Chapter 16
As Libby looked around Cara’s Dress Shoppe, she was suddenly aware of the soy sauce under her fingernails and the grease spot on her linen shirt, not to mention the way her hair was curling up and that she probably smelled of Chinese food. She should have washed up and changed before she came over.
“This is certainly different,” she observed.
“Yes, it is,” Janet told her. “Can I help you with something?”
Libby shook her head. “I just need to talk to my sister.”
Bernie turned.
“How was the cooking lesson?”
“Let’s just say I could have put my time to more profitable use,” Libby said, “although I was thinking maybe we could give cooking lessons in the store. It might make us some extra cash.”
“We need a hook.”
“Cook like Mom. Comfort food is all the rage these days.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Bernie conceded. “Not bad at all.” She picked up the bag again. “What do you think?” she asked Libby.
“It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Well, really, it’s kind of weird.”
“Screw it,” Bernie said to Janet. “Put it on layaway. I’ll pay it off somehow.”
“How much is it?” Libby asked as Janet took the bag.
“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”
“One hundred?”
“Not even close.”
“They have nice tote bags in the L.L. Bean Catalog. You should look at those.”
“I’ll do that,” Bernie said and changed the subject. She wasn’t getting into this now. “So what’s up?”
“Can you go take the van in for an inspection? I just realized it’s past due and I don’t have the time.”
Bernie grinned as an idea occurred to her. “Maybe.” She looked around, then walked over to one of the tables near the front of the store, snatched a black T-shirt off it, and held it up.
“Only if you try this on.”
“It’s the size of a postage stamp,” Libby protested.
“It stretches,” Janet said.
“ No.”
“Just try it on,” Bernie urged.
“It’s too small.”
“No T-shirt, no inspection.”
Libby grabbed the T-shirt out of Bernie’s hand.
“Fine,” she said as she stomped off towards the dressing room. “But you really are a pain in the ass.”
“And proud of it too,” Bernie called after her.
A moment later Libby emerged from the stall.
“I told you it was going to be too tight.”
“I think it looks great,” Janet said.
“I agree,” Bernie said.
Libby studied herself in the mirror. “No, it doesn’t. It makes me look fat.” She grabbed a roll of fat around her waist and pulled. “See.”
“It makes you look thinner. Baggy clothes make you look heavier. It’s a common misconception that loose clothes slenderize. They don’t.”
Libby pursed her lips.
“I feel so . . .”
“On show?” Janet supplied.
“Exactly.”
Bernie and Janet watched Libby turning this way and that as she studied her reflection in the mirror.
“It’s only thirty bucks,” Bernie said. “I bet Orion would like it.”
“You think so?” Libby said.
“Definitely,” Janet agreed.
“After all,” Bernie pointed out, “when you put food out to sell, you want to make it look as attractive as possible, don’t you? You don’t just dump it on the plate. You arrange it. Presentation counts.”
“I am not a plate of pasta.”
“I never said you were. I’m just making a point.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not.” Bernie was just about to explain why when the door opened and Bree Nottingham came in followed by Griselda Plotkin and Fred the photographer.
“Have you heard?” Bree asked the three women standing there.
“Heard what?” Janet said.
“They’ve arrested Tiffany for Laird Wrenn’s murder,” Griselda said.
“You’re kidding,” Libby cried.
“Not at all. Howard called to tell me.” Bree went over to the counter and took a Tootsie roll out of the bowl by the register. “And I have to say,” she said, unwrapping it, “it doesn’t surprise me one single bit.”