, I can see how busy you are. So if you could just give me two of those wonderful strawberry scones of yours, that will be fine. Then tonight you can tell everyone all about everything and don’t forget about the cooking lesson.”
“Tonight?” Libby asked. “Cooking lesson?”
A look of concern passed over Susan’s face.
“Dear, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” she cried. “You’re catering the dinner party Nigel Herron is throwing in my honor. Remember? I’m having a private showing of my fiber art pieces.”
“Of course. How could I forget anything so special?” Libby lied. “It’s written on my calendar in big red letters.”
Susan fingered one of her earrings.
“And I’m so excited about Julie Chang.”
“Right.” Now Libby remembered. Susan had arranged for a Chinese cooking lesson with Julie Chang at her house tomorrow. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now she wished she could cancel.
“Everyone will be there.” Susan sighed. “Such a shame Lionel couldn’t see my work. That was one of the reasons Nigel was having this get-together. I’d like to think that he would have enjoyed them.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Libby replied.
“I’m thinking of donating a piece to place in his coffin.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Why, thank you,” said Susan as she watched Libby put her scones in a white bag and hand them to her. “I think it’s important that a part of Bebe will be with Laird forever.”
“Ah, yes,” Libby said. “How is Bebe?”
“Wonderful. I know you think she’s just a dog. No . . .” Susan put her hand up. “Don’t protest. But she’s brought a great deal of comfort to me and I hope she’ll do the same for Laird’s soul.”
Libby searched Susan’s face for a sign that she was joking and decided that she wasn’t.
“Don’t you believe in an afterlife?” Susan asked.
“I’m not even sure what this life is about,” Libby replied.
Susan patted Libby on the wrist again.
“Don’t worry. You will. It took me a long time to see it too. You have to lose your sense of practicality, of the everydayness of life, and immerse yourself in the great beyond.”
Susan sighed.
“It wasn’t until after my darling husband died and I became involved in past life regression that I came to believe in reincarnation. I realized that we all circle endlessly around one another. No one is ever truly lost. We all come back in different forms. For example, Bebe could be Bud’s brother returned to comfort me. In fact, I’m sure he is.”
Libby looked at the number of people in front of the counter while Susan chattered on and felt like screaming. She had to get back to work.
“That’s wonderful,” she said to Susan. “And I’d like to hear all about it sometime. But . . .”
“Yes, yes.” Susan waved her free hand in the air. “The tyranny of the commonplace. I know. You have customers to wait on. I’m sorry to be taking up so much of your time.”
“No problem.” Libby kept smiling until Susan Andrews went out the door; then she ran over to Bernie and pulled her away from the customer she was in the middle of serving.
“We have a problem,” she told Bernie. “A big one.”