Chapter 21
Libby and Bernie were sprawled on one of the bleachers that lined the high school playing field, ignoring the No Trespassing sign prominently posted on the chain-link fence across from them. A plastic jug filled with Cosmopolitans sat between them. At eleven o’clock at night the town was silent except for the occasional barking dog.
“I like these drinks,” Libby said to Bernie as she slapped at a mosquito that was biting her arm.
“A little vodka, a little lime juice, triple sec, and a dash of cranberry juice for color and there you have it. They’re even nicer served in martini glasses. Of course,” Bernie reflected, “everything is nicer served in martini glasses.”
“They’re not bad in plastic,” Libby said.
“Next time I’ll make us some Bellinis.” Bernie leaned back on the bleachers and sighed. “I used to make out with Johnnie Ward under these. Of course then we were drinking Millers. Boy, that seems like a long time ago.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
“I think he’s some sort of investment lawyer down in New York City now.”
Libby took another sip of her drink, then put it down on the bench next to her, leaned forward, dangled her hands between her legs, and studied the view. She could see houses lit up off in the distance. Orion had pointed his out to her when they’d come up here way too many years ago. He’d called just before she and Bernie had walked out the door. They were meeting tomorrow night after the store closed. Just thinking about it made Libby’s heart race.
She wondered if the new T-shirt that Bernie had made her buy would go with her jeans skirt. She looked at Bernie, who was rolling the cup around between the palms of her hands, and considered asking her opinion, but that might mean getting into another Orion discussion. She’d just decided she’d be willing to chance it when Bernie spoke.
“Libby. Refresh my memory. What’s Geoffrey Holder doing these days?” she asked her sister.
“He owns a string of body shops.”
“For some reason I thought he’d sold those and was going to buy into a car franchise.”
“He was talking about it . . . but that’s as far as it went.”
Bernie tapped her fingers on the side of her glass. “You know two readily available sources of cyanide?”
Libby topped off her glass.
“Not offhand. No.”
Bernie held out her glass and Libby poured some more into it.
“Jewelry making and chrome-plating kits for car accessories. You can get them on the Internet.”
Libby stared at Bernie. Her heart began to beat faster. “Do you use cyanide when you make glass?”
“No. Why are you asking?”
“Because Orion is making glass beads.”
“You’re sure about the cyanide?”
“I’m positive.” Libby took a gulp of her drink. “How do you know about this stuff anyway?” she asked.
“Because I read. Some guy in L.A. poisoned his wife. The newspaper said that’s how he got the stuff.”
Libby pushed her hair off her face. “Do you ever forget anything you read?”
“Not much.”
Bernie and Libby both took another couple of sips of their drinks and watched a car on the road below drive by.
“You know what else we should do?” Libby said.
“What?” Bernie asked.
“We should get on the Internet and see what we can find out about Geoff.”
“Too bad we can’t ask Dad.”
Libby picked up her cup and drained it.
“I don’t think that’s an option right now.”
Bernie stood up. “Let’s go.”
“And here I was hoping we could get picked up for trespassing.”
“It would be like old times,” Bernie reflected. “Except this time I don’t think Dad would bail me out.”
Bernie yawned and then yawned again as she motored towards Mary Beth and Geoffrey Holder’s house on the outskirts of town. She was driving her father’s old Caddy. Normally, she loved bouncing around on the leather seats blasting Elvis on the tape deck, but today she missed the MGB she’d left back in L.A.
Poor little thing, she thought. I wonder who’s driving you now? The Caddy was so big, she felt as if she was driving a city bus. But, she reminded herself, it could be worse. She could be driving Libby’s van. In which case she’d have to shoot herself.
Libby had been right about the Internet stuff, Bernie reflected as she concentrated on keeping the Caddy on Lilac Lane. She had to give her that. There had been lots of info on Señor G. Holder and his business holdings. Reading the stuff while she and Libby finished off the pitcher of Cosmos might not have been the wisest idea, however.
As Bernie drove between two large fieldstone pillars that marked the development the Holders lived in, she thought about how much money Geoff must be pulling in to be able to live in a place like this.
Ten minutes later, she arrived at the Holders’ residence. As Bernie parked in the driveway and got out of the car, she decided that the place looked large enough to house a small army unit plus their equipment. The last time she’d visited Geoff and Mary Beth, they’d been living in a small two-bedroom ranch.
Walking up to the door, Bernie couldn’t help noticing that the property looked unkempt. The foundation plantings needed trimming, shoots of bindweed were cropping up in the mulch of the flowerbed near the front wall, and there were small patches of speedwell in the lawn. It seemed as if the landscapers weren’t stopping here anymore—a definite no-no in a community like this.
I’m not surprised, Bernie thought as she rang the bell. It fit in with the article she’d downloaded from Money Talks. According to that, Holder Enterprises was on the verge of going belly-up. Geoffrey Holder had overextended himself to partner with Laird Wrenn on the amusement park deal. Then Wrenn had pulled out and the market had tanked and it was adios Holder Enterprises.
“Mary Beth,” Bernie said when she answered the door a few moments later.
Mary Beth’s eyes widened.
“Bernie? Geoff told me he heard you were back working at the store.”
“At least for a while.”
“L.A. too much for you?”
“Nope. Just needed a little down time.”
“You look great,” Mary Beth told her.
“So do you,” Bernie replied, hoping she didn’t look shocked at how thin Mary Beth had become. “I know I should have called,” Bernie continued. “But Libby and I have come up with some new ideas for your son’s graduation.” She shook her head. “God, I can’t believe time has just slipped away like that . . .”
“It’s scary,” Mary Beth agreed.
“Absolutely. So I just decided to throw together a few things for you and run over.” Bernie extended the package she was carrying. She’d always found it was harder for people to refuse you when you bring them something to eat. “Stuff from the store.”
“Why, thank you.”
“This is an amazing house,” Bernie said as Mary Beth took the box.
“It is, isn’t it?” Mary Beth agreed. “Quite a change from our old place.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“And I’d love to show it to you,” Mary Beth told Bernie, though it was obvious to Bernie from Mary Beth’s expression that that was the last thing she wanted to do. “But the place is such a mess.”
“Oh, I don’t care.” Bernie stepped inside. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not at all,” Mary Beth assured her.
“Wow.” Bernie took in the cathedral entranceway and the pink marble floor tile. “I’m impressed.”
“I designed it myself.” And with that Mary Beth preceded to give Bernie a whirl-wind tour of the house.
“Very nice,” Bernie kept saying. She’d seen houses like this in L.A., and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why people needed a music room, a sewing room, a weight room, and a library when it was clear that no one ever used them. Finally they got to the kitchen.
“You have an Aga,” Bernie exclaimed. “I love them.”
Mary Beth nodded absentmindedly. “The kitchen designer said they were a must-have piece, so Geoff insisted I get one, but I’ve never quite got the hang of it.”
At around thirteen thousand dollars, that was too bad, Bernie thought as she watched Mary Beth put the box she’d given her on one of the counters and take off the top. Inside was an array of muffins and brownies, two things Bernie had found most people couldn’t resist.
“Well, they are different from other stoves.”
Bernie had had one on a shoot that she’d done. You didn’t turn them on. They ran all the time, and they had a top that was very hot in some places and warm in others. Designed to function in English country cottages where it was cold and damp, they put out a lot of heat because they ran all the time. Of course, in this country, you had to shut them off in the summer or have your air-conditioning on.
“I don’t remember you liking cooking,” Bernie said as Mary Beth lifted out a brownie and took a nibble.
“I don’t. But Geoff likes to cook on Sundays.” Mary Beth took another nibble. “These are so good, Bernie.”
“It’s the coffee in them.” Bernie handed Mary Beth the menu she and Libby had prepared. “That’s why you should let Libby and me take care of your son’s party for you.”
“I don’t know.” Mary Beth brushed a nonexistent speck of dirt off her turquoise clam-diggers.
“See.” Bernie pointed to the menu Mary Beth was holding. “The top one is a barbecue. We can do hamburgers, hot dogs, ribs, chicken, cole slaw, potato salad, cornbread made with fresh corn and cheddar cheese, a big watermelon full of fruit salad, cookies, and a sheet cake. The kids love it.
“Or,” Bernie continued, chattering on, “you could go slightly more upscale. Kebobs. Lamb and chicken. Possibly shrimp, although that would run you more money. A big tossed salad with glazed walnuts and feta cheese. An orzo salad made with scallions and oil and balsamic vinegar. Little cherry tomatoes filled with goat cheese. Spanakoita. Brownies. A two-layer, coconut-frosted graduation cake.”
“It all looks wonderful,” Mary Beth said dubiously.
“Why don’t you discuss it with Geoff and get back to me?”
Mary Beth nodded. “I’ll do that. Maybe we can have lunch some day when I have a little more time.”
“Great,” Bernie said, ignoring the hint to leave and changing the subject. “Wasn’t that awful, Lionel dying like that?”
Mary Beth shuddered.
“I can’t get the image of his hand going to his throat out of my mind. You know Lionel and his people were all supposed to come here before the dinner for a drink, but Lydia called and canceled. Something about Lionel having a headache.”
“Really?”
Mary Beth grimaced. “I’d bought this very expensive port that Lydia said Lionel was fond of. A hundred and fifty dollars a bottle. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with it now. I mean, who drinks port?”
“So he was a friend of yours?” Bernie asked.
“Lionel?” Mary Beth furrowed her brow. “Lionel never had any friends. You know that. No. He was one of my husband’s business associates. He and Nigel Herron.” She gave the sentence an unpleasant twist.
Bernie leaned forward.
“I didn’t know Nigel was involved in the amusement park deal.”
“He is—excuse me, was—Geoff ’s financial adviser. What a pair those two are.”
“They never did have much common sense,” Bernie reflected.
The irises of Mary Beth’s brown eyes turned darker.
“Right. And why listen to someone like me? Why put some of your money aside in a savings account? After all, I’m just the little dumb housewife. Unlike my husband, the financial genius.” Mary Beth waved her hand dismissively. “And now, if you don’t mind, I don’t mean to be rude, but . . .”
“Oh, you’re not,” Bernie assured her. “I understand totally.” Then, instead of going left, she went right and found herself in front of the family room. It was filled with packing cartons, stacks of clothes, and computer equipment. She turned to Mary Beth and said, “Boy. Talk about getting rid of stuff.”
Mary Beth hesitated for a moment, then said, “Don’t tell anyone, but we’re getting ready to put our house on the market.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
Mary Beth sucked her cheeks in, then blew air out between her lips.
“So where are you moving to?” Bernie prompted.
Mary Beth put on a smile that, Bernie reflected, looked as if it had been dipped in shellac; then her lips began to tremble and she started to cry.
“Oh Bernie,” she sobbed. “Everything is coming apart.”
Bernie called Libby once she was on the road again.
“The Holders are separating,” she told her. “They didn’t hire you for the graduation party because I don’t think there’s going to be one.”
“How do you know?”
Libby’s voice sounded staticky. Bernie adjusted her headset.
“She told me.” And Bernie reported the rest of the conversation.
“I wonder why Lionel was going over there for a drink?” Libby asked.
“Maybe Holder was making one last appeal to get things back on track.”
“And then Lionel doesn’t show up after the wife goes out and buys an expensive bottle of port. That would piss me off. Could be the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Libby mused.
“Could be,” Bernie agreed, following Libby’s lead. “I’m kinda liking Holder for this myself in a hypothetical kind of way. The thing that I don’t like is that this is the type of homicide you have to prepare for. So Lionel cancels him out at the last minute and Holder does what? Runs back and gets the cyanide that he conveniently has on hand and dumps it into Lionel’s water? Sounds pretty sketchy to me.”
“Well, you said he had access to it.”
“No. I said he could have had access to it.”
“I stand corrected.” Libby paused for a moment. “Maybe Holder was planning to do it anyway. He was just giving Lionel a last chance to come around.”
Bernie stopped at a light. “Well, he’s definitely three for three. He’s got motive, means, and opportunity, which means, folks, he wins the Trifecta.”
“We should tell Dad.”
“Not yet.”
“When?” Libby demanded.
“We’ll tell him when we have something a little less circumstantial.”
“And what would constitute that?”
“Evidence. A witness.”
“And how are we going to get those?” Libby asked.
“I’m not sure,” Bernie admitted.
Libby was quiet for a moment; then she said, “Are you still going to talk to Geoffrey?”
Bernie looked down at her second basket of treats.
“You betcha. I’m on my way there even as we speak.”
“What if he won’t see you?”
“Of course he’ll see me. Everyone always sees me. I’m too charming to refuse. Anyway, why would he say no? I’m just going to talk to him about the menu. By the way, have you heard from Tiffany yet?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Well, call me if you do.”
“You’ll be the first. And Bernie, be careful. Geoff could have killed someone.”
“I’ll be Cautious Connie.”
And Bernie clicked off.