Читать книгу A Catered Christmas - Isis Crawford - Страница 13

Suddenly everyone in the room started talking at once. Bernie felt like putting her hands over her ears to block out the noise.

“Quiet!” Estes yelled.

Everyone shut up. I need a drink, Bernie thought as she watched the sweat beading up on Estes’ forehead. It was hot in the room, but not that hot. Maybe the guy had high blood pressure.

“What do you mean the list isn’t there?” Estes asked Eric.

“I checked the safe and Hortense’s desk. I couldn’t find it,” Eric squeaked.

Estes sniffed. “Well go and look again.”

“Don’t,” Bernie said.

Estes stared at her.

“What do you mean don’t?” he demanded.

“You’re disturbing a possible crime scene. Don’t you watch Law and Order?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. For your information, my cousin helps produce that show. Furthermore, just because you were involved in a couple of cases doesn’t make you an expert. Far from. You don’t know it’s a crime scene,” Estes told her. “There are lots of explanations for the list not being there.”

“You keep saying that,” Bernie told him. “I’d like to hear what they are.”

Brittany clapped her hands together.

“People, people, we need to focus here. What are we going to do with the list gone?”

“We don’t know it’s gone,” Estes replied.

“But if someone read it …” La Croix’s voice trailed off.

Everyone was quiet as they all contemplated the implications of that.

“We’ll make a new one,” Estes said.

“Who will?” Consuela gestured toward Hortense with her chin. “She’s dead.”

“And that’s the point,” Bernie said as she grabbed the conversational ball. “We have to call the police.”

Estes scowled. “Of course we will. We have to. But let’s think about the show.”

“I think we should think about Hortense.”

“I never said we shouldn’t. All I’m saying is that there are big bucks tied up in this show. I’m just trying to protect everyone’s investment.”

It always comes down to money, Bernie thought as Consuela said, “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Estes made a face. “Save your sanctimonious act for someone else.”

Bernie could see Consuela bristling. “Sanctimonious act? How dare you?”

“Easy,” Estes said, but before he could say anything else, Pearl Wilde tapped him on the wrist. He turned to face her.

“Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?” she asked him.

“Just a minute,” Estes told her as he glanced around the room.

He looks relieved that he has something else to talk about, Bernie reflected as Estes’ eyes lit on Eric Royal.

“Eric, can you answer Pearl’s question?” he asked him.

Eric Royal gestured to the sink. “Under there.” Then he laid the back of his hand on his forehead. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “I told her not to bake those cookies. I told her there wasn’t time. But Hortense insisted. She was like that. I told her I’d go check on them. But she said no. She’s always having to do everything herself. And now she’s dead,” Eric Royal concluded.

Unlike Brittany Saperstein’s, all that Eric’s performance lacked, Bernie thought uncharitably, was some glycerin tears and a swoon onto the floor. But it wasn’t fair to compare them, because Brittany wasn’t even trying. Bernie watched Brittany looking around the room. Her eyes went everywhere but to Hortense.

“Estes is right. We have to think about the show,” Brittany said.

“How can you think about that at a time like this?” Eric demanded.

“Oh, come on. Be honest. Everyone is,” Brittany said as the sounds of “Disco Duck” floated out of her handbag.

“Those things should be outlawed,” Estes growled.

Interesting, Bernie thought as Brittany opened her bag. Very interesting that Brittany had had the presence of mind in the middle of the pandemonium that the explosion had caused to bring her bag along with her. That spoke of a pretty cool character or preknowledge.

Estes made a grab for Brittany’s handbag.

“I’m going to throw that thing out.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Brittany told Estes as she pulled her bag away.

“Then shut that thing off!” Estes bellowed.

Bernie was alarmed to see a vein under Estes’ left eye getting bigger. She hoped he didn’t have a heart attack. Two dead people in five minutes would be a little much.

“Just a sec,” Brittany said as she fished around inside her pocketbook. Finally she found her cell. “Mommy can’t talk right now,” she said into it. “Mommy is busy dealing with a dead person. Well, I’m not sure this one will go to heaven. No, Josefina will take you to the party. Bye, bye, sweetums.” And she clicked off. She was just about to put it back in her bag when Estes grabbed it out of her hand.

“I’ll give it back to you after the show,” Estes told Brittany.

“If there is a show,” Bernie countered as Brittany grabbed her phone back from Estes.

She clutched it to her chest. “Of course there’s going to be a show,” Brittany said.

Bernie gestured toward Hortense’s prone body. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“No, I’m not. Haven’t you heard that thing about the show must go on?”

“I’m not sure that saying applies to this situation,” Bernie said. She was just about to tell her why when, out of the corner of her eye, Bernie noticed that Pearl was making her way to the sink. She watched Pearl open the cabinet doors.

“Pearl, what are you doing?” she asked her.

Pearl glanced over her shoulder. “Looking for something to clean the walls, of course. And the floor.”

“Of course,” Bernie said. Wouldn’t that be everyone’s first thought? “Don’t do that. The police won’t like it.”

Estes lifted his hands in supplication, dropped them to his sides, and looked up at the ceiling. “Why, dear God, does everything happen to me?”

“I think it happened to Hortense,” Bernie pointed out.

“Hortense is no longer among us. I am,” Estes shot back.

“Precisely my point.” Bernie turned her attention back to Pearl. “Pearl,” she said in the same voice she imagined she would use on a recalcitrant small child. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave the walls alone.”

Pearl straightened up. Bernie noted that she had a roll of paper towels in one hand, a bottle of spray cleanser in the other, and a look of steely determination in her eyes.

“I think Top Job would be better, but this will do.”

Bernie wanted to say, “Don’t do it,” but before she could get the words out of her mouth, Pearl walked over and let loose with a spray of cleanser on the wall. “I prefer high-gloss paint for cleaning purposes, but semi-gloss does just as well, don’t you think?” she asked Bernie. “Thank heavens this room wasn’t painted with flat latex. For a while, Hortense was thinking of using a flat yellow latex in here, but I managed to talk her out of it.”

“Really,” Bernie said. She didn’t know whether to be fascinated or appalled. “You have to stop,” she told Pearl. “You have to stop what you’re doing now.”

Pearl gave her an exasperated glance.

“But I can’t just leave it like this,” she protested. “Hortense would be immensely displeased if I did.”

“The police will displeased if you don’t,” Bernie told her.

Jean La Croix waved his hand around the room. “But this is … how you say … so ugly.”

Bernie gestured at the blood-splatter pattern on the wall. “Would it be better if it were attractive? Something you could make into a new wallpaper pattern?”

“That is a horrible thing to say,” Jean La Croix huffed.

“You’re right,” Bernie told him as she refocused her attention on Pearl. “Maybe what you say about Hortense is true,” she told her, “but you’re going to have to leave things alone anyway.”

“I can’t,” Pearl wailed.

She turned back and directed another shot of cleanser at the wall. Visions of forensic evidence vanishing danced before Bernie’s eyes.

“Libby, take the bottle away,” Bernie told her sister, who as luck would have it was standing right next to Pearl.

Libby looked at Bernie uncertainly.

“Me?”

“No. The king of Siam.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm.”

Bernie took a deep breath. “Please,” she got out through gritted teeth. “Just take the cleanser away from Pearl now.”

“I don’t know,” Libby said as Pearl clutched the bottle to her chest. “Why don’t you do it?”

“Because you’re closer.”

“By five steps.”

“Why do things always have to be so complicated with you?” Bernie snapped.

Libby bit her lip. “We shouldn’t be arguing.”

“No. You’re right. We shouldn’t be.” Bernie thought for a moment. She nodded in Pearl’s direction. “Why don’t you take Pearl into the green room and make her a nice cup of tea?”

Libby brightened.

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Brittany said.

“I think we could all use something,” Consuela observed. “Maybe a shot of scotch?”

“Cognac,” Jean La Croix said. “What we need is some cognac.”

“How about some cookies?” Libby suggested. “I always find cookies help in times such as these.”

Reginald rolled his eyes.

“Really, my dear,” he said to Libby. “You’ve been reading too many British murder mysteries. Next you’re going to suggest crumpets.”

Bernie watched a flush grow on Libby’s cheeks.

“Hey,” Bernie told Reginald. “That was entirely unnecessary. Libby was just trying to be helpful.”

Reginald put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“So sorry. I didn’t realize your sister was such a delicate flower.”

Bernie took a step toward him. “Don’t be nasty.”

Reginald appealed to everyone. “What did I say?” he asked.

Bernie caught herself before she answered. Just calm down, she told herself. Calm down and focus on the big picture. The important thing was that they were contaminating the crime scene by being here—if it was a crime scene. After all, Estes could be right, Bernie thought. There was a chance. Albeit a slim one.

Maybe the list was in the bedroom. Maybe the stove exploding was an accident. After all, accidents did happen, stoves did explode because of the way they were installed. Unfortunately, Bernie’s gut told her different.

“Who put you in charge anyway?” Estes demanded of Bernie as Libby started leading Pearl out of the room. “I’m the producer. I’m the person around here who’s supposed to be giving the orders. Everyone listens to me.”

“We’re not taping the show yet,” Bernie retorted.

“Good point, Joe,” Reginald said. He pointed a shaking finger at Bernie. “You’re like some Jonah.”

“Jonah?” Brittany said.

“If you were in any way literate,” Reginald snapped at her, “you would know that I was referring to someone who brings bad luck.” He pointed at Bernie. “Wherever you go, bad things happen.”

“That’s not true,” Bernie said, even though she was beginning to believe it might be. After all, she and her sister had been involved in investigating two murders already. “Anyway, no matter what you think of me, you still have to call the police and report this.”

“We will. After the show,” Estes said.

“Are you nuts?” Bernie demanded.

“We have to go on the air soon.”

“Unfortunately, there seems to be a problem.” Bernie pointed to Hortense. No one looked down. “What are you going to do for your hostess? Prop her up, attach some strings to her arms and mouth, and have someone move them?”

“That’s disgusting,” Consuela cried as Brittany Saperstein’s cell went off again. “Show some respect for the dead.”

“I’m trying to,” Bernie said as Brittany answered her call.

“You won’t believe what happened,” Brittany said into her cell.

“I’ve had it with that,” Estes roared as he made a grab for Brittany’s phone.

Brittany feinted, took a step back, and almost tripped over Hortense. “I have to go,” she told the person on the other end of the line. “I have a situation here I have to deal with.”

“A situation?” Estes growled. “Is that what you’d call this?”

Brittany put her hands on her hips.

“Well, what would you call it?” she demanded.

“A catastrophe,” Estes replied.

“Same thing,” Brittany said.

“No, it’s not,” Estes replied. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

“I have to agree with Estes on this,” Bernie said.

“Who cares?” Brittany retorted.

Bernie pointed to herself. “I do.”

Consuela gave the gold chain around her neck a tug. “What I want to know,” she said, “is what are we going to do about it?”

“Yes,” Jean La Croix repeated. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m trying to tell you,” Estes said.

“So,” La Croix said, “we are waiting.”

“We have a problem, and we’re going to solve it. As I’ve been trying to say for the last five minutes, Eric will take her place.”

Eric’s thumb stopped in midpress of one of the numbers on his cell phone keypad. His head popped up. “I will?” he croaked.

“You’ve always told me you wanted to, haven’t you?” Estes asked.

Eric lowered the phone to his side. “Well"—Eric began when Estes cut him off.

“In fact, I’ve overheard you say any number of times that you could do a better job than Hortense.”

“I never said that,” Eric stammered.

“You most certainly did.”

La Croix stepped forward. “So, Eric, are you going to let me use my pans?”

“I don’t know,” Eric stammered. “It’s not my—”

“And I need my knives,” Pearl added.

Consuela crossed her arms over her chest.

“If they get to use their things, then I want to use my special salt,” she said.

Bernie decided that Eric was acquiring that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look.

Estes stroked his chin. “So, Eric, who are you calling?” Estes asked him.

Eric bit his lip.

“Well?” Estes said. “Are you calling the New York Post? The National Enquirer? Your grandmother? Your nephew? Who?”

“No,” Eric yelped. “I was calling Bree Nottingham.”

Bernie watched Estes nod his head. The effect was somewhat like one rubber ball hitting the other. He rubbed his hands together.

“That’s the first decent suggestion I’ve heard in the last ten minutes,” he said. “Bree will know what to do.”

Libby groaned.

“I think I feel sick.”

Bernie took a good look at her sister. In the last ten minutes, the green in her complexion seemed to have mutated from lime to olive.

“Do you want a drink?” Bernie asked her. They had to have alcohol somewhere around here, and heaven only knows she could use one herself.

Libby shook her head.

“A cookie?”

Libby shook her head again.

“You sure?” Libby refusing a cookie? Now things were serious.

“I think I need to lie down.”

Bernie was leading her out of the room when Libby turned her head and leaned over. Bernie jumped out of the way, but it was too late. Libby had barfed all over her pink suede wedges.