A Catered New Year's Eve Read online

  Books by Isis Crawford

  A CATERED MURDER

  A CATERED WEDDING

  A CATERED CHRISTMAS

  A CATERED VALENTINE’S DAY

  A CATERED HALLOWEEN

  A CATERED BIRTHDAY PARTY

  A CATERED THANKSGIVING

  A CATERED ST. PATRICK’S DAY

  A CATERED CHRISTMAS COOKIE EXCHANGE

  A CATERED FOURTH OF JULY

  A CATERED MOTHER’S DAY

  A CATERED TEA PARTY

  A CATERED COSTUME PARTY

  A CATERED CAT WEDDING

  A CATERED NEW YEAR’S EVE

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A Mystery with Recipes

  A CATERED NEW YEAR’S EVE

  ISIS CRAWFORD

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Recipes

  Longely is an imaginary community, as are all its inhabitants. Any resemblance to people either living or dead is pure coincidence.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Isis Crawford

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018932862

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1499-2

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: November 2019

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1501-2

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-1501-2

  For my mother, my father, my grandmother,

  and my aunt.

  Thinking of you.

  Sometimes, you have to throw out the rotten blueberries before the mold starts to spread to the rest of the pint. Otherwise, you’ll lose the whole thing.

  —Rose Simmons’s words to her daughters

  Prologue

  Sean stirred another sugar cube into his coffee as he thought about what he should say. Or not say. Not that it would matter. His daughters would do what they wanted anyway. They always had.

  It was seven in the morning and the Christmas lights twinkling on the eaves of his neighbor’s house pierced the grayness as Sean glanced out the window at the customers parking their vehicles in the lot below and running into A Little Taste of Heaven to get their breakfast sandwiches and/or muffins and coffee before they caught the seven-forty-five Metro-North into the city.

  His wife, Rose, had started A Little Taste, had built it up from a coffee and Danish joint to a town institution, a tradition his daughters were carrying on. Sean thought about that as he sighed and reached for the remote. Family. When they were good they were very, very good and when they were bad they were, well, a pain in the butt.

  Not his daughters or his wife, of course. He had been blessed in that regard. He was referring to the Sinclairs, a distant branch of Rose’s family. At least that’s what Rose had said. Actually, Rose had put it a little more strongly. She’d called them leeches, always taking and taking, never giving back. Drawing you in, making you think you could fix things when you couldn’t. Sometimes, she had said, with people like that, the only thing you could do was cut off contact. Which was what Rose had finally done.

  He understood her point of view. There were the two times she’d lent them her car and they’d totaled it. And then there was the money. They were always borrowing it and the amounts kept getting bigger. Someone was always in trouble. Sometimes legally and sometimes not. Needy was the word that came to mind. And dysfunctional. The Sinclairs were always involved in some sort of litigation—probably because they never paid their bills. From what he could make out they always figured they’d find some sort of work-around. The problem was that their work-arounds usually made things even worse.

  But it was more than that. If there was a smart way to do something and a not-so-smart-skating-on-the-edge-of-legality way to do something, you could trust the Sinclairs to pick the latter way, the way that would land them in trouble—financial or otherwise. Frankly, he’d been glad when Rose had come home and told him they—meaning her and him—weren’t speaking to the Sinclairs anymore, because since he was in law enforcement they were always asking him for favors, favors he couldn’t grant them.

  He still got all steamed up just thinking about the time one of the Sinclairs—he didn’t remember whether it was the wife or the ex-wife—had asked him to talk to McCready, the then police chief in Hollingsworth, to see if he could get him to drop a malicious mischief charge against one of her kids. She’d figured since Sean was the chief of police in Longely he would pull some weight in Hollingsworth. The thing she wanted him to take care of wasn’t a big deal. He knew that. Just stupid kid stuff. Still, the request had galled him. He wouldn’t even do that for his own kids, let alone someone else’s.

  He took a sip of coffee and thought about the day Rose had come back from Linda Sinclair’s house. It had been a long time ago, over twenty years if he remembered correctly. God, she’d been angry. He smiled, recalling her stomping into the house. He shook his head. Her being angry had always made him laugh, which of course made her even madder, and she’d been really worked up that day.

  But when he’d asked what was going on, she’d said that he didn’t need to know, that this didn’t affect him, and he hadn’t pressed the issue. He’d had other things on his plate workwise at that moment. Plus, when Rose got something into her head, there was no changing her mind. If she didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t, and that was that.

  He’d figured it out later, though, when he’d heard Rose talking to the bank manager. And it did affect him, although Rose had argued that it didn’t. She’d said if she wanted to loan her family twenty thousand dollars from her bank account that was her business, not his. Which would have been fine with him if she hadn’t been so upset. Which was why he’d made it his business and gone and talked to Ada’s dad. That had been a mistake because he and Jeff had gotten into a shouting match and then they’d traded a couple of punches before they’d come to their senses.

  The question now was: Should he or should he not say something about the Sinclairs to his daughters? Bernie was really excited to have discovered a new branch of the family and he could understand that, considering
they didn’t have much in the way of one. Both he and Rose had been only children.

  He didn’t want to rain on Bernie’s parade, so to speak. However, he knew this wouldn’t end well. The Sinclairs were either going to involve his daughters in some scheme, or ask for a loan and not pay them, or do something else along those lines. Sean pressed the remote. The morning news came on, but he wasn’t listening. He was too busy deciding what to do. He knew that this was the kind of situation that required tact, which, unfortunately, was a quality he didn’t possess.

  Chapter 1

  Ada Sinclair walked into the Simmons’s flat at four in the afternoon on the dot. It was snowing out and a dusting of flakes clung to her hair and shoulders. “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she told the family. She gave a nervous little laugh as Bernie got up from the sofa to greet her. “I know your mother and my family haven’t seen each other in a while.” Then her voice trailed off.

  Bernie’s father stopped petting the cat on his lap for a moment. “I don’t suppose you have the money your family owes us?” he asked, raising his voice over the clatter coming from their shop below.

  “Dad,” Bernie hissed, embarrassed.

  Sean turned toward his daughter. “Just kidding,” he told Bernie, his expression belying his words, before he turned back to Ada. “But it doesn’t hurt to ask, right?”

  “Yes. Of course,” Ada Sinclair stammered. She colored slightly and nodded in the direction of the door she’d just come through. “I’m sorry. I can go if you want.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Bernie told Ada, ignoring her father’s scowl and holding out her hand for Ada’s coat and scarf. “Let me hang these up for you.”

  “You’re sure you want me to stay?” Ada asked her.

  “I’m positive,” Bernie said. She threw a warning glance in her father’s direction as she watched Ada unwind her long red scarf, take off her navy pea coat, and hand both of them to her. “It’s exciting to meet new family, or rather, not new, but family I didn’t know we had. Right, Dad?”

  “Right,” Sean told her, the word coming out reluctantly.

  “Here, Ada,” Libby said, patting the empty space on the sofa next to her. “Come sit.”

  “This is a nice place. Cozy,” Ada reflected as she plopped herself down and rearranged the pleats of her skirt. Bernie could see that her hands were shaking.

  “Coffee?” Libby asked, her voice aggressively cheery to compensate for her dad’s rudeness. “A cinnamon bun? They just came out of the oven.”

  Ada smiled in relief. “Thank you. That would be great.” She paused. “I just didn’t know who else to come to,” she confided after a few seconds had passed. “And you’re supposed to be really good at this kind of thing.”

  “You mean catering?” Bernie asked. Ada’s call had come out of the blue and she’d agreed to the meeting because she’d sounded desperate on the phone, even though her father had warned against it. That and the fact that she wanted to meet her.

  Ada shook her head. “No. The other thing you do.” Then she touched her throat and brought her hand down to her lap.

  “Oh, you mean the detective thing,” Bernie said as she watched the snow outside thicken and swirl. The forecast had called for two to four inches. She hoped it was closer to two. People tended to go straight home instead of stopping at A Taste of Heaven to pick up dinner when the weather was bad.

  “I hate New Year’s Eve,” Ada suddenly said with a vehemence that surprised Libby and Bernie.

  “I’m not a big fan, either,” Libby replied, not sure where the conversation was going. She smiled sympathetically. “I don’t really like big parties.”

  “My father died on New Year’s Eve,” Ada declared.

  “Well, that would do it,” Libby told her, immediately wishing she could retract the words coming out of her mouth. Talk about insensitive, but in her defense, she’d been taken by surprise.

  “I figured you knew,” Ada said, looking from one sister to the other.

  Both Libby and Bernie shook their heads.

  “Sorry,” Bernie said. “We didn’t.”

  “Your father didn’t tell you?”

  Libby and Bernie looked at their dad, who looked back at them defiantly.

  “I forgot,” he told them.

  “There were articles in the Sunset Gazette,” Ada said as she twisted the silver and turquoise ring on her forefinger around and around.

  “We don’t normally see that paper,” Libby informed her.

  “Ten years ago,” Ada continued as if Libby hadn’t spoken. “It happened ten years ago in Hollingsworth.” Hollingsworth was two towns away. “We lived there then.” She tittered. “I don’t know why I said that because we still do.” She looked at Sean as if she expected him to contradict her. But he didn’t. He continued petting Cindy. Ada turned back to Libby and Bernie. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

  “It’s possible,” Bernie said. “But I’m not really sure what you want us to do. You didn’t say on the phone. You just said something about hiring us for an event.”

  Ada poured cream into her coffee and stirred in a teaspoon of raw sugar. “It’s simple,” she said.

  Somehow Bernie doubted that. It never was in her experience. But she didn’t say that. Instead, as Bernie watched Ada, she thought about what her dad had said about Ada’s family and why her mother had severed ties with them.

  Okay, she could see why her mother had done what she had done but that had happened a long time ago. It had nothing to do with Ada Sinclair. Bernie had never gone along with the sins of the father visited on the son philosophy. It was so Old Testament.

  “So,” Bernie said after Ada had taken a sip of her coffee and a bite of her bun, “tell me why you came.”

  Ada carefully put her mug back on the tray sitting on the coffee table. She took a deep breath and let it out. Libby leaned over and patted Ada’s hands. Ada nodded her thanks. “This is hard,” she said.

  “So is sticking to your word,” Sean observed.

  Bernie glared at him. “Dad, didn’t you say something about taking a nap?”

  “Oh, a nap,” Sean repeated. “How could I have forgotten?” And he brushed the crumbs off his lap and pushed back his chair. Cindy meowed and jumped down to the floor as he stood up. “If you’ll excuse me,” Sean said.

  The three women watched as Sean stalked into his bedroom, the cat padding after him, and slammed the door behind them. A moment later, the sounds of the radio drifted out of his bedroom.

  Ada bit her lip. “Maybe I should go,” she suggested. “I don’t want to be the cause of a family argument.”

  Bernie shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. My dad isn’t feeling well,” she lied. She pointed to her forehead. “Sinus headache. It makes him cranky.”

  “Are you sure?” Ada asked.

  “I’m positive,” Bernie said firmly. She’d just found a whole new family branch and she was damned if she wasn’t going to put the best possible foot forward.

  “As you were saying,” Libby prompted before Ada could say anything else.

  Ada took another deep breath and began again. “Like I told you, my father died ten years ago, on New Year’s Eve.”

  “That must have been terrible,” Libby sympathized, making up for her previous comment.

  “You have no idea.” Ada stopped again. She took a sip of coffee to fortify herself and continued. “My father died from an overdose of pain medication—at least that’s what the police said—and, coincidentally, his partner, Joel Grover, died in an automobile accident the next day.”

  “But you didn’t think that’s what happened?” Bernie surmised from Ada’s tone of voice.

  “No, I didn’t,” Ada said. “A couple of days after Mr. Grover died I called the police. I spoke to a Bill McCready.” Bernie and Libby exchanged looks. Their dad knew him. Ada cleared her throat and the sisters turned their attention back to her. “I told him that I thought my dad’s business partner had poisoned
my dad and then killed himself the next day because he felt guilty about what he had done.”

  Bernie raised an eyebrow.

  “See,” Ada said, pointing at Bernie.

  “See what?” Bernie asked.

  “Your expression. McCready thought that too.”

  “He thought what?” Libby asked, although she had a pretty good idea what Ada was going to say.

  “That I was this crazy twelve-year-old girl.” Ada frowned at the memory, as she blinked the tears away.

  “Well, I could see where your statement would have given him pause,” Bernie allowed, trying to be diplomatic. “That’s a pretty big leap.”

  “Did McCready tell you you were crazy?” Libby asked. She remembered him as being a pretty outspoken guy.

  “No. He didn’t. He humored me, which was worse. I could tell he thought I was bonkers, though.” Ada held out her hands, spread her fingers out, and stared at them, seemingly lost in thought.

  “What happened next?” Libby asked Ada, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice after another minute had passed without Ada saying anything. She felt guilty about feeling that way, especially since Ada was so obviously upset, but it was getting late and she and Bernie had to be down in the store for the evening rush in half an hour max. Even if the weather was bad and there were fewer people than normal in there, they still had to man the register and help wait on people. Besides, her sister was more invested in this whole new-family thing than she was.

  Ada startled and looked up. “Sorry. I was thinking about that night. Nothing’s been the same since.”

  “I bet,” Bernie said, leaning forward to show her support.

  “McCready,” Libby prompted.

  “Right.” Ada shook her head as if to clear it. “He came over to my house and talked to my mom, Linda.” Ada shook her head at the memory. “Boy, let me tell you, she was really, really pissed when she heard what I’d done.”