A Catered Fourth of July Page 4

  “Which was?” Bernie asked after a minute had gone by.

  Her father didn’t answer. He seemed lost in thought.

  Clyde took up the narrative. “A group of our ‘upstanding’ citizens,” he bracketed the word upstanding with his fingers, “took it upon themselves to teach Clemson a lesson. Fortunately, your daddy got there before the beating had gone too far.”

  Bernie ate another deviled egg. She’d used a little tarragon in them and decided the herb was a good fit. “So what happened?”

  Sean straightened up. His expression was grim. “What happened was that I took everyone into custody and charged them, but the judge let them go. The DA wouldn’t prosecute. The case never even went before the grand jury.”

  “After he got out of the hospital, Clemson moved out of town,” Clyde said.

  “Understandable,” Libby commented.

  “Very. Last I heard he was out in Southern California. I don’t think he ever got over what happened to him.” Sean took another sip of lemonade and carefully put the glass down on the table. “Three months later we caught the culprit, one Pete Morrelli, by accident. I think he served a year in jail. At most. And that as they say, is that.”

  The room was silent for a moment as Libby and Bernie thought about the story their dad and Clyde had just told them.

  “I think Marvin is going to be tarred with this forever,” Libby said, breaking the silence.

  She helped herself to a second helping of watermelon and feta salad. Somehow, given the events of the day she hadn’t expected to be hungry. But she was. She was starving. Embarrassingly so. She’d already had two servings of fried chicken and a couple glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade.

  “Not if we find the person who did it,” Sean said.

  “Yeah,” Clyde agreed. “You’re going to need a name to hang this on.”

  “And we’ll get one,” Bernie said, trying to buck up her sister. “You can count on that.”

  “How’s he doing?” Sean knew in Marvin’s situation he wouldn’t be doing well.

  Libby put her fork down. Suddenly she felt guilty about eating. “He’s distraught. When I picked him up at the police station, he didn’t even want to come over and have anything to eat. He wanted to go straight home.”

  “He didn’t even want any fruit tart?” Sean asked.

  Libby shook her head. “Nothing. He said he couldn’t eat a bite. He’d throw up if he did.”

  Sean downed another piece of the blueberry and strawberry tart his girls had made. The flaky crust, almond cream, blueberries, and strawberries lightly dusted with cardamom and sugar were an especially good combination. “He’s worse off than I thought.” Marvin would do anything for a piece of Libby’s fruit tarts. “Do you think I should call him? Reassure him a little?”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Libby told him.

  Clyde put his fork down and frowned. “I have a feeling things might be getting a whole lot worse for Marvin.”

  Libby paled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the DA is talking about charging Marvin with manslaughter.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Libby cried out.

  Clyde looked grave. “But true.”

  “How can they do that?” Libby demanded.

  Instead of answering, Clyde moved a small piece of pastry around on his plate with his fork.

  Libby crossed her arms, tucked her hands underneath her armpits, and leaned forward. “Well? Tell me.”

  “You’re not going to like it,” Clyde said.

  “Probably not,” Sean said quietly. “But we need to hear it, anyway.”

  Clyde rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat. “Okay then. Here goes. Someone put real shot into the musket, overloaded it, and then plugged the barrel up with mud.”

  “So I was right,” Bernie muttered.

  Clyde nodded toward her. “Indeed you were. That’s why the thing exploded the way it did.”

  “Meaning,” Sean said, “that this was no accident.”

  “That’s definitely the thinking at this point.” Clyde rubbed his hands together again. “Unfortunately for Marvin, he was the person in charge of the weapons. He got them from the costume store. He put them in the shed. He put the powder in them. He could have handed the musket to Jack Devlin.”

  “But he didn’t,” Libby cried. “He already said he didn’t, right Bernie?”

  Bernie nodded.

  “Why did anyone have to hand Jack Devlin that musket, anyway?” Libby demanded. “Why couldn’t he have just taken it himself?”

  “Okay. Let’s assume you’re right,” Clyde allowed. Libby started to speak but Clyde put up a hand to forestall her. “You’re saying that this was just bad luck? That no one was the target?”

  “Yes,” Libby said defiantly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “And Marvin didn’t want to kill or cause grievous bodily harm to Devlin.”

  Libby looked at Clyde as if he’d lost his mind. “Why would he possibly want to do that?”

  “Because of the argument he had with Devlin.”

  “What are you talking about?” Libby asked.

  Clyde leaned forward. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Obviously not,” Bernie put in.

  “What was the argument about?” Libby asked.

  “Evidently, Marvin backed into Devlin’s car at Trader Joe’s and Devlin called him a moron and a menace and said he shouldn’t be on the road.”

  Libby’s eyes widened. “That’s it? That’s all the fight was about?”

  Clyde shrugged. “Allegedly.”

  “That’s absurd,” Libby said.

  “I agree,” Clyde replied. “But that seems to be enough for the DA. According to him, Marvin has the motive, means, and the opportunity. The golden threesome of law enforcement.”

  “Jeez,” Bernie said. “Talk about lame.”

  “Marvin said the shed wasn’t locked,” Libby protested. “Anyone could have come in and fooled around with one of the guns.”

  “I know,” Clyde agreed.

  “Jack Devlin had lots of enemies and most of them had lots better reasons to dislike Devlin than an argument over a fender bender. Who would kill someone over something like that?” Libby protested. “You’d have to be psychotic and Marvin certainly isn’t.”

  “I’m right with you,” Clyde said. “However, the problem is that Rick Evans is bringing lots of pressure on the DA. He wants a quick closure on this and Marvin is the easy candidate. Why go out and look for a new bird when you already have one in your hand?”

  “Why is the DA listening to him?” Sean asked.

  “Glad you asked that.” Clyde leaned back in his seat. “Word is that Rick Evans is going to be the next mayor of Longely.”

  “Great,” Bernie muttered. “Just what this town needs. A moron for a mayor.”

  “Always a good thing to be on the right side of the powers that be,” Sean commented.

  “A lesson you never learned,” Clyde said.

  Sean smiled. “Nope. Never did.”

  “Otherwise you would still be the chief of police.”

  Sean leaned over and took a brownie off the plate in the center of the table. “The price wasn’t worth it.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Libby agreed. “At least from what you tell me.”

  “It wasn’t,” Sean assured her.

  Libby nodded and went back to talking about Marvin’s situation. “Does the DA know that Rick Evans has a much better motive for wanting Jack Devlin out of the way? After all, he did find Devlin fooling around with his wife Gail two months ago. Or was it three?”

  “Three,” Bernie promptly answered. “Bree Nottingham came in and told me.”

  Clyde downed the rest of his lemonade. “In answer to your question, yes the DA does know. As a matter of fact, Evans went out of his way to tell the DA he didn’t care about his wife screwing around. It was fine with him. He and Gail have an open marriage. Or so he says.”


  Sean snorted. “I wonder what Rose would have said if I had suggested that to her?”

  “About the same thing as my darling Clara. I’d definitely be sleeping on the sofa,” Clyde said.

  “But they haven’t charged Marvin yet, have they?” Libby asked, interrupting.

  Clyde shook his head. “No, they haven’t. But like I said they’re definitely thinking about it.”

  “Thank God for small favors,” Libby replied. “At least that gives us some time to find out who the responsible party is.”

  “But not a lot,” Clyde warned.

  “We’re not going to need a lot,” Bernie said.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Sean said.

  “Why are you saying that?” Libby asked him.

  “Because there are a lot of people, male and female, who didn’t like Jack Devlin,” Sean replied.

  “You can say that again,” Clyde said as he leaned over and snagged himself a mint chocolate chip brownie. “I’d say you’ve got at least half a town’s worth.”

  Sean grinned. “I think maybe we can narrow that down a bit.”

  Chapter 6

  As Libby and Bernie pulled into RJ’s parking lot they could hear the sound of fireworks going off in Cedar Bay Park.

  “Nice night for it,” Bernie commented wistfully as a rocket exploded in the dark, sending down showers of white lights. She loved fireworks and was sorry they were missing them, unlike Libby who couldn’t have cared less. Bernie looked around for Marvin’s vehicle and didn’t see it. In fact, aside from Brandon’s truck, they were the only other vehicle in the place. Strange.

  Libby bit her lip. “I wonder where Marvin is?”

  “He’ll be along soon,” Bernie said as she got out of the van.

  “I’m not so sure,” Libby replied, shutting the van door behind her. “We should have picked him up.”

  “You worry too much, Libby. He’ll be here.” Bernie looked at her watch. “We’re five minutes early.”

  Libby shook her head and walked inside. It was all very well for her sister to tell her not to worry, but it had taken all her powers of persuasion to get Marvin to come to RJ’s. She just hoped he hadn’t changed his mind.

  When he arrived five minutes later, Libby heaved a sigh of relief.

  “See,” Bernie said. “Told ya.”

  He’s moving like an old man, Libby thought as she watched Marvin walk across the floor. She patted the stool between her and Bernie. “Sit here.”

  “Yeah. We saved you a place, seeing as it’s so crowded and all,” Bernie cracked.

  Despite himself, Marvin smiled. “I’ve never seen the place this empty.” They were the only people in the place.

  “I think the word is dead,” Brandon replied. “Everyone’s probably watching the fireworks display.”

  “And talking about what happened this afternoon,” Marvin reflected gloomily.

  Brandon reached under the counter, came up with a bag of pretzels, and refilled the bowl sitting between Libby and Marvin. “Nothing like a murder to inspire communal bonding.”

  Marvin flinched. “We don’t know that it was a murder,” he protested. “It could have been an accident.”

  Brandon turned and got a bottle of McClelland’s off the shelf. “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  Brandon got a glass out. “Glad I missed it.”

  “I wished I had,” Marvin said.

  “I bet you do.”

  “A good time was definitely not had by all,” Bernie said.

  “Certainly not by Jack Devlin.” Brandon poured Marvin a shot of the single malt Scotch and put it down in front of him.

  “His face . . .” Marvin’s voice trailed off. He shuddered at the memory.

  Brandon indicated the glass in front of Marvin. “On the house.” When Marvin didn’t pick up the glass, Brandon ordered, “Drink it.”

  “No thanks,” Marvin said. “I don’t do hard liquor.”

  “Yes, you do. You drink vodka,” Bernie pointed out. “That’s the same thing.”

  “No. It’s different,” Marvin said.

  Brandon pushed the glass closer to Marvin. “Seriously, take it. You look like crap.”

  Marvin raised an eyebrow. “And this is going to help?”

  “Well, it’s certainly not going to hurt,” Brandon retorted.

  Marvin sat there for a moment deciding. “What the hell,” he finally said. “You’re right. It can’t hurt.” He took a sip and then he took another. “Not bad,” he allowed.

  “Not bad?” Brandon squawked. “This stuff is top of the line.”

  “How come you never give anything like that to me?” Bernie asked.

  Brandon laughed. “Because I give you me instead.”

  Bernie rolled her eyes. “Jeez. Talk about overwhelming ego.”

  “Then how about because you don’t like Scotch. How’s that for a reason?”

  “That would work,” Bernie acknowledged.

  “Anyway, Marvin has had a tough afternoon. He deserves something good,” Brandon said as he watched Marvin drain the glass.

  Marvin hiccupped twice.

  “That stuff is meant to be sipped,” Brandon told him.

  Marvin hiccupped again. “Sorry. Very rude of me. I promise I’ll sip the next one.” He slapped the palm of his hand on the bar. “Give me another, my good man.”

  Brandon shot Libby a questioning look.

  “Only if I’m driving,” she told him.

  “If you insist,” Marvin said, putting on a sorrowful face. “Drive if you want. I don’t care.” He let out a theatrical sigh. “Never mind that this might be the last time I get to drive my car. I don’t think you can drive if you’re in jail.”

  Bernie laughed. “Marvin the drama queen. Who would have thought?”

  Marvin’s mouth turned down. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe you’re saying something like that at a time like this.”

  “That’s precisely my point,” Bernie told him.

  Marvin shook his head. “Which is what?”

  “That you’re exaggerating.”

  Marvin uncrossed his arms, turned, and faced her. “Me, exaggerate?”His voice rose a notch. “Exaggerate? Are you kidding me? They’re going to arrest me. I’ve never even gotten a traffic ticket. Nothing my whole life and now this. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a nightmare. No. It is a nightmare.”

  “Calm down,” Libby told him. “They’re not going to arrest you.”

  “They might. In fact, they probably will. My horoscope said this was going to be a bad day. I should never have gotten out of bed.”

  “You read your horoscope?” Brandon asked incredulously.

  Marvin gave him a defiant stare. “So what if I do?”

  Bernie gave Brandon a dirty look.

  His eyes widened. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Bernie ignored him and turned back to Marvin. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” she said in the best soothing voice she could manage.

  Marvin looked anything but reassured.

  “No. We’re not,” Libby echoed. “You can count on that.”

  Brandon leaned over and refilled Marvin’s glass. He then pulled two Blue Moons, took two orange slices, put them on the glass rims, and handed the drinks to Bernie and Libby. “My treat. You look as if you can use these, too.”

  “Well, I know I can,” Bernie said as she took a sip. She liked wheat beer, especially in the summer. It was light and cold and had a pleasant flavor. She liked the golden color and the small bubbles that worked their way up the glass, too. “It’s been a bad day.”

  “But not as bad as mine,” Marvin replied.

  “True enough,” Bernie said. “You win the My Day Sucketh prize.”

  Marvin took another sip of his Scotch. Libby put the plastic bowl of pretzels in front of him. He fished a couple out of the bowl. As he ate them, he realized that they were the first things he
had eaten since breakfast.

  “Did Clyde say anything to your dad about what the DA is thinking?” Marvin asked Libby.

  “No,” she lied.

  “You’re a lousy liar,” Marvin said, looking at her face. She’d developed a tic under her left eye, a sure sign she wasn’t telling the truth. “Tell me,” he insisted when she didn’t answer. “I really want to know.”

  “You don’t,” Libby replied.

  “I do,” Marvin said even though what she’d said was 100 percent correct.

  Libby ate a pretzel and had another sip of beer before answering. She noted the pretzels were the saltless kind. Not a good choice in her opinion.

  Marvin leaned forward. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Libby asked.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled. “What did Clyde say?”

  Libby sighed. She hated to be the bearer of bad news.

  “Spit it out,” he ordered.

  “Okay.” Libby looked him in the eye and told him. “Clyde said the DA was thinking of charging you. But that’s different from saying he’s going to charge you,” she added hastily, trying for upbeat and failing. “We have to remain positive here.”

  Marvin snorted.

  “Seriously,” Libby said.

  “It’s marginally different. A hair’s breath different.” He shook his head. “God, I wish I’d told my dad no.”

  Chapter 7

  Bernie raised an eyebrow.

  Libby leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “I told you. Being in the reenactment was his idea. He wanted me to do it. Said it would be good for community relations. You know, giving back to the town and all the rest of that—” Marvin almost said crap, but stopped himself—“stuff” instead.

  “Well, you can’t say it didn’t get you noticed,” Bernie said, trying to be funny and failing. “Your dad was right about that.”

  Marvin glared at her.

  Bernie backtracked. “But not in the way he had in mind, unfortunately.” She picked up her orange slice and ate it. “Sorry.” She put the rind down on her napkin. “That was out of line. I was just trying to lighten things up. Obviously, I didn’t succeed.”