A Catered Wedding (27 page)

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Authors: Isis Crawford

BOOK: A Catered Wedding
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Chapter 29
B
ernie pushed a strand of hair off her cheek as she looked at the store she was about to enter. She just hoped Ernie was correct about this place because her feet were killing her. She didn't know what she was thinking of wearing her three-inch pink wedges when she was going to be pounding the pavements in New York. Whoever thought that detective work was glamorous or fun obviously hadn't done any.
But at least this time she'd had enough sense to check the temperature before she'd caught the train down into the city. The forecast had said it was going to be in the nineties so she'd put on her light beige silk-slip dress, which was the closest she could get to not wearing anything without getting herself arrested.
The store was located directly off of Canal Street, a little way out of Chinatown. “Ernie, please be right,” Bernie whispered out loud. Ernie who was one of her ex-boyfriends, now made a living as a professional poker player and moved in the demimonde as the French liked to say. According to him this place sold, what he so euphemistically called “recycled luxury goods” and other people called stolen merchandise.
The store certainly didn't call attention to itself, Bernie reflected. In fact, the place looked as if it were abandoned. The windows were half-covered with newspaper and the glass that was showing was so dirty Bernie had to squint to make out the words
Novelty Items
written in gold lettering on the window.
Unopened cardboard cartons were piled next to the door. The door itself had no name or number on it. Unless you knew where you were going you'd never find the place. She just hoped that this scheme would work.
Okay, here we go,
she said to herself as she straightened her shoulders and pushed the door open. Hopefully she'd find out who was selling caviar off the books. Her dad hadn't come up with anything yet. Maybe she could. Anyway, she figured it was worth a shot.
A blast of frigid air greeted her as she stepped inside. The place felt like a meat locker. She didn't need a sweater she needed a parka she reflected as she rubbed her shoulders to keep them warm. And a flashlight wouldn't hurt either.
The guy must have a 10-watt fluorescent bulb in the overhead fixture Bernie decided as she threaded her way through stacks of shipping cartons with Chinese characters on them and around buckets designed to catch drips from the ceiling.
She wondered how much the owner of the place was paying off the building inspectors to keep this place open, as she approached the man standing behind the counter. Tall and gaunt, he was wearing a black turtleneck sweater. Very appropriate for a ninety degree New York summer day. But it wasn't the sweater that got to Bernie, it was the mutton chop whiskers. She was hoping this wasn't a new guy facial hair style; goatees were bad enough. He lit a cigarette and took a puff.
“Yes,” he said.
“I'm looking for something,” she said. “Maybe you can help me.”
“Everyone is looking for something,” he replied.
Cute. This guy's seen way too many French movies,
Bernie thought as she watched him take another puff of his cigarette. Then he stubbed it out in a large ashtray that was overflowing with other slightly smoked cigarettes. Piles of what Bernie took to be invoices were stacked up beside it.
“I'm trying to quit,” he explained as he followed her glance.
Bernie watched as he shuffled the papers together and put them under the counter.
“I take two puffs and put it out,” he continued.
“Is it working?” Bernie asked.
“Not very well,” the man admitted. “Now what are you looking for?”
“I'm catering a party next week.”
The man inclined his head. “Mazel tov.”
“And I'm looking to buy some caviar for it.”
“Caviar is always good.”
“And I was told you sell some here.”
“Who told you this?”
“Ernie.”
The man eyed her up and down. “You don't look like someone Ernie would know.”
“I used to go out with him.”
The man nodded and lit another cigarette. “I guess he hasn't exactly come up in the world since then.”
“I guess he hasn't. He said to call him if you want to check.”
The man waved his hand in the air. “Not necessary. Why come here?”
“I understand your prices are very good.”
“Best in town,” the man allowed.
“I'm interested in five pounds of Caspian beluga from Imperial Enterprises.”
The man inclined his head. “Your people have good taste.”
“Yes they do. But what I really want,” Bernie continued, “is to set up a regular account here.”
She watched as the man nodded. His head looks as if it's on a spring Bernie thought as he said, “Very nice.”
“Because my associate and I are thinking of offering it as a regular item on our menu and we do volume.” Bernie took out the one of the cards she'd had made up and gave it to him, although she had a little trouble doing that because her fingers were getting numb.
The man held it up to the light and read it out loud.
“Sophie Castle. DJM Enterprises. Classic Elegance for Your Event. Able to Handle Parties from 20 to 2,000. Competitive Rates. Call 212-472-3838.
So Sophie why haven't I heard of you before,” he said as he put the card down on the counter.
“I don't know.” Bernie put on her best imperious stare. “We were mentioned in
Vogue
last month.”
The man lit another cigarette and took a puff. “I don't read
Vogue.
”
Bernie leaned forward. “I don't care what you read. We're moving into this market and what I want to know is can you supply me on a regular basis?”
“I don't see any problem.”
“Like I said, I'm talking large volume. Beluga. Caspian. From Imperial.”
The man grimaced. “Specifying companies makes it trickier.”
“That's your problem, not mine.”
“I'm not sure I can do that.”
Bernie shrugged. “Fine. Then I can go somewhere else. I have two other places on my list.”
The man looked at her. “I have to make a call.”
“And while you do that I'd like to see the cooler you store the caviar in.”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“To make sure the product is properly stored. I don't want to pay for something we can't use.”
“I don't have a cooler,” the man said.
“Then how do you guarantee quality? This product has a very short shelf life.”
“I know what it has. I get it directly from the distributor and then I send the shipment directly to you in specially prepared coolers.”
Bernie silently thanked Ernie for his information—never mind that it had cost her two hundred bucks—while she shook her head. “That's not good enough.”
“Then what do you want?”
This is it Bernie thought. She took a deep breath and let it out.
“I want to meet with the person you're getting it from and ascertain your delivery method.”
“That's not the way he works.”
Bernie shrugged. “Well that's the way I work.”
The man thought for a moment. Then he said, “What if I have him call you?”
Bernie managed to suppress her smile.
“That might be sufficient.”
“Good.” The man tapped the card Bernie had given him. “This number?” he asked.
Bernie nodded. Ernie had supplied the phone as well. She hadn't asked where it came from and he hadn't told her. “And then we'll discuss price.”
 
“You've had a busy day, Miss Ace Private Detective, what with going down to the city and sleuthing around and all,” Rob was saying to Bernie as she took a long lick of her chocolate-chip-mint ice cream cone.
“That's Ms. Ace Private Detective to you,” Bernie told him.
They were sitting on a bench over by the Arctic Freeze eating ice cream. It was a little after nine and Bernie was watching a mother and father lead two ice cream gobbling pajama clad little kids back to their SUV and remembering how her parents used to do the same thing when she and Libby were young.
“Did you know that ice cream cones made their debut at the 1904 St. Louis World Fair?” Bernie asked Rob.
“Doesn't everyone know that?” Rob asked tucking into his vanilla. “So you think this guy is going to call you?”
“Absolutely.” Bernie nibbled on a piece of the chocolate. Chocolate and mint were, she decided, an inspired combination.
“How can you be sure?”
“Why wouldn't he? He wants to do business. Tell me, why do you always get vanilla?”
“When I find something I like I stick with it,” Rob explained.
Bernie cocked her head. “Is that true with everything?”
Rob grinned. “Talk about leading questions.”
Bernie was about to reply but just then the cell Ernie had supplied Bernie with went off.
“See,” she said to Rob as she fished it out of her bag. “Like I said. No one can resist me.”
But evidently they could because when she answered the person on the other end clicked off.
“Damn,” Bernie said, “I think whoever was calling recognized my voice.”
Rob took another lick of vanilla. “That's not a good thing.”
“It doesn't matter.” And she pressed the menu button until she got to Calls Received. “See.” She handed the phone to Rob. “I have the number right here.”
“But you can't trace it,” he told her.
“That's true.” She licked a dribble of ice cream off the side of her palm. “I can't. But my dad can.”
Chapter 30
A
s Libby darted a glance back at the large bulge under the red and white-checkered tablecloth in the back of the van a drop of sweat made its way down her nose. If she felt this hot she could only imagine what Bernie and Rob were feeling curled up underneath the tablecloth, a plastic tablecloth at that.
Where the hell was the cold front the weatherman had promised would arrive this morning? she wanted to know. It was already a little after two o'clock in the afternoon for heaven's sake, and it was just as hot as it had been yesterday. No. It was hotter.
“We're almost at the gate,” Libby told Bernie and Rob.
Bernie popped her head out from the tablecloth. “Thank God. I feel like a steamed clam.”
“What if the guard won't let us in?” Libby asked her sister.
“That's why we have the bolt cutters. Keep your eyes front,” Bernie instructed.
“Right.”
Don't blow this
, Libby told herself as she refocused her attention on the road. “I hope Marvin's all right,” she whispered.
“He'd better be,” Bernie said. “Otherwise I won't be able to kill him. Or you. Now stop talking. Remember you're supposed to be the only one in the van.”
“I remember,” Libby replied.
It had to say something about the Raid family that both of their residences were guarded, Libby decided as she approached the checkpoint that signaled the entrance to the hunting preserve. Then she went back to contemplating Marvin. Or rather his phone call. She glanced at her watch. It had only been an hour ago, but it seemed like a lot longer.
What the hell had he been thinking of she asked herself for the tenth time since she'd answered the phone. That he'd found Eunice and Gertrude was good. But what had ever possessed him to hide himself inside the trunk of Gertrude and Eunice's car? She'd really like to hear his explanation, but she was going to have to wait until she found him since his cell was apparently out of commission. Or he was. But Libby decided not to think about that possibility.
“I'm here at the Raids' hunting lodge,” he'd whispered like he was some newscaster on CNN giving a live update. “I've just gotten out of the trunk of the Walker sisters' car and from what I can see everyone is here.”
“What are you talking about?” Libby had asked.
“Jura, Vladimir, Joe, Ditas, and Esmeralda are here. They and Eunice and Gertrude are going target shooting. I'm going to see if I can get closer and hear what they're saying.”
Then the line had gone dead and that had been that. She'd always thought of Marvin as being super cautious and now he was turning into 007. It was bad enough her sister was crazy, Libby thought bitterly. She didn't need Marvin acting like a lunatic, too.
And she didn't even want to think about what Gertrude and Eunice were doing here. A spot of skeet shooting? A spot of Vladimir shooting? And while she was on the subject, why hadn't Clyde's men picked up the Walker sisters, for heaven's sake? They were supposed to have been watching them.
“You're getting overemotional. He didn't say he needs help,” Bernie had pointed out when Libby had gone running into the kitchen to tell her about Marvin's call.
“Just because you don't ask for something doesn't mean you don't need it,” Libby had retorted. “We got him into this mess, we should help get him out.”
“We don't know he's in a mess,” Bernie had argued. Miss logic.
Libby had slammed the ladle she'd been holding down on the cutting board. “Let's see. He's trespassing. He's in a place with armed guards and lots of guns. The Walker sisters are there. So are four people who could or could not be responsible for another human being's death. Am I missing something?” She'd held up her finger. “Oh, yes. I forgot. The Walker sisters might be there to shoot Vladimir Meyers.”
“Then let's call the police,” Bernie had suggested.
“And say what? That there's a trespasser on the grounds of the Raid hunting compound?”
“Exactly.”
Libby could feel herself getting angrier and angrier. “Wonderful choice. Marvin calls for help and I get him arrested. He'll probably never speak to me again.”
Bernie grinned.
Libby wanted to slap her. “This has to do with fairness.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Oh never mind. Don't help me. I'll do this myself.”
Bernie held up her hand. “No you won't.”
Libby contemplated her sister. “You don't think I can, do you?”
Bernie put her hands on her hips. “I don't think anyone can do this by themselves. And I'm doing this for the same reason you went through that tunnel with me—even though you thought it was a bad idea.”
“Are you sure?” Libby had asked her.
“I'm positive.” Bernie reached in and took a handful of blueberries from the colander in the sink. “I'll find the article with the floor plan of the estate and call Rob, while you get Amber and Googie in here. And for God's sake, don't tell Dad.”
“Believe me, I won't,” Libby had told her.
So now she, Bernie, and Rob were riding off to rescue someone who was, according to Bernie, probably fine. And if everyone died, Libby thought, it was all going to be her fault. Okay. They wouldn't die. They'd get arrested. But Bernie had come up with a plan. Libby had to give her that.
“It'll work,” Bernie had said. “After all, if it worked for the Trojans it should work for us. In times of trouble always consult the Greeks.”
“Right,” Libby had said. “Doesn't everyone?”
So there they were. Libby, dressed in one of Bernie's camisoles and a mini skirt, was going to drive the van loaded with muffins and sandwiches and cookies to the guard post and claim that Eunice and Gertrude had called her and asked her to deliver the order.
Hopefully, the guard would let her in at which point she'd go inside the hunting lodge to talk to the sisters while Rob and Bernie, who'd been hiding in the van, would slip out and start looking for Marvin. As she stopped the van in front of the guard post, she hoped that Bernie's luck rubbed off on her instead of the other way around.
Remember to smile
, Libby told herself as she watched the guard approach. She took a deep breath and said to the guard with as much assurance as she could muster, “Eunice and Gertrude Walker asked me to come by.”
The guard looked down at his clipboard and told her she wasn't on the list.
“What do you mean?” Libby cried indignantly. Channel Bree Nottingham when you do that Bernie had told her. “I came all the way out here. I have to be on the list.”
“Well ma'am, you're not.”
“Check again,” Libby ordered. “Eunice and Gertrude Walker told me they had taken care of it.”
“They didn't,” the guard declared.
Even though it felt ridiculous Libby made her lips go into a pout per her sister's instructions. “I can't believe they forgot.”
“Well, they did,” the guard told her. “I'm going to have to call it in.”
“Go ahead,” Libby told him. She smiled despite the fact her heart was beating so loudly that she was sure he could hear it. “But this was supposed to be a surprise lunch for Jura and the rest of his party.” She opened up the box containing the chicken salad sandwiches she'd made to show him. “And I don't think the sisters are going to be too happy having their surprise ruined. You know what they're like when they don't get their way.”
The guard wrinkled his nose. “Do I ever.”
Libby turned the voltage up another notch. “Please,” she entreated.
The guard bit his lip. “I don't know.”
“Look at me,” Libby commanded. “Do I look dangerous to you?”
The guard grinned. “Not in that kind of way. Go on.”
Libby felt absurdly pleased with herself as she drove through. Maybe Bernie is right, Libby decided. Maybe you never should underestimate the power of a tight top and a short skirt.
 
 
Bernie threw the tablecloth cover off of her and Rob's heads and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She felt as if she'd just come out of a sauna. She didn't want to think about what her hair looked like. She could probably do a passable imitation of Medusa right now.
“You did great,” she told Libby as they drove towards the hunting lodge. “Just great.”
“I did, didn't I,” Libby replied.
Even though Bernie couldn't see Libby's face, she could tell from the tone of her voice that she was smiling. “Now just keep everyone talking for the next three-quarters of an hour while Rob and I search the house. When we're ready to go we'll call you.”
Libby nodded. “We've already gone over this.”
“You have your cell set on vibrate?” Bernie asked as she whacked Rob for snickering. “Two rings when we're ready, one ring if we have a problem. You know,” Bernie added, “Marvin is probably hitchhiking back to town.”
“Then we would have seen him,” Libby shot back. “There's only one road in or out.”
“Maybe he already got a lift,” Bernie countered.
“Then why hasn't he called?”
“Because his cell is dead.”
Libby just grunted.
Because she doesn't have a good reply,
Bernie thought as the van jounced along. Five minutes later the van rattled to a stop. Libby turned and gave the thumbs up sign as she gathered up supplies. Bernie watched her open the driver's side door. A moment later she heard two raps on the side of the van, the agreed upon all clear signal.
Bernie opened the rear door and she and Rob jumped down and ran along to the side of the building. “God, this place is big,” she whispered as she spotted the side door.
Somehow when someone said log cabin, Bernie always pictured a
Little House on the Prairie
type of deal. But this lodge was big. Not Rockefeller big, but large enough.
When they got to the side door, Bernie took a deep breath, put her hand on the door knob and pulled. It gave.
“I hope it's not alarmed,” Rob said.
“Me too,” Bernie replied. She didn't want to say it never occurred to her that it would be. After all, why should it be, really? Not with guards patrolling the place. That would indicate full on paranoia. Then she thought about Jura and decided maybe the door had been alarmed after all.
Well, she'd find out soon enough. She stepped inside. Rob came after her. The place was air-conditioned. Which was good. If she were going to get shot at least it should happen in comfort.
“Tell me again what we're going to say if we run into anyone?” Rob asked.
“We're going to say we came in with Libby, and that my dad called and wanted to talk to Eunice and Gertrude, and that we went looking for them.”
“And you expect people to believe that?” Rob asked. “What about the guard?”
“The guard must have missed us and yes I do expect to be believed. People always believe me.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm so cute.” And Bernie motioned for him to come on.
Her father always said that you had to have Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C.
Well,
Bernie thought,
what I have is really half of Plan A.
She just hoped they ran into Marvin soon because she had no idea what they were going to do if they didn't find him.
She closed her eyes and tried to visualize the layout of the lodge as pictured in the magazine article in
Design.
The top floor contained bedrooms, while the bottom floor was made up of—if Bernie remembered correctly—the coatroom, the living room, dining room, den, music room, weight room, sewing room, as well as the kitchen, pantry, laundry room, and heaven knows what else.
And of course there was the greenhouse, not to mention the indoor/outdoor area where Joe's falcons were kept when they were in residence here, and last but not least the gun room, which according to the article Bernie had read had equipment for everyone from eight to eighty. Eight-year-olds hunting? Now there, Bernie decided, was a truly scary thought.
The question was: Where the hell was Marvin in all of this? Even a small hint would have been helpful. But since that wasn't going to happen Bernie decided to try another tack. She closed her eyes, took three deep cleansing breaths— why was it always three she wondered?—and tried to visualize Marvin in all his rotund splendor.
“What are you doing standing there like that?” Rob hissed at her.
Bernie opened her eyes. “Trying to feel Marvin's energy.”

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