A Catered Wedding Read online

  For a brief moment she’d fancied herself signing copies of The Simmons Sisters Cookbook at Barnes and Noble. And then there’d be the primetime show on the cooking channel. And naturally she and Bernie would be on the cover of Time magazine with the headline: CATERERS TO THE STARS. Or something along those lines. Well, she’d been way wrong.

  The truth was: She didn’t operate well under extreme pressure and never had. This job was keeping her up at night and all the money they were making wasn’t worth the anxiety level she was feeling. She really was a small town girl and always would be. Just the thought of what they still had to do made Libby reach for one of the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in the bag by her seat.

  “You guys want any?” she asked offering the bag to Bernie and Amber.

  They both shook their heads.

  “Suit yourself,” she said taking a bite. The hell with Atkins. She’d get back on her diet tomorrow. She needed this now to calm her nerves. Libby sighed as a piece of the bittersweet Lindt chocolate she’d used in the cookie melted in her mouth. Good choice, she told herself as she stared at the embankment she was supposed to get the van down. “I don’t know about this,” she observed.

  The van was not the most stable vehicle under the best of circumstances and this was not the best of circumstances. Libby estimated that the pitch of the hill she was supposed to drive the van down had to be about twenty degrees. Okay. Maybe it was fifteen. It didn’t matter. It was still pretty steep. She could see deep ruts in the grass where the tent people had parked their rigs, not to mention ruts on the side of the embankment made, she presumed, when the tent people had tried to get their trucks back up. Leeza would pitch a screaming fit when she saw those, Libby thought as she took another bite of her cookie. She was thinking she was glad they weren’t her fault when she became aware that Bernie was talking to her.

  “You know,” her sister was saying, “even if we get the van down the slope, I don’t think we’ll be able to get it back up. The guy from the tent company told me they almost got stuck yesterday and it’s even muddier now.”

  Libby nodded as another burst of chocolate dissolved in her mouth. “I can see that.”

  It certainly wouldn’t be good if they had to get someone to haul the van back up, that was for sure. Libby closed her eyes at the thought of Leeza’s reaction to seeing the store vehicle, with all its dings and dents and rust spots sitting by the tent, ruining the atmosphere she’d spent so much money to create. And Libby didn’t even want to think about what Bree Nottingham would say. Just the idea of it gave her a headache. She could hear Bree’s expression of pained puzzlement.

  “Surely Libby, you made alternative plans,” she was imagining Bree saying, when she became aware that Amber was moving besides her. Libby opened her eyes as Amber leaned forward, narrowed her eyes, and stared out the front windshield.

  “What do you see?” Libby asked her.

  Amber shrugged and chewed on a strand of her hair, a habit Libby detested, instead of replying.

  “Well,” Libby said, prodding her to answer.

  “I was just thinking . . .” She stopped and started again. “You know, last year there was this movie I saw where it was raining and these people were at an estate and then this killer sprang out . . .”

  Libby put her hand up. “Okay. That’s enough.”

  “But you asked,” Amber protested.

  “I know I did but I’ve been up all night, we have a full day of work to do, and it’s not even nine o’clock in the morning. I just can’t deal with serial killers right now.”

  Amber sniffed. “Fine. If that’s the way you want to be.”

  “It is,” Libby said firmly. Her request, she felt, was not unreasonable. “Don’t you ever watch anything else besides horror movies?”

  Amber giggled. “Not when my boyfriend is around.”

  Bernie grinned. “I can totally understand that.”

  Libby bit back her retort to Bernie about acting like an adult and said instead, “Come on guys. We’re running out of time. We have to concentrate.”

  “Yes we do,” Bernie replied.

  Libby watched her sister twist her ring around her finger while she thought.

  Finally she said, “I guess we could carry everything down there if we had to.”

  Libby turned and looked at her. “That would put us way behind schedule.”

  Plus, call her crazy but the idea of lugging boxes full of thousands of dollars worth of Waterford crystal and Lenox china down a slippery grass slope didn’t seem like a remotely good idea. God, she wished yet again that Leeza had allowed them to do the reception inside the house. Even a tent outside in the backyard, if that’s what you called a formal flower garden, would have been easier. But no. Leeza had been adamant. It had to be by the friggin’ creek, which Libby, if she was honest with herself, was beginning to absolutely hate.

  “I can call Stan and Googie,” Amber offered, already digging in her pocket for her cell.

  “It’ll take them almost an hour to get over here,” Libby pointed out. She sighed. It was always something. Murphy’s Law should be changed to The Catering Law. “But we could get some of the guys from the house to help.” There were enough of them around for sure. They’d still be behind, but not as behind.

  “I have a better idea,” Bernie told her.

  “What?” Libby asked reluctantly because this phrase coming from her sister always struck dread in her heart.

  “The estate is backed up to a golf course.”

  Libby nodded, not sure where her sister was going with this.

  “And golf courses have carts, right?”

  “So?”

  “So, I saw one a couple of days ago when I was down by the creek. It’s really close by. I’ll just run over and borrow it. It’ll take me two seconds. Tops. It’ll be perfect. We can offload the cartons onto the back. The cart is way lighter than the van so it shouldn’t have any problem going up and down the hill. I figure it’ll take us four trips, max.”

  “Let’s not,” Libby said.

  “Let’s,” Bernie countered.

  “We’re going to get into trouble,” Libby told her sister.

  Bernie waved her hand in the air. “It’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

  “No, I don’t.” Libby gritted her teeth. “I don’t worry nearly enough.”

  “Yes, you do,” Bernie insisted. “And you always have.”

  Libby was rummaging around for a comeback when she noticed that Bernie was bent over. “Are you all right?” she asked suddenly concerned.

  Bernie brushed the hair out of her eyes as she looked up. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m just taking my shoes off.”

  “And you’re taking your shoes off because . . .”

  “Because I can run faster.”

  This was not going well, Libby reflected. She tried a new tack, the voice of authority. After all she reasoned, it had worked for Jura with Ditas.

  “As the oldest, I forbid you to do this.” So much for that, Libby thought as Bernie made a rude noise before getting out of the van. Time to proceed to argument number two. “What you’re planning to do is illegal,” Libby protested to her sister’s back.

  Bernie turned her head. “I’m not stealing anything. I’m borrowing the cart.”

  “Somehow I always thought borrowing involved the concept of asking.”

  “I’d ask if I had time. I’m sure the people at the club would be glad to help once they knew the circumstances. Jura is probably a member.”

  Which, Libby conceded to herself, while probably true had nothing to do with the point she, Libby, was trying to make. Libby thought of one last argument.

  “How do you know the cart will still be there?” she demanded triumphantly as Bernie closed the van door.

  “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “Why should it be?”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Bernie told her.

  Libby shook her head. She couldn’t think of
anything else to say and even if she could she was pretty sure it wouldn’t make any difference because the truth was: once Bernie got an idea into her head it was impossible to dissuade her.

  “Great.” Libby said to Amber as she watched Bernie run towards the wooden post fence that separated both properties. “Just great.” Then she reached in the bag and took another cookie.

  “Is doing something like that a felony?” Amber chirped.

  “Probably,” Libby replied morosely.

  “Because one of my brother’s friends stole a golf cart and he got caught and they made him go to jail for a year. Do you think they’ll do that to Bernie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Libby envisioned the headlines. EX-POLICE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER IN JAIL. Her father would be so pleased. She could see the expression on his face now. She wondered if they’d arrest Bernie before they served the dinner or after. Hopefully it would be after so Bernie could still work. Or maybe they’d arrest her, Libby, for sistericide. Or whatever the hell the correct word was.

  Libby looked at her watch for what she knew had to be the hundredth time in the past half an hour. They were already fifteen minutes behind schedule and the clock was ticking. What would happen if Bernie didn’t come back? What if she was arrested? What if she couldn’t find a cart? A wave of panic swept through Libby. She bit into the cookie. She’d just lost ten pounds and Bernie had made her buy new clothes. Fitted ones. No more loose tee shirts for her. If she went back up to a size fourteen she was going to hold Bernie personally responsible.

  Bernie could feel the wet grass and the little rocks digging into the soles of her feet as she ran. It was uncomfortable, not to mention bad for her pedicure, but still better then ruining one of her favorite pairs of shoes. Plus, as much as Bernie hated to admit it, it was hard to run in wedges.

  She slipped under the fence that separated the Raid Estate from the Conenus Golf Club and kept going. The cart should be right under the next grove of trees. At least the cart had been there two days ago. She’d spotted it when she’d gone for a hike while Libby had been talking to Leeza. Well, it hadn’t been a hike exactly. More like a forced march. She’d just had to get away from Leeza and her demands before she said something she shouldn’t.

  Please be there, she prayed as she ran towards the trees. It would be horrible if Libby were right. She’d hear about it for the next twenty years. God, it would be just her luck to have someone bring the cart back to the clubhouse.

  Bernie stopped for a moment and surveyed the area. She didn’t see the cart. It definitely wasn’t by the maple. It had been a maple she’d seen it under, hadn’t it? Bernie chewed on her inner lip. Now that she was here she wasn’t so sure about the locale. The truth was she’d always been a little shaky in the tree identification department. Botany wasn’t her strongest subject. She looked again and let out a sigh of relief. There it was half-hidden behind what? A gum locust? Or maybe a hawthorn? Bernie shook her head at herself. Get a grip, Simmons. Forget the trees. You’re becoming like your sister: obsessive.

  As Bernie sprinted towards the cart, she remembered something else. Her heart sank. Golf carts need keys to go. How could she have forgotten that? Man oh man, she hoped the key to this one was in the ignition. Usually they left them in, at least they did in the country club at Longely. It would be just her luck to have it not be there.

  But when Bernie got up close she could see that it was. Thank God, Bernie thought as she jumped in the cart and turned the key. Nothing happened. Damn, Bernie thought. Of course. That’s why the cart was out here. Because it doesn’t run. Duh, as the kids in town would say. She tried again. Still nothing.

  This time Bernie took a deep breath and put all her energy into visualizing the cart moving. “Third time’s the charm,” Bernie said to herself. She turned the switch again. The cart moved. Yes. She pumped her arm in the air and let out a whoop. Despite what her father said about New Age gobbledygook her yoga teacher was right. Visualization does work. Bernie took off.

  The cart lurched forward. Stopped. Started again. Relax, Bernie told herself. After all, this thing was really nothing more than an overgrown lawn mower engine with seats on it. After another minute she got the hang of it. I’ll be back at the van in three minutes flat, she estimated. Actually it took Bernie five minutes because she had to remove two of the wooden cross pieces from the fence before she could get the cart through.

  “Okay, ladies,” she said to Libby and Amber as she turned the key to the off position. “I’m wet, but I’m here. Let’s go.”

  Libby and Amber jumped out of the van and ran to the back. Libby threw open both doors and began handing boxes out to Amber, who in turn handed them to Bernie who packed them in the cart. When she had gotten four in she held up her hand.

  “I think that’s enough.”

  Libby nodded her agreement as Bernie jumped back in the golf cart and Libby got into the seat next to her. Bernie started down the hill slowly, careful to go around so they avoided the steepest part of the hill. Even so, she could feel the cart wobbling slightly. When they got down they unloaded the boxes near the tent flap and went back for a second trip. And a third. And a fourth. Twenty-eight boxes later, not only was Bernie’s back hurting her, but her tee-shirt was wet. So were Amber’s and Libby’s.

  Bernie wiped away a drop of rain that had gotten into her eye. “We should have brought a couple of changes of clothes,” she said to Libby.

  Libby nodded as she removed another carton from the cart.

  “We’ll know next time,” Bernie continued.

  Libby put the carton down. “There won’t be a next time. We’re not doing this again. Not ever.”

  “At least not without some more help,” Bernie said.

  That was another problem with doing a job like this. Hire too many people and you ate up your profit margins, hire too few and you killed yourself and couldn’t do a good job. It was a fine line and hard to gauge, but in Bernie’s humble opinion Libby consistently understaffed. Which was, let’s be honest here, because her sister was cheap.

  If Libby had brought along another person they’d be further ahead and she wouldn’t be glancing at her watch every two seconds like she was doing now and making herself into a nervous wreck.

  “Come on guys,” she said to Bernie and Amber confirming what Bernie had been thinking, “let’s pick up the pace.”

  “We’re almost done,” Bernie pointed out.

  “If you want,” Amber said to Bernie, “I can go inside and start putting the table clothes and napkins out.

  “Good idea,” Bernie told her approvingly as she put a finger to her nose to stop a sneeze. Boy she hoped she wasn’t getting sick. Summer colds were the worst. “We’re lucky to have her,” she said to Libby as Amber disappeared inside the tent. In the year she’d spent working with her sister she’d come to realize how hard it was to find responsible employees.

  “Yes, we are,” Libby agreed.

  A second later she and Libby heard a bloodcurdling shriek.

  “Or maybe not,” Bernie said. “Stop it,” she yelled at Amber.

  “You’re not being funny.” Bernie turned back to Libby. “You’re right. This horror thing is getting out of hand.”

  She’d just gotten the words out of her mouth when Amber reappeared at the tent flap. She had one hand over her heart and was pointing towards the front of the tent with the other one.

  “She’s dead,” she cried.

  “Who?” Bernie cried. “Who is dead?”

  “Her.” At which point Amber took a few steps and collapsed in a heap on the wet grass.

  Chapter 4

  When Libby glanced down at Leeza Sharp her first thought was: this is a practical joke. Her second thought was: I don’t have time for this nonsense. Her third thought was: Amber and Bernie are dead meat.

  “Not funny,” she said whirling around to face Bernie. Then she saw the horrified expression on Bernie’s face and Libby’s stomach lurched. Oh, please G
od, not again, Libby prayed. Not another murder.

  Libby took another look at the body sprawled out on the floor. Leeza’s eyes were staring straight up. Her mouth was opened in an expression of surprise. An arrow was protruding from her chest. And then there was the blood. It was everywhere. On the floor. On Leeza Sharp’s no longer white robe. On her nightgown.

  No, Libby told herself. This isn’t a joke. Leeza was definitely dead. Not mostly dead. Not nearly dead. Dead dead. No doubt about that. No doubt at all. No one could survive an arrow through the heart. At least not in real life.

  Libby heard the words, “And on her wedding day too,” coming out of her mouth. What a stupid thing to say, she told herself as Bernie turned towards her. Like it would have been better if it had happened the day after. Well, in a sense it would have been because then they wouldn’t have been here.

  “Yeah,” her sister said. “She should have eloped.”

  “Bernie!”

  “Well it’s true.” Bernie tucked a curl back behind her ear. “Weddings never bring out the best in people and that goes double for Leeza.”

  “She was a pain,” Libby conceded.

  “Just a pain?” Bernie echoed. “How about annoying, vexing, and aggravating, not to mention galling and grating?”

  “Fine. She was impossible,” Libby said thinking of all the napkins in the shape of swans they’d had to fold which were now going to go to waste.

  “She was a Bridezilla stomping on everyone.”

  “Even so that’s not a reason to shoot someone in the chest with an arrow,” Libby said as she reached up and wiped the sweat off her cheeks. Why she had to sweat when she got upset was something she’d never know.

  Bernie pulled up her bra strap. The damned thing kept sliding down. “It’s as good a reason as any,” she noted. There was something about that arrow. Now what the hell was it? She almost had it in her grasp when Amber stepped back inside the tent and the thought vanished.

  While Amber still looked a little shaky, Bernie noticed that she’d managed to reapply her lipstick and fix her hair. For the photographers? Bernie thought uncharitably as Amber ran up to her. Because they’d certainly be here as soon as the word got out. She could see the headline in the New York Post now. SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND WHO’S TO BLAME? Or SIMMONS SISTERS CATER ANOTHER SLAY. Bernie shook her head to clear it. She didn’t want to think about the last time she and Libby had been involved in something like this. The press had pestered them for weeks.