Chapter 20
“Why isn’t anything ever simple?” Libby lamented as she wiped off the counters in the store kitchen before turning out the lights. The heat had built up over the course of the day, and even though it was a little after ten at night, it was still hot inside.
“Because it isn’t,” Bernie replied. “Law of Nature Number three eighty.”
“What’s three eighty-one?”
“Give me a minute and I’ll come up with it.”
Libby rinsed out the rag and draped it over the side of the sink to dry.
“Dad was really pissed, wasn’t he?” she asked as she considered the heaps of vegetables next to the refrigerator that she was going to use to make ratatouille the next day.
The colors—red from the tomatoes, gold from the peppers, the green of the zucchini, the white onions, and the purple of the eggplant—helped soothe her, as did the smell of the freshly cut basil. And boy, given the day, she needed some soothing.
“He’ll get over it,” Bernie told her.
“I don’t like when people are mad at me.”
“Except for me.”
“Well, you don’t count.” Libby waved her hand. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, with you I know it’s just temporary.”
Bernie walked over and gave her sister’s arm a squeeze.
“It’s okay. Listen, you did the right thing, even if Tiffany didn’t.”
“You really think so?”
“She’s your friend. What else could you have done?”
Libby bit her lip.
“Maybe you were right about my not getting involved.”
“No,” Bernie said. “I wasn’t.”
Libby gave her a quizzical look.
“Well,” Bernie explained, “I guess I was feeling a little bit jealous that you wanted to help her and you wouldn’t let me help you.”
Maybe, Libby thought, as she pointed to the vegetables, there is something to this therapy business after all. “Do you think we need anything else for the ratatouille?”
Bernie looked at the pile. “Garlic and maybe some thyme.”
Libby slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.
“How could I have forgotten the garlic?”
Bernie put her arm around her sister and gave her another squeeze.
“You’re on overload.”
“I’m over the edge.”
“How about I mix us up a batch of Cosmopolitans and we take them to the field and drink them.”
Libby nodded. She’d never had a Cosmopolitan, but it sounded like something that would help in this type of situation.
“I’d like that.” She started to grin. “I’ve got to admit Paul’s expression was pretty funny when you told him Tiffany was gone.”
Bernie giggled. “It was, wasn’t it? Don’t worry, you’ll find her.”
“Why do you think she ran?”
“I think she overheard Paul talking about bringing her in and she got scared.”
“He does have a loud voice, doesn’t he?”
“The loudest.”
“Stentorian.”
“Stentorian?”
“Stentor was a Greek herald who had a voice as loud as fifty men.”
“Not now,” Bernie said. “Please.”
“I’m sorry. It just slipped out.”
Libby hugged herself.
“I feel so bad. I just wish I could have explained things to Tiffany.”
“You will when you find her.”
“You think I will find her?”
“Definitely. I wouldn’t be surprised if she calls you in the next day or so and meanwhile, while we’re searching, we can still talk to the people Tiffany mentioned. Kind of get a jump start on things.”
Libby studied her sister’s face.
“Are you suggesting this because you want to or because you figure this will take my mind off things?”
“The former,” Bernie lied. After all, Bernie thought, white lies are the lubricant that makes social interactions possible.
Libby nodded her head doubtfully.
Bernie put her hand up.
“I swear.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Libby scratched at a cuticle with one of her fingers. “Dad isn’t going to like this.”
“We don’t have to tell him.”
Libby considered that for a moment and then said, “So how are we going to get started?”
Bernie grinned.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Libby cocked her head and waited.
“When I was paging through your receipts and messages earlier, I noticed a note in there about talking to Mary Beth about doing a graduation picnic.”
Libby yawned and stretched. The day was finally beginning to catch up with her.
“Ah, yes. Greg Holder’s high school graduation. It’s supposed to be the last weekend in June. For thirty-five people. They wanted it outside. The usual elegant but informal thing. I spent a couple of hours with her, but she must have decided to go with someone else, because she never called me back.”
“Maybe it’s time to give her a new menu to look at,” Bernie suggested.
“Good idea.”
“That’s what I thought. I mean, it couldn’t hurt. Who knows? Maybe Mary Beth will say something interesting to me about what Geoffrey has been up to these days. After all, we were in summer stock together, and if I remember correctly she never could keep her mouth shut.”
“And I could fix up a basket for Lydia,” Libby suggested, getting into the spirit of the enterprise. “Everyone needs food, especially in times of trauma.”
“Something like gall and jimsonweed?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of muffins, fruit, cheese, and scones myself.” Libby looked at her sister and smiled. “Thanks.”
“No problem. This will be fun. Kinda like when we were kids and we used to play spy.” Bernie looked around the kitchen. “Now where do you keep the vodka and cranberry juice?”