Read Online A Catered Tea Party by Isis Crawford - Free Book Online

Libby got to the door, Bernie had her hand on the doorknob. She turned it, and the door swung open. “Tada. Magic,” she cried.
    â€œI thought Hsaio locked it,” Libby said.
    Bernie smiled contently. “She did, but it’s amazing what a piece of tape over the lock plate can do.”
    â€œI don’t know where you learned this stuff,” Libby muttered, but Bernie didn’t answer. She hadn’t heard her because she was on the other side of the door already.
    The sisters spent the next half hour going through Ludvoc Zalinsky’s house. They started with his office. After listening to the voice mails on Zalinsky’s answering machine, Bernie and Libby had to agree with Hsaio. There were a lot of calls about unpaid bills, but all of them were from agencies threatening legal action.
    There wasn’t anything else of interest in the office, or if there was, Bernie and Libby couldn’t see it. It took less than twenty minutes to go through the rest of the office. The computer was password-protected, so that was a no go, and the few files that were there had to do with rental agreements and warranties. Evidently Zalinsky was renting his Mercedes, and it was about to be repossessed.
    Then Bernie opened the door, and the sisters began exploring the rest of the house. It was not what they had been led to believe. In fact, it was the opposite. The kitchen was a big fancy affair with the requisite imported cabinets, double ovens, and granite counter tops, but it gave little evidence of being used.
    â€œZalinsky didn’t cook much,” Libby observed as she opened and closed the cabinet doors. The pots and pans were pristine, and as for food, there were two boxes of pasta and a can of tomato sauce in one of the cabinets, and that was it. “It amazes me that the people who have the nicest kitchens never use them.”
    â€œTrue,” Bernie said as she studied the pantry. The place was full of kitchen gadgets, including the same brand of electric teakettle that they had used in the theater. “I guess Zalinsky must have liked that brand,” Bernie commented.
    â€œToo bad it didn’t like him,” Libby said as her sister closed the pantry door, and they both walked into the den.
    The walls were paneled, the books on the bookshelves seemed to have been chosen for their size and color, and the sofa was covered in a bad chintz. The room looked like a stage set, Libby reflected as she began going through the desk drawers. There was nothing in them, except a small toolbox in the bottom drawer. She opened it. The only things in it were a couple of instruction manuals and a basic tool set.
    â€œIt’s like no one lived here,” Libby observed as she put the toolbox back where she’d found it.
    Bernie nodded. She was looking at a piece of paper from a yellow legal pad she’d found peeping out of a coffee-table book on American art. There was nothing on it except a number that had been circled.
    â€œWhat do you have?” Libby asked, coming up behind her.
    Bernie showed her as she took out her phone and dialed the number. Her call went directly to an answering machine that said, “Art Unlimited. Please leave your number, and we will get back to you.” Bernie did as instructed and hung up. “Interesting,” she said, tapping the phone against her chin.
    She lowered it, opened Safari, and typed in “Art Unlimited.” A moment later, the site came up. It was tasteful, and the copy on the opening page read, “ Discreet rentals for the discerning.”
    â€œI wonder what they rent?” Libby said.
    â€œArt.”
    â€œHa. Ha.”
    Bernie tried clicking on the listed links, but none of them worked. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she said to Libby. “They have a lousy website.”
    â€œMaybe that’s on purpose to keep the hoi polloi out,” Libby said.
    â€œThen why have a website at all,” Bernie