A Catered Fourth of July Page 8

  “I think someone took a shot at me.”

  “Ha-ha. So not funny,” Bernie told him.

  “I’m not kidding,” Marvin said.

  Chapter 11

  Bernie came to a dead halt in the road. She figured maybe she’d heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

  “I said someone shot at me,” Marvin repeated.

  Bernie could hear the panic in his voice. She leaned against an oak tree. The heat was making her light-headed. “What makes you think that?”

  “There’s a bullet hole in my windshield,” he said, his tone turning sharp, “that’s why I think that.”

  “Were you in the car at the time?” Bernie asked.

  “No. I’d just gotten out.”

  “Did you see who did it?”

  Marvin coughed. “No.”

  “Maybe it was an accident,” Bernie said, straining to find a credible explanation for what had just occurred.

  “How could it be an accident?” Marvin demanded.

  “Someone might have been firing at a target and missed. Bullets can travel a long way.” She couldn’t fathom why someone would want to shoot at Marvin. She could understand Jack Devlin being killed, but Marvin? To her knowledge, he had no enemies. “Where were you when this happened?”

  “Where I am now. At the funeral home.”

  “Very efficient of whoever it was,” Bernie noted.

  “I thought so.”

  Bernie was silent for a moment as she pictured the place. The odds of a bullet accidentally finding its way into Marvin’s windshield from the surrounding area seemed unlikely, to say the very least. The area was mostly private housing with retail establishments running down a main road. Although there was a gun range in Longely, it was nowhere near the funeral home. She took another sip of water. Could someone have fired from the road? From the parking lot? Maybe whoever took the shot was aiming at someone else. She would like to believe that.

  “What car were you driving?” Bernie asked.

  “The Taurus. Why?”

  “That car is extremely common. Maybe someone mistook you for someone else.”

  “I hope so.” But Marvin didn’t sound convinced.

  She switched her cell phone to her other ear. “When did this happen?”

  “Not that long ago.”

  Bernie fought an impulse to sit down under the tree. She should have had something more than a blueberry tart to eat before she left the shop. She should have had the Parma ham, caramelized onion, Fontina cheese, and arugula sandwich that she had wanted. She couldn’t go without eating actual food anymore. If she did, she’d get the shakes.

  “How long is not that long ago?”

  “About an hour,” he answered.

  “An hour?” Bernie fanned herself with her hand.

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “Why did you wait to call?”

  “Because I was tied up with the police. They’re finishing up now.”

  “When did they get there?”

  “Almost immediately. Our tax dollars at work.”

  “That was fast,” Bernie observed.

  “They said they were in the neighborhood.”

  “Interesting,” Bernie muttered.

  “What did you say? I didn’t get that.”

  “I just said they responded really fast.” She wondered if the Longely PD was keeping an eye on Marvin.

  “They said they were investigating a shoplifting complaint at Target,” Marvin explained. The store was just down the road from the funeral home.

  “So what did the police conclude?” Bernie prompted when Marvin didn’t say anything more.

  “About Target?”

  “No. About your getting shot at.”

  “Oh. They think that I did it,” Marvin said after another moment of silence.

  Bernie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Marvin’s voice quavered. “I wish I was. They told me they think I did it to deflect suspicion away from myself.”

  “That’s absurd,” Bernie huffed.

  “That’s what I told them, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t believe me.”

  “You don’t even have a gun!” Bernie exclaimed.

  “I guess they think I do.”

  “You don’t know one end of a gun from another,” Bernie continued. This thing was just getting sillier and sillier. Well, one thing was for certain. The Longely PD hadn’t been following Marvin after all. A fact that was good and bad.

  “You should tell them that,” Marvin said.

  “I intend to.” Not that it would make a difference.

  “I think I should call a lawyer,” Marvin opined.

  “I thought you’d done that, Marvin. You said you were going to.”

  “Well, I haven’t.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I guess I was waiting for this to go away, but it’s not going to, is it?”

  “Most definitely not.”

  “I can see that now. Things are just getting worse. They . . .”

  “They who?” Bernie asked.

  “The police,” Marvin clarified. “They said something about getting a warrant to search the house. My father will have a coronary if that happens. How’s he going to explain that to our clients? Hell, how am I going to explain it to our clients?”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry?” Marvin yelled into the phone. “Are you insane?”

  Bernie held the phone away from her ear until he stopped shouting. “Maybe a little bit.”

  “I don’t even know who to call.” Marvin’s voice was plaintive. “The lawyer my dad uses does stuff like real estate.”

  “My dad will know. Come over to the flat and have some coffee and cake and we’ll discuss strategy.”

  “I don’t want to discuss strategy.”

  “Then what do you want to do?”

  “Sleep. I want to wake up and find that this whole thing is a bad dream.” There was a short pause then Marvin said, “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

  “Marvin, you can’t go to bed and pull the covers over your head.”

  “I didn’t say anything about covers, Bernie”

  “You have to fight this, Marvin,” she told him as a car went by. The Miata slowed down, and for a moment, she thought the driver was going to stop and ask for directions. Then it sped up and turned the corner, leaving a vague smell of exhaust in its wake.

  “But I don’t want to fight,” Marvin wailed, responding to Bernie’s last comment. “I just want this thing to disappear.”

  “Libby and I are trying to make that happen.” Bernie watched a butterfly land on a daisy growing by her left foot. “We really are. But we can’t do it without your help.”

  “All right,” Marvin said grudgingly after a minute had gone by.

  Bernie shifted her cell to her other ear. Her face was slick with perspiration. She was positive that the suntan lotion she’d applied earlier was now on the face of her cell phone. “So you’ll come to the flat?”

  “Yes, I’ll come. I don’t want to, but I will.”

  “And drive over in the Taurus. I want to look at the windshield.”

  “I can’t. The cops are impounding the car.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Marvin said. “But what can I do?”

  “Stall them until Libby and I get there,” Bernie told him.

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know, Marvin. Figure something out.” Bernie hung up and called Libby. The phone rang and on the seventh ring went to voice mail. “Come on, Libby, pick up the phone,” Bernie urged as she called again.

  But Libby didn’t answer. Then Bernie’s phone went black.

  “Arrrgh,” Bernie cried. She’d run out of juice.

  She slipped her cell back in her bag and started walking. She didn’t think it was a good omen for how the rest of the day was going to go
.

  Chapter 12

  Libby was sitting at the nail drying station trying to keep from scratching an itch that she’d suddenly developed when her cell started playing Bernadette. It was her sister’s ring. Drats and double drats, she thought, wondering what Bernie had found or if she’d found anything at all in Rick and Gail’s house. For a moment, Libby considered digging her cell out of her purse and finding out, but then she decided she going to have to wait to hear the news until after her nails dried.

  The phone rang again. She had second thoughts about not answering it, but quashed them. She was sure that whatever Bernie wanted to tell her could wait another fifteen minutes. She was always given to the dramatic. Libby knew if she got her phone out, she’d ruin her nails and she wasn’t about to do that given the time and the money the mani-pedi had cost. Also, she was loath to admit it, especially to Bernie, but she kind of liked the way her nails looked. Pink was not such a bad color after all! Libby groaned to herself. She’d always made fun of women who couldn’t do anything that would ruin their nails and now she was becoming one of them. Go figure.

  She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Bernie would be there shortly. More to the point, Gail Evans was sitting right next to her. She’d finally started talking about something other than how hot it was and Libby wasn’t going to do anything to stem the conversational flow. Otherwise, the torture she’d put herself through for Marvin’s sake for the last three-quarters of an hour would all be in vain. One thing was for certain. She was never ever going to do it again, even though she did like the way her hands looked.

  For openers, she didn’t like someone she didn’t know touching her feet. For some reason, getting a manicure wasn’t as bad, but that was balanced by the fact that she couldn’t stand the idea of not being able to reach into her bag and get a piece of chocolate out if she wanted to. Or answer the phone. The process made her feel claustrophobic. She was wondering why that should be when she realized Gail was talking again.

  “You know,” Gail confided in her chirpy voice, a voice that always made Libby want to put on a pair of noise canceling headphones, “I envy your talent.”

  Libby turned and looked at her. “For what?”

  “For cooking, of course. I’m a complete klutz in the kitchen.”

  “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” Libby told her, although she thought that maybe Gail was.

  It had been her experience that really skinny people, people who were that way not by nature but because they didn’t like to eat, generally sucked in the kitchen. They were always in a hurry to get in and out. Understandable if one didn’t like what one was doing. Cooking and baking took time and patience. Each step, no matter how trivial, contributed to the final result. If you didn’t like to eat, you didn’t want to be bothered.

  Gail’s cell began to ring. She ignored it. “I am a klutz,” she insisted. “Every time I’m in the kitchen I either cut or burn myself.” She gestured toward her left arm with her chin. “Look at those.”

  Libby squinted. She couldn’t see anything. “What?”

  “The scars, of course.”

  Libby studied Gail’s arm again. It was suntanned and muscled and looked as if Gail hit the gym frequently.

  “See them? I’m thinking of having plastic surgery.”

  It took Libby a moment, but she finally made out three thin raised lines radiating up from Gail’s wrist. “But they’re tiny,” she objected.

  “Not to me. I see them in the mirror every time I put on a short-sleeved shirt, which I’m doing a lot this summer.”

  Libby wanted to say it must be hard being perfect, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked Gail how she’d gotten the scars.

  Gail put on a rueful expression. “I got too close to a roasting pan that was coming out of the oven.”

  “Ouch. That must have hurt.”

  “Oh. Believe me, it did.” Gail was quiet for a moment.

  Her phone rang again. “My husband,” she explained. “I guess he forgot where I am.” She was quiet for another moment then she said, “I still can’t believe what happened at the reenactment.” Her voice got shaky. “I just can’t get that picture out of my mind.”

  “Neither can I,” Libby said. It was true. She still couldn’t.

  “I keep dreaming about it,” Gail confided.

  “Me too,” Libby said, which was also true. Her glance fell on Gail’s toes. They were painted a dark shade of purple. Almost black. So were her fingernails. In Libby’s opinion, Goth was not a good look on teenage girls, let alone on middle-aged ladies, especially middle-aged ladies who wore thigh-high skirts because they were trying to look like teenage girls.

  Libby shook her head to clear it. Where had that come from? She was getting as hypercritical as Bernie. Maybe being in the nail salon had infected her in some way with Bernie-itis. Who knew where something like that would lead? Libby might have to get her hair colored and styled or go clothes shopping or even, God help her, go to the gym and take spin classes. She felt a frisson of fear as visions of hours spent on self-improvement wafted through her head. Get a grip, she told herself. Deal with the matter at hand.

  Gail leaned over. “You must feel so bad.” She lowered her voice so none of the other patrons could hear her, not that there were many people in the place. It was why she always went to the nail salon at that particular time of the day.

  Libby frowned. “Why should I feel bad?”

  Gail’s eyes widened. “Well . . . you know . . . being . . . with Marvin. It must be terrible.”

  Libby cocked her head. “Why?”

  Gail gave her a pitying look and pointedly changed the subject. “Is this really your first time getting a mani-pedi?”

  Libby nodded. She’d unwisely confided that fact to Gail when she’d sat down next to her.

  “That’s so sweet,” Gail cooed. “Rick had his first pedicure last week. He found it very relaxing.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Libby said. She couldn’t imagine Marvin doing something like that. “What did you mean about Marvin?” she asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

  Gail tittered. “Oh, you know.”

  “No. I don’t. I don’t know at all.”

  Gail ducked her head, but not fast enough to hide the smirk on her face. “His being . . . involved . . . in what happened . . . and you seeing it. Being there. It just must be very upsetting. I know how upset I am. I can’t imagine what I would be feeling if I were you. I mean, I’d be on Prozac or something like that.”

  “Seeing what?” Libby demanded even though she knew exactly what Gail was referring to.

  Gail shifted in her seat and faced Libby. “What happened to Devi, of course.”

  Libby raised an eyebrow. “Devi? Who is Devi?”

  “I’m sorry.” Two red spots appeared on Gail’s cheeks. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I meant Jack Devlin. Devi is, excuse me, was his nickname. It’s what everyone who knew him called him.”

  “I knew him and I didn’t call him that. No one else I know did, either.”

  “Well, his good friends did.”

  “Which you number yourself among?” Libby asked politely.

  Gail sniffed. “He had a lot of good friends and yes, I was among them.”

  “It must have been interesting.”

  “What?” Gail asked.

  “Being friends with him.”

  “It was, but why do you care?”

  Libby gave an elaborate shrug. “I don’t. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

  “I see.” Gail looked at Libby, sussing her out. “I get it,” she said after a moment. “You’re here investigating.” She gave the word investigating an ironic twist by stretching it out to three syllables. “You’re investigating me! I find that hilarious. Well, investigate away. Not that it’s going to help your boyfriend any. To use a current phrase, he’s going down. At least according to Rick, he is. And Rick should know. After all, he does have the ear of the mayor and the c
hief of police.”

  “He’s not going down if I have anything to do with it,” Libby said grimly.

  “Good luck.”

  “I’m not the one who’s going to need it,” Libby replied.

  “Really.” Gail smiled unpleasantly. “Then who is?”

  “Whoever did it.”

  Gail shrugged and studied the board propped up next to the cash register that announced the salon’s prices.

  Libby continued. “I heard you were one of Devi’s . . . ahem . . . closer friends.”

  Gail sniffed again then she smiled. “It’s not a secret. Devi and I were close, as long as we’re using euphemisms here.”

  “Should I have said screwing?”

  “You can say whatever you want. It doesn’t bother me. Anyway, as I was saying we were friends for a while and then we weren’t.”

  “That must have been tough,” Libby said, trying to sound sympathetic and failing.

  Gail shrugged. “Not really. It’s all a matter of expectations. When you take in a tomcat, you feed him, and play with him, and then you let him go. It’s the nature of the beast, so to speak.”

  “What if he gallivants next door and gets more food?” Libby mused out loud. “Maybe even better food—”

  “That I highly doubt.” Gail cut Libby off.

  “Fine then.” I’ve struck a nerve, Libby noted.

  “It’s true.” Gail’s voice rose.

  “If you say so,” Libby answered, sticking the needle in a little deeper.

  “I do,” Gail said in a superior tone of voice.

  “All I know is that I would find that chain of events upsetting.”

  “You probably would. But then, you’re not me.” Gail chortled at the idea. “If you must know, I was the one that told Devi to go.”

  “Oh.” Libby gave Gail her sweetest smile. “How stupid of me. I thought it would have been your husband who did that. Shows you what I know.”

  “Not much,” Gail said coldly. “No one tells me what to do. Anyway, Rick understands. I love my husband. Devi was merely a . . . diversion. Something to pass the time. Diversions are nice while they last, but then it’s time to give them up and get back to the real world.”