A Catered Valentine's Day. Isis Crawford
again. It wasn’t possible. She leaned forward to get a better look.
“It’s Ted Gorman,” Bernie cried. He looked a little worse for the wear, but given the circumstances who wouldn’t?
“I know who it is,” Clayton snapped. “What I don’t know is what the hell he’s doing here.”
Chapter 4
Sean looked at his two daughters while he took a sip of the tea Libby had brought him. She still looked a little shaken. So did Bernie for that matter, and it took a lot to shake up Bernie. Like him, she had nerves of steel. Then he nodded toward Clyde. Clyde nodded back and took another bite of his lemon square.
Sean knew what Bernie had told him over the phone about this being privileged information, but he wanted Clyde to hear this as well. When he had headed the Longely police force he’d considered Clyde his best man. He still was, even though Sean was no longer on the force. But Clyde was, and given the circumstances, Sean figured it couldn’t hurt to have Clyde’s opinion on the matter at hand. He hoped he wasn’t wrong.
Sean indicated the cup in his hand with his chin. “Nice tea,” he said, nodding toward the cup.
“Organic Russian,” Libby replied.
Sean adjusted his wheelchair. The damned thing kept on tilting. He’d have to get it fixed.
“Libby, I’ll take another cookie if that’s all right with you,” Clyde said.
Libby smiled as she passed him the plate.
Sean tried to keep the smile off his face as he watched Clyde buttering up Libby. He knew that the shortest way to Libby’s heart was through eating her cooking.
“I still don’t think you should be here,” Libby protested to Clyde.
“That’s your dad’s decision,” Clyde said.
Thanks, Clyde, Sean thought as he watched Libby turn toward him. “I just think that we might need a little extra help, and Clyde happened to be here when you called.” Which was a big, fat lie. He’d called him and told him to get down to his place ASAP. “Another pair of ears is always a good thing.”
“But Clayton made us promise—” Libby began when Bernie cut her off.
“I didn’t promise,” she said.
Sean added some more sugar to his tea. It didn’t help. “Well, one thing is for sure,” he said. “That wasn’t a nice thing for him to do.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Libby agreed.
Sean didn’t answer. If truth be told he was still digesting what the girls—they were still girls to him, at least—had told him when they’d come into his bedroom twenty minutes ago.
Sean watched while Libby broke off a piece of a sugar cookie, a trial run for Valentine’s Day, and popped it in her mouth. His wife, Rose, had never cared about the holiday much, he reflected. Said it was silly. Inez on the other hand…He shook his head to dislodge the pang of guilt in his chest. It was just a card, for heaven’s sake. Why shouldn’t he send a Valentine’s card to a friend? A friend who was down in the dumps? It would give her a lift. Just yesterday she’d been telling him how isolated she felt. He knew what that was like. That was one of the problems with getting older—no one paid attention to you anymore.
“Dad, are you listening?” Libby asked.
“Of course I was,” Sean lied. Now, he thought, he could feel guilty about not giving his eldest daughter his full attention, especially considering the circumstances.
Libby took another bite of her cookie “The least Marvin’s dad could have done was warn us. It wouldn’t have been such a shock.”
Bernie took a sip of her scotch and rearranged her legs across the arm of the flowered armchair. Why she insisted on sitting that way Sean didn’t know. But she did. Had ever since she was a small child. Nothing his wife tried had ever broken her of the habit, and Rose had tried plenty of things. A plethora, as Bernie would say.
“That was the whole point,” Bernie said.
“What was?” asked Libby.
Bernie waved her hand in the air. “Shocking us, silly. If he had told us what he was going to do we would have been prepared.”
“If he had told us what he was going to do I wouldn’t have come.” Libby brushed cookie crumbs off her blouse.
“I don’t know if I would have either,” Bernie admitted.
“Count me in on that as well,” Sean said. Viewing dead bodies wasn’t one of his favorite things, and he should know. He’d seen enough of them in his time on the force in Longely. People thought that nothing like that ever happened in a small town, but boy, were they wrong!
“But why would Clayton want to do that to us?” Libby asked.
Clyde shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it gives him a sense of power? Maybe it gives him a sense of control? Maybe he’s so used to dealing with dead bodies that he doesn’t realize the effect they have on other people.”
Bernie scratched her shin. “We should ask him the next time we see him.”
Libby started on her second cookie. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Neither do I, sister dearest, but you’re going to have to. Remember, Clayton is our client.”
“So now this is my fault?”
“I didn’t say that,” Bernie retorted.
“You implied it.”
Bernie rolled her eyes. “Given the circumstances, what else could I do? You’d say yes if Rob asked you to do something.”
“Not these days.”
Sean coughed. The girls turned toward him.
“Ladies, can we get back to the matter at hand?”
“Sure,” Bernie said. She gave him a closer look. “You’re really mad at Clayton, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Sean asked.
“Because your jaw is clenched,” Bernie replied.
Actually, he wasn’t mad at Clayton. He was furious with him. He didn’t look kindly at someone scaring his girls. Matter of fact, he didn’t look kindly at someone raising his voice to his girls. Back in the day he would have given Marvin’s father a good talking-to. Or something a little stronger. Unfortunately those days were gone. Or maybe not.
“Don’t,” Libby said.
“Don’t what?” Sean asked.
“Do whatever you’re planning.”
“I’m not planning anything,” Sean protested. At the moment, he silently added.
“Marvin is my boyfriend,” Libby said.
“I know that,” Sean replied. How could he forget it, although there were times when he’d like to.
“Well, it’s considered bad form to hurt the father of your daughter’s enamorata,” Bernie pointed out.
“I wasn’t going to hurt Clayton. Anyway”—Sean pointed to his wheelchair—“what could I do?”
“I’m not sure,” Libby said, “but I know you’ll figure something out.”
“You give me too much credit,” Sean told her.
Libby ate another piece of her cookie. “Somehow I don’t think so. And anyway, he’s our client.”
“So you’ve said. Don’t I get a say in taking the case?”
“No,” both his daughters said simultaneously. “You’re outvoted.”