A Catered Halloween (11 page)

“I have a feeling that we’ve found Banks,” Sean said to Marvin.

“Me too,” Marvin said.

Banks was wearing casual attire: a pair of jeans, sneakers, a white shirt, and a blue crewneck sweater.

“How long do you think he’s been dead?” Sean asked Marvin. That was one good thing about Marvin, Sean decided. He wasn’t squeamish about corpses.

Marvin assessed Banks with a practiced eye. “Maybe three or four hours, but Wenzel should be able to narrow it down more closely.”

Sean just hoped that they hadn’t been standing by the gate when Banks was getting drowned. He watched Marvin take out his cell phone. “Calling the police?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I am a policeman.”

“You’re a retired policeman.”

“It’s almost the same thing.”

“Not quite.” Marvin just looked at him.

“All I’m asking for is fifteen minutes to see if we can find Banks’s records. That’s it. I swear.”

Marvin didn’t say anything.

“Well?” Sean said after a minute had gone by. “Is it a yes or a no?”

Marvin let out a long sigh. Then he said, “I’m only doing this because you’re Libby’s dad.”

“And I can’t tell you how much Libby will appreciate this,” Sean said.

“That’s the point. I’m not sure she will.”

Sean waved away Marvin’s objections. “Come help me look. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done.”

“We’ll be arrested. That’s what we’ll be,” Marvin muttered.

Sean ignored him and led the way out.

B
ernie watched her dad’s friend Clyde settle back in his usual chair in their living room. He reached over and took another one of Libby’s ginger pumpkin bars. He took little bites and chewed slowly so he could savor every mouthful.

“Wonderful,” he said as he poured more cream in his coffee. “Simply wonderful. And that includes the cream. My wife only has skim milk in the house. It turns coffee the most unappetizing shade of gray.” He took a sip and then held up the ginger pumpkin bar. “This is the embodiment of Halloween,” he declared. “The color, the bouquet of spices, all suggest late fall to me.”

“You’ve been watching the cooking channel again, haven’t you?” Sean asked. This was a man who in his prime consumed cans of cold Dinty Moore stew, and now he was rhapsodizing about flavor bouquets the same way he used to talk about the Playmate of the Month. Old age was a terrible thing.

Clyde glared at him. “So what if I have?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” replied Sean.

“You’re also eating the evidence,” Bernie said.

“No. That was what I did last night,” Sean said.

Clyde shook his head. “Good thing Lucy didn’t catch you.”

Sean snorted. “Lucas never appears at crime scenes.”

“He did at this one,” said Clyde.

“I didn’t see him,” said Sean.

“That’s because he came after you left, and stayed for about a minute and a half.”

“Interesting,” Sean said as he moved his motorized wheelchair a little more toward the window. It was a little after ten on a Tuesday evening, and the street was empty. But it didn’t matter. He enjoyed looking at the Halloween decorations in his neighbors’ windows. Black cats, witches, ghosts—all were stuck to the windowpanes. They reminded him of when his daughters were young and they had helped decorate. “That must mean that Banks’s murder is important.”

Clyde reached over and took a third ginger pumpkin bar. “Well, Banks was rich.”

“That would do it,” Sean said. “What does Lucy think the relationship between the two homicides is?”

Clyde took a bite of the ginger pumpkin bar and swallowed. “Oh, the chief doesn’t think Amethyst’s murder and Banks’s murder are related.”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “That’s absurd.”

“He said they had dissimilar styles,” Clyde continued. “And the fingerprints don’t match. Not that there were many of them at either crime scene. Ergo, it’s just coincidence.”

Sean took a sip of his tea and put the cup down. “I, myself, have never believed in coincidence.”

“Me either,” Clyde agreed. “I don’t know how the homicides are linked, but they definitely are.”

“That’s for sure,” Sean said. “What are the odds of having two homicides in a town like this in one week and not having them be related?”

“It could be a statistical anomaly,” Bernie suggested. Her dad glared at her. “Or maybe Bessie Osgood came back to life and traveled over to Lexus Gardens.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” She pointedly turned to her dad. “What do you think happened?”

Sean took another sip of his tea and put the cup down. “On the most literal level, I think Ed Banks had a visitor, and that visitor brought some ginger pumpkin bars from our shop as a gift.”

“Ed Banks could have bought them himself,” Libby pointed out.

“I don’t think so,” Bernie said. “We pretty much know everyone that comes into our shop, and when I asked, Amber and Googie said no one unfamiliar came in that day. Given the fact that we’ve never done business with Ed Banks, I think the conclusion is self-evident.”

“Which means whoever brought them is one of our customers,” Libby observed.

“Unfortunately,” Sean said.

“Well, that narrows the field,” Bernie said, thinking of the hundreds of men, women, and children who went through the shop each day.

“Maybe we could put out a sign reading
WHOEVER BOUGHT COOKIES FOR ED BANKS COME TALK TO US
,” Libby suggested.

Sean laughed. “That’s what I call wishful thinking.” He turned to Clyde. “So what do we know about this guy Banks?”

“The most obvious fact is that the guy was a recluse,” Clyde said.

Bernie leaned forward. “But he let his house be photographed. Recluses don’t usually do that.”

“True,” Clyde said. “Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to anyone around here.”

“Then why buy a house here?” Bernie asked.

Sean waved his hand impatiently. “Let’s come back to that question later. What else do we know about him?”

“Really not that much,” Clyde replied. “At this point, we know that Banks has no known next of kin. Both parents are deceased. He never married. He didn’t seem to have a girlfriend….”

“Maybe he had a boyfriend,” Bernie interjected.

“He didn’t have anyone that we’re aware of,” Clyde said, with a touch of asperity.

Bernie shrugged. “It was just a suggestion.”

Clyde went on. “Anyway, he was born here, in this town, but his family moved to Hawaii when he was in his teens…Evidently, his dad was some kind of expert on sugarcane…and he only came back recently. He did hedge funds, which is where he got his money. He has a clean record. No priors. And that’s about all we know at this moment.”

“Who is claiming the body?” Sean asked.

“A distant relative in Hawaii. She wants the body flown to Oahu as soon as it’s released,” said Clyde.

“How about the staff?” Sean asked. “Where were they last night?”

“There is no live-in staff,” said Clyde.

Libby took a sip of her mulled cider and asked, “He lived in that huge house all by himself?” Her voice was incredulous.

Clyde ate the rest of his ginger pumpkin bar before answering. “Yes, he did. He had a personal assistant
that he brought with him. The guy came in six days a week, from nine to six. He had Sundays off.”

“Did you talk to him?” asked Sean.

Clyde nodded. “We managed to track him down. Conveniently for him, he’s been on vacation in Maui for the last two weeks. According to the hotel manager, he hasn’t left the island.”

“Did he sound upset when he found out about his boss?” Sean asked.

“Very. They’d been together for a long time. Maybe there’s something there, but I don’t see it,” said Clyde. “More interestingly, however, is the fact that Banks contracted with the same firm that cleans the Foundation to do the cleaning up there.”

“Inez?” Sean said.

“It’s a definite link,” Clyde said, turning to Libby. “How’s the pumpkin cheesecake?”

Libby put a piece on a plate and handed it to him. “Try it and see.”

Clyde took a bite. “Delicious,” he said. “I have to come over to the Haunted House to try your waffles.”

“Anytime,” Libby said. Then she turned to her dad. “I’ve been thinking. It must have taken a really big man to hold Banks’s head under water like that. And what were the apples about? Are they a symbol of some kind?”

“They could be,” Bernie said. “The Celts used bobbing for apples in marriage divination ceremonies. The first person to bite the apple was the first person to get married. It was their version of throwing the bouquet.”

“Are you saying that Banks was planning on getting married?” Libby asked her sister.

“No. I’m just sharing a little information with you,” replied Bernie.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t see the relevance,” said Libby.

Sean looked away from the street and settled himself in his wheelchair. He had a pack of cigarettes in his pants pocket, which he would have very much liked to light, but he wasn’t going to do it and risk the wrath of his daughters.

“It is relevant, just not in the way that Bernie said,” Sean interjected.

Libby shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“It tells us what happened,” said Sean. He held up his hand as Libby started to speak. “Let’s go back to the beginning. Banks and his friend, and I’m putting
friend
in quotes here, had made an appointment. We know this because Banks had already set the table. I think that they sat around and talked for a while, and then his friend probably casually introduced the topic of bobbing for apples. You know, he said something like, ‘I bet you can’t bob for apples,’ or something to that effect, and Banks took him up on the challenge. So while Banks was bending over, his friend slipped a plastic tie out of his pocket and cuffed him. Easy enough to do.”

“Then why didn’t he drown him right there? Why take him to the bathroom?” Clyde asked.

Sean thought about the blood on the kitchen sink and the marks on the hallway walls. “I’m thinking that Banks got away from him, and they had a scuffle. I figure Banks started running, and his friend finally caught up with him in the hallway, near the bathroom. He managed to get Banks in there and hold his head in the toilet.”

“You think the toilet was a metaphor?” Bernie asked.

Sean laughed. “No. I think the toilet was convenient.” He took another sip of his tea. “So Lucy sees no connection at all between these two crimes?” he asked Clyde.

Clyde put his fork down. “If he does, he isn’t telling me.”

Sean sat and thought for a moment. “It’s true we have minimal connections between the two events,” he finally said. “We only have Jeanine’s word that Amethyst wanted to talk to Banks.”

“Okay,” Clyde said.

“But why would Jeanine lie?” Libby asked.

“I’m not saying she did. In fact, I don’t think she did. I’m just talking it through,” Sean said.

“And we don’t know if Amethyst actually went up and talked to Banks,” Clyde pointed out.

Sean nodded. “Maybe Banks’s personal assistant knows.”

“I’ll find out, but it might take a little while,” Clyde told Sean. “When I spoke to him, he was leaving for a sailing trip.”

“And even if he did,” Sean said, continuing with his train of thought, “we have a very thin line linking Amethyst and Banks. A very thin line. Maybe she wanted to talk to him about some sort of charity affair. Or about opening up a shop of some kind. We really don’t know.”

Bernie tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’m getting the impression you agree with Lucy that there is no connection between the two homicides.”

Sean leaned back in his wheelchair and folded his hands over his stomach. “No. I think there is. I just think it has to be ferreted out. In order to find it, we need more information.”

Clyde finished off his piece of cheesecake and
looked at the plate wistfully. He sighed. “I can’t eat another thing,” he said.

“Not even a sliver?” Libby coaxed.

Clyde shook his head. “You’re a very bad person.”

“I know,” Libby said as she took his plate, cut him a small piece of cheesecake, and handed the plate back to him.

“Tell me,” Clyde asked Sean after he’d taken a bite, “do you still think that Bessie Osgood had anything to do with this mess?”

“Without a doubt,” Sean said. “All the names that have come up have been linked to her death. I still think that if you find out what happened the night she died, and you’ll find out who killed Amethyst and, possibly, Banks.”

Clyde leaned forward. “The question is, why is all of this happening now?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Sean said.

“There has to have been a precipitating incident,” Clyde mused.

Bernie stifled a yawn. “But what?”

“I wish I knew,” Sean said, and he went back to watching the street. A little girl decked out in a Hello Kitty outfit skipped by, holding her mother’s hand. He smiled, remembering how the girls used to wear their costumes around the house during the week before Halloween.

“You know,” Bernie said, “not to change the subject, but Kathy—”

Sean turned away from the window. “Big Kathy?”

Bernie made an impatient gesture. “Garden shop Kathy. My friend Kathy.”

“What about her?” asked Sean.

“She told me that Zinnia was killed by a hit-and-run driver a year after Bessie Osgood died,” said Bernie.

“I remember that one,” Clyde said. He turned to Sean. “Didn’t Porter get that guy?”

“Guys,” Sean corrected. “Two of them. They’d just robbed the Quick Mart in Oakley when they got McGuire. They said they didn’t see her, because she was sitting in the middle of the road. She had enough alcohol in her to embalm an elephant.”

“So much for that one,” Clyde said.

Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Bernie said, “We still don’t know about Timberland’s daughter.”

Clyde stifled a yawn. “Refresh my memory as to why we care about her.”

“Because she might furnish a motive for Timberland’s animosity toward Amethyst,” said Sean.

“Maybe I can find out,” Libby said.

“How?” her dad finally asked.

“Well,” Libby stammered, “I know his sister from yoga class.”

Bernie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re taking a yoga class?”

Libby straightened her shoulders. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Since when?” asked Bernie.

“Since last week, if you must know. Why?” said Libby.

“I’m just surprised. It doesn’t seem like your kind of thing,” replied Bernie.

Libby put her hands on her hips. “And why ever not?”

Sean intervened before things got started. “Bernie, maybe you could talk to Inez. She spends a lot of time at R.J.’s, and I can talk to Jeanine and see if she’s figured out the View-Master yet.”

“I understand Bob Small is going to be out on bail tomorrow,” Clyde said.

“Then I suppose one of us should go talk to him as well,” Sean said.

“Not me,” Clyde said.

“Obviously,” Sean shot back.

Clyde stifled another yawn. “Okeydokey. Time to get going.” He rose. “After all, another glorious day in Longely’s police force awaits me tomorrow morning.”

“By the way,” Sean called out, “who put up Small’s bail?”

“Kane,” said Clyde.

“Interesting,” said Sean.

“It’s not that high,” added Clyde.

“Still,” said Sean.

“While we’re on the subject, I found out some more info on Kane,” said Clyde.

Sean leaned forward. “Such as?”

“Nothing that we didn’t already know,” said Clyde. “He’s considered a genius with numbers, which is how he got so rich. He’s pretty much a workaholic. No surprise there. He had a minor heart attack a couple of years ago, and his doctors advised him to get a hobby. Hence the Foundation. I also talked to the guys that rigged up the Haunted House show. They said he couldn’t even put in a lightbulb without help.”