A Catered Fourth of July (22 page)

S
anford Aiken had opened his shop door and was putting the cup of coffee he'd been carrying down when Bernie entered.

“Yes?” he said, looking up. “Can I help you with anything?”

“As a matter of fact you can,” Bernie replied as she approached the counter.

“A leaking faucet at the shop? A blown gasket?”

“No.” Bernie smiled her winningest smile. “Problems of a different nature.”

“Ah.” Aiken drew out the
ah
. “I take it you'd be referring to what happened at the reenactment.”

“You would be right.” Bernie tried to sound as if he was the smartest guy in the world for figuring out the answer.

He leaned forward, careful not to knock his coffee over. “I've been expecting you.”

“Really?” Bernie kept smiling. “Why's that?”

“Well, I heard you and your sister were going around asking questions and generally stirring up trouble.”

Bernie pouted. “Is that what people are saying?”

Aiken nodded gravely. “It is indeed.”

Bernie tapped her nails on the counter. “Stirring up trouble is an interesting phrase.”

Aiken took no notice of the nail tapping and lifted the lid off his coffee, blew on it, and took a sip. “Especially when it applies to you two. You especially. You're never content to leave things alone, are you?”

“It sounds to me as if you're worried,” Bernie replied.

“Me?” Aiken pointed at himself. “What would I be worried about?”

“Sounds to me as if you have a guilty conscience.”

Aiken made a dismissive noise. “Hardly. All I'm sayin' is that shopkeepers shouldn't go messing around like you're doing. You lose customers that way.” He looked up at her. “Frankly, what you're doing is a waste of time. If you ask me, you should be spending your time finding a good lawyer for Marvin because he's going to need it.”

“I'm not asking you . . . at least not about that,” Bernie told him, forgetting about being charming.

Aiken sniffed. “Have it your way. But why bother with this investigation you and your sister are trying to conduct?”

“Trying to conduct,” Bernie repeated. “How about
are conducting
?”

“If it makes you feel better to say that, then by all means.” Aiken straightened out the collar of his polo shirt. “But a reliable source has told me that the police are going to arrest Marvin soon. After all, he is the obvious suspect, isn't he?” Aiken shook his head. “You can't deny that.”

Bernie crossed her arms over her chest. “To me or Libby or my dad, he's not.”

“Well, he is to everyone else,” Aiken shot back.

“And who, exactly, is everyone?” Bernie demanded.

Aiken harrumphed. “The town.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow. “The entire town?”

He corrected himself. “I was speaking metaphorically. I meant the people at the reenactment.”

Bernie didn't say anything.

“Well,” Aiken continued, “you have to admit the evidence against Marvin is pretty damning.”

“It's all circumstantial,” Bernie told him.

Aiken shrugged. “If that's what you wish to think. Not that I necessarily agree with the town,” he hurriedly added. “I don't want you to think that.”

“Then what do you want me to think?” Bernie asked.

Aiken swallowed. “I don't know what you mean.”

“It's a simple question, Sanford.”

“All I'm trying to say is you're a tad prejudiced what with your sister and all.” He pointed to himself. “I was there. I saw what happened.”

“That is what I want to talk to you about.” Bernie was tired of dancing around. It was time to ask the questions she'd come to ask.

Aiken turned his hands palms upward. “I don't know what I can tell you that you don't already know. After all, you were there, too.”

“Yes, but I was in the gazebo setting up for the picnic. You were down near the shed.”

“I know where I was,” Aiken retorted.

“You were there when the weapons were given out.”

“They weren't given out. Marvin put them on the bench and we took our own.”

There it was. The statement Bernie had been waiting for. “Then why did you tell the police that you thought you saw Marvin handing a musket to Devlin out of the corner of your eye?”

“I . . . I . . . did think I saw it,” Aiken insisted.

Bernie frowned. “So let me get this straight. First, you're telling me Marvin dumped all the muskets on the bench and then you're telling me he gave a musket to Devlin. Which is it?”

“I'm not sure,” Aiken confessed. “I saw him handing something to Devlin.”

“What?”

“I-I thought it was a musket,” Aiken stammered, “but then I started thinking about it and I'm not sure anymore.” He hung his head.

“Then why did you tell the police Marvin handed Devlin a weapon?” Bernie demanded.

“But I didn't,” Aiken protested. “I told the police I
thought
he did. That's different.”

“Evidently not to the police,” Bernie told him.

Aiken took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Are you saying I'm responsible for the police suspecting Marvin?”

“Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“That's not fair,” Aiken wailed. ”You wouldn't want me to lie, would you?”

“Not at all. I'd just like you to tell the truth.”

“I've already told you,” Aiken whined. “I can't be sure. It was all so confusing out there and we were all hot and running around trying to get everything in order for the show to start. It was chaos. No one was paying attention to anyone else. Were you watching?”

“No,” Bernie admitted. “I was setting up.”

Aiken smiled triumphantly. “See.” He shook his head and straightened up the display of flashlights next to the register. “Such a pity how this turned out.”

“Yes,” Bernie agreed. “I really feel bad for Marvin.”

“No. I meant for Rick. Poor guy. He was trying so hard to make Longely a tourist destination. What is it they say about no good deed going unpunished? I think this is going to affect his chances of running for mayor, don't you?”

“Probably,” Bernie said.

Aiken tsk-tsked.

“You sound as if you care.”

“I do,” Aiken said. “I was going to vote for him.”

“Why?”

“Because he's going to help the small businessman. He's going to get us tax credits. He's going to get the sidewalks cleared in the winter. Stuff like that. If you were smart, you'd get behind him, too.”

“I'll think about it,” Bernie lied.

“Good.” Aiken glanced at the clock and back at Bernie.

“Hey,” she said. “Did you see Chuck Grisham at the reenactment?”

“Why?”

“He said he was there, but I didn't see him.”

“He was there. He just left early.”

“Why do you suppose he did that?”

Aiken shrugged. “Maybe he just couldn't stand watching us anymore. We were pretty lame.” Aiken glanced at the clock again. “Now if you don't mind, I have a big order to fill.”

Bernie nodded. “Well, I'll get out of your way. There's one other thing I'd like to clear up if that's all right with you.”

“And what would that be?” Aiken asked in the voice of the long suffering.

“I'm wondering why you told Brandon that story about Monica Lewis?”

Aiken put down his coffee cup hard enough that a little of the brown liquid sloshed over into the top. “Story?”

“Story,” Bernie repeated firmly.

“That wasn't a story.”

“Monica says it was.”

“So you're accusing me of lying?” Aiken demanded.

“How about embellishing?”

“This is the thanks I get for trying to be helpful?” Two blotches of color appeared on his cheeks.

“Now you sound like my mother,” Bernie told him.

“It wasn't a story,” he insisted. “It was the truth. You of all people should thank me.”

“For what?”

“For trying to help Marvin.”

“You just told me you told the police that Marvin gave Devlin the musket. How's that helping him?”

“No. I told you that I told the police that I
thought
I saw him doing it. But then I started feeling bad. I mean, what if I was wrong? So I told Brandon about Monica because I knew he would tell you.”

“Well Monica says everything you told Brandon is a lie.”

“She would say that, which is funny given that she's constitutionally incapable of telling the truth,” Aiken responded.

“In fact, she says”—Bernie closed her eyes trying to get it right—“that you had a thing going with David Nancy's wife.”

Aiken wet his lips. “That's absolutely rot.”

“Monica says that you weren't too fond of Jack Devlin, either. She said that you blamed him for cutting your affair with Cora short. She said you were furious with Devlin.”

Aiken leaned forward. “Why should I be furious with that jerk?”

“Because he took Cora away from you,” Bernie said.

“Ha. He was welcomed to her as far as I was concerned.” Aiken drained the last of his coffee from his cup, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the wastepaper basket below the counter. “All she ever talked about was herself. She was exhausting. David was glad to have her off his hands. Gave him a rest.”

“Who gave who a rest?” Tony Gerard asked as he walked in. Then he looked at Aiken and Bernie and said, “I can come back at another time.”

“No no,” Bernie said. “I was just coming to see you.”

“She's investigating Devlin's death,” Aiken explained.

“I thought that was all settled,” Gerard said.

“Not according to her.” Aiken nodded in Bernie's direction.

“I thought they were arresting Marvin.”

“She's trying to prevent that,” Aiken informed Gerard.

“Do you mind if I talk?” Bernie said to Aiken.

He shrugged. “Not at all. Be my guest.”

“Then who do you think is responsible?” Gerard asked Bernie.

“For Devlin's death?” Bernie asked.

Gerard nodded.

“How about you,” Bernie said.

“Me?” Gerard yelped. “Are you nuts?”

“You were there. You could have handed Devlin the musket as well as anyone else.”

“But I didn't.” Gerard raised his hand. “I swear it.”

“He didn't,” Aiken echoed. “He was helping me get my uniform on straight.”

“Then who did?” Bernie demanded.

“I don't know,” Gerard said.

“What do you mean, you don't know?” Bernie said.

Gerard looked at Aiken and Aiken looked at Gerard. Neither man replied.

“If you don't know, why did you say what you did to the police?” Bernie asked.

“Marvin kept on yelling at us,” Gerard said. “It was very confusing. The whole thing was confusing. First, he wanted us to go here, then he wanted us to go there. He wanted us to take the muskets, then he wanted us to wait, then he told us to take them.”

“He couldn't decide what he wanted,” Aiken said. “He was very nervous.”

“Yeah, but he shouldn't have taken it out on us,” Gerard said to Aiken. “It just made things worse.”

“Is that why you fingered him?” Bernie asked in as casual a tone as she could manage. “Is it because you were pissed?”

“I didn't finger anyone,” Aiken cried. “I wish you'd stop saying that. What I'm trying to tell you is that everything was chaotic. In truth, I'm not really sure what I saw.”

“In truth. Now that's an interesting phrase coming from you,” Bernie said.

“You have no right to say things like that to me,” Aiken snapped.

“I have every right,” Bernie retorted.

“I think you should leave,” he told her. “I think you should leave
now
.”

“I think maybe you're right,” Bernie said. This was getting nowhere. But as she turned to go, she had another thought. Granted her idea was far-fetched, but it also explained Aiken's and Gerard's conduct. “Did someone tell you to say what you did about Marvin to the police?” she asked, turning back.

“No,” Aiken said.

“Absolutely not,” Gerard told Bernie. “Why would you think something like that?”

“Because it's the only thing that makes sense,” Bernie answered.

“Not to me,” Aiken declared.

Bernie pursed her lips while she studied the two men, not sure if she believed them. “If you want to do the right thing, you know where to find me.”

As she walked out the door, she shook her head. She didn't expect to hear from them.

I
t was one o'clock and the noonday rush at A Little Taste of Heaven had subsided to the point where the sisters could leave. They were having what Sean was referring to as a working lunch in their flat above the store. He was eating a fried egg, peppered bacon, and avocado sandwich on two slices of toasted multigrain bread, while Libby's sandwich consisted of egg salad with capers, scallions, and black walnuts on lightly toasted challah. Bernie was tucking into a salad composed of arugula, radicchio, baby frisée, shaved Parmigiano, prosciutto, and homemade roasted peppers.

Everyone was drinking minted iced tea out of tall frosted glasses. A bowl of perfectly ripe white Pennsylvania peaches and a plate of chocolate chip blondies and gingersnaps sat on a tray in the middle of the coffee table waiting to be consumed when everyone finished their main course.

“I don't agree,” Sean said to Bernie after he'd shoved the piece of bacon sliding out of his sandwich back in with his thumb.

Bernie speared a piece of arugula lightly coated with walnut oil and lemon dressing and conveyed it to her mouth. She loved the arugula's peppery taste coupled with the salad dressing's tang. “Why not?”

“Because there's no reason to think that either Gerard or Aiken were covering for someone else, that's why not. Or at least I don't know of one.”

“But,” she objected, “it explains why they were acting the way they were.”

“I can think of a hundred other reasons,” Sean replied before he chomped down on his sandwich.

Looking for support, Bernie turned to her sister. “What do you think, Libby?”

“I don't know. It's hard to say since I wasn't there. What does Brandon say?” she asked, passing the buck.

“He was asleep in his truck when I talked to Aiken and Gerard.”

“I see.” Libby took a bite of her sandwich. She liked egg salad. She liked it a lot. It was forthright and pure and lent itself to an infinite number of variations. In fact, it tasted good—no, it tasted great—without any additions, especially if it was made with homemade mayo, freshly ground pepper, Malden salt, and fresh eggs which had been properly boiled. That meant putting the eggs in the water, bringing the water to a boil, then turning the flame off, and covering the pot. Take them out after ten minutes and you'd have perfect hard-boiled eggs.

“Okay,” she said after she'd taken another bite of her sandwich. “If what you say is true, who do you think is responsible for putting Aiken and Gerard up to this?”

“Rick Evans,” Bernie promptly said, the name springing from her lips unbidden.

“Why him?” Sean asked.

“For a variety of reasons,” she explained. “I figure he would want to distance himself from the reenactment debacle, given that he's into politics. There's the fact that he's jealous of Devlin. Plus Rick was there. He knows about guns, has a major gun collection, and was the one who started the whole get-Marvin thing in the first place.”

“Okay, let's suppose you're correct about all the stuff pertaining to Rick Evans,” Sean said.

She nodded and took another bite of salad while she listened to him.

“There are certain implications that spring from your assumption.”

“Go on,” Bernie said.

“For openers, your scenario means that Aiken and Gerard colluded in Devlin's death. In order for what you're saying to work, they had to have known what was happening before the event and agreed to lie for Rick Evans. So we have two men who are not only complicit in Devlin's death, but are also complicit in making false statements to a law enforcement official. That's pretty serious.” Sean paused to take a sip of his iced tea. “Do you really think that either Aiken or Gerard is capable of helping plan a murder and carrying their part through?”

“All they had to do was lie,” Bernie countered.

“Lie convincingly to law enforcement officials in a time of maximum stress,” Sean said. “That's not as simple as it sounds. Most people can't do something like that well. At least not unless they're pathological liars or career criminals.”

“Maybe they didn't think the results would be so bad,” she hypothesized.

Sean snorted. “First of all, that has nothing to do with what we were just discussing and second of all, both men are members of the gun club. I'm pretty sure they all knew what over-priming a gun would do.”

“I guess when you put it like that I see your point,” Bernie said.

“Plus,” Sean continued, “that means Rick Evans would have had to trust Aiken and Gerard not to chicken out and run to the authorities.”

Bernie thought about Aiken and Gerard. They seemed like shopkeepers, not the kind of men who would plan a murder, see the results, and go about their business. On the other hand, as her mother had always said, “appearances could be deceiving.”

“Maybe Rick did trust them.”

“Why would he take that chance?” Sean asked. “What possible advantage would he gain?”

Bernie ate another couple bites of her salad while she considered what her father had just said. “Okay,” she said, thinking out loud. “How about if Aiken and Gerard were the people who planned the murder? How about if they were the ones who went to Rick Evans with a plan to murder Devlin.”

“Again, I ask why would they do that?” Sean took a sip of his iced tea.

“They all had a common goal,” Bernie promptly replied. “They all hated Devlin.”

“But even so, I still don't see it. At least not with those three.”

“ Bernie,” Libby added, “your scenario still doesn't answer what is to my mind the main question here, which is how did Devlin get the musket?”

“Obviously, someone, most probably Rick Evans, handed it to him,” Bernie snapped. “It was marked, remember.”

“I know the musket was marked,” Libby retorted. “I haven't forgotten. I'm not an idiot.”

“I never said you were, Libby.”

“You implied it, Bernie.”

Sean hit the arm of his chair with the flat of his hand. Bernie and Libby turned toward him.

“Focus, people,” he said.

“Sorry,” Libby muttered. “I'm just worried.”

“We all are,” Bernie told her.

The sisters were silent for a moment.

Libby was the first one to speak. “I'm sorry, but how Devlin came into possession of the musket is still not obvious to me.”

“Why?” Bernie asked.

“Glad you asked,” Libby said, warming to her subject. “Marvin took all the muskets out of the shed and put them in a pile, agreed?”

Bernie and Sean nodded.

“That's what everyone said,” Bernie replied.

Having finished her sandwich, Libby reached over, grabbed a blondie, and bit into it.
The combination of brown sugar, butter, chocolate chips, and walnuts is divine,
she thought. Sometimes simple was best, in food and in life . . . simple being something that the case they were talking about was definitely not.

“So that being the situation,” Libby went on, “think about this. You have eight muskets. One of them is marked. How do you know that the one you need is on top? Obviously, you don't because you aren't the one who brought them out of the shed. So what do you do in that case? Go through them and bring what you're doing to everyone's attention? I think not.”

Libby paused to take another bite of her blondie. “Then we come to the second problem. How do you make sure that someone other than Devlin doesn't grab the booby-trapped musket? Given the circumstances, that would have been really hard to do. In fact, it would have been impossible. What would you say? ‘Hey. Use this one because that one is going to blow up in your face?' Probably not a good strategy. At least, not if you don't want to end up in jail.”

“Let's say you're right.” Bernie finished her salad and set her plate down on the coffee table. “Have you considered the possibility that whoever did this brought the musket with them and handed it to Devlin there?”

“Yes I have, but where would they hide it?” Libby demanded. “It's not like it was winter and everyone was wearing a long coat. People were either wearing redcoat uniforms or blouses and breeches, all of which are formfitting. There was no place to hide anything, especially not something as large as a musket.”

“How about in the bushes?” Bernie suggested.

“What bushes?” Libby asked. “There are no bushes there. It's all grass with a couple of benches thrown in.”

“So what's your point?” Bernie asked her sister. “Do you have a better solution to offer?”

“No, I don't, and that's exactly my point. We're pretty much in the same place knowledge-wise that we were in when Devlin got shot. We still don't know who handed him the gun, we don't know why he was targeted, and we don't know who took a shot at Marvin, right Dad?”

“You're partially right. We don't know everything.” Sean finished his sandwich, reached over, and grabbed a peach. Juice dribbled down his chin when he took a bite. “If we did, the perp would be in custody and we would be celebrating. However, we do know more than we did before in terms of motive.”

“Slightly more,” Bernie conceded.

“Maybe a lot more.” Sean wiped the juice away with a napkin then put the napkin down on the coffee table. “Let's go over what you guys have found out so far.”

Bernie had been in the middle of cutting a slice out of a peach and wrapping it with a piece of prosciutto that had been left over from her salad. As her father finished speaking she popped it into her mouth. “Nice summer combination. I think I like this better than prosciutto and melon,” she said as she organized her thoughts and licked the juice off of her fingers. A moment later, she was ready to begin.

“Okay. What do we know?” she asked rhetorically. “We know that everyone in the reenactment and their spouses are members of the Musket and Flintlock Club. We know that Elise Montague is president of the organization and that everyone in it not only knows how to shoot a musket, but presumably knows how they work.”

“And that they have access to shot and black powder,” Sean noted. “Not that they couldn't buy that stuff in any sporting goods or gun store.”

“We also know,” Libby added, “that Rick Evans' wife Gail had an affair with Jack Devlin, an affair that Rick says doesn't bother him, but which other people say did.”

“Not to mention the fact that Devlin broke off the affair with Gail, which she also says doesn't bother her,” Bernie told her dad.

“In other words, they're just your average, unhappily married couple,” Sean said.

Bernie reached over, broke a blondie in half, and ate it. “According to them, they're soul mates. Peccadilloes of the flesh don't concern them.”

Sean raised an eyebrow.

“That's what they say,” Libby reiterated.

“So do you think what they're saying is true?” Sean asked.

“I guess I'm not that highly evolved because it would sure bother the hell out of me,” Bernie replied. “I think it would piss off Rick Evans, too, even if he didn't admit it. Ego aside, he wants to run for public office. This kind of thing sure doesn't make him look good.”

Sean took another bite of his peach. “No, it doesn't. It makes him look like a fool.”

“Dad, that's so retro,” Libby cried.

Sean grinned. “Well, I am an old man. Okay. Who's next on the list?”

“Well, David Nancy's wife Cora and his stepsister Monica Lewis had affairs with Jack Devlin,” Bernie said.

“Monica's affair with Devlin caused David Nancy to lose a great deal of money,” Libby added.

“So David Nancy has two reasons to want Devlin dead,” Sean summarized.

“That's if Sanford Aiken's story about Monica is to be believed,” Bernie said.

“Shouldn't it be?” Sean asked.

Libby and Bernie looked at each other. “Yes. No. I don't know,” they both said simultaneously.

“Which is it? Yes, no, or maybe? They can't both be telling the truth.”

“I'm not sure,” Bernie admitted. “Maybe both. Devlin definitely upset Monica Lewis to the point where she went to India for a year to regroup.”

“Why would Aiken lie?” Sean asked.

“Because he was angry at Monica for leaving him for Devlin. Of course, Aiken was also stepping out with David Nancy's wife Cora.”

“Who was also sleeping with Devlin,” Libby noted.

Sean shook his head. “So Devlin took two women away from Aiken. There's a motive right there. You know what they say about hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? That goes double for guys. Never underestimate the power of the male ego.” He reached over and took a gingersnap. “It's a wonder these people have time to make a living. Who knew there was so much hanky-panky going on in Longely?”

“Hanky-panky?” Libby asked.

“An old term for fooling around. Unauthorized sex,” Sean explained after he'd taken a bite of the gingersnap. He let the cookie dissolve on his tongue. That way he could savor it longer.

“Let's not forget about Samuel Cotton,” Bernie said, getting back to the subject at hand. “He was sleeping with Elise Montague . . .”

“And that ended badly because Elise quit him to go with Devlin,” said Libby, finishing Bernie's sentence. “That leaves Samuel Cotton with a motive to kill Devlin, as well.”

“Then Devlin broke up with Elise after she left Samuel Cotton to go with him,” Bernie added. “That really rubbed her ego the wrong way. Of course, there's always the Grishams. Devlin had an affair with Juno while her husband was away, and then took her diamond ring and presented it to Monica Lewis as an engagement ring.”

Libby took another cookie and nibbled on its edge. “Neither one of them were near the bench when the reenactors acquired their muskets. Not that they had to be.”