Authors: Isis Crawford

A Catered Murder (20 page)

BOOK: A Catered Murder

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Chapter 31

S
o what they say about nose size being a good indicator of other things is true,
Libby thought as she tried to concentrate on the more important matters at hand.

Like how she was going to explain this.

And then something else occurred to her as she watched Nigel back up towards his bed, something she really didn't want to think about. Like maybe she wasn't going to get the opportunity to explain.

Like suppose he really had killed Lionel and Geoff. Why not kill her as well? It was the logical thing to do. Her father would never forgive her if that happened.

Libby knew she should get out of there, but for some reason her legs had lost their ability to move. This was what people must mean when they say they're paralyzed with fear, she realized.

She could only stand and watch Nigel as he reached the side of his bed and then bent down. Libby put her hands over her mouth.
Oh, my God,
she thought.
He's got a gun under the dust ruffle. He's going to kill me.

“Don't shoot!” she screamed.

Nigel straightened up. He was holding a black sheet in front of him.

“Shoot you?” he repeated incredulously. “What are you? Crazy?” Nigel said.

Relief coursed through Libby's body.

“That's exactly what I am. Crazy. And I am so sorry about it,” she said, taking a step back. She could move again. Thank God. She began backing away. “I have to go back into therapy. Immediately. It's all the cream cheese icing I just ate. Way too much sugar. It makes me nuts. Always has. Really. Some people can't drink, I can't eat sugar.”

Shut up, Libby,
she thought, but she kept chattering on.

“Did you know that I'm hypoglycemicâor is it hyperglycemic? I always get those two mixed up. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll be going. I need to lie down or take a Valium or get a shock treatment or something.”

“I mind your leaving very much,” Nigel said as he wound the sheet around himself. “I demand an explanation for this intrusion. Were you trying to steal something?”

“Yes. That's it,” Libby told him. “You should call the police and report me. In fact, I'll turn myself in. I'm going to drive straight to the police station and do that right now. You can call and tell them I'm coming.”

Suddenly Nigel's eyes darkened.

“Oh, I get it. Of course. You think I killed Lionel and Geoff Holder.”

Libby took another step back.

“No. No. Why would I think that? That's ridiculous,” Libby told Nigel while he tucked the edge of the top portion of the sheet into the waist to form a skirt. “You were his friend.”

“And Tiffany is yours.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It means you've decided to come up and search for evidence.”

“That would be illegal. And stupid. I already told you. I came to pick up my pot.”

“In my bedroom?”

“I couldn't find it downstairs,” Libby stammered. “I figured maybe you'd brought it upstairs . . .”

“To use as a chamber pot? What exactly did you hope to find?”

“Nothing,” Libby said.

“You were obviously looking for something. What was it?”

“I already told you . . .”

Nigel waved a hand at her.

“Don't be absurd. I'm not that credulous. What the hell ever gave you the idea that I'm a murderer?”

“Well . . .” Libby began.

“So you admit it,” Nigel finished triumphantly at the exact moment that Bernie crashed into the room brandishing one of Nigel's carving knives.

“Are you all right?” she asked Libby as she moved in front of her.

“I'm fine,” Libby assured her. “A little shaken up. How did you know . . .”

“Janet,” Bernie said. “Next time keep your damned cell phone on.”

“Oops,” Libby said.

“Oops is right.”

“Another crazed Simmons girl,” Nigel observed. “How charming. Do you think you could put my knife down?” he asked Bernie. “It's making me nervous.”

Bernie lowered it a couple of inches.

“So, what's
you
r excuse for barging in here like a maniac?” Nigel asked her. “Twinkies?”

Bernie shot him a puzzled look.

“Forget it,” Libby said. “I'll explain later.”

“You two really are a pair, you know that?” Nigel said as he wrapped the sheet more tightly around his waist.

“And proud of it,” Bernie said.

“If you want to know the truth,” Libby said to Nigel, emboldened now that Bernie was here. “I was looking for your book.”

“Libby!” Bernie exclaimed.

“Well, what's the difference now,” Libby said.

“This is true,” Bernie granted after a moment of reflection.

“My book?” Nigel said. “All this is about my book?”

Libby took a deep breath and let it out.

“Among other things. I mean, Lionel did steal it from you, didn't he?”

“Plagiarize,” Bernie corrected.

Libby snorted. “Whatever.”

“Well, they are different.”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Nigel said. “Sorry to interrupt, but are you talking about the one I wrote in high school?”

“Are there others?” Bernie asked.

“Several.”

“But Janet said . . .”

“Janet doesn't know everything,” Nigel said, cutting her off. “And yes. You're perfectly correct. He did plagiarize that book from me, and I never did anything about it, not even when it was evident that it would be a success.”

“Why didn't you?” Libby asked, genuinely curious.

Nigel pulled the sheet tighter and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Well,” he replied. “I suppose I thought no one would believe me. I was never very good in school, you see. It was only later that I found myself.”

“So you must have resented Lionel,” Libby continued, thinking that if anything happened, Bernie could protect her. “He was successful and you weren't. All these years of watching him succeed . . .”

“And I couldn't take it anymore?” Nigel said.

“Exactly.”

“Well, you're partially correct,” he conceded. “I did resent him. I resented him for years. Resentment can corrode your soul if you let it.”

Libby and Bernie exchanged looks.

“But then, at a friend's urging, I took a two-day seminar at the Institute for Change and learned that the universe is infinitely bountiful. I went home and began writing again, and when I had gotten something I liked I called up Lionel and he agreed to publish it.”

“Out of the goodness of his heart, no doubt,” Libby said.

“No doubt,” Nigel said.

“You were blackmailing him into publishing it.”

“Not at all. My stuff is good.”

Bernie thought about what she'd read of his and decided silence was called for.

“He just decided to do the right thing,” Nigel continued.

“Lionel? After all these years?”

Nigel shrugged.

“Far be it from me to question the ways of men. I prefer to think that he thought I would sell, but maybe he felt guilty. Who knows? In any case his house was giving him an imprint . . .”

“Which you just happened to know about,” Bernie interjected.

“It wasn't a secret. I read about it in
Publishers Weekly.
I was to be his first pick. So as you can see, killing him would be the last thing I would do. No Lionel. No imprint. No book for me. And as for Geoffâwhat did I have against him? Tell me that?”

“It's what he had against you.”

Nigel raised both eyebrows. “Would you care to elucidate?”

“I certainly would,” Bernie replied. “You were his stockbroker.”

“His financial advisor.”

“Whatever. You still lost a lot of his money,” Bernie hypothesized.

Nigel inclined his head. “I did indeed. But that hardly makes me unique. Everyone is in the toilet these days. The bubble's burst, or haven't you heard?”

“And he got mad,” Bernie continued.

“No one likes losing moneyânot, I might add, that there was much money left to lose after Lionel got through with him.”

Bernie wondered where to go next. There was only one thing she could think of.

“He wrote a letter of complaint to your firm.”

Nigel took a step towards Bernie.

“Did Janet tell you that?”

Bernie raised the knife she was holding.

Nigel looked at it and said, “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Then back up.”

“Fine.” Nigel stepped back. “Satisfied?”

Bernie nodded.

“Now will you answer my question?”

“I don't know why I'm bothering.” And Nigel whirled around and strode over to his night table. Libby and Bernie watched apprehensively as he rummaged through the drawer.

“What are you doing?” Bernie asked nervously as Libby mouthed the word gun at her.

“Looking for something.”

Bernie had just nodded her head towards the door and said, “Now?” to Libby when Nigel turned around. Bernie was relieved to see he was holding a piece of paper in his hand. He took a couple of steps forward and flung it at Libby's feet.

“Read this.”

Libby picked it up and scanned it.

“He's cleared,” she told Bernie.

“Of any misconduct,” Nigel told them. “I was just doing what Geoff wanted me to. He authorized every single one of those trades. I told him not to do options, but he wouldn't listen. He thought he could get back the money he'd lost with Lionel. It was a case of very bad timing.”

“Then why are you drinking?” Bernie asked.

Nigel glared at her.

“Since when do I have to answer to you?”

“You don't. It's just that Lionel dies and you start hitting the bottle. You have to admit the coincidence is . . . tantalizing.”

“Tantalizing?” Nigel scoffed. “Hardly. Minorly interesting perhaps. I assume you heard this from Janet.”

“She's concerned about you.”

“If that's what she says.”

“She is, you know.”

“Then you can tell her I'm drinking to mark the end of my fledging literary career.”

Bernie sighed. The last thing she wanted was to be a go-between for these two.

“I think you should tell her yourself.”

“I can't since I'm no longer speaking to her.”

And with that Nigel walked over to the night table, took the bottle of Wild Turkey that had been sitting on it, and poured some into the glass sitting next to the bottle. He lifted the glass in a toast. “Bottoms up, ladies.” Then he gulped it down and poured himself another.

“Maybe you should join AA,” Libby suggested.

Nigel looked at her and sneered.

“That did Tiffany a lot of good, didn't it?”

Chapter 32

L
ibby took a step towards Nigel. “What are you implying?”

“Implying? I'm just stating the obvious. Now get lost and leave me to my drinking.”

“Come on Libby. Let's go,” Bernie said before her sister could say anything else. Then she took Libby's hand and dragged her out of Nigel's bedroom, down the stairs, and out the door. “Well, that went well, don't you think?” Bernie said when they were standing by her father's Caddy.

“This is why I never took to crime.” Libby looked back at Nigel's house. “Somehow I don't think he'll be asking me to cater any more of his dinner parties.”

“Somehow I think you're right.”

“Are you going to tell Janet what Nigel said?”

“Hum.” Bernie thought for a moment. “No. In my experience being the messenger never works out well.”

Libby brushed a bee off her arm.

“He was always so polite too.”

“Maybe that's because you weren't walking in on him with his clothes off.”

Libby started to giggle. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You should have seen the expression on his face.”

Bernie grinned. “I can only imagine.”

Suddenly Libby stopped laughing as a thought occurred to her.

“You're not going to tell Dad about this, are you?”

“Good heavens, no!” Bernie exclaimed. “We'd never hear the end of it. He'd probably have one of his old buddies following us around for the rest of our lives.”

“For sure.”

Libby and Bernie watched a cardinal alighting on the fir tree in front of Nigel's house. Then Bernie sighed and straightened out her tank-top strap.

“I have to admit,” she said, “I am disappointed. I really liked Nigel for this.”

“It would have been nice,” Libby said wistfully. “He could still be guilty.”

“Yes, he could,” Bernie agreed. “But his explanations make sense.”

“If they're true.”

“Well, there is that,” Bernie conceded. “But they're easy enough to check. One of us should call up Lionel's publisher and find out.”

Libby went over to her van and got her sunglasses and put them on.

“Maybe there's something else going on that we don't know about. I mean, why didn't he call the police on me if he doesn't have anything to hide? I know I would have in his situation.”

“I don't know.” Bernie swatted at a flying ant. “Just be glad he didn't.”

“I think it's because he does have something to hide,” Libby said.

“Everyone has something to hide,” Bernie pointed out as she looked down at the knife she was still holding. “It might be a good idea if I returned this to him.”

“Did I say thanks?” Libby said when Bernie got back from putting the knife in Nigel's mailbox.

Bernie waved her hand in the air. “You can do the same for me sometime.” And she changed the subject back to Nigel. “I'll tell you what I think. I think Nigel didn't call the police because he was embarrassed. The story he told us makes him and Lionel look bad.”

“So you believe him?”

“Yes, I do. Why else would he say something that makes him look like an idiot?”

Libby sighed.

“And after all this we still don't know why Geoff had Janet's name scribbled on his pad. Maybe Dad's right. Maybe it isn't important. Maybe we're just fixating on it because it's all we've got.”

“Maybe.” Bernie twirled her silver and onyx ring around her finger.

“I should get back to the store,” Libby said.

“Wait up,” Bernie said. “Didn't Geoff have a . . .”

Libby snapped her fingers.

“A cousin. Janet Grady.”

“I thought she was out in Marina del Rey or someplace like that.”

“Maybe she's visiting her parents.”

“Well, there's one way to find out.”

And Bernie reached in her bag for her cell. Libby watched her while she dialed Directory Assistance. Bernie shook her head a couple of minutes later.

“Right house, but I'm getting the answering machine,” she mouthed. She left a message and hung up. She tapped her phone against the palm of her hand. “Wouldn't it be nice if Bree Nottingham was the killer,” Bernie said.

Libby startled.

“Where did that come from?”

“Wishful thinking. Of course
she
would have committed the perfect murders.”

“She is annoying, isn't she?”

“Annoying is hardly the word I'd pick. By the way, she wants to talk about the whatever-it-is she's holding for Lionel at Susan Andrews' house.”

“She's already talked to me about it at least a dozen times.” Libby stifled a yawn. Suddenly she felt exhausted. “I really do have to get back to the store. I have all that potato salad to make.”

“Meet you there,” Bernie said and got into her car and drove off.

Libby sat in the van for a few minutes and ate a couple of the cookies that she had stashed in her bag and reflected on what could have happened. Then she put the van in gear and started towards the shop.

She was thinking that she should offer filled picnic baskets for the summer in three different price ranges when she spotted a white panel truck with the name
Janet's Automotive Parts
painted on the side.

“Janet,” she said to herself as the truck turned left. Of course. She hung a left too. The potato salad could wait. The truck drove down Ash Street, took a right onto Beech, and crossed Lotus with Libby right behind it. Halfway down it pulled into the parking lot of Roy's Body Shop and came to a halt.

Libby pulled in after it, put the van in park, and jumped out.

“Excuse me,” she called as the driver got out of his truck.

He turned around.

“I know this is going to seem weird to you, but were you slated for a delivery at Geoffrey Holder's Body Shop yesterday morning?”

“A pickup, but no one was there. Then I heard why on the radio.” The driver picked up his gimme cap and scratched his head. “It's kind of creepy thinking that I was knocking on the door and Geoff was just lying there.”

“Eight-fifteen. That's pretty early for a pickup, isn't it?”

The driver put his hat back on and hitched up his jeans.

“Not in this job. I start my rounds at seven in the morning.” The driver looked at her more carefully. “Hey. I know you. You're the woman that runs the food shop A Little Taste of Heaven. My wife buys stuff from you all the time.”

“Tell her to come by and I'll give her a couple of free scones,” Libby said.

Generosity never hurts,
Libby thought as the man smiled. Then she turned and hurried towards the van.

“Bernie,” she said when her sister picked up her cell. “You're not going to believe this, but I know who Janet isâor rather what Janet is.”

“That's okay. Wait till I tell you what Dad told me,” Bernie countered.

BOOK: A Catered Murder

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