Read A Catered St. Patrick's Day Online
Authors: Isis Crawford
A Catered St. Patrick's Day (6 page)
Libby nodded. “Indeed they are, Bernie. In fact, a lot of people have lost enormous sums of money on them recently.”
Duncan scowled. “Hey. Spare me the finance lesson here. I know what derivatives are, thank you very much.”
“I bet you do,” Libby said sweetly. “And I’m also going to bet that that’s why you don’t have any money right now. And I’m further going to bet that Mike Sweeney is responsible for your present predicament. And I’ll go even further and say that that’s what the argument was about at the party and that’s why you said you wanted to kill him. And that, coupled with your wallet, is why the police arrested you. You have a really good motive for wanting to kill Sweeney, that motive being that he lost all of your money for you.”
“That’s a crock,” Duncan told her.
Bernie jumped in to the conversation. “It doesn’t seem that way to me,” she said. “Judging from your reaction, we seem to have hit the mark.”
“A lot you know,” Duncan said.
Bernie looked up at Duncan. “Then enlighten us,” she challenged him.
“Let me tell you something,” Duncan said, glowering down at her. “Sweeney might have screwed me over, but that was nothing compared to what he did to the other guys. I’m not married. I don’t have dependents. And anyway, I’ll make the money back easy enough. I made it the first time and I’ll do it again. Sweeney got a little more complicated than he should have. It happens.” He paused to take a breath. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you guys about this. I thought you were hired to help me.”
“We are,” Bernie said. “And we will.”
“This is what you consider helping?” Duncan demanded. “You two are worse than the DA.”
“We just need to know all the facts,” Libby explained.
Duncan put up his hands. “You already know them.”
“I think there’s more,” Bernie said.
“There isn’t,” Duncan said. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”
“No, you haven’t,” Bernie said.
Duncan didn’t say anything. After a minute had passed Bernie motioned for Libby to get up.
“Fine,” she said to Duncan. “If you want to waste your aunt’s money, that’s fine with me. If you want to go to jail, that’s your business not mine.”
“I’m not going to jail,” Duncan retorted.
“I think maybe you are,” Libby answered.
“No friggin’ way,” Duncan shot back.
Libby zipped up her sweatshirt. “Here’s something to think about. Given your conne Cen /spctions in this town, I don’t think the DA would have moved to have you arrested if he didn’t have a good case, a case he thought he could win. Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to tell us before we go?”
“Yes,” Duncan said.
“Fine,” Libby said, and started for the door. Bernie followed. They were almost there when Duncan called out to them.
“Stop,” he said.
Libby and Bernie both turned.
Duncan was standing there looking down at the floor and plucking at the hem of his shirt.
“We’re waiting,” Libby said when Duncan didn’t say anything.
Duncan looked up and bit his lip. “It’s just that this is hard,” he said.
“No doubt,” Bernie said.
“It makes things look worse.”
“Did you kill Sweeney?” Libby asked.
“No. Of course not,” Duncan cried. Then he went back to looking at the floor.
“You don’t seem so sure,” Libby said.
Duncan didn’t say anything. The sisters waited.
“Okay, okay,” Duncan finally said to them after a moment had gone by. “Truth ...”
“Truth,” Bernie replied.
“The truth is I don’t know, because I don’t remember anything,” Duncan said.
“I don’t get it,” Libby said.
Duncan waved his arms in the air. He looked on the brink of tears. Suddenly Libby felt bad for him.
“I don’t remember anything. The last thing I remember is having a drink at RJ’s and the next thing I know I’m waking up in my bed the next morning with a hangover you wouldn’t believe.”
“How many drinks did you have?” Bernie asked him.
“One. A beer.”
“So you blacked out at the party when you threatened to kill Sweeney?” Libby asked.
“Yeah. But that was because I had five Singapore Slings and a couple of shots, and anyway I was lying.”
“About remembering?” Bernie asked.
Duncan looked away. “Yeah.”
“Go on,” Bernie said.
Duncan rubbed his hands together and looked down at the floor. “I say things when I drink... .” His voice trailed off. “But as to this blacking out thing—that’s never happened to me before. Not after one drink.” He lifted up his head, looked Bernie and Libby in the eyes, and put his hand up. “I swear.” He turned to Libby. “Do you believe me?”
“Yeah, Duncan, I do,” Libby told him. “So bottom line, what you’re telling us is that you have no idea about what happened that night?”
Duncan shook his head. “Not really. No. Everything is a blank. And believe me I’ve tried to remember.”
“And all that stuff you told us?” Libby asked.
Duncan shrugged. “I made it up. I mean I didn’t know what else do to. How bad would the other have looked?”
“Pretty bad,” Libby admitted.
Bernie tapped her fingers against her pants leg while she thought. Finally she said, “So this has never happened to you before.”
“That’s what I just said. I mean one beer. Come on. I can pound five of Cpou to y those down without breaking a sweat,” Duncan said before lapsing into silence again.
“Do you think someone could have slipped something in your beer?” Libby said slowly.
Duncan looked at Libby as if she’d gone crazy. “No. Absolutely not.”
“It’s just a thought,” Libby told him.
“A far-fetched one if you ask me,” Duncan said.
“But it does explain things,” Bernie said.
“I refuse to believe it,” Duncan said. “Anyway, who would do something like that?” he asked.
Libby shook her head. “Someone you were drinking with that night?”
“I was drinking with my friends.”
“Maybe they’re not,” Bernie observed.
“I can’t believe it,” Duncan said.
“Or won’t believe it,” Bernie interjected.
“That’s the same thing,” Duncan told her.
“Not really,” Bernie answered. “Think about it.”
Duncan shook his head violently from side to side. “It’s not possible.”
“Okay, let me ask you a question,” Libby said. “Have you had a drink since that night?”
“Yes,” Duncan said. “More than one.”
“And have you passed out?”
Duncan was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “That doesn’t prove anything. It doesn’t,” he insisted, reading the expressions on Libby’s and Bernie’s faces.
Libby shrugged. “Have it your own way,” she told him. “It’s true we can’t prove what happened, because we can’t do a chemical analysis at this point, but it’s the best explanation for what happened.”
“I think my sister is on to something,” Bernie told Duncan.
He looked from Libby to Bernie and back again. “I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t mean it happened,” Bernie said gently. “But it would be a good avenue to pursue.”
Libby didn’t say anything. She could see Duncan struggling to come to grips with the idea.
Duncan sighed. He studied one of the Georgia O’Keefe prints on the far wall. A moment later, he looked back at Libby and Bernie and asked, “So what are you going to do?”
Bernie smiled. “We’re going to do what we do best. Bake muffins.”
Duncan laughed.
“No. Seriously. We’re going to snoop around and see what we can find out,” Bernie said. “And in the meantime, I’d keep away from my friends in the Corned Beef and Cabbage Club if I were you. At the very least, don’t go drinking with them. And if you do go drinking with them, take your drink to the can with you when you go.”
Duncan made a face. “That’s gross.”
“But effective.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Duncan said as he sat back down.
When Bernie and Libby left he was sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.
Chapter 5
“T
hat would really suck if it’s true,” Bernie said to Libby when they were outside the guest Fpou tT house.
hat would really suck if it’s true,” Bernie said to Libby when they were outside the guest Fpou tT house.
“Yes, it would,” Libby agreed as she fished the car keys out of her backpack. “It would give things a whole new twist.”
“It would, wouldn’t it though?” Bernie observed. “I’m calling Dad and seeing what he thinks.” And she whipped her cell out of her bag and punched his number in.
He answered on the twelfth ring. As she waited for her dad to pick up Bernie pictured him looking for his cell and cursing when he couldn’t find it.
“We need to get our house phone back,” Sean said when he finally answered. “This is ridiculous.”
“You’re right, Dad,” Bernie agreed. “We do. And we will.”
“Why did we ever get rid of it in the first place?” Sean asked, slightly mollified.
“Because you wanted to save money,” Bernie said.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Sean told her. “Now tell me how your talk with Duncan went.”
So Bernie did. By the time she’d finished talking with him she and Libby had reached the van.
“What did Dad say?” Libby asked as soon as she heard Bernie say good-bye.
Bernie lowered the phone. “He said it was an interesting hypothesis and that we should pursue it.”
“And?”
“That we’re out of crunchy peanut butter and we should pick some up.”
“He didn’t say anything else?”
“Like that it was a brilliant idea?”
“Something like that,” Libby said.
Bernie laughed and wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck. It was bright red, with orange flowers sewn on in random places, and she loved it. “Good luck waiting for that to happen,” she told Libby as she climbed in the vehicle. Once she was seated, she called Brandon.
“I want to talk to you about what happened the night that Mike Sweeney was killed,” she told him.
“Well, hello to you too, gorgeous,” Brandon replied.
Bernie chuckled. “Flattery will get you anywhere.”
“This I already know. That’s why I use it.”
“What’s a good time to come over to the bar?”
“I always have time for you, sweetheart,” Brandon told her, doing his best Bogart imitation.
“When do you have time to talk?”
“As opposed to other activities in the storeroom.”
“That would be a good trick,” Bernie said, thinking about how packed full of supplies that place was.
Brandon laughed. “Now would be a good time. We’re not into the evening rush yet.”
“And when does the Corned Beef and Cabbage Club usually come in?”
“If they come it’ll be within the next half an hour or so.”
“Great,” Bernie said. “See you soon.” And she hung up, slipped her cell phone back in her bag, and leaned back in her seat.
“You think that someone actually slipped some sort of knockout drops into Duncan’s beer?” Libby asked as she started up the van. She’d suggested it as a lark.
The engine coughed, then fell silent. “Drats,” Libby muttered. She tried again. This time the engine spluttered for thirty seconds before quitting. On the third try, the engin Kry,mute finally turned over.
Bernie patted the dashboard. “You go, girl.”
“I think it’s time to start shopping around for a new vehicle,” Libby observed. Then she corrected herself. “A new, used vehicle.”
Bernie put a finger to her lips. “Sssh,” she told Libby. “Not so loud. You don’t want to hurt Mathilda’s feelings, do you?” she asked as she buckled up her seat belt.
“Definitely not.” Libby patted the dashboard. “Sorry, Mathilda,” she told the van. “We’re not going to put you out to pasture. We’re just going to insure you have a comfortable old age.” She turned to Bernie. “Is that better?”
Bernie nodded. “Much. We are nuts.”
“Some people talk to their pets, we talk to our van,” Libby said as she backed into a bush at the end of the driveway, before putting the car into drive and doing a U-turn. One of the van’s wheels slipped off the pavement onto the gravel. “Not a big deal.”
“You know, I know what you and Marvin see in each other,” Bernie said suddenly, changing the subject.
“And that is?”
“You both drive the same.”
Libby got all four tires back on the pavement. “Ha ha ha. Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m way better than he is.”
Bernie waved her hands in the air. “Okay. Maybe that was a slight exaggeration.”
“Slight? At least I stop for stop signs.”
“I’ll grant you that.”
Libby opened her window and readjusted the side-view mirror. “You realize you still haven’t answered my question.”
“About the roofies in Duncan’s drink?”
“Yeah.”
Bernie gave an exasperated sigh. “I already said I think it’s a real possibility,” she told Libby as she pulled over to avoid hitting Bree’s brand new BMW, which had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “In fact, I think it’s more than possible. I think it’s probable. You have to stop second-guessing yourself.”
“I know, I know,” Libby replied. And she did know. It was one of her worst habits.
Bree waved and Libby and Bernie waved back.
“Nice car,” Bernie commented.
“I don’t think I’d want to drive something like that,” Libby said. “Too showy.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind at all,” Bernie said wistfully. “But I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“At least not in this life,” Libby said. “You think Bree knows about Duncan blacking out?” she asked her sister as she got back on the road.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Bernie replied. “She has a way of knowing everything and admitting nothing.”
“Especially to herself.”
Bernie reached over and clicked on the radio. She got static. She tried another station. Same thing. She gave up and clicked it off. “Maybe that’s why Bree came right over. I wonder if Duncan’s told his lawyer about blacking out?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Me either,” Bernie said. “He had a hard enough time admitting it to us.”
“Yeah. But if we suspected it, the lawyers certainly should have.”
“We should tell them just in case,” Bernie said.
“Really, we have nothing to tell except our suspicions,” Libby said.
“Maybe we should hold off for a little while.”
Libby nodded in agreement.
“I’ll tell you one thing though. If what we’re talking about is real, it certainly makes everything a lot more complicated.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Libby said.
The sisters fell silent for a moment. Then Libby spoke. “You know what this means if it’s true?” she said.
“That we should have asked for more money?” Bernie asked.
Libby ignored her.
“Okay. It means that someone is trying to set Duncan up,” Bernie said.
“Well, whoever did this certainly didn’t nominate him for the Citizen of the Year award,” Libby mused. She slowed down to take the turn onto Bradley. “Now the question becomes who hated Duncan and why.”
“Maybe,” Bernie said, tapping her fingernails on the dashboard—she really had to get a manicure—“the question is who hated Mike Sweeney and Duncan? Or here’s another possibility. Is Duncan just some random stooge who was picked to take the fall?”
Libby frowned. “I don’t know about that. You’ve really got to dislike someone to do something like this to him.”
Bernie shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the person who did it doesn’t have any feelings one way or another. Except anger.”
A shiver ran up Libby’s spine. “That’s very cold.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Bernie replied.
Libby stopped at a stop sign. “Well, Duncan did say he was drinking with Liza, so if anyone put anything in his beer, she’s probably the one.”
“Which might be why she disappeared.”
“That would be my guess,” Libby said. “I hope Dad’s friend comes through with her whereabouts,” she added as the car behind her honked. “I’m going. I’m going,” she said as she went through the intersection.
“I hope Dad’s friend comes through too,” Bernie said. “But even if he doesn’t, all is not lost, as they like to say in the movies.”
“True. I’m sure Liam or Pat or Connor knows where she is. The trick will be getting them to tell us,” Libby reflected.
Bernie grinned. “And it will be a good trick. Because the more thought I give this, the more I realize that this was a two-person job. I mean think about it. Even if we assume that Liza doped up Duncan, she didn’t kill Sweeney. She couldn’t have. He’s way too big.”
“Maybe she doped him up too and led him to the barrel.. . .”
“And he just meekly put his head under?”
“To take a drink. She could have suggested that to him.”
“She still wouldn’t have had the strength to hold his head under. Drugged or not, he would have started struggling when he ran out of air. That’s a basic instinct.”
“So we’re looking for at least one guy,” Bernie said. “Maybe two.”
“You’re postulating a conspiracy here between Liza and one of the guys at the very least,” Libby said.
“Yes I am,” Bernie allowed.
“Which would mean adva Kuld
“True. Which,” Bernie said slowly, thinking out loud, “is very different than two guys getting into a fight and one of them killing the other on impulse and then running off.”
“So which is it?” Libby asked her sister.
Bernie shook her head. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is,” Libby replied.
“I don’t know. I guess we have to keep both possibilities in mind.”
“Or here’s another thought,” Bernie said. “Maybe someone didn’t slip anything in Duncan’s drink. I mean he could be lying about that. That’s another big if.”
“He could be,” Libby agreed. “But do you think he is?”
Bernie thought back to the talk they’d just had and to the expression on Duncan’s face when he’d told them he didn’t remember anything. “No,” she said. “I don’t think he’s lying. He really didn’t want to tell us. I think he was incredibly embarrassed to have to admit something like it. It made him look like an idiot, and that’s something that Duncan doesn’t like to do.”
“Still,” Libby said as she turned into RJ’s parking lot, “we do have to consider the possibility.”
“Never discount anything,” both sisters chorused together, echoing one of their dad’s mantras.
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“So what would make someone commit that kind of crime,” Bernie asked Libby when they stopped.
Libby parked the van and turned off the ignition. “That’s simple,” she said. “Money.”
“Or revenge,” Bernie said.
“Or both,” Libby said.
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