A Catered Birthday Party (26 page)

“Well, it couldn’t have been that much of a hate,” Bernie pointed out. “Because they all stuck together.”

“See, that’s what’s so sick,” Rick said. “Annabel told me she liked having them work for her, because they didn’t like her. Or each other.”

Bernie thought back to her afternoon at Annabel’s place. That was certainly the sense she’d gotten.

“She said she got a real kick out of keeping them around,” Rick said.

“Nice lady,” Bernie said.

“Not really,” Rick said. “Although she was not ungenerous.”

“The car is nice,” Bernie said.

“The car is very nice,” Rick agreed. “What do they say? You can’t beat German engineering? It’s true.” He grinned. “But I’m worth it. My mommy always said that you gotta pay if you want to play. Poor Annabel. She certainly wasn’t getting anything from her husband.”

“Okay,” Brandon said. “I could see why you stayed, but why did the others stay?”

“The same reason I did—money. What else?” Rick said. His tone indicated you’d have to be an idiot not to recognize that fact. “No one else had much and Annabel did. None of that bunch could ever have made the kind of money they did anyplace else. I mean, Ramona was living rent free, she ate for nothing, and she had use of a car. Annabel gave Melissa expensive birthday presents and helped her out with her expenses from time to time. And Annabel didn’t even like dogs. She sure as hell didn’t like Trudy.”

“So I gathered,” Bernie said. Now that Rick was talking, he just kept on going.

“She was going to get rid of her, but then the Puggables hit big-time and she thought she had to keep her around for her image. The only person who really liked Trudy was that crazy kid Richard used to hire to do stuff around the house. The one with the weird hair.”

“Samantha?” Bernie asked.

“Yeah,” Rick said. “That’s the one. She was always playing with her. No one else ever did. I mean, they took care of her. They fed her and walked her and even brushed her teeth, for God’s sake. But no one ever was nice to her, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do. So why did everyone hate each other?” Bernie asked.

Rick shrugged. “Annabel.”

“Annabel?” Bernie repeated.

“Yeah. She like”—Rick snapped his fingers—“what is that word…capitalized on the situation. She was like this queen. One day, one person would be her favorite. The next day another person would. She enjoyed watching everyone fight over the scraps. Then there was the whole sex thing. From what Annabel said, everyone was sleeping with everyone else. That’s never good. It leads to all sorts of complications.”

Bernie couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” Rick demanded. “It’s true.”

“And who should know better than you,” Bernie said.

Rick had the good grace to blush.

“Aren’t you glad I was with you?” Brandon said as he and Bernie headed back to the car.

“I’m always glad you’re with me,” Bernie said.

“Not when you go shopping,” Brandon said.

“That’s true,” Bernie said. “I like to go shopping by myself.”

And she did. She didn’t even like her friends along. It was too distracting. Shopping was serious business.

“So tell me,” Bernie said, “how do you know all this Ted stuff and what is it anyway?”

Brandon grinned. “Well, I know Rick is dealing and I know his supplier is Ted.”

“How do you know this?” Bernie asked.

“I can’t tell you, and even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the less you know the better.”

“You sound like my father.”

“Well, there are occasions when he happens to be right.”

“Are you involved?”

“If I say I’m not, would you believe me?”

“Yes, I would,” Bernie told him.

“Good. Because I’m not.”

“Okay. Moving on. How did you know that Rick was doing a little business on his own?”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I just guessed. Everyone does and I figured Rick was doing the same.”

“You’re a good guesser,” Bernie said.

“Among other things,” Brandon said.

Bernie laughed and snuggled closer. Neither one said anything else until they reached Brandon’s car.

M
uch to Sean’s delight, it turned out that Megan’s parents were willing to speak to him that evening. Ines wasn’t going. She’d decided to stay home with Trudy after extracting a promise from Sean to call her as soon as he was done speaking with Mr. and Mrs. McKee and tell her what was going on. It was an easy thing for Sean to promise, because he would have done it anyway. So it was Samantha who drove Sean over to the McKee household, which was located one town over in Bolton, New York.

Bolton was a little less expensive, a little more down to earth than Longely, the town being peopled primarily by teachers, policemen, plumbers, and civil servants. As they drove to Megan’s house, Sean noticed that Bolton’s main street was missing the cutesy shop names and fancy lettering that had taken over Longely.

That was fine with him. He could have done with less of it in Longely. When he’d married Rose and she’d started the shop, there’d been none of it. But now the streets were infested with shops sporting catchy names, fancy signs, and overpriced merchandise. Looking at them made him cranky. But then, according to Libby, everything made him cranky. Too bad. He wasn’t about to change. Someone had to uphold the standards. He was thinking about Stoddard’s ice cream and how there had been five flavors of ice cream in the store—vanilla, chocolate, coffee, strawberry, and butter pecan, every single one a masterpiece—when Samantha roared into the McKees’ driveway and slammed on the brakes.

Megan and her parents had to have been looking out the window because they had the door opened as Samantha and Sean came up the porch stairs. Sean liked the McKees on first sight. They exuded an air of comfort and competence. Both had short, black hair; both were a little stout around the middle; both were dressed in jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers; both wore wire-rimmed glasses; and both were smiling at him.

He decided they were what his mother would have called salt-of-the-earth people. He’d be willing to wager that they went to church on Sunday, paid their taxes, and volunteered at the local soup kitchen. These were the kind of people who would tell the truth to the best of their ability. These were the kind of people who would not be prone to exaggeration. These were the kind of people who would not scream in horror when their daughter came home sporting a nose ring.

“This is so exciting,” Megan’s mother trilled as she welcomed Sean and Samantha inside. “I’ve never been involved in a police investigation before.”

Megan gave an impatient snort. “I already told you, Ma. It’s not a police investigation.”

“Well, it’s close enough for me,” her mother retorted. “That poor woman,” she said to Sean.

“Ma, Annabel was a bitch,” Megan said.

Mrs. McKee stiffened slightly. “First of all, you shouldn’t be saying things like that about someone. Secondly, even if it is true, no one deserves to die like that.”

“My wife only sees the good in people,” Mr. McKee said as he grasped Sean’s hand and shook it.

Then he relieved Sean and Samantha of their coats and ushered them into the dining room. Sean instantly approved of the room as well. It was neat, but not overly so. A gray cat was curled up on top of the radiator cover. He didn’t even open his eyes when everyone walked in.

“That’s Otto,” Megan said. “He sleeps the winter away.”

Sean nodded as he took in the lace curtains on the windows and the beige carpet in a swirl pattern on the floor. Family photographs were hung on one wall, a collection of decorative spoons hung on the second, while a large breakfront that displayed the McKees’ good china and glasses took care of the third wall. Sean felt as if he had time traveled back to his aunt’s house.

“My wife not only likes to see the good in people, she likes to feed them as well,” Mr. McKee said. He nodded at the dining room table, where a coffee cake, a platter of cookies, and a carafe of coffee were waiting.

“Here,” Mrs. McKee said as she guided Sean to the table. She waited for him to sit down, cut him a large slab of Russian coffee cake, and plopped it down in front of him without asking him if he wanted any or not. “It probably isn’t as good as your daughters’, but it’s not too bad either, if I do say so myself.”

Sean had to agree that it certainly wasn’t bad at all. Libby’s was a little moister, this cake was a little more breadlike, a tad more austere, but it made up for that with a kick of…something. He took another bite and chewed carefully trying to figure out what the spices were.

“Cardamom?” he asked. “With a little bit of saffron and a touch of orange rind.”

Mrs. McKee beamed at him as she poured him a cup of coffee and set it down in front of him.

“That’s exactly right,” she said. “It’s a Swedish recipe. One of my neighbors gave it to me when Jim and I were stationed in Minnesota. I’ve been making it ever since.”

“It’s a definite keeper,” Sean said.

“That it is,” Mr. McKee said as he helped himself to a large piece of the cake.

“Cream?” Mrs. McKee asked Sean. “Sugar?”

“Both,” Sean said. He expected the cream to be the real stuff, and much to his satisfaction, it was.

Mrs. McKee, Samantha, and Megan all helped themselves to cake and coffee. For the next ten minutes the only sounds were forks clinking on plates, coffee cups being refilled, and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.

“Ma, I’ve already told Mr. Simmons what you told me about Richard and Annabel,” Megan said once she’d finished her cake.

Mrs. McKee poured Sean a third cup of coffee. “I don’t know that I have that much more to add,” she said.

“Remember what you told me about Richard and that girl.”

“Megan, that’s all secondhand information,” Mrs. McKee objected.

Sean smiled. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Mrs. McKee wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it back down on her lap. “Poor Missy.”

“Missy?” Sean said.

“Well, back then she was Missy. Now she’s Anna. I guess that’s a lot more sophisticated.”

Sean nodded. “Go on.”

Mrs. McKee shook her head. “It was just very sad.”

Sean took a sip of coffee and put his cup down on the red checked tablecloth. “Sad in what sense?” he asked.

“He ruined her life.”

“He, being Richard?” Sean asked.

Mrs. McKee nodded. “She was this quiet mousey little thing who used to work in her family’s liquor store, never dated or anything like that. She really didn’t have lots of friends either, really just Annabel and Joyce. And they weren’t tight. Not at all. Actually, I think they used Anna to get liquor from her parents’ store.”

“So Anna was kind of like Carrie,” Megan said.

“Not that bad, dear,” Mrs. McKee replied. She turned back to Sean. “Anyhow, then Richard came along and swept her off her feet.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Samantha said. “He’s such a dork. He looks like Ichabod Crane.”

“It’s true, dear,” Mrs. McKee said. “Back then he was a lot heavier. He really was very good-looking. And he played basketball. He really owned the place. All the girls wanted to go out with him.”

“And this was pre Annabel?” Sean asked.

“Oh yes.” Mrs. McKee nodded. “Definitely. Then Annabel came along. I heard that Anna told Annabel she was pregnant and Annabel went right out and seduced Richard. I guess she saw it as her chance. In any case, Richard told Anna that she was on her own. And you know what? Annabel broke up with Richard shortly after that. Which was just like her. Of course, they got back together later, after Richard had divorced his first wife.”

“What happened to the baby?” Sean asked. “Did Anna get an abortion?”

“No. Anna insisted on having it, but her parents made her get rid of it.”

“That’s terrible,” Samantha cried.

“I’m sure it wasn’t very nice for her,” Mrs. McKee said. “But maybe it was best for the child.”

“Maybe,” Samantha said, but Sean could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Mrs. McKee patted Samantha’s hand. “These things usually happen for a reason,” she told her before continuing on with her story. “The poor dear never went back to school after that. Just worked in the family store. She was getting home-bound instruction. And I think that’s as much as I can tell you, because that’s all I know.”

“Did she stay here? Did she move?” Sean asked.

“Well, she went away for a number of years. But then she came back and started her grooming business. And I guess she was able to move on,” Mrs. McKee said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, the Colberts were her clients. If she hadn’t forgiven them, she never would have worked for them.”

“You wouldn’t have worked for them,” Mr. McKee said. “Not everyone feels the same way you do.” He pushed the plate of cookies in front of Sean. “Have one,” he urged Sean. “They’re butterscotch oatmeal pecan.”

Even though Sean was full, he took one anyway. After all, it would be rude to refuse. Mrs. McKee watched Sean take a bite. When she heard his sigh of pleasure she smiled.

“You can come anytime,” her husband joked. “My wife is a sucker for a good eater.”

Megan reached across the table and grabbed a cookie as well. “These are my favorites,” she said. “Samantha, do you want one?”

Samantha shook her head. She looked as if she was deep in thought.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Sean asked Mrs. McKee after he’d finished his cookie and refused another.

Mrs. McKee shook her head. “I haven’t been very helpful, have I?”

“On the contrary,” Sean said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

And it was true. She had been. As Sean got up to leave, Megan volunteered to walk him and Samantha out to the car.

“You know,” Megan said once they were outside, “I don’t know if this is important or not, but I think Melissa and Anna have a thing going.”

“A thing going?” Sean said. He felt like an idiot. Either he was losing his marbles or Megan was unclear. Of course, he preferred to think it was the latter, but one never knew.

“You know—a thing,” Megan repeated, giving him a meaningful look.

After a moment the light dawned for Sean. “Oh,” he said. “You mean that kind of thing.”

“Yeah. That kind of thing,” Megan said. “What kind of thing did you think I was talking about?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Sean confessed. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked.

Megan bit her cuticle. “Well, it’s like their private business,” she explained. “I mean, who cares, right?”

“Right,” Sean said.

“But then I thought, well maybe it has something to do with what happened, you know?”

“I know.”

“Even though I don’t like Annabel—I mean she was a total bitch—that doesn’t give people the right to kill her.”

“Yeah,” Samantha said. “If we killed everyone who was bitchy, the world would be an empty place.”

“But a better one,” Megan said. “In fact, that’s not a bad idea except the whole death thing skeeves me out.”

“It’s definitely gross,” Samantha replied. “Once, I saw this cat that had gotten run over by a car.” She shuddered at the memory.

“How sure are you about this, Megan?” Sean asked.

“I’m not sure, sure,” Megan said. “But I’m pretty sure.”

“What’s pretty sure?” Sean asked.

“I saw them giggling together in the store.”

“They could have been sharing a joke,” Sean said.

“It wasn’t that kind of giggle,” Megan said.

“Then what kind of giggle was it?” Sean asked.

“It was a kind of sharing giggle.”

“That’s what I just said,” Sean told her. He thought that given the circumstances he was doing an admirable job of retaining his patience.

“This was a different kind of sharing giggle,” Megan told him.

“Maybe they’re good friends,” Sean suggested.

Megan shook her head. “That’s not the kind of vibe I got. I mean, I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am. I’m usually not about that kind of thing.” Megan rubbed her arms. “It’s cold out here. I’m going back inside.” And she turned and went up the steps.

“What do you think?” Samantha asked Sean as she pulled away from the curb.

“About what Megan just said?”

“Yes.”

Sean closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see how close they were to the cars parked on the side of the road. “Sure,” he answered. “Why not? Anything is possible.”

Samantha grunted. Sean decided she looked extremely distracted—not something he wanted to see when they were on the road together. To take his mind off of Samantha’s driving, he called Ines and filled her in on the conversation he’d had with the McKees. Then he called Clyde and told him what he thought.

“But you can’t prove anything,” Clyde said.

“No, I can’t,” Sean said. “This is all speculation. But my gut tells me this is the way to go.”

Clyde laughed. “Are you sure you’re not having indigestion?”

“Maybe that too,” Sean replied.

Clyde was quiet for a moment. He knew his old friend and he knew his hunches. Nine times out of ten they were correct. “All right,” he said. “Let me nose around and see what I can come up with.”