Authors: Isis Crawford

A Catered Wedding (11 page)

BOOK: A Catered Wedding

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“Then after Jura closed on the place he decided he wanted a hunting preserve conveniently situated for weekendsâI guess the three brothers got tired of flying off to Louisianaâso he ended up buying several hundred acres to the south and building his hunting lodge there. It must be nice to have that kind of money. I've never been there,” Bree confided, “although I don't agree with hunting. Even those dreadful birds . . .”

“Falcons,” Bernie said.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Bree continued, “the birds that Joe insists on carrying around on his arm freak me out. I was so nervous sitting there going over the contract with those things looking at me. But given that, I'd still like to see the place. I understand from the article about it in
Design
it's amazing. All the political higher-ups come there to shoot.” Bree patted Bernie's arm. “Not to change the subject or anything, but is your dad all right?”

“Why shouldn't he be?” Bernie demanded.

“Well, he hasn't been out in almost three years and then with everything that happened yesterday . . .” Bree's voice got lower. “You know sometimes stress can trigger an episode in someone with his condition.”

“He's fine,” Bernie repeated. “Just fine.”

“Good. Glad to hear it,” Bree patted Bernie's arm again, took her egg from Libby, and left the store.

“Well, he is fine,” Bernie said to Libby once the door had closed.

Libby just glared at her.

“In fact, I think he enjoyed having Fisher arrest him. It gives him something to stew about.”

Libby slammed the creamer down. Half-and-half slopped over its sides. The fact that she knew what Bernie was saying about her dad was true just made her madder.

“Having to call Marvin to post bail for you guys was one of the more humiliating things I've ever had to do.”

“Then you've led a very sheltered life,” Bernie replied. “Handing out ads while dressed as a banana was the most humiliating thing I've ever had to do.”

Libby turned her head away. “Don't think you can turn everything into a joke.”

“Oh come on, Libby,” Bernie said. “Lighten up. You did Marvin a favor. How often does he get to play white knight coming to the rescue?”

“He was asleep when I called. I had to wake him up.”

“So what? He likes you. What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference to me,” Libby told her. “I don't like airing our dirty laundry in public.”

Bernie moved her silver and onyx ring up and down her finger as she considered her sister. It always amazed her how conservative Libby was becoming.

“What are you looking at?” Libby demanded.

“I was just thinking that you have to give people a chance,” Bernie told her.

“That's easy for you to say,” Libby said as she wiped up the spilled half-and-half.

Bernie watched her for another moment before she spoke.

“I guess you're still mad at me,” she said.

“Good guess.” Libby went over to the sink, rinsed the sponge out, squeezed it, then put it back in its holder before speaking. “All I know,” she finally said, “is that I'm just glad Mother isn't alive to see what happened last night.”

“Don't be silly.”

“She would have been furious.”

“For about ten minutes.” She went over and gave Libby a hug. “Come on,” she said. “Look at all the business you've been doing today. Everyone wants to know what happened.”

“That's a terrible way to look at things,” Libby told her.

“But true,” Bernie pointed out.

“Well, maybe a little,” Libby conceded.

Chapter 11

I
t was a little after seven at night and R.J.'s was nearly empty when Bernie entered the bar. In another hour it would be crowded with hooting and hollering postgame softball players, but right now there were only ten people in the place.

Glancing around Bernie realized how glad she was to be back here. She'd had enough of the L.A. esthetic. If she never saw another piece of chrome and black leather or ersatz Tudor it would be okay with her. There was no there there.

Bernie inhaled. Yes. It was good be home. She couldn't believe she was saying this but she even loved the scent of Pine-Sol and chicken wings that seemed to linger in the air here. She loved the pictures of Longely from days gone by hanging on the walls. She loved the crunch of discarded peanut shells as she walked by the tables. She loved the old-fashioned dartboard. No electronic one here.

Okay, maybe the place was a dive, but it was her dive and that, in her humble opinion, was what counted. Besides, unlike the places she'd hung out in when she'd lived in L.A., the people at R.J.'s weren't pretentious. Or maybe, Bernie decided, ostentatious would be a better word choice although affected might do just as well.

Heaven knows she liked her Manolos and Jimmy Choos and Lulu Guiness bags as much as the next girl, but she didn't think of owning them as a matter of life and death. Well maybe she did a little she admitted to herself, but not to the extent that some of the other women did and she definitely couldn't get behind the whole car deal.

Having a car that cost more to lease than your apartment made no sense to her at all. And then there was the plastic surgery thing. That was huge. Especially in L.A. Everyone she knew, from secretaries and script girls on up to producers, were always getting something done and that had kind of freaked her out as well.

And even if she'd wanted toâshe wouldn't have minded a little lipo on her thighs if she were being honestâeven she, the person who could spend five hundred dollars on a pair of shoes, wasn't going to take out a loan so she could fork over three thousand dollars so she could look a little better in her jeans. Although, Bernie mused, given the interest rates right now maybe she should have. As she was debating the question her eyes fell on Rob.

One of the things Bernie loved about him, besides the fact that he was gorgeous, funny, smart, and fantastic in bed was that he was always on time, unlike her previous boyfriend Joe who was always at least a half an hour late, if not more. In fact, Rob was altogether too good to be true.

She was still waiting to see his fatal flaw emerge. She knew he had to have one. After all, she liked him, didn't she? What bigger proof was there than that? Or maybe Bernie was beginning to think it was her. Maybe she just wasn't used to nice men anymore. The only thing she did know was that if things didn't work out with Rob she was going to take a vow of celibacy. Well, not really. But she was definitely going to lay off of men for a while.

“So how's my little jailbird tonight?” Rob asked when she hopped up on the barstool next to him.

Bernie gave him a kiss. “Tired. Very tired.”

Rob grinned. “I know something that will wake you up.”

She punched him in the arm. “No. That will put me to sleep.”

“Either one is fine with me. I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman while you're unconscious. He he.” He leered and twirled an imaginary mustache.

Bernie grinned at him. “You're impossible.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

“Sorry, but I have to go home tonight. Libby is still mad at me,” Bernie told Rob as Brandon materialized in front of her.

“God are you sunburned,” she said to him. “Your face is bright red.”

He smiled. “It goes with my hair.”

“I didn't realize you were going for the monochromatic look. What were you doing?”

“I was out on a boat with Sam. I can't take the sun. Us fair-haired Irish are a woodland lot.”

“Since when is Mazurski an Irish name?” Rob demanded.

“You mean it's not?” Brandon said as he pushed a full stein of beer across the bar towards Bernie. “It's on the house,” he told her.

“You do this for all the miscreants that come in here?” Rob asked Brandon as Rob tousled Bernie's hair.

“Nice word,” Bernie observed. “Did you know it comes from Old French and originally meant heretic?”

“Fascinating,” Brandon replied. “Simply fascinating. I'll have to write that down somewhere to share with the rest of the guys. They'll be thrilled. No. The only miscreants I give free drinks too are my old classmates. The rest have to pay.”

“That's rather arbitrary,” Bernie said.

“That's because I'm an arbitrary kinda guy and no,” Brandon held up his hand, “please don't tell me the derivation of the word.”

“I wasn't going to.” Bernie took a sip of her beer. “Nice. What is it?”

“Brooklyn Lager. Actually consider this a bribe.” Brandon planted his elbows on the bar. “I want all the gory details.”

Bernie had just gotten to the part about Fisher walking in on her and her father and accusing them of mucking up the crime scene and how he'd had to call a special van to accommodate her dad's wheelchair so they could cart him off to jail when Marvin walked through the door.

“Hey,” Rob shouted lifting his glass, “it's the man of the hour. Come on. I'll buy you a beer.”

As Marvin came towards them, Bernie couldn't help thinking about what a good couple Libby and Marvin would make. They had the same body type, the same outlook on life, and most importantly Marvin had liked her sister since grade school.

Plus, he was smart, nice, hard working and it didn't hurt that he was going to inherit his dad's business. So what if he needed to lose a few pounds. So did Libby. And as for him being a funeral director, at least he'd never get laid off. Now, if she could only convince Libby to loosen up a little and give Marvin a fair try.

Everyone would benefit. Libby would be happier and if Libby were happier then she and her dad would be too. Maybe she'd chill out a little, Bernie thought, remembering how her sister had flipped out last night. In truth, not that she'd ever say this to Libby, but maybe if she got a little more sexâcorrection: any sexâshe'd freak out a little less.

Marvin readjusted his glasses and sat down on the other side of Bernie.

“I called Libby and asked her to meet me but she said she was going to bed. She sounded angry. I hope it wasn't anything I've done.”

Bernie reached for the peanuts.

“Why would she be angry at you? You saved the day last night. If it weren't for you, Dad and I would still be in jail. Libby just gets cranky when she's tired.”

“Oh,” Marvin said. He took his glasses off, fiddled with them, then put them on again.

Bernie made to slide off the stool. “You want me to go get her for you because I will.”

Marvin shook his head. “She doesn't want to.”

“So what?”

“She was really very specific.”

Bernie leaned over and patted Marvin's shoulder. “Let me give you a word of advice. Don't listen to my sister. She doesn't know what she wants.”

“Yeah,” Rob put in. “Just go over to her house, barge into her bedroom, and drag her off into the woods. Her dad would really like that.”

Bernie poked Rob in the ribs. “Hey buddy, no one is talking to you. Don't listen to him,” she told Marvin.

“She really is tired,” Marvin protested.

“So what?” Bernie countered. “Sleep is a waste of time. Last offer. Do you want me to go get her? Because just say the word and I will.”

Marvin shook his head.

“Sure?” Bernie asked.

“Positive,” Marvin said as Brandon put a stein in front of Marvin.

“On the house,” Brandon informed him.

“It's amazing your boss hasn't fired you yet,” Rob told him.

“Hey, if it wasn't for me half of these people wouldn't be in here,” Brandon pointed out. “So he can swallow a few freebies. Swallow.” He slapped the bar. “Get it?”

Rob just snorted and shook his head.

“Anyway,” Brandon continued, “when beer's on tap it's hard to tell exactly how many have been sold. That's why in my bar I'd just serve the bottled stuff.”

“You thinking of opening one?” Rob asked.

Brandon glanced around to make sure no one was looking at him then nodded as Marvin took a sip of his beer.

“Foam,” Bernie said, pointing to his upper lip.

Marvin hastily wiped it off. “Here's something that's interesting,” he told Bernie, Rob, and Brandon. “My dad just told me that the police released Leeza Sharp's body. We're doing the burial.”

Bernie ate another peanut and dropped the shell on the floor. “What about her family?”

Marvin shrugged. “I don't think she has any. At least I didn't see any next of kin listed on the paperwork. Jura's already contacted my dad about the funeral arrangements.”

“Why didn't he use the funeral home in West Vale?” Bernie asked. “They have one, right?”

Marvin took another gulp of beer and wiped his upper lip off with the back of his hand.

“I'm guessing because they're way more expensive and he doesn't want to spend any money.”

“Go on,” Bernie prompted.

“I really shouldn't. I probably shouldn't have said as much as I did,” Marvin replied.

“Tell us,” Bernie urged. “You know you want to. We'll be discreet.”

Rob almost choked on his beer.

“Well I can be when the need arises,” Bernie said as she watched Marvin trying to decide what to do.” She stroked his arm. “Come on, Marvin. I'm sure Libby would want to know.”

She watched Marvin take another sip of his beer. She could tell he was weakening. A moment later he began to talk.

“Okay,” he said in a low voice. “But you can't tell anyone. Except for Libby.”

“We won't,” Bernie promised as Rob rolled his eyes. “Ignore him,” she told Marvin as she poked Rob in the ribs.

“Hey, that hurt,” Rob complained rubbing his side.

“It was meant to,” Bernie told him. “Go on,” she urged Marvin.

Marvin fiddled with his glasses for another moment and licked his lips. Finally he said, “Let's just say that the casket he picked is one step up from a pine box. Plus he's having her cremated.”

Bernie grabbed another handful of peanuts and began cracking the shells and throwing the nuts into her mouth one at a time.

“All that money he was going to spend on the wedding and nothing for her funeral. Interesting.”

“Some people think that funerals are a waste of money,” Marvin pointed out. “Not that I agree of course. But maybe he's one of them.”

“Maybe,” Bernie agreed.

“And he's another interesting thing. He wants Leeza dressed in her wedding dress.”

“How romantic,” Rob said. “Very Edgar Allan.”

“I don't get it,” Brandon said.

“He means Edgar Allan Poe,” Bernie explained. “You know, he wrote poems about being in love with dead girls. Like Tom Petty.”

Marvin smiled. “
Annabelle Lee.
Yeah. We read it in high school.” He threw open his arms and declaimed, “And so, all night-tide, I lie down by the side/Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride . . .”

Bernie clapped as Brandon waved his hand.

“You would remember something like that,” he told Marvin.

“Meaning?” Marvin demanded.

“Meaning nothing,” Bernie told him. “Brandon was just pulling your chain.”

Brandon nodded. “It's true, man.”

Bernie tapped her fingers on the bar while she thought. “The thing is,” she said slowly, “Jura never impressed me as the romantic type. In fact, he impressed me as just the opposite. Maybe, the impetus for his actions isn't romantic. Maybe he just wants to get rid of everything having to do with the wedding.”

“And why would he want to do that?” Rob asked.

“Because he doesn't want to think about it anymore,” Marvin observed.

“Well, he certainly wouldn't if he killed her,” Bernie said.

Rob looked at her. “Don't go there.”

“Where am I going?” Bernie protested.

“You can stop that wide-eyed innocent bit you're doing because it doesn't work.”

BOOK: A Catered Wedding

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