A Catered Mother's Day Page 13

  Ryan scowled, but he did what Sean asked.

  Libby got up, went to the bathroom, got two towels, and offered them to the boys. “Here,” she said. “Dry yourselves off. Now, what’s this all about?” she asked when they were done.

  “We found something,” Matt repeated. “Something important.”

  “And what would that be?” Sean asked skeptically.

  “It’s in these e-mails. Lisa, my mom’s partner, is telling her something bad is going to happen if she doesn’t go along with the deal. That’s important, right?”

  “It could be,” Sean conceded.

  Matt unzipped the backpack he was carrying, took out a sheaf of papers, walked over, and handed them to Bernie. “I figure that Lisa killed that guy and tried to pin it on my mom. Just read these and you’ll see why I’m saying that.”

  “You will,” Ryan said. “For sure. No question about it.”

  Bernie looked at the papers in her hand. As far as she could tell they were printouts of Ellen Hadley’s e-mail correspondence. “How did you get these?” she asked Matt.

  Matt and Ryan looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Seriously,” Bernie said.

  “It was easy,” Matt replied. “We just logged in and printed them out.”

  “So your mom’s account isn’t password protected?” Libby asked.

  “No. Yes.” Matt and Ryan spoke simultaneously.

  “Which is it?” Bernie asked them.

  “It isn’t,” Matt said.

  Bernie looked at Ryan. “Is it?” she inquired.

  Ryan bit his lip. He looked down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered.

  “That’s what I thought,” Bernie said. “So you hacked in? Answer me,” she demanded when Ryan didn’t reply.

  “More or less,” Ryan conceded.

  Libby leaned forward. “Is it more or less?”

  “More,” Ryan conceded.

  “Are we in trouble?” Matt asked. “Are you going to tell our mom?”

  “No, on both counts,” Bernie said, the answer coming out without her thinking about it. As far as she was concerned, that was the least of Ellen’s problems at the moment. “So which one of you did it?”

  Ryan and Matt exchanged more glances.

  Ryan raised his hand. “I did.”

  “Are you good?” Bernie asked.

  A small smile played around the corners of Ryan’s mouth. “Very,” he said proudly.

  “Bernie,” Libby cried. She saw where this was going.

  Bernie ignored her and focused her attention on Ryan.

  “Why do you want to know?” Ryan asked.

  Bernie shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Ryan yanked up his shorts again. “I can get into pretty much anything.”

  Bernie smiled. “Good to know. The way things are going, we may need your services.”

  “Seriously?” Matt asked.

  “I was kidding,” Bernie said.

  “No you weren’t,” Ryan replied.

  “You’re right. I wasn’t,” Bernie said.

  “Sweet,” Ryan said, beaming.

  “Excellent,” Matt replied. “You know we’d do anything for Mom.”

  “You should probably tell her that,” Bernie said.

  “Bernie,” Libby repeated, more loudly this time.

  This time Bernie turned and faced her sister. “Why not?” she said to Libby. “I figure we can use all the help we can get.”

  It was not a statement Libby could dispute.

  Matt interrupted. “Excuse me.”

  Both Bernie and Libby looked at him. He shuffled his feet.

  “I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” he said.

  “But?” Libby asked.

  “I was just wondering if you had any more of that stuff you gave us the last time. It was so good.”

  “Stuff?” Bernie asked.

  “Food.”

  Libby grinned. “I think we can find something for you guys. Do you want brownies, blondies, or lemon squares?”

  “We’ll take whatever you want to give us,” Matt said.

  “Everything my mom bakes tastes like dog biscuits,” Ryan said as Libby got up. “And Dad made this awful spaghetti with green globs in it for dinner. It was disgusting. Nobody could eat it, not even Dad.”

  “You mean pesto?” Bernie asked.

  “Yeah,” Ryan said. “What’s wrong with mac ’n cheese?”

  Bernie chuckled as she watched them go out the door. She could hear them on the stairs as she called Ellen. Ellen didn’t pick up. She texted her. No response. Ellen was certainly back by now.

  “Answer,” she muttered under her breath before she left her a message. She was beginning to get seriously annoyed. And worried. Bernie just hoped that Ellen hadn’t done anything stupid, or stupider, than she already had.

  Bernie and Sean were reading through Ellen Hadley’s e-mails to Lisa when Libby came up twenty minutes later bearing a pitcher of iced mint tea made with real mint, a plate of thin-sliced chocolate chip banana bread, plus a saucer of milk for Cindy.

  “What did you give the kids?” Bernie asked as Libby set the tray down on the coffee table and put the saucer on the floor. Cindy emerged from the bedroom, ran over, and started drinking. Evidently she’d forgiven the boys’ interruption.

  “I boxed up eight brownies, three lemon squares, and the five blondies we had left from this morning. I told them to save some for Ethan, but I’m betting they’ll be gone before they get home.”

  Bernie thought of what they’d eaten when they’d come over the last time. “I’d say that’s a good bet,” she agreed, while Libby poured everyone a glass of tea and passed around the banana bread.

  “So what did you find?” Libby asked after she sat down.

  Sean took a sip of his tea, then put it down on the side table. “Let me just say that I think the boys have exaggerated somewhat.” He held out the sheaf of papers to Libby. “Here—take a look.”

  Libby took them and began reading. The e-mails went from Ellen saying she didn’t think that renting another work space was such a good idea, to her saying she’d be damned if she was going to be run out of her own business. For her part, Lisa said she wasn’t going to be held back by someone like Ellen and it was her business as much as Ellen’s, a fact that Ellen disagreed with in no uncertain terms.

  I INVENTED THE RECIPES. I NAMED THE BUSINESS. ME. NOT YOU.

  Lisa responded with STOP LISTENING TO YOUR HUSBAND. HE’S DEAD WEIGHT.

  Ellen wrote back WHAT ABOUT YOURS?

  The last three e-mails had been in capital letters.

  “Hardly a basis to say that Lisa is our killer,” Libby said. “Besides”—she closed her eyes, trying to picture Lisa Stone—“isn’t she a little wisp of a thing?”

  “Yeah,” Bernie said. “If she weighs a hundred pounds she weighs a lot. But look at the fifth e-mail in. The one that begins ‘I see no need . . .’ ”

  Libby found it and read it. “ ‘Lisa, I see no need to hire anyone to sell our products. I think we can do that ourselves. ’” She put the paper back. “Manny? Is that who you think she’s referring to?”

  “I’m thinking yes.”

  Libby checked the date on the e-mail. It was six months ago. “So Lisa was the one who hired him, not Ellen?”

  “So it would seem from the e-mails,” Bernie said. “But that still doesn’t mean Ellen didn’t know who it was when she saw Manny lying on the bed.”

  Libby waved her hand around. “Of course she did. Even if she didn’t recognize him from back in the day, even if she knew him by a different name, she had to have known who he was. He was delivering orders for them, for heaven’s sake. At least, that’s what it says here,” and she nodded at the papers Matt had given her.

  Bernie searched for her phone and called Ellen again. The phone rang for a while before it went to voice mail. “Call me,” Bernie said. “Call me whenever you get this message.” Then she hung up.
>
  “Maybe she really doesn’t want to talk to you,” Libby observed.

  “I guess not,” Bernie said. “She’s probably too upset.”

  “Either that or she needs time to come up with a really good explanation.”

  Bernie sighed. She was thinking it, but she wasn’t going to say it. “We should talk to Lisa Stone,” she said instead.

  “Yes, we should,” Sean agreed. “What do we know about her anyway?”

  Libby thought for a moment. Then she said, “We know that she never comes into the shop.”

  “Besides that,” Sean said.

  “We know that she’s rich. Or rather that her husband is,” Bernie added.

  “And that they moved back here from the city about five . . .”

  “Ten,” Bernie corrected.

  “Fine, ten years ago to be with Lisa’s mom.”

  Sean snapped his fingers. “Mindy Wood. She died in a car accident. A hit-and-run. They never found out who did it.”

  “I remember it being very sad,” said Bernie. She had a vague recollection of the event. “We also know that the Stones have two young children.”

  “What does the husband do?” Sean asked.

  “Jeremy? I heard he’s in real estate,” Bernie replied. “Though I’m not really sure exactly what he does in it. I know Lisa used to do some sort of public relations stuff for one of the big firms in the city.”

  “Are Lisa and Ellen good friends?” Sean asked.

  “Wrong tense. They were before they went into business with each other,” Bernie answered.

  Sean grunted. “Not an unusual situation.”

  “Maybe she knows where Ellen is,” Bernie said.

  “Ellen will be in touch,” Libby reassured her.

  “I know,” Bernie replied. “I just hope she hasn’t done anything else stupid.”

  “Like what?” Libby asked.

  Bernie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. She’s just so impulsive.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Libby said.

  “Probably,” Bernie replied, hoping that what her sister was saying was true.

  Bernie’s nervousness morphed into restlessness. She began tapping her fingers on her leg. She wanted to call Lisa, but she didn’t have her phone number, or her husband’s for that matter, and there was no listed house number. Not that she was surprised. Landlines were becoming a thing of the past.

  She turned to Libby. “How about going for a ride?” she asked.

  “Now?” Libby’s voice rose. She was ready to go to bed.

  “Of course now. Don’t you want to hear what Lisa has to say?”

  “I do—tomorrow. She’s probably getting ready to go to sleep. Like all sensible people,” Libby couldn’t resist adding. “Anyway, this isn’t about Lisa, is it? It’s about Ellen. I thought we agreed she’s going to be fine.”

  Bernie made a face. “We did, but I’d just like to make sure she’s okay. It’s not like Ellen to be out of touch like this.”

  “Maybe the police have finally picked her up,” Libby suggested.

  “Clyde would have let us know,” Bernie countered.

  “Then maybe she lost her phone. Or it lost power. Or how’s this? Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

  Sean leaned forward. “Bernie, if you’re really that concerned, I can take you,” he said.

  Libby looked from her sister to her dad and back again. No way was her father driving at night in the rain. “I’ll go,” she grumbled. “But I think it’s going to be a waste of time.”

  As it turned out, Libby was right. They drove by Ellen’s house, the Riverview, RJ’s, and Lisa’s house for good measure, as well as Skylar Park, but they didn’t spot Ellen’s car anywhere. But at least we tried, Bernie reasoned as they drove home with the raindrops pelting the windshield and the wind tossing the magnolia blossoms onto the ground.

  Chapter 23

  It was one o’clock in the afternoon the following day when Bernie and Libby left A Little Taste of Heaven and set out for Lisa Stone’s house. The sisters had intended on getting an earlier start, but the dishwasher had backed up and they’d had to wait for the plumber to come, as well as deal with a rush order for several strawberry cream pies. The good news was that it had finally stopped raining, leaving the streets and the grass glistening. The bad news was that no one had heard from Ellen. Or if they had, they weren’t telling Bernie.

  On the way to Lisa Stone’s house, Bernie spotted a rainbow over the Hudson River. “Look,” she said, pointing at it.

  “That’s nice.” Libby barely glanced at it as she kept driving. She just wanted to get this interview with Lisa Stone over with and get back to the shop. She had too much to do.

  Ten minutes later, Libby pulled onto the winding road that led to Lisa Stone’s residence. Sited on top of Fortescue Hill, the house had been built in the forties and was, as the real estate people liked to say, “loaded with charm.” It was fieldstone on the bottom and wood on top, with window boxes filled with pansies and greenery on the lower levels. A trellis with deep red climbing roses ran up in a narrow band on the left side of the house.

  “Nice,” Bernie said as they drove up to the house past banks of daylilies and ferns.

  “If you care for perfection,” Libby said sourly.

  She did not do well on three hours’ worth of sleep. She parked as close to the house as possible before getting out and climbing the stairs. Bernie joined her a moment later. Inside they could hear the sound of a Spanish soap opera on the television. Bernie rang the doorbell. A moment later, a heavyset Hispanic-looking woman dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and sneakers came to the door. She was holding a dust rag in one hand and a bottle of furniture polish in the other.

  “Yes?” she asked in heavily accented English. When Bernie explained what she wanted she shook her head and replied that neither Mr. or Mrs. Stone was here.

  “And Ellen?” Bernie asked. “Ellen Hadley?”

  The woman looked at her for a moment. Then said, “Who this?”

  “Mrs. Stone’s business partner,” Bernie replied.

  “Ah,” the woman said, her expression revealing nothing. “Claro.”

  “Claro what?” Bernie asked.

  The woman looked at her as if she didn’t understand what Bernie was saying, although Bernie had a feeling that she did.

  “Ellen Hadley está aquí?” Bernie asked, using her high school Spanish.

  The woman shrugged her shoulders.

  “Es importante,” Bernie said. The feeling she had about this woman became a conviction. Not only did this woman understand English, she knew something about Ellen Hadley. Bernie was positive of it.

  “I go now,” the woman said, but she didn’t move. Instead she smiled and looked Bernie up and down.

  “Un momento,” Bernie told her, having gotten what the woman wanted.

  The woman crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

  Bernie turned to Libby. “How much money do you have on you?”

  Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “How much?”

  “A couple of hundred.”

  Bernie held out her hand. “Give me a hundred.”

  “Are you kidding me? No.”

  “I’ll pay it back,” Bernie said. She raised her hand. “I swear.”

  “Use your own money.”

  “I forgot my wallet in the flat.”

  Libby made a face. “How convenient.”

  “Please,” Bernie begged her sister, as the woman in the doorway looked with interest at the scene unfolding on the doorstep.

  “All I can say is you’d better give this back to me,” Libby said as she dug into her wallet and handed Bernie five twenty-dollar bills.

  “Ellen Hadley está aquí?” Bernie asked again, holding out a twenty-dollar bill.

  The woman thought for a moment. Then she switched the furniture polish to her left hand, held out her right hand, and said in unaccented English, “
I’ll take the five twenties if you please, and by the way, your Spanish is terrible. It’s estuvo not está. That is if you’re talking about the past tense, which I take it you are.”

  Bernie handed the money over. “Everyone’s a comedian.”

  The woman counted it and slipped it in her jeans pocket. “Thank you.”

  Now it was Bernie’s turn to cross her arms over her chest and wait for the woman to begin. After a minute she did.

  She said, “Your friend was here about three in the morning. She rang the bell and woke everyone up. There was this big fight between Mr. and Mrs. Stone and your friend.”

  Bernie uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. “What were they saying? What was it about?”

  The woman pointed to the garage. “I live on the second floor, so I didn’t get most of it, although they did wake me up with their shouting. The only thing I did hear was Ellen yelling something about Manny’s wife and that she knew that this would happen, and Mr. Stone was screaming it was none of Ellen Hadley’s business, and Mrs. Stone was crying and telling everyone to calm down. Then the boys came down and wanted to know what was going on, and Mrs. Stone took them off to bed, and that was the end of that.”

  “And afterward?” Libby asked.

  “I’m not sure,” the woman said. “I heard the front door to the house slam, and then I heard a car take off. I presume it was Ellen Hadley’s. Then nothing.” She shrugged. “I turned over and went back to sleep.”

  “Are you sure you heard right about Manny’s wife?” Libby asked her.

  The woman nodded. “Pretty sure. It’s not as if I was right there. And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my work before the señora of the house returns.” This time she turned and went inside.

  Chapter 24

  “Manny married,” Bernie mused out loud as she and Libby climbed back into Mathilda.

  “Interesting.” Bernie closed the van door. It stuck a little and she reminded herself to get that taken care of. “Not that there’s any reason he shouldn’t be. Maybe that’s why he came back after all these years.”

  “If that woman is telling the truth,” Libby said.

  “Why shouldn’t she be?”

  Libby snorted. “Because she lied.”