“Yes,” Pearl said. She hiccupped. “Made me.”
“Did she have a gun or a knife?” Sean asked Pearl.
“Not that I saw,” Pearl said. She hiccupped again. “Not that that means anything. She probably had one hidden somewhere in her pants or jacket pocket.”
“Did she have a weapon of any kind?” Bernie asked. “A bat? A club? A can of mace?”
“A can of Crisco?” Sean asked. “A pound of butter?”
Libby shot her dad a dirty look, and he clammed up.
“I’m sure she had something somewhere,” Pearl countered. “People like that always do.”
“What do you mean people like her?” Bernie demanded.
“You know. Crazy people.”
“That’s an awful thing to say,” Bernie told her.
“But it’s true,” Pearl told her, smiling complacently. She fanned her face with the edge of her hand. “Boy, it’s getting hot in here again.”
“Why are you saying Amber’s crazy?” asked Libby.
“Because who else but a crazy person would have tattoos and pink-and-orange hair and stretch her earlobes out like that?” Pearl replied.
“So,” Bernie said, “you just opened the door to this crazy person and went with her?”
“I told you, I was afraid not to,” Pearl replied, biting into her fifth cookie.
“Why’s that?” Sean asked her.
“Because she had this look in her eyes. I was afraid she was going to burn my house down or do something else if I didn’t do what she wanted me to. I mean, for all I know, she could have even been carrying a bomb underneath that coat of hers. It’s possible, isn’t it?” she asked Sean.
“Anything is possible,” Sean said. “But I don’t think what you’re describing is probable.” He raised his hands, clasped his fingers together and put them behind his head. “Tell me what happened next.”
“We got into her car . . .”
Bernie interrupted. “Her car?”
“Yes,” Pearl said. “Her car.”
“Interesting.” Bernie murmured. Had Amber recovered it from the tow lot? If so, was it fit to drive? The last she’d heard from Sheila, it hadn’t been. “What kind of vehicle was it?”
Pearl waved her hands in the air. “One of those small Japanese thingies.”
“Such as?” Libby asked.
Pearl’s eyes shut. She snapped them open. “How am I supposed to know? It was light green. Or blue. Something like that. And it had a dent in the fender.”
“You’re sure about that?” Bernie asked.
“Absolutely,” Pearl said. She hiccupped again.
“Was it a two-door or a four-door?” Libby asked.
“Two,” Pearl said. “They should make those cars for bigger people instead of midgets. It had a sticker of something that looked like a fish, only it really wasn’t.”
Bernie and Libby exchanged looks. They both remembered seeing a car that matched that description parked in the driveway of the house Amber lived in.
“She made me drive,” Pearl told them. “She told me she knew that I knew where the recipes were hidden and that I had to take her there.”
Pearl swayed a little in her seat. Bernie noticed that her eyes looked unfocused.
“Did you?” Sean asked.
“How could I? I have no idea where the stupid things are,” Pearl responded. By now she was swaying in her seat.
“So what did you do?”
“I drove her around. What else could I do?” Pearl said.
“You know what?” she said abruptly. “I need to go home.” She attempted to stand up, and sat right back down.
“I concur,” Lillian said.
“Make that two of us,” Bernie added.
It took the efforts of all three women to get Pearl out of her seat, down the stairs, and into Lillian’s car.
“How’s Lillian going to get her out of her car when she gets to Pearl’s house?” Sean asked when his daughters came back upstairs.
“She said she could manage,” Bernie told him. Even though it was cold outside, she was sweating from the effort of getting Pearl into Lillian’s vehicle.
“So what do you think?” Libby asked her dad as she plopped down on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table.
“I think this whole thing is giving me a headache.” Sean took another sip of bourbon, tasted it on his tongue, and swallowed. “Amber playing vigilante is not what we need right now.”
“To say the least,” Bernie said. “We have to find her before she does something really bad.”
“Agreed,” Libby said. She leaned over and took a brownie. “Amber could be back where she’s living.”
“It’s a definite possibility,” Bernie allowed. “We could drive by there and check. If she’s not there, we should talk to her roommates.”
“Given that she’s motoring around in one of their cars, I think they might have something to say,” Libby observed.
“Or she could also be staying at Millie’s house,” Sean said. “After all, she does have a key to the place.”
“Also true.” Libby sighed. “I can see it’s going to be a long night.”
“I’ll say,” Bernie agreed, thoughts of bed vanishing.
“Another thing,” Sean said. “I’m wondering why is Lillian being so nice to Pearl?”
“Good question,” Bernie said.
“Yes, it is,” Sean said. “If I were you, I’d visit Lillian under the guise of finding out whether she needs any help with Pearl and see if you can pry some information out of her.” Sean scratched his chin. “I suspect she knows something she’s not telling us about Millie’s demise. Maybe we can figure out what it is before Amber does.” He looked at Bernie and Libby. “Because she’s not going to stop until she gets some answers.”
“Hopefully, we can convince her to leave that to us,” Libby said.
“First, we have to find her,” Bernie said.
“True,” Libby said. “They’re taping tomorrow or the next day. That might bring her out into the open.”
“I’d like to see her found before that,” Sean said. He studied the lights across the street for a moment. Then he turned and said to his daughters, “Of course, I’d be happy to help”—Libby started to say something, but Sean held up his hand—“but since you won’t let me drive, I guess I’m stuck here, sitting in my comfortable armchair, sipping bourbon, and watching my favorite TV shows. It’s tough that I can’t be out there on this cold, dark, snowy night and I’ll have to rely on your reports.” And he smiled an angelic smile.
“We never said you couldn’t drive,” Bernie said as she hoisted herself up off the sofa.
Sean shook a finger at her. “You most certainly did.”
“We said you shouldn’t drive,” Bernie replied. “There’s a difference.”
Sean snorted. “Talk about nit-picking.”
“You never liked driving the van anyway, Dad.”
“That doesn’t mean that I won’t, Bernie,” Sean shot back.
“Do you think Dad really wants to go?” Libby asked Bernie once they were outside.
“No,” Bernie said, “I think he just wants to give us a hard time in retaliation for us giving him a hard time about driving Marvin’s dad’s Taurus. That’s what I think.”
“I don’t think I agree,” Libby said as she and Bernie got into the van. “If we split things up, we might actually get some sleep tonight.”
“This is true,” Bernie said.
Libby reached for her phone. “I’m calling Marvin.”
“I thought he liked to go to bed early.”
“Not this early,” Libby said as she got Marvin on the line. “I don’t believe it,” she told Bernie when she got off.
“Believe what?” Bernie asked.
“When we were helping Lillian with Pearl, Dad called Marvin and asked him to drive him around. He’s going to be leaving for our place shortly.” Libby clicked off and called her father. “Dad,” she
said. “When were you going to tell us about Marvin?”
Sean chuckled. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Seriously, Dad,” Libby said.
“Seriously, I was going to tell you once Marvin and I were under way. After all, I can’t let you guys have all the fun. I figure Marvin and I will look for Amber while you and Bernie take on Lillian. I think I’ve had enough of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club ladies for one night.” He hung up.
“I don’t know whether to be happy or pissed,” Libby said. “Marvin didn’t even call and tell me.”
Bernie laughed. “It’s not like he needs your permission. Anyway, what would be the point? He can’t say no to Dad. You should look on the bright side,” she said to Libby as she started Mathilda up.
“And that is?”
“That there’s a chance we’re going to get to bed tonight.”
“This is true,” Libby conceded. “But I want to be the one to find Amber.”
“Why’s that?”
“So I can kill her,” Libby said.
“Makes sense to me,” Bernie replied as they pulled out into the street.
Chapter 23
“What are we going to do if Lillian has left already?” Libby asked her sister as they headed for Pearl’s cottage.
“I guess we’ll figure that one out when we get there,” Bernie said.
But that wasn’t necessary because both Pearl and Lillian’s cars were parked in Pearl’s driveway. Bernie parked behind them, and she and Libby got out of Mathilda. They could hear the sounds of the TV out on the driveway.
“That’s a little loud,” Bernie observed. “I’m surprised the neighbors don’t complain.”
“They probably would if it were summer and their windows were open,” Libby observed. “You know, I always admired this place.”
“Me too,” Bernie agreed. “I wouldn’t mind living here.”
“Ditto,” Libby said. It reminded her of a cottage you’d find in some wooded spot.
The house Pearl lived in was a Stanford White three-bedroom cottage that had been built in the 1930s. It had a stone foundation and walls of wood painted brown. Thick pillars supported a snow-dusted, slanting roof, which covered a front porch that was perfect in the summer for sitting out in the cool evening air.
Leaded decorative glass framed the door. Now colored lights twinkled inside the hallway, and a large wreath of woven branches and dried flowers festooned the door. In the summer, beds of old-fashioned roses, daylilies, lilies of the valley, and bleeding hearts lined the walkway to the cottage.
As Bernie walked toward Pearl’s house, she brushed some of the snow off the side window of Pearl’s car with her hand, then peeked in.
“What are you doing?” Libby whispered.
Bernie grinned. “Being nosy.” She pressed her face to the glass.
Libby tugged at her sleeve. “Let’s go,” she urged. “My feet are freezing.”
Bernie straightened up and pointed to the window. “Not until you take a look at this,” she said.
“What am I looking at?”
Bernie pointed to a piece of paper lying on the passenger side seat. “That.”
Libby pressed her nose to the glass. “It’s a piece of paper. So what?”
“Look closer.”
“I am.”
“Does that look like Millie’s handwriting to you?”
Libby squinted. As much as she hated to admit it, her eyesight wasn’t as good as Bernie’s. The shadow made by the tree next to the street lamp didn’t make things any easier. “Now that you mention it, yeah, it does. At least I think it does. It’s got that odd z in it, and then there’s the funny way she crosses her t’s.”
“Let’s see if this baby is locked,” Bernie said, and she grabbed the car’s door handle and yanked. The door opened. “Tsk. Tsk. Guess someone forgot their due diligence,” she said as she brushed the snow that had fallen in from the roof off the seat and onto the ground. Then she reached in and grabbed the piece of paper. “How careless of Pearl. I hear there are lots of thieves walking around Longely this time of year.” Bernie proceeded to read what was on the paper.
“What does it say?” Libby asked.
Instead of answering, Bernie passed the paper on to Libby, who scanned it quickly. “This looks like part of a recipe,” she said. She corrected herself. “It is part of a recipe.”
“Indeed it is, Holmes,” Bernie said. “I’m willing to wager that it comes from Millie’s recipe book. She used a small three-ring binder, right?”
Libby nodded. Millie had showed it to her a couple of years ago when she was telling Libby she had to be better organized. “It was just like the one I used in Mrs. Sullivan’s class in fourth grade. I didn’t even know they made those white things anymore.” Libby pointed to the white paper rings reinforcing the three holes on the paper. “I used to love putting them on.”
“While I hated it,” Bernie remarked.
“You didn’t do it. Which is why you were always losing your homework. Your pages always fell out.”
“Don’t remind me,” Bernie said. Then she went back to talking about the piece of paper she’d found in Pearl’s car. “This is definitely Millie’s handwriting.” Bernie stamped her feet to keep warm. It had to be below twenty degrees. “I’d say it was a probable match. And”—Bernie raised a finger of her gloved hand—“this is a recipe for a hazelnut torte.”
“Millie always bragged about hers,” Libby said. “Remember when she told us that hers was better than ours?”
“Just like her cinnamon rolls were better than ours,” Bernie scoffed. “Looking at this recipe, I can see why her torte is dry and her icing is oversweet, not to mention the fact that she uses, pardon me, used, too much Kahlua in it. Look at the amount the recipe calls for!” Bernie made a face. “But Millie’s baked goods always had to be the best, no matter what she was making. I think,” Bernie said after a moment of reflection, “she would have been very unhappy if she’d lost the Baking for Life contest.”
“So you’re saying somebody might have done her a favor by killing her?” Libby asked.
Bernie looked indignant. “Not at all. I’m just saying that it probably never occurred to Millie that she might lose.”
“I wish I had that kind of confidence,” Libby said wistfully as she handed the paper back to Bernie.
“Overconfidence,” Bernie said. “Sometimes that’s not such a good thing. Sometimes it makes you enemies.”
“Of which Millie seems to have had quite a number,” Libby observed. “Except, of course, for Amber.”
“Ah yes, Amber. Our errant counter girl. Well, it looks as if Amber was correct about one thing. One of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club ladies did have Millie’s recipe book, after all.”
“Or at least a page of it,” Bernie replied.
Libby frowned. “But why leave the page on the seat?” she asked. “Given the circumstances, that’s a rather odd thing to do.”
“Maybe the rings on the binder came apart, and Pearl gathered them back up, but she was in a hurry and didn’t see this page. I guess the only way we’re going to find out is to ask Pearl,” Bernie said.
“If she isn’t comatose,” Libby observed.
“Yes,” Bernie said, remembering the state Pearl was in when she, Bernie, and Lillian helped her down the stairs.
“She’s probably sprawled out on the sofa, snoring away,” Libby surmised.
Bernie wrinkled her nose at the image.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” Libby said.
“I don’t think so.” Bernie took the piece of paper she’d found in the car, carefully folded it up, and put it in her bag. “For when Pearl wakes up,” she explained. “And let’s not forget Lillian,” Bernie said. “Remember how Dad told us that he thought Lillian was acting too good to be true vis-à-vis Pearl. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Lillian will have something to tell us.”
“I hope so,” Libby said. “At this point I’ll take any shred of
information I can get.”
“Me too,” Bernie agreed as she and her sister climbed the three steps that led to the porch and stood in front of the door. The TV sounded even louder now, and as Bernie put her hand up to ring the bell, she noticed that the door was slightly ajar.
“Maybe Lillian was having trouble getting Pearl into her bedroom,” Libby guessed, “and forgot to close the door.”
“Possibly,” Bernie said, picturing Pearl as she stepped into the hallway. “After all, it took three of us to get Pearl into Lillian’s car.”
“Well, the car is small and Pearl is large,” Libby said.
“Not to state the obvious,” Bernie said as she looked around.
The first thing she and Libby saw when they walked through the hallway and into the living room was Pearl, sleeping. She was half on, half off the sofa. Her skirt was riding up around her hips and her mouth was open. She was snoring.
“So much for talking to Pearl,” Libby said.
Bernie nodded. “I wonder where Lillian is?” she said.
“The bathroom?” Libby said. “Or maybe the kitchen.”
“I’ll take one and you take the other,” Bernie said.
Libby nodded. Only Lillian wasn’t in either place. She was in Pearl’s office, going through her drawers, as Libby and Bernie quickly discovered.
“Hi,” Libby said. She had her arms crossed and was leaning up against the door frame.
Lillian jumped and spun around.
“So nice to see you’re so helpful,” Bernie observed. She was leaning up against the other door frame with her arms folded across her chest as well. “I take it you’re helping Pearl clean out things.”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Lillian said.
“I so don’t believe that, Bernie,” Libby said to her sister. “Do you?”
“Absolutely not, Libby.”
“So what do you think Lillian is doing, Bernie?”
Bernie smirked. “I think she’s looking for Millie’s recipe book.”
“That makes two of us, Bernie,” Libby said.
“So what if I am?” Lillian demanded. “I was looking to return it.”
Bernie laughed. “Come on now. You can do better than that!”
“It’s true,” Lillian insisted. She wiped her hands on the front of her flannel shirt.
A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) Page 19
