A Catered St. Patrick's Day (20 page)

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Authors: Isis Crawford

BOOK: A Catered St. Patrick's Day
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But he was confident that the answer would come to him in time. It usually did. A cigarette would help the process. He always thought better when he smoked. Sad but true. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that now. Well, he could. He could go downstairs and huddle in the doorway and light up. But he wasn’t that desperate yet. And besides, there was a chance that someone would see him and tell Bernie and Libby, or even worse, his daughters would catch him when they came back, and he wasn’t in the mood to listen to the lecture that was sure to follow.
Chapter 23
 
“S
omeone around here definitely has a cow fetish,” Bernie noted as she took in the mailbox designed to look like a cow, the mat on the porch that said,
udderly glad to see you
, and the wreath decorated with milkmaids and milk pails.
Libby was just telling Bernie that she thought that that was a safe thing to say when the door flew open.
“It’s the Simmons sisters. How charming,” Priscilla said, looking at them. Her tone was not hospitable. Neither was her glance.
“I know you don’t like us very much,” Bernie began. Talk about stating the obvious, she thought. “I know we’ve had issues in the past.”
Priscilla scowled. “Why? Just because you’re a snot and you think you’re better than anyone else? Just because you told Suzy that my false eyelashes reminded you of caterpillars and gave you the creeps? My good, expensive eyelashes that I got in Saks,” Priscilla added.
So much for forgetting, Libby thought. This was going to be interesting.
“I never really said that,” Bernie lied.
“You most certainly did,” Priscilla shot back.
“She really didn’t,” Libby said, feeling as if she should contribute to the conversation. Sisterly solidarity and all that stuff.
Priscilla and Bernie both ignored her. Fine, Libby thought, feeling miffed. So much for sisterly solidarity. Be that way. See if she cared.
“No, Priscilla,” Bernie told her. “What I said was that I admired you for wearing eyelashes like that and that I wished I could have, but that on me they would have looked like caterpillars crawling over my face.” Bernie held up her hand. “May God strike me dead if I’m lying.”
Libby waited for the thunderclap and the hand to descend from the heavens. Nothing happened. And it hadn’t ever since Bernie had started to say that at age twelve. As always, she was both amazed and appalled by her sister’s ability to lie.
“I don’t believe you,” Priscilla said. But Bernie thought she sounded less1em">ed sure of herself than she had before.
Bernie put her hand down. She didn’t believe in the whole “may God strike me dead” thing, but on the other hand there was no sense in pushing her luck either. “It’s true,” she told Priscilla. “I think Suzy just misheard me ... maybe on purpose.” Lie number two.
Priscilla nibbled on her lower lip while she thought. “Well,” she finally said. “It’s true that she never liked you very much.”
“No. She didn’t,” Bernie agreed. And that was true. “I didn’t even know that she had said that to you.” But that statement wasn’t.
Priscilla folded her arms over her chest while she considered what Bernie had said. Bernie could see that Priscilla was wavering. Bernie was trying to think of what else she could say to convince Priscilla of her truthfulness when Priscilla’s eyes narrowed. Damn, Bernie thought. It was too late. As someone who’d been involved in retail for a long time, she recognized that she’d lost the moment.
“I still don’t believe you,” Priscilla told Bernie. “You almost had me,
almost
being the key word, but I’m not buying what you’re putting out.”
Bernie shrugged. She could but try. “Fine,” she said. “Don’t believe me. But could you let us in anyway? My sister really has to pee... .”
Libby leaned forward and put on what she hoped was a sincere smile. “I do,” she said.
“And,” Bernie said, “no matter what you think of me, we really do need to talk.”
Priscilla tapped the crystal of her diamond-encrusted Rolex watch with a long carmine fingernail. “Why now? Are you nuts? Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes. I realize it’s late,” Bernie said.
“And I really do have to pee,” Libby said.
Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “And you came all the way to Connor’s parents’ house to use their bathroom?” she asked her. “It must be very special for you to make the trip out here.”
“Actually we were following Patrick from RJ’s,” Libby replied, having decided that in this case honesty was the best policy. “And he ended up here. And now I have to pee.”
“I know where the scumbag ended up,” Priscilla said. “I threw him out.”
“We saw,” Libby said. “And we saw Connor going after him.”
Priscilla’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a scumbag too,” she said. “They’re all alike. Guys that is.”
“Not really,” Bernie said.
Priscilla ignored the comment. “Why were you following Patrick?” she asked Libby.
Bernie could see that Priscilla’s interest was piqued. This is a good thing, she thought. Maybe they’d end up talking after all. “That’s why we have to have a chat,” Bernie told her. Watching Priscilla’s face, she could see her features softening ever so slightly. Yes, Bernie thought. She’s going to invite us in.
A moment later, Priscilla gave it up. “Okay,” she said as she fingered her earrings. “Yeah. Come in. What the hell. The bathroom is down the hall, the third door on the right,” she said to Libby.
“I appreciate this,” Bernie said to Priscilla once they were inside and Libby had disappeared down the hall.
Priscilla put her hands on her hips. “So what’s going on? How come you’re following Patrick?”
“We’ve be>panen hired to help with Duncan’s defense... .”
Priscilla’s eyes lit up. “And you think Patrick might have something to do with Sweeney’s murder?” she asked.
“Possibly,” Bernie replied in as noncommittal a voice as she could manage. She didn’t feel it necessary to mention that the same could be true of Connor or Liam.
“See,” Priscilla said, shaking her head. “I told Connor those guys were no good. I told him to stay away from them. But did he listen? No. He did not.”
Bernie shook her head sympathetically. “My mother always said you were known by the company you keep,” she added in a pious tone. It was a phrase that used to absolutely infuriate Bernie, so she was amazed to hear it coming out of her mouth now.
“That is so true,” Priscilla said. “And now look where we’re living.” She gestured at the living room. “I think I’d rather be shot.”
“It is very white,” Bernie allowed, peering inside.
“Very white?” Priscilla shrieked. “It’s all white! Everything in this house is white! I feel as if I’m in some simultaneous deprivation tank... .”
“I think you mean stimulus deprivation tank,” Bernie said.
Priscilla waved her hand in the air. “Whatever.” She leaned in toward Bernie. “And you know the worst thing about this?”
“That you’re living with your mother-in-law?”
“Even worse?” Priscilla said.
“What?” Bernie asked.
“On top of everything else, Connor’s mother is a neat freak. I mean totally. I’m afraid to walk across the floor here. I might get footprints on the white shag carpet. I mean who has white shag carpet? That’s so seventies. And this is the original one.” Priscilla pointed down. “If that doesn’t say it all I don’t know what does.”
“I can’t believe that,” Bernie said, because she couldn’t.
“It’s true,” Priscilla said. Then she nodded toward the outside with her chin. “And what about the cows? How do you like them? That’s what I think too,” Priscilla said when Bernie remained diplomatically silent.
“So how come you’re here?” Bernie asked her. “I thought you guys were buying a new house?”
Priscilla gave a bitter laugh. “That was pre Mike Sweeney. Him and Liam and Patrick and Duncan talked Connor into this stupid investment, and not only did he use his money, he used mine as well.”
“Oops,” Bernie said, thinking of what the other guys’ wives had told her.
“You can say that again,” Priscilla agreed. “One thing I can tell you. I will never, ever share a checking account with anyone, ever again.”
“I could see that,” Bernie said, remembering when Orion had taken money out of Libby’s checking account, money that they’d needed to pay their sales tax.
Thank heavens her mother had been dead when that had happened. She couldn’t imagine what Rose would have done. Well, that wasn’t true. She could imagine. Rose would have run straight to her dad and her dad would have gone out and hurt Orion really, really badly. As it was, she and Libby had kept it to themselves.
“You have no idea what that’s like,” Priscilla said to Bernie.
“Actually,” Bernie said, “I think I do.”
Priscilla gave her an appraising glance but didn>
“Yot ask Bernie who she was talking about. Instead Priscilla said, “I’d like to kill him.”
“Who?” Bernie asked just to hear Priscilla say it.
“Mike Sweeney, of course. Only he’s already dead.”
“Then that could be a problem. I don’t think you can do it twice.”
Priscilla didn’t smile at Bernie’s crack. Instead she took a deep breath and let it out. “I told Connor and told him not to do this. I begged and I pleaded, but you know what he told me?” Priscilla paused.
She obviously wanted to have Bernie ask her what Connor had said to her, so Bernie did.
“No. What did Connor tell you?” Bernie asked.
“Connor told me that Sweeney knew what he was talking about and I was just this dumb nothing.”
“He actually said that?” Bernie asked.
“Those were his exact words.” And Priscilla crossed herself. “I swear to God. But I went to see Sweeney anyway and he told me to stop yammering.”
“Someone saying something like that to me would have bothered me,” Bernie observed. “A lot.”
Priscilla glared at Bernie. “What? You think it didn’t bother me?”
“It couldn’t have bothered you that much because you’re still with Connor.”
“Believe me, Bernie. It bothered me plenty.”
“Then why are you still with him?” Bernie asked.
Priscilla shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You still love him?” Bernie said softly. She remembered that even after Orion had robbed Libby’s bank account, she had still stuck up for him. It had taken walking in on him with another woman to finally persuade her that Orion was a no good kind of guy.
Priscilla turned her head away. “I guess maybe I still do,” she said in a very soft voice. “Is that stupid, or what?”
Before Bernie could think of anything to say, Libby came out of the bathroom and walked down the hall. The moment was past, Bernie reflected. And maybe that was a good thing, because she really didn’t have any words of wisdom to convey.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever sat on a soft toilet seat,” Libby said to Priscilla, effectively changing the tone of the conversation.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Priscilla said.
“Very,” Libby said.
“Priscilla and I have just been talking about Mike Sweeney and the rest of the gang,” Bernie said, filling Libby in.
“Really?” Libby said. “Anything interesting?”
“Everyone is broke,” Bernie said.
“Thanks to Mike Sweeney,” Priscilla added.
“Besides that?” Libby asked.
“We haven’t gotten any farther yet,” Bernie said.
Priscilla leaned forward. “I’ll tell you this—Duncan hated Mike Sweeney. Absolutely hated him.”
“Why?” Bernie asked.
Priscilla nodded knowingly. “Because Sweeney got him fired.” Then she leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and smiled a satisfied smile.
Bernie frowned. That wasn’t the impression she had. “Are you sure?” she asked Priscilla. “I thought Duncan was still working.”
Priscilla fingered one of her gold hoops. “That’s what he wants everyone to think so he pretends he is, but he isn’t. Not really.”
“And you know this for a fact?” Libby asked.
Priscilla nodded.
“How did you find out?” Bernie asked. “Did Connor tell you?”
Priscilla snorted. “Don’t be stupid. Connor never tells me anything. Like ever. He thinks I’m too dumb to talk to. He only wants to do ... other stuff.”
“So how do you know?” Libby asked.
“I know because Liza gets ... got her nails done at my manicurist and when I was there Liza happened to come in and Sylvia told me that Liza was having a fit because Duncan got canned and now she couldn’t ... wouldn’t be getting the plastic surgery that Duncan was going to pay for.” And Priscilla looked down and inspected her nails. They were three inches long, bright red, with little gold stars painted on them.
Obviously not real, Bernie thought, following Priscilla’s gaze. “What was Liza going to get?” Bernie asked Priscilla.
“A boob job, of course.” And Priscilla looked down and contemplated hers. “I’m lucky I’m naturally endowed.”
“Yes, you are,” Bernie agreed, although she had her doubts about whether or not Priscilla’s were real.

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