“Anna,” I said, trying to stay calm, “haven’t I told you never to talk to strangers. And certainly never to take things from them. Remember how we discussed what might happen, how people who look and act nice, sometimes aren’t?”
“He was at school,” Anna replied, as if that were reason enough. “And besides, all the kids talked to him, not just me.”
“All?” Maybe he was the school psychologist or something.
“A lot of them anyway.”
Then I remembered the fire. Perhaps he was an arson investigator or someone from the insurance company. I relaxed just a little. But I thought it wouldn’t hurt to mention the matter at school, either.
While Anna lay on the floor, nose to nose with Max, fluffing his fur and crooning over him as though he were a three-month-old baby instead of a five-year-old dog, I started dinner.
I hadn’t expected Libby to move in with us quite so immediately so I hadn’t given much thought to preparing for the event. But I figured this first meal would probably be the hardest on all of us, and I wanted to make it something a little special.
My cupboards, however, held nothing the remotest bit special. Not even ingredients that would make up into something special. Finally, I settled for tried and true. Pasta with some homemade meat sauce Michael had stuck in the freezer the last time he made a double recipe. Anna would balk at the meat, but if I hid it under the noodles instead of on top, she might get down a couple of bites before she figured it out. I made a salad too, and set the table with my good place mats and the more expensive brand of napkins I usually saved for company.
I’d just put the noodle water on to boil when the doorbell rang. Anna went to answer it, then called to me in a voice that would give a rooster a run for his money. “Mommy! Someone’s here.”
Someone was male. Late teens, early twenties. He had thick black hair, heavily greased, and shaved close to his head at the sides. I counted three earrings straight off, but on closer examination discovered two others, small gold posts high up on his left ear. He had a long, thin face, full mouth, and narrow, deep-set eyes which he kept partially closed.
No clipboard though. No handful of brochures or clear glass jar with a prominent display of generous donations either.
He ran a hand over his chin, which was dark with a day’s growth of whiskers. “Libby here?” he asked.
When I nodded, he looked at me expectantly.
Finally, he said, “You gonna get her or should I?”
What now? Sharon hadn’t given me a list of operating instructions.
Before I could say anything, Libby herself appeared in the entry hall. She’d changed from the oversized painter’s overalls she’d worn that afternoon into a black spandex crop-top and an unevenly hemmed skirt that looked like a Goodwill reject. A collection of mismatched bracelets circled her left arm.
“Brandon,” she cooed, gliding past me and draping herself against the young man. What ensued was the most X-rated kiss I have ever seen off the big screen. And it went on forever.
Anna watched, gaping with an open mouth. She took her eyes off the exhibition only long enough to cast a quick, curious glance in my direction. I cleared my throat loudly, and was about to send Anna for the garden hose when they parted.
Or part of them parted, anyway. But it was enough.
“Would you like to introduce your friend?” I asked Libby.
She mumbled something, but I would never have picked out his name if I hadn’t heard her speak it a moment earlier. I thought Brandon might be in the same boat.
I held out my hand. “Kate Austen,” I said.
Brandon’s hand touched mine briefly, then he shoved it in his back pocket, as though I might have designs on keeping it.
“Won’t you come in? We’re going to eat soon, but you’re welcome to stay and join us.” I laughed my sprightly, hostess laugh. “Nothing fancy though, I have to warn you.”
“No dinner for me,” Libby announced. “I’m going out with Brandon.” She dragged him into the house and thrust him onto the living room sofa. “I’m not ready yet. Every time I go to look for something I discover I left it home.”
Brandon tugged her arm and she fell onto the sofa next to him. Actually, it was more like on top of him. But after she looked up at me, she slid off his lap and onto the seat cushion. Her hand remained draped across Brandon’s thigh.
Damn Sharon anyway. What were the rules here?
“Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner? I’ve got really good spaghetti sauce. Homemade. By a friend of mine who’s a terrific cook.”
If I’d been the one listening to this Donna Reed imitation, I’d probably have puked. Brandon just shrugged.
“Well, I’ll give you two a moment alone to discuss it.” And maybe in the interim I could place a quick call to Sharon.
I did, but Sharon was no help at all.
“It’s your house, Kate, you set the rules.”
“But what did Mona do? I don’t want to come down on Libby like the wicked witch of the north. The poor girl has just lost her mother after all. She probably needs to be with someone who’s familiar and, uh ...” I searched for the right word. “Comforting.”
“So let her go.”
“But you told me Mona thought this guy Brandon was a good-for-nothing.” A piece of shit, was the way Sharon had put it. But with Anna hanging on my every word I had to temper my description.
“Well, she wasn’t any too pleased about the fact that Libby was involved with him. And I know she once threatened to call the police if he didn’t get out of her house. But I don’t think she actually tried to prevent Libby from seeing him.”
Great. “But did she have rules, curfew, that sort of thing?”
“Beats me. Look, whatever you decide,” Sharon said, “it will be okay. It’s not like she’s Anna’s age, you know.”
I did know, and that was the problem.
When I hung up, I could hear voices coming from the other room. Mumble, mumble, and then a long quiet spell before another mumble. My mind was able to fill in those empty spaces with disquieting ease.
“I don’t know,” Libby was saying. Mumble, mumble. “Not tonight.”
Another interlude of quiet. Then Brandon said, “Come on, it’s not like your old lady is breathing down your neck anymore. We’d have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Uh-uh,” Libby said. “Let’s just go get a pizza or something.”
There was some more mumbling and another long slence, then Libby said, “Pizza or nothing. What’ll it be?”
Yea, Libby! Way to go.
Brandon must have settled for pizza because I heard Libby head off to finish dressing. A few minutes later Brandon sauntered into the kitchen, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“You got a match?”
“Sorry,” I said, “I don’t allow smoking inside the house.”
He eyed me disdainfully through lowered lids and slouched into the nearest chair. The metal studs on his jacket scraped against the table.
“You a good friend of Mona’s?” He said her name with a sneer, but maybe it just came out that way because he was trying to talk without removing the cigarette.
“We were—”
Before I could finish, the doorbell rang again.
“Shit,” Libby screeched, running down the hall in her stocking feet. “Don’t answer it.”
But I already had.
Although I’d never actually met Mona’s ex-husband, I’d seen his picture in the paper on several occasions. There was no mistaking the fleshy, ruddy-faced man in front of me.
“I understand you’ve got my daughter,” Gary bellowed, leaning forward to close the space between us. I expected to feel a finger jabbed against my chest any minute.
“You must be Gary,” I chirped. “I’m Kate Austen.”
I didn’t offer my hand because I was afraid of what he might do with it. Not that Gary had been physically abusive to Mona as far as I knew. Emotionally ab
usive certainly, and a first-class jerk. But he was in a foul mood and I wasn’t taking chances.
He humphed. “I want to see Libby.”
“I’ll see if she’s available.” I started to close the door, but Gary stuck a foot just inside.
“Get Libby down here, now. You give me any trouble and I’ll haul your ass into court so fast you’ll drop your drawers. Do I make myself clear?”
Holy Hannah, what had I gotten myself into?
While I was trying to come up with a response, Libby appeared behind me, clutching Brandon’s hand.
“This isn’t your night,” she said coolly, and with a poise that astounded me. “I don’t have to see you until Friday.”
“That agreement don’t mean shit anymore.”
“Says who?”
Gary turned on a smile meant to charm. “Libby, my little princess.” His voice dropped a couple of decibels and took on a saccharine tone. “I know how terrible this must be for you. I just want to help, that’s all. Daddy worries about his little girl.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“We should be together at a time like this.”
Gary stepped forward as if to touch Libby’s shoulder, but Brandon wedged himself between them.
“Fuck off, man. Can’t you see she doesn’t want you around?”
Surprisingly, Gary stepped back. “Who are you?”
“See,” Libby wailed, still clutching Brandon’s hand tight in her own. Her bracelets clinked as they brushed against his jacket “All this hot air about how important I am to you, and you don’t even know who my friends are.” “He’s a friend!”
“A really good friend,” Brandon answered. “We’re like, you know, in synch. Spiritually and otherwise.”
It was my guess that the otherwise far surpassed the spiritual part. From the look on Gary’s face it was clear his thoughts followed mine.
A smirk pulled at his mouth. “Well, least you aren’t an ice maiden like your mother.”
“Just because she wouldn’t sleep with you, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“There you go, shutting me out. How am I supposed to know who your friends are when you won’t even talk civilly to me?”
“Words,” Libby replied. “Words, words, words. That’s all you’re ever good for.”
“And the paycheck part,” Gary said bitterly. “Don’t forget that.”
Brandon squared his shoulders. “She’s got her own money now. Her own house, too.”
Gary glared at Brandon. “That so?” Then turned to me, his tone surprisingly reasonable. “May I come in? Just for a moment?”
I looked at Libby, who shrugged.
Now that anger wasn’t contorting his face, Gary looked almost stately. He wasn’t handsome, although at one time, many years and even more pounds ago he might have come close. But he had that prosperous, accustomed-to-being-in-charge look that can make you look twice at a man you otherwise wouldn’t.
“Why don’t you all go into the living room,” I suggested. “I just have to run and check on dinner, and then I’ll bring out something to drink.”
Gary had started for the other room when Libby screeched again, pointing her finger through the open door. The bracelets jangled, like an ill-constructed wind chime. “You brought her?”
Gary turned to look. “She’s my fiancée, princess.”
A curvy blond in a red leather mini-skirt and fringed, high-heeled boots flounced up the walkway, and smiled. Broadly. “Gary, honey,” she whimpered, “I’m lonesome sitting in the car all by myself.”
Libby made a high-pitched noise something like a cat late at night.
I took Anna and fled to the kitchen.
Again, the voices drifted in from the other room. Only this time there was no mumbling, and no long silences.
“I won’t stay with you,” Libby yelled. “You just try to make me and see what happens.”
“But we’re family.”
“Not Miss What’s-her-name. She’s not family.”
“Maybe not technically, but you’re going to have to get used to the idea that Bambi is part of my life. Now that your mother’s dead, we’re the only family you’ve got.”
“You’re glad she’s dead, aren’t you? No more calls from her lawyer. No more support payments. Now you and Bimbo can stop complaining about the money you have to shell out.”
There was a dainty little squeal which I presumed was Bambi’s response to being called Bimbo, but it didn’t get the attention she undoubtedly hoped it would. Gary stayed focused on the money issue.
“It was my money, damn it.”
“It wasn’t your money,” Libby said. “It was community property. She had just as much right to it as you did.”
“Listen, young lady, I built that business. I worked hard, kissed ass, and shook my buns building Sterling Enterprises into what it is. And she stole it from me. Don’t you go telling me what I can and can’t do.”
“Kissed ass?” Libby said dramatically. “That’s certainly one way to characterize it.”
Gary’s voice was low and hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know more than you think.”
“Let’s go,” Bambi whined. “All this shouting is giving me a terrible headache.”
“Your mother was a desperate, warped woman,” Gary said, ignoring Bambi. “She tried her best to turn you against me from the very beginning.”
“She didn’t have to do that,” Libby sniffed. “You did it all yourself.”
By the time I’d worked up my courage to leave the kitchen, Gary and Bambi were on their way out the door. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said. The you was terse, and I couldn’t tell whether he was talking to me or Libby.
Brandon was headed out as well, leading Libby by the wrist. “Come on, we’re out of here too.”
“Don’t wait up for me,” Libby said, with a look in my direction. “I’ve got the key you gave me.”
“But this is a school night,” I protested.
She shrugged. “Don’t I qualify for bereavement leave or something?”
Before I had a chance to respond, Brandon yanked her out the door. I heard a motorcycle start up, gun its engines, and take off at warp speed.
I dropped into the nearest chair and took a long, deep breath. Anna threaded her way under my arm and into my lap. I hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head.
“It’s going to be okay, honey. Change is always a bit rough in the beginning.”
Anna leaned back, resting the full weight of her body against my chest and began swinging her legs. She raised her left arm as though it were laden with bracelets.
“This is fun,” she said gleefully. “I sure hope Libby comes back tomorrow.”
Chapter 10
“You owe me,” I told Sharon as I climbed into her car the next morning. “You owe me big.” We were headed over to Mona’s to begin our search for The Clue, but I was pretty sure she realized I was talking about Libby rather than the Nancy Drew stuff.
“Come on,” she said, backing out of the driveway. “It couldn’t have been that bad. What did Libby do, come home drunk?”
I snorted.
“She did come home, didn’t she?”
“That’s not the problem. Not the whole problem anyway.”
Libby had actually come home earlier than I expected. And with none of the lingering-at-the-door kisses I’d anticipated either. She’d barreled into the house, grunted in my direction, and then gone straight to her room, turning out the lights almost immediately.
“Brandon wasn’t the worst part,” I said. “Gary showed up, too.”
“Oooh.” Sharon’s voice trailed off, something like the whistle of a departing train.
“The guy’s weird.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him right off like that.”
“What if he shows up again? Libby doesn’t want to live with him. She doesn’t much want to see him, in fact. But legally, c
an she refuse?”
“That’s something the attorney is trying to work out. Mona and Gary fought this battle during the divorce, though I guess things are different now with Mona dead.” She paused. “Gary’s getting married soon, maybe that will take his mind off Libby.”
“And in the interim?”
“Just do the best you can. I’ll try to get this whole thing straightened out as fast as I can.”
I cringed as she whipped by a double-parked truck, oblivious to the threat of oncoming traffic. Sharon drives as though she learned on the bumper cars at Playland. Every minute I spend in the car with her takes hours off my life.
“On some level,” I said, once we were safely back in the right hand lane, “it’s nice Gary wants her around. You read about divorced fathers who never see their kids.”
Sharon snickered. “I don’t know about now, but when they were battling this out earlier, Gary’s interest was strictly financial. The more nights Libby spent at his place, the less child support he had to pay.”
It was stuff like this that gave me a renewed appreciation of Andy. Whatever his faults, he adored Anna and wasn’t the least bit mean or vindictive. Of course he wasn’t the least bit prosperous either, so maybe that made it easy.
As we jolted to a stop at a red light, Sharon reached into her purse for a sheet of paper. “Here, take a look at this.” She dropped it on my lap as traffic started to move.
“What is it?”
“A checklist.” She floored the accelerator and made a sweeping left turn from the right hand lane. “For finding Mona’s killer.”
I looked at the sheet in front of me. It was actually more of a grid than a checklist. It reminded me of the graphs and charts I’d run into on the college entrance exams. The ones I invariably skipped over.
“I listed possible motives on the left,” Sharon said. “I think I covered most of the main ones. Financial gain, revenge, love, insanity—”
“I think we can probably scratch the wandering maniac theory.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to be loony to be insane.”
Of course on some level you did, but I figured it wasn’t worth arguing about. Besides anyone who commits premeditated murder has to be a little off his rocker to begin with.
Murder Among Friends (The Kate Austen Mystery Series) Page 7
