Chapter 31
So what they say about nose size being a good indicator of other things is true, Libby thought as she tried to concentrate on the more important matters at hand.
Like how she was going to explain this.
And then something else occurred to her as she watched Nigel back up towards his bed, something she really didn’t want to think about. Like maybe she wasn’t going to get the opportunity to explain.
Like suppose he really had killed Lionel and Geoff. Why not kill her as well? It was the logical thing to do. Her father would never forgive her if that happened.
Libby knew she should get out of there, but for some reason her legs had lost their ability to move. This was what people must mean when they say they’re paralyzed with fear, she realized.
She could only stand and watch Nigel as he reached the side of his bed and then bent down. Libby put her hands over her mouth. Oh, my God, she thought. He’s got a gun under the dust ruffle. He’s going to kill me.
“Don’t shoot!” she screamed.
Nigel straightened up. He was holding a black sheet in front of him.
“Shoot you?” he repeated incredulously. “What are you? Crazy?” Nigel said.
Relief coursed through Libby’s body.
“That’s exactly what I am. Crazy. And I am so sorry about it,” she said, taking a step back. She could move again. Thank God. She began backing away. “I have to go back into therapy. Immediately. It’s all the cream cheese icing I just ate. Way too much sugar. It makes me nuts. Always has. Really. Some people can’t drink, I can’t eat sugar.”
Shut up, Libby, she thought, but she kept chattering on.
“Did you know that I’m hypoglycemic—or is it hyperglycemic? I always get those two mixed up. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be going. I need to lie down or take a Valium or get a shock treatment or something.”
“I mind your leaving very much,” Nigel said as he wound the sheet around himself. “I demand an explanation for this intrusion. Were you trying to steal something?”
“Yes. That’s it,” Libby told him. “You should call the police and report me. In fact, I’ll turn myself in. I’m going to drive straight to the police station and do that right now. You can call and tell them I’m coming.”
Suddenly Nigel’s eyes darkened.
“Oh, I get it. Of course. You think I killed Lionel and Geoff Holder.”
Libby took another step back.
“No. No. Why would I think that? That’s ridiculous,” Libby told Nigel while he tucked the edge of the top portion of the sheet into the waist to form a skirt. “You were his friend.”
“And Tiffany is yours.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means you’ve decided to come up and search for evidence.”
“That would be illegal. And stupid. I already told you. I came to pick up my pot.”
“In my bedroom?”
“I couldn’t find it downstairs,” Libby stammered. “I figured maybe you’d brought it upstairs . . .”
“To use as a chamber pot? What exactly did you hope to find?”
“Nothing,” Libby said.
“You were obviously looking for something. What was it?”
“I already told you . . .”
Nigel waved a hand at her.
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not that credulous. What the hell ever gave you the idea that I’m a murderer?”
“Well . . .” Libby began.
“So you admit it,” Nigel finished triumphantly at the exact moment that Bernie crashed into the room brandishing one of Nigel’s carving knives.
“Are you all right?” she asked Libby as she moved in front of her.
“I’m fine,” Libby assured her. “A little shaken up. How did you know . . .”
“Janet,” Bernie said. “Next time keep your damned cell phone on.”
“Oops,” Libby said.
“Oops is right.”
“Another crazed Simmons girl,” Nigel observed. “How charming. Do you think you could put my knife down?” he asked Bernie. “It’s making me nervous.”
Bernie lowered it a couple of inches.
“So, what’s your excuse for barging in here like a maniac?” Nigel asked her. “Twinkies?”
Bernie shot him a puzzled look.
“Forget it,” Libby said. “I’ll explain later.”
“You two really are a pair, you know that?” Nigel said as he wrapped the sheet more tightly around his waist.
“And proud of it,” Bernie said.
“If you want to know the truth,” Libby said to Nigel, emboldened now that Bernie was here. “I was looking for your book.”
“Libby!” Bernie exclaimed.
“Well, what’s the difference now,” Libby said.
“This is true,” Bernie granted after a moment of reflection.
“My book?” Nigel said. “All this is about my book?”
Libby took a deep breath and let it out.
“Among other things. I mean, Lionel did steal it from you, didn’t he?”
“Plagiarize,” Bernie corrected.
Libby snorted. “Whatever.”
“Well, they are different.”
“Excuse me, ladies,” Nigel said. “Sorry to interrupt, but are you talking about the one I wrote in high school?”
“Are there others?” Bernie asked.
“Several.”
“But Janet said . . .”
“Janet doesn’t know everything,” Nigel said, cutting her off. “And yes. You’re perfectly correct. He did plagiarize that book from me, and I never did anything about it, not even when it was evident that it would be a success.”
“Why didn’t you?” Libby asked, genuinely curious.
Nigel pulled the sheet tighter and sat down on the edge of his bed.
“Well,” he replied. “I suppose I thought no one would believe me. I was never very good in school, you see. It was only later that I found myself.”
“So you must have resented Lionel,” Libby continued, thinking that if anything happened, Bernie could protect her. “He was successful and you weren’t. All these years of watching him succeed . . .”
“And I couldn’t take it anymore?” Nigel said.
“Exactly.”
“Well, you’re partially correct,” he conceded. “I did resent him. I resented him for years. Resentment can corrode your soul if you let it.”
Libby and Bernie exchanged looks.
“But then, at a friend’s urging, I took a two-day seminar at the Institute for Change and learned that the universe is infinitely bountiful. I went home and began writing again, and when I had gotten something I liked I called up Lionel and he agreed to publish it.”
“Out of the goodness of his heart, no doubt,” Libby said.
“No doubt,” Nigel said.
“You were blackmailing him into publishing it.”
“Not at all. My stuff is good.”
Bernie thought about what she’d read of his and decided silence was called for.
“He just decided to do the right thing,” Nigel continued.
“Lionel? After all these years?”
Nigel shrugged.
“Far be it from me to question the ways of men. I prefer to think that he thought I would sell, but maybe he felt guilty. Who knows? In any case his house was giving him an imprint . . .”
“Which you just happened to know about,” Bernie interjected.
“It wasn’t a secret. I read about it in Publishers Weekly. I was to be his first pick. So as you can see, killing him would be the last thing I would do. No Lionel. No imprint. No book for me. And as for Geoff—what did I have against him? Tell me that?”
“It’s what he had against you.”
Nigel raised both eyebrows. “Would you care to elucidate?”
“I certainly would,” Bernie replied. “You were his stockbroker.”
“His financial advisor.”
“Whatever. You still lost a lot of his money,” Bernie hypothesized.
Nigel inclined his head. “I did indeed. But that hardly makes me unique. Everyone is in the toilet these days. The bubble’s burst, or haven’t you heard?”
“And he got mad,” Bernie continued.
“No one likes losing money—not, I might add, that there was much money left to lose after Lionel got through with him.”
Bernie wondered where to go next. There was only one thing she could think of.
“He wrote a letter of complaint to your firm.”
Nigel took a step towards Bernie.
“Did Janet tell you that?”
Bernie raised the knife she was holding.
Nigel looked at it and said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then back up.”
“Fine.” Nigel stepped back. “Satisfied?”
Bernie nodded.
“Now will you answer my question?”
“I don’t know why I’m bothering.” And Nigel whirled around and strode over to his night table. Libby and Bernie watched apprehensively as he rummaged through the drawer.
“What are you doing?” Bernie asked nervously as Libby mouthed the word gun at her.
“Looking for something.”
Bernie had just nodded her head towards the door and said, “Now?” to Libby when Nigel turned around. Bernie was relieved to see he was holding a piece of paper in his hand. He took a couple of steps forward and flung it at Libby’s feet.
“Read this.”
Libby picked it up and scanned it.
“He’s cleared,” she told Bernie.
“Of any misconduct,” Nigel told them. “I was just doing what Geoff wanted me to. He authorized every single one of those trades. I told him not to do options, but he wouldn’t listen. He thought he could get back the money he’d lost with Lionel. It was a case of very bad timing.”
“Then why are you drinking?” Bernie asked.
Nigel glared at her.
“Since when do I have to answer to you?”
“You don’t. It’s just that Lionel dies and you start hitting the bottle. You have to admit the coincidence is . . . tantalizing.”
“Tantalizing?” Nigel scoffed. “Hardly. Minorly interesting perhaps. I assume you heard this from Janet.”
“She’s concerned about you.”
“If that’s what she says.”
“She is, you know.”
“Then you can tell her I’m drinking to mark the end of my fledging literary career.”
Bernie sighed. The last thing she wanted was to be a go-between for these two.
“I think you should tell her yourself.”
“I can’t since I’m no longer speaking to her.”
And with that Nigel walked over to the night table, took the bottle of Wild Turkey that had been sitting on it, and poured some into the glass sitting next to the bottle. He lifted the glass in a toast. “Bottoms up, ladies.” Then he gulped it down and poured himself another.
“Maybe you should join AA,” Libby suggested.
Nigel looked at her and sneered.
“That did Tiffany a lot of good, didn’t it?”