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Authors: Isis Crawford
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wonder which one it’s going to turn out to be in this case?” Libby said.
“I guess we’re going to have to wait to find out, aren’t we?” Bernie replied. “Although what about fashion as a motive? There are shoes I would die for.”
Libby opened her mouth and closed it again. On this subject she had nothing to say.
Chapter 8
T rudy watched Bernie with a great deal of interest as Bernie cleaned the floor.
“You’re a bad girl,” Bernie told her.
Trudy wagged her tail. Bernie laughed. She really was hard to resist.
“You know what I’m betting?” Libby said as Bernie straightened up and dropped the towels in the wastepaper basket. “I’m betting that Rita, or whatever her name is, is referring to Joanna and Richard. It’s the classic man meets secretary, man falls for secretary, man kills wife so he can have the money and the secretary.”
“Personal assistant,” Bernie interjected. “People don’t have secretaries anymore. They have personal assistants.”
“Whatever,” Libby said. “We could ask Bree.”
Bernie shook her head. “I don’t think she knows. I think if she did, she would have told us.”
Libby nodded. Her sister was right. “She must be losing her touch.”
“It would seem so,” Bernie continued. “However, we could ask Kevin O’Malley. He might know.”
Kevin O’Malley was the owner of Smithfield and O’Malley, an upscale grocery store that most of the wealthy households in Longely patronized. He pretty much knew everything about everybody in those circles. Even better, Libby and Bernie knew just where to find him.
“What would Kevin know?” a man’s voice behind them demanded.
Libby and Bernie spun around. Richard was standing behind them. They’d been so intent on their conversation they hadn’t heard him come in. Trudy scratched Libby’s leg and she bent down and picked her up.
“He’d know whether we could get peaches that are decent tasting this time of year,” Bernie ad-libbed, wondering as she did how much of their conversation Richard had heard.
Evidently judging from his expression he’d heard only the last part, which, given the circumstances, was a good thing. Richard grunted. Then a puzzled expression crept over his face as he looked around the kitchen.
“Where’s Sam?” he asked.
“Sam?” Libby and Bernie repeated.
Richard gave an impatient wave of his hand. “Sam. Samantha. She was supposed to help with the dishes and the serving. I know she was here a moment ago.”
“She left,” Libby said.
“Left?” Richard echoed.
“Yes, left. As in walked out the door. She said you didn’t have any food,” Bernie said.
Richard gave a sigh indicating suffering on a par with Job. “Of course I have food. O’Malley delivered the platters this morning.”
Good call, Bernie , Libby silently thought.
“It serves me right for hiring her,” Richard grumbled. “By now I should know better. She’s a total nut job. Comes from living with that mother of hers. No basis in reality whatsoever. No. If you want something done professionally, hire a professional.”
“Who is she?” Libby asked.
“Sam’s one of my friend’s kids. She’s living at home while she studies acting. Her father is trying to teach her the value of work, but he’s not having much success.”
“Seems to be going around,” Bernie said as she recalled the array of college kids they’d employed over the years at A Little Taste of Heaven. “So where’s the rest of the staff?” she asked, thinking that it would be interesting to be able to talk to them and hear what they had to say. “I would think that a house like this would require six live-in help—at least.”
Richard favored her with a wintry smile. “Perhaps in the nineteenth century that was the case, but since we’re in the twenty-first, and there are a multitude of labor-saving devices at one’s disposal, that is not true. Surely even you recognize that?”
“That’s funny,” Bernie
“I guess we’re going to have to wait to find out, aren’t we?” Bernie replied. “Although what about fashion as a motive? There are shoes I would die for.”
Libby opened her mouth and closed it again. On this subject she had nothing to say.
Chapter 8
T rudy watched Bernie with a great deal of interest as Bernie cleaned the floor.
“You’re a bad girl,” Bernie told her.
Trudy wagged her tail. Bernie laughed. She really was hard to resist.
“You know what I’m betting?” Libby said as Bernie straightened up and dropped the towels in the wastepaper basket. “I’m betting that Rita, or whatever her name is, is referring to Joanna and Richard. It’s the classic man meets secretary, man falls for secretary, man kills wife so he can have the money and the secretary.”
“Personal assistant,” Bernie interjected. “People don’t have secretaries anymore. They have personal assistants.”
“Whatever,” Libby said. “We could ask Bree.”
Bernie shook her head. “I don’t think she knows. I think if she did, she would have told us.”
Libby nodded. Her sister was right. “She must be losing her touch.”
“It would seem so,” Bernie continued. “However, we could ask Kevin O’Malley. He might know.”
Kevin O’Malley was the owner of Smithfield and O’Malley, an upscale grocery store that most of the wealthy households in Longely patronized. He pretty much knew everything about everybody in those circles. Even better, Libby and Bernie knew just where to find him.
“What would Kevin know?” a man’s voice behind them demanded.
Libby and Bernie spun around. Richard was standing behind them. They’d been so intent on their conversation they hadn’t heard him come in. Trudy scratched Libby’s leg and she bent down and picked her up.
“He’d know whether we could get peaches that are decent tasting this time of year,” Bernie ad-libbed, wondering as she did how much of their conversation Richard had heard.
Evidently judging from his expression he’d heard only the last part, which, given the circumstances, was a good thing. Richard grunted. Then a puzzled expression crept over his face as he looked around the kitchen.
“Where’s Sam?” he asked.
“Sam?” Libby and Bernie repeated.
Richard gave an impatient wave of his hand. “Sam. Samantha. She was supposed to help with the dishes and the serving. I know she was here a moment ago.”
“She left,” Libby said.
“Left?” Richard echoed.
“Yes, left. As in walked out the door. She said you didn’t have any food,” Bernie said.
Richard gave a sigh indicating suffering on a par with Job. “Of course I have food. O’Malley delivered the platters this morning.”
Good call, Bernie , Libby silently thought.
“It serves me right for hiring her,” Richard grumbled. “By now I should know better. She’s a total nut job. Comes from living with that mother of hers. No basis in reality whatsoever. No. If you want something done professionally, hire a professional.”
“Who is she?” Libby asked.
“Sam’s one of my friend’s kids. She’s living at home while she studies acting. Her father is trying to teach her the value of work, but he’s not having much success.”
“Seems to be going around,” Bernie said as she recalled the array of college kids they’d employed over the years at A Little Taste of Heaven. “So where’s the rest of the staff?” she asked, thinking that it would be interesting to be able to talk to them and hear what they had to say. “I would think that a house like this would require six live-in help—at least.”
Richard favored her with a wintry smile. “Perhaps in the nineteenth century that was the case, but since we’re in the twenty-first, and there are a multitude of labor-saving devices at one’s disposal, that is not true. Surely even you recognize that?”
“That’s funny,” Bernie
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