Chapter 11
“Oh, Nigel,” Lydia was cooing as Bernie hovered behind her and Nigel’s girlfriend, Janet, tray in hand. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here this afternoon to help you with Laird’s effects. I know I said I would be, but I’ve been on the phone all day with Laird’s publisher and the lawyer. You can’t imagine what a nightmare this has been. And speaking of nightmares . . .” Lydia’s face hardened as she glanced in Bernie’s direction. “You didn’t tell me the Simmons girls are catering this event.”
“Crab cake?” said Bernie, brightly proffering the tray.
Nigel swallowed and loosened his tie.
“Now, Lydia,” he began. “This was set up months ago.”
“So what? Don’t tell me you couldn’t have gotten another caterer.”
Janet moved closer to Nigel and put her arm through his.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said giving his forearm a squeeze.
Lydia favored Janet with a withering glance before turning back to Nigel.
“You should have told me.”
“I’m sorry. It never occurred to me to.”
“You realize you’re putting everyone here in danger.”
Janet’s chin shot up. “He’s doing no such thing.”
Lydia snorted.
“Then you’re either an optimist or a fool.”
“Off your Paxil, are you?” sniped Janet.
Nigel made a calming motion with his hands.
“Ladies, please.”
“Fine.” Lydia tossed her hair. “All I’m saying is that I don’t feel comfortable eating food prepared by the Simmons girls. Given the circumstances, I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”
“We do live in America, you know,” Janet snapped. “You have heard of the concept innocent until proven guilty, haven’t you?”
“Be that as it may, I’m not putting my life on the line for some abstract principle.”
Bernie took a step forward.
“I’d be happy to run out and get you a McDonald’s Happy Meal if you want me to.”
Lydia eyed Bernie up and down. Then she said, “It’s obvious that L.A. has not improved your attitude.”
“And New York City hasn’t improved yours. And by the way. Weren’t you sitting next to Lionel at dinner?”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“You figure it out.”
Bernie lowered the tray she was holding as she watched Lydia storm into the living room.
“I guess this means she doesn’t want a crab cake,” she said to Nigel and Janet. “Pity, because they really are quite good.”
“She’s overwrought,” Nigel told Bernie.
“Oh. Is that what we’re calling it now?” Bernie replied before heading into the kitchen to discuss an idea she’d just thought of with her sister.
The chicken had come out well, Libby decided. She’d just gotten through explaining the idea of preserved lemons to the table, of how salt mellows the lemons, turning them soft and silky, and come back in through the door, when Bernie tapped her on the shoulder.
Even though the house was air-conditioned, Libby was sweating. It was from stress. She knew that, but what she didn’t know was why she had to sweat on her face. Why not under her arms like everyone else.
Beads of perspiration on her forehead and above her lip were not attractive. That was why she never wore makeup. Because it ended up running down her skin. Not that she’d ever tell that to her sister, who always looked collected no matter what was going on.
“Are we all set for now?” Bernie asked her.
“As far as I can see.”
“Everything under control?”
“For the moment. Even Lydia is eating.”
“Like she wasn’t going to.”
“Why are you asking?” Libby demanded.
Bernie tried for casual. “Well, as Nigel might say, since everyone is engaged I thought I’d just pop up and take a quick peek around Laird’s room.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Bernie smiled.
Libby put her hands on her hips and glared at her sister.
“Don’t you dare.”
“You really need to take meditation classes or something.”
“This is not a game.”
“I’m fully cognizant of that.”
“No, I don’t think you are. I don’t want you going up there. We’re in enough trouble as it is. You heard Lydia. I’m sure she’s just saying what other people are thinking. The last thing we need now is to be caught sneaking around someone’s house. That would finish us off.”
“Us meaning the business?”
“Yes. I’ve worked too long and hard building it up to watch it being ruined.”
“I’m not going to ruin anything, and if I were you I’d stop thinking about your precious store and start thinking about what the chief said at the station about our being suspects.”
“He said I was the suspect, not you.”
Bernie waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal.
“Whatever.”
“Don’t make things worse than they already are. We have bills to pay.”
“I’m aware of that, but jail would be a much worse alternative than having to close up shop.”
“Let’s not exaggerate.”
“Dad would agree with me.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He’s a by-the-book kind of guy. He’d tell you to leave this kind of thing to the experts.”
“In this case the experts are tainted. And I can tell you this. I for one am not sitting around waiting to see if you’re arrested.”
“Nice sentiment, but I’m not going to be arrested because I didn’t do anything.”
“This may come as a shock to your idealized view of the world, but the police do make mistakes.”
“You’re just looking for an excuse to do what you want, aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” Bernie replied, hurrying on. “It’s not as if we were breaking into someplace. We’re here. In the unlikely event that I meet someone, I’ll just tell them I went upstairs to use the bathroom and I got lost. That’s not a crime.”
“And what are you going to say when they ask what’s the matter with the bathroom off the kitchen?”
“I’ll tell them it’s stuffed up.”
“But it’s not.”
“It will be.”
“Don’t you dare,” Libby said as she watched Bernie pull a large number of paper towels from the roll on the counter, wad them up into a ball, and march off in the direction of the toilet. “I mean it,” she called after her.
Bernie waved an acknowledgment over her shoulder. “I know you do and that’s why I love you. There,” she said when she returned a minute later. “That should do it.”
“You really are crazy,” Libby said.
“No, I’m resourceful. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
And then she was gone up the back staircase, leaving Libby to remember why she had been so glad that Bernie had gone off to L.A. in the first place.