A Catered Birthday Party

by Crawford, Isis

  Bernie shrugged. “I know it’s a long shot, but I figure anything that we learn is better than nothing. Right now we don’t have much.”

  “We don’t have anything,” Libby interjected.

  Bernie cracked open a peanut. “Except for what Annabel said.”

  “To which no one is paying any attention,” Libby observed.

  “And they may be right,” Bernie said. “Who knows? She might have staged this whole thing herself. According to Dad, that’s the latest theory going around—no doubt suggested by her husband.”

  “He suggested what?” Libby practically yelped.

  Bernie took a sip of her Brooklyn Brown. “Didn’t I tell you? The new scenario is that Annabel poisoned herself out of spite, so Richard would then get arrested for her murder.”

  “I gotta say, that would be quite a grudge she was carrying,” Brandon said. “Talk about not being clear on the concept.”

  Libby turned to her sister. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

  “Obviously not,” Bernie told her.

  “Me neither,” Libby said. “But it’s a very…”

  “Seductive explanation,” Bernie supplied.

  Libby nodded. “Exactly.”

  Brandon refilled the plastic bowl in front of Libby and Bernie with shelled peanuts. The peanuts were R.J.’s trademark. Usually the floor was littered with the shells, which crunched when people stepped on them, but tonight the only piles were around Bernie’s and Libby’s feet. Not only did the peanuts add a little local color, but they were cheap, and they absorbed the alcohol so people could drink more.

  “I thought you guys weren’t going to take this on?” he said. “How come you changed your minds?”

  Bernie lifted up her hands and brought them down. “What can I say? Our consciences got the better of us.”

  “I hate when that happens,” Brandon said. “But deathbed promises are hard to ignore.”

  “It wasn’t a deathbed promise,” Libby said. “It was more like a dining room table promise.”

  “You don’t have to be so literal,” Bernie retorted.

  “I was just being accurate,” Libby rejoined. “You always tell me my speech is sloppy.”

  Bernie rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” She picked up her drink and walked over to where Kevin O’Malley was sitting.

  He didn’t look up. Not promising, Bernie thought as she sat down next to him.

  “The answer is no,” he said, before taking another sip of his drink.

  “No to what? I haven’t even said anything yet,” Bernie protested.

  “No. I’m talking about Annabel Colbert’s business.”

  “How do you know that’s what I want?”

  He gave her a look. “I’m not stupid. This is a small town. What else could you want?”

  “Well, I could want to know how much you’re selling your mangoes for.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow.

  “Or your hothouse peaches. Or how you price your platters. Richard Colbert was especially pleased with the feta, grape leaves, and olives. The garnish was quite nice. I’ll have to try the three different types of radishes myself.”

  “By all means do,” Kevin said.

  “I was thinking of doing more veggie things. What do you think?”

  “I think that you’re perfectly capable of adding some new items to your menu without my help, so you can can the charm.”

  “That’s rather rude,” Bernie said.

  Kevin took a sip of his Scotch. “It was meant to be.”

  “So,” Bernie said, trying again. “When did Richard Colbert order the platters to be sent to his house?”

  Instead of answering, Kevin laughed and rubbed his finger around the top of his glass. “Do you know why I’m successful?” he asked.

  “Good hygiene?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Okay. Because you stock good products. Because you offer good service. Because you have good suppliers.”

  “Besides that.”

  Bernie thought for a moment. “Good word of mouth.”

  Kevin nodded. “Exactly.”

  “I’m still not seeing where this is leading,” Bernie said.

  “It’s really simple. I’ve targeted my business to the rich, the superrich, and the merely well-off.”

  Bernie nodded.

  “And one of the things people like that appreciate is discretion.”

  “You run a grocery store, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Then why are you talking to me now?”

  Bernie fell silent.

  “Exactly. You’re talking to me because you want to know all the latest gossip that I’ve heard. Well, I don’t do that. I don’t do that because it would lose me customers. I have keys to my customers’ houses so I can go in and put their orders away before they come home from vacations. That way there will be food in the house when they get in.

  “I wouldn’t have that level of trust if they didn’t know I was discreet. That is the foundation I’ve built my business on. There are lots of fancy grocery stores. My discretion is my ace in the hole. And in any case there’s nothing to say about Annabel Colbert. Her death was an accident. Everyone says so.”

  “Especially her husband.”

  Kevin inclined his head but said nothing.

  Bernie thought for a second. Then she said, “But if you were going to tell me something, what would you say?”

  Kevin laughed again. Bernie noted that his teeth were small and pointed and very white.

  “I would say you should go see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Longely Playhouse. I think you’ll like Brick.”

  “That’s it?” Bernie said.

  “That’s it,” Kevin replied. “And now, if you’ll pardon me, I’d like to finish the rest of my drink in peace and quiet.”

  “By all means,” Bernie said, and she returned to her stool.

  “But what does that mean?” Libby asked when Bernie told her what Kevin had said.

  “I have no idea, but I think we’d better check it out,” Bernie told her.

  Libby groaned. “Like I have time to go to a play.”

  Brandon grinned. “There’s always time for culture.”

  Libby laughed. “Like what? Fantasy Football?”

  “Exactly.” He cocked his lead. “Listen,” he said.

  “Listen to what?” Bernie asked.

  Then she heard it. Something was flapping outside. A moment later there was the unmistakable sound of hail hitting the roof.

  “I do believe the nor’easter has arrived,” Brandon loudly announced.

  Down at the other end of the bar Kevin O’Malley lifted his glass. “Then I’d better have another quick one before I go.”

  “I’m just glad we got new tires on the van last week,” Libby said. The old ones had been so threadbare the van probably would have slid all the way home.

  Bernie was just about to tell her that she worried too much when the front door banged open and Marvin came stumbling in. He shook his head and brushed off his coat. Little snowflakes danced to the floor. He gave Libby a hug and a kiss.

  “Boy it’s really starting to come down,” he said. “It’s not much fun out there. It’s not much fun at all.”

  Which turned out to be an understatement.

  Chapter 10

  The storm blew itself out around four in the morning, leaving lampposts capped in little hats of snow and cars buried halfway up their tires. For a short while, until people got up, everything was sparkling white.

  “You have to admit it’s pretty,” Bernie said, looking out the window as she sipped her coffee.

  “It’s beautiful,” Libby allowed as she dug her snow boots and mittens out of the closet. “And if we didn’t have to shovel it would be even prettier.”

  It was a little after six, but Libby figured they’d better get started clearing the sidewalk. At least that way they wouldn’t be too far behind with the other stuff they had to do
.

  “I wonder if Trudy goes out in the snow?” Bernie mused while slipping into her Uggs and ski parka.

  “She probably has custom-made boots and a matching jacket,” Libby said as they started down the stairs.

  Bernie dug her mittens out of her parka’s pockets. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

  It took the sisters a little over an hour to salt and shovel. They were totally exhausted by the time they were done, but as their dad said when they got back upstairs, people might not be able to drive down Main Street yet, but when they were able to A Little Taste of Heaven would be ready to receive them. Which was a good thing, because the number of people who started trickling in as soon as they opened the doors wanting to buy coffee and a pastry or two surprised Libby.

  By nine o’clock the shop had already sold out of their apple, apple cranberry, and prune and apricot pies, as well as their corn, pumpkin, and chocolate chip muffins, in addition to their apricot and oatmeal cookies. Googie and Amber, who had fortunately made it in, were a blur of activity behind the counter.

  Libby and Bernie were in the kitchen drinking coffee, eating slices of two-day-old apple pie that hadn’t sold, and getting ready to make some more muffins.

  “Pie in the morning,” Bernie observed. “Nothing better.”

  “For sure,” Libby said as she mashed the last crumbs of the crust onto her finger and conveyed them to her mouth. “You know,” she said, “I was thinking. Maybe we should try half whole wheat and half white flour in the pie dough.”

  “I don’t know.” Bernie added a little more heavy cream to her coffee. “I think I go with Mom’s adage: If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”

  Libby cut herself another little sliver. “She never said anything like that.”

  “She didn’t have to. That’s the way she lived.”

  “Maybe,” Libby conceded. “But there’s always room for improvement.”

  “Not with our pie dough. Our pie dough is perfect.”

  “We could sell this as a healthier alternative.”

  “Then we’d have to have too many different types. We’d end up throwing too much out.”

  “We could only do it by special order.”

  Bernie frowned. “I don’t know. It’s one more thing to keep track of and we don’t do such a good job keeping track of what we already have, as it is. Basically, I think it’s going to be too much work and not enough profit.”

  “Boy you’re in a bad mood,” Libby noted. Normally she was the negative one, not Bernie. Bernie was always up for trying something new.

  Bernie shrugged. It was true. She was. Mostly because she hadn’t gone home with Brandon. She’d been afraid she’d get stuck at his place and not be able to get back in time to help open the shop. Sometimes, she wished she’d stayed in California and hadn’t come back to work here. This place ran her life. Then she shook the thought off. She was just in a funk brought on by too much work and not enough sex.

  “Okay. Try the crust out,” Bernie said. Then she added hastily, “But not today.”

  Today they wouldn’t have time to do anything but keep baking so they could restock the display cases. That was the problem with making everything fresh: It was a balancing act. Too much and they had to throw stuff out. Not enough and they had unhappy customers.

  Libby was just about to tell Bernie that she agreed that today wasn’t the day to start experimenting with anything, that they’d be lucky if they had time to pee the way things were going, when Googie came in with an envelope and handed it to Bernie.

  “This guy said to give this to you.”

  “What guy?”

  “Don’t know.” Googie straightened his hat. “He gave it to me when I was waiting on Mrs. Ruffo,” he told Bernie.

  Libby peered over Bernie’s shoulder while she opened the envelope. There were three tickets to Cat on a Hot Tin Roof inside.

  “Kevin O’Malley,” Bernie and Libby said together. Then they took the tickets up to show to their dad.

  “I guess he really wants to tell us something,” Libby said.

  “I guess so,” Sean agreed, putting his coffee cup down. “He’s obviously sticking to the letter of the law.”

  Libby gave her dad a puzzled look. “Law? What law?”

  “His law,” Sean explained. “Last night he told you….”

  “He told Bernie….”

  “Then Bernie—that he couldn’t tell you anything directly. In his mind that would be gossiping, but if he points you in the right direction and you make the connections you need to make, you find out whatever it is that he deems important, well then, that’s not his doing. He’s in the clear. I wonder what made him change his mind?” Sean mused as he picked up yesterday’s paper and scanned the headlines. He liked his news a day old. It put everything in perspective.

  “Maybe his conscience?” Bernie said.

  “He ran a strip club,” Libby protested.

  “So? What’s that have to do with anything?” Bernie demanded.

  “Oh, come on,” Libby said. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You’re becoming very judgmental in your old age.”

  “No. I’m not,” Libby told her.

  “Ladies,” Sean growled, glaring at both his daughters. “Sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with you people,” he declared. “All you do is bicker. It gets very trying.”

  “Sorry,” Libby and Bernie murmured, although from where Sean was sitting they didn’t look at all repent.

  “It’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” Bernie said, getting back to the matter at hand.

  “What?”

  “Why Kevin sent us the tickets. It would be so much easier if Kevin just came out and said what he wanted to, but at this point I guess we’ll have to take what we can get.”

  “When are they for?” Sean asked.

  “Tonight,” Bernie told him. “Unfortunately.”

  Libby stifled a yawn. “I just hope I don’t fall asleep in the middle of it,” she said. There was something else about the play that was important, but Libby couldn’t remember what it was. The trick was to stop thinking about it. Then it would come to her. Probably when she was rolling out dough for the pies. That’s when things always seemed to pop into her head.

  Bernie patted her on the back. “Don’t worry. If you start snoring, I’ll wake you up.”

  “I don’t snore,” Libby protested.

  Bernie crossed her arms over her chest. “You most certainly do.”

  Libby appealed to her dad. “I don’t, do I?”

  Sean decided to concentrate on the paper. Replying would be a lose-lose situation for him. He’d learned from years of living with his wife and daughters that there were some questions you never answered, the archetypical one being, Does this make me look fat? Do I snore? might not be as laden as that one, but it was close enough.

  “Would you like to go?” Libby asked.

  Sean refolded the paper. “Go where?” he asked as if he didn’t know.

  Libby sighed. She hated when her father did this. “To the play, of course.”

  “I’d love to,” Sean lied. “But Clyde is coming over.”

  Bernie put her hands on her hips. “Dad,” she said.

  “It’s true,” Sean blustered. Clyde wasn’t really coming over for a visit, but he was sure he could lure the big guy to the flat with the promise of some lemon squares and pecan bars.

  In Sean’s opinion there were some things that went beyond the call of duty and this was one of them. Why sit through an inferior version of one of his all-time favorite movies? After all, who could replace Elizabeth Taylor as Maggie? No one. That’s who.

  Chapter 11

  The Longely Playhouse was based in the Longely Community Center, an old firehouse on Warren Street. The town had done a very nice job of remodeling the building several years ago after the fire department had moved into more modern quarters. Now the two-story building housed a variety of activities, up to and including yog
a classes, story times for toddlers, lunches for senior citizens, figure-drawing classes, as well as local theatrical efforts, or amateur theater as Sean insisted on calling it.

  Superior Productions, the company that was mounting Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, had been in business for the last three years. Sometimes it benefitted from Longely’s closeness to New York City, by getting a number of out-of-work actors who were looking to build up their resumes to perform in its plays. But mostly it relied on local talent.

  The theater, which accommodated a respectable seventy-five people, was practically empty when Bernie, Libby, and Marvin arrived, a fact that didn’t surprise Bernie, Libby, or Marvin. Even though all the roads were clear, people were tired from their round of early morning shoveling and were opting to stay in and watch TV, a course of action Libby kept telling everyone she would have liked to have followed as well. And Bernie had to admit that she wouldn’t have minded too much either. Between the baking, the shoveling, and clearing the van off so they could get to the store and buy more butter and vanilla, the day had just worn her out.

  The three of them had just walked through the door and were standing in the entranceway studying their tickets to find their seat assignments when Libby gave Bernie a sharp nudge in the ribs.

  “What?” Bernie asked, rubbing her side. “That hurt.”

  Libby pointed. “That’s what I was trying to remember,” she said.

  “You want to take a figure-drawing class?” From what Bernie could see, Libby was pointing at the schedule for art classes.

  “No, dummy. I’m talking about Sam.”

  Bernie hit her forehead with the flat of her hand. “I can’t believe I forgot. That’s right. She said she had a bit part in the play.” She continued, “Well, she does. In a broad sense. She’s acting as an usher.”

  Sam came toward them. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “We’re going to see the play,” Libby said.

  Sam practically shoved their programs in their hands, then hurried off.

  “I think she’s embarrassed,” Libby observed as they took their seats.

  Kevin had gotten them center-row seats.

  “I don’t think anything would embarrass her,” Bernie said as she put her coat over the back of her seat.