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Authors: Isis Crawford

A Catered St. Patrick's Day (29 page)

BOOK: A Catered St. Patrick's Day
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An hour later they were all back at the Simmonses’ flat Seanless.
“There has to be something we’re overlooking,” Bernie said to Libby, Marvin, and Brandon as they all sat slumped on the sofa and armchairs.
She hadn’t offered anyone anything to eat or drink and no one had asked. Everyone was too upset. Which had to be a first.
“Like what?” Brandon asked despondently.
“I don’t know,” Bernie said. “Something.”
Brandon sighed and began to fiddle with the hem of his T-shirt. “We could go out and look again.”
“Yes, we should,” Bernie agreed.
Brandon’s foot began jiggling up and down. “At least we’ll be doing something, and doing something is a hell of a lot better than sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.”
“Agreed,” Libby said.
But she didn’t make a move to get up. Neither did anyone else.
“Does your dad ever keep notes?” Marvin asked.
“Unfortunately no,” Bernie answered. “He keeps it all up here.” And she pointed to her head. “You’re assuming,” she said to Marvin, “that his being missing has something to do with the investigation.”
“I guess I am,” Marvin allowed.
“But we don’t know that’s the case,” Bernie told him.
“We don’t know it’s not,” Marvin argued. “If we proceed along those lines at least it gives us a direction.” Not for nothing had he spent as much time with Mr. Simmons as he had.
“You’re right,” Libby said to Marvin.
“Yeah,” Brandon said. “What would your dad be doing if the situation was reversed?”
Bernie brightened. “That’s easy. He would go over the information we have again. Every little detail.”
“Because it’s always the little things that point the way,” Bernie and Libby said together, paraphrasing their dad.
Brandon leaned forward, replanted his legs on the floor, clasped his hands together, and rested them on his knees. “Okay, Marvin,” he said. “Tell us everything you said and did from the time you picked up Sean.”
“But I’ve already done that,” Marvin wailed. “Multiple times.”
“Well, do it again,” Bernie instructed. “There has to be something we’re missing here.”
And there was, Libby thought. Something that had happened. Something that was potentially important. But she couldn’t remember what. It was floating in the forefront of her brain but she couldn’t verbalize it. It bothered her. It bothered her enough so that as Marvin talked, despite her best intentions, Libby found her attention drifting off as she tried to remember.
She studied the branch of the budding ginkgo tree bowing in the wind outside the living room window. She watched a car across the street back into a parking space. Her glance lit on the clock on the wall and the empty armchair her dad would have been sitting in if he’d been here and the neatly folded paper he’d gone through this morning and she felt inexpressibly sad.
Then her gaze drifted to the biography of Lincoln her dad had been reading, and that’s when she noticed the manila envelope on the coffee table, the envelope that Orion had givenion had her for her Dad. The one she’d chucked onto the table when Bernie had come running up to tell her about the cooler.
That was it! That was the thing she’d been trying to remember and it had been right in front of her all the time. What was it her dad always used to say about people not seeing what was actually there? There was probably nothing in it, but she wouldn’t know that until she looked inside, would she? Libby leaned over, picked up the envelope, unsealed it, and took the pages out.
“What’s that?” Marvin asked.
“Sweeney’s and Duncan’s client list,” Libby said. “Orion dropped it off.”
“He was here?” Bernie asked.
“That’s what I just said,” Libby answered.
“And you didn’t say anything to me?”
“I didn’t get the chance what with the cooler and all.”
“Did you take a look?”
“That’s what I’m doing, Bernie.”
“So?” Bernie asked as Libby started glancing through the pages.
“As far as I can tell, it’s a list of how much money people who invested with Mike Sweeney and Duncan lost.”
“Let me see,” Bernie said, and she leaned over and grabbed the pages out of Libby’s hand.
“That is so rude,” Libby told her.
“Sorry,” Bernie said, even though she wasn’t. “My God,” she said as she took in the sums of money on the page. “We’d be rocking if we had an eighth of this. Hell, we’d be okay if we had one thirty-sixth. Clearly we are in the wrong business.”
“Clearly,” Libby said as she got up and leaned over Bernie’s shoulder.
A moment later Marvin and Brandon did the same. Brandon whistled as his eyes took in the sums. “No wonder everyone has been tipping less. If I lost that much money I wouldn’t be tipping at all.”
“If I lost that much money I would shoot myself,” Libby said. “Jeez,” she exclaimed when she came to the name on the bottom of the second page. “That’s certainly interesting.”
“It certainly is,
” Bernie said. “I’d say that’s a pretty good motive, wouldn’t you?”
“Definitely,” Libby replied.
Brandon leaned over and took a better look. “You know he was there that night.”
“What do you mean Dwyer was there that night?” Bernie asked.
“He was one of the people who was there at RJ’s the night Sweeney was killed. He left early.”
“Why didn’t you mention him?” Libby asked.
“Because you didn’t ask,” Brandon told her. “I told you there were six other people there who had left earlier. You never asked me who they were.”
Bernie bit her lip. “It just never occurred to me.” Bernie put the papers down on the coffee table. She felt sick. She took out her cell and called Dwyer’s office. No one answered.
“Maybe he’s home,” Libby said.
“Could be,” Bernie said. “Let’s go find out.”
“Definitely,” Marvin and Brandon said together.
Chapter 32
 
A
s Sean watched Pat Dwyer straighten out his shirt, he reflected that the man seemed out of breath. “Are you all right?” Sean asked.
Dwyer smiled and smoothed down his hair. “Fine. Just tussling with the garbage disposal. I mean what’s the point of having one if every time you put something like coffee grinds or rice down it, it gets stuck?”
Sean laughed. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself. So where’s Anne?” he asked as he took in the hallway with its white walls, lack of pictures, and plain wooden table with mail lying on it. As Sean stepped around a large, rolled up rug that had been shoved against the wall, he couldn’t help reflecting on the lack of thought or care that had been put into the furnishings. Dwyer’s house was like Dwyer’s office, only less so.
Pat Dwyer smiled. “Anne went out shopping. You look disappointed. What? I’m not good enough for you?” he joked. “Come in. Have some coffee.”
“I’ll come in, but I’ll pass on the coffee,” Sean told him.
“I was just going to pour myself a cup. Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Sean said politely. “I’m over my quota as it is.”
Dwyer nodded and led Sean into the living room. “Be back in a sec. Just going to get my coffee,” he told Sean as he took off for the kitchen. He emerged a moment later carrying two mugs and handed one to Sean. “Here,” he said. “Try it. I make a great cup of coffee if I do say so myself.”
“Perhaps in a moment,” Sean said, putting the cup down on one of the end tables.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Dwyer said. “And speaking of someone not being here, where’s your pal?”
“Marvin? He’s back in the office doing paperwork. I convinced him to let me borrow his car.”
Dwyer raised an eyebrow. “That was nice of him.”
“Yes, it was,” Sean agreed.
“Knowing Marvin, I bet it took a fair amount of convincing,” Dwyer replied.
“Enough,” Sean admitted. “But I really wanted to see if I could be out on my own.”
“It must feel good,” Dwyer said.
“You can’t imagine how good it feels,” Sean said with all the emotion he could muster.
“And you used your free time to come here?” Dwyer asked. “I’m flattered.”
Sean shrugged. “Don’t be. I was visiting Rose and some questions about Liza popped into my head and I decided to drive over,” he said, savoring the phrase
I decided to drive over
.
“You can ask me,” Dwyer said.
Sean shook his head. “Thanks, but I really wanted to talk to Anne. It’s always good to get a mother’s perspective.”
Dwyer straightened his shirt. “Then I’ll tell Anne to call you when she comes in. Once she goes off shopping there’s no telling how long she’ll be gone.”
Sean smiled. “I understand completely. Bernie’s the same way. But as long as I’m here, do you think I could see Liza’s room? If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”
Sean noted that Dwyer seemed surprised at the request.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Dwyer told him after a few seconds went by. “But can I ask why?”
“It gives me a feel for the person.” When Dwyer didn’t say anything, Sean added, “I’m ed, “Iat a dead end and I’m hoping. . . well, I guess I’m hoping that something in Liza’s room will give me a direction to go in.”
Dwyer shook his head. “It’s just a room, for heaven’s sake. I’ll show you if you want, but I don’t see the point.”
“There probably isn’t,” Sean admitted. He was about to make a comment about humoring an old man when he heard what sounded like a thumping coming from below him.
Dwyer shook his head. “That’s the washing machine. It does that when it gets off balance.”
“Ours used to do that too. We ended up having to get a new one.”
“Well, I’m hoping ours will go for a little while longer,” Dwyer replied.
“You know, if you’re busy I can always come by another time,” Sean said after a moment had gone by and Dwyer still hadn’t moved.
“No, no,” Dwyer said. “I’ll take you up.”
Sean remembered Bernie saying something about Liza’s room being in the basement and remarked on it.
Dwyer hit his forehead with the flat of his hand. “Early onset Alzheimer’s. It was upstairs. But then Liza moved downstairs. Something about her being free to come and go as she pleased.” Dwyer frowned. “I told Anne I didn’t think it was a good idea, but she always let Liza do whatever she wanted, which—not to speak ill of the dead or anything—is why she turned out the way she did.” Then he pointed to Sean’s cane. “Are you sure you’re not going to have trouble on the stairs? They’re pretty steep.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sean assured him as he followed Dwyer through the house.
Passing by the dining room, he spotted something in the blue bowl on the sideboard that brought him to a dead stop. Dwyer, realizing Sean wasn’t behind him, stopped too, turned, and followed Sean’s gaze.
“Are those Anne’s keys?” Sean asked. He was pretty sure they were because of the pink rabbit’s foot she always carried on them. She’d explained the reason to Bernie at the shop one morning and Bernie had told him but he was embarrassed to say he’d forgotten what it was.
“Damn,” Dwyer said, laughing. “So that’s where they are. I had to give Anne the keys to my car.”
To Sean’s ear, Dwyer’s laugh had a tinny sound and he noticed a bead of sweat was making its way down Dwyer’s neck even though it was cold in the house.
“I thought your car was a shift,” Sean said.
“It is. That’s why I don’t like Anne driving it. She strips the gears.”
“I see,” Sean said. And he thought he did. Unfortunately.
He looked at Dwyer. Dwyer stared back at him and at that moment Sean knew. He knew with one hundred percent certainty. He didn’t know whether it was Dwyer’s bobbing Adam’s apple that told him or the faint tremor in Dwyer’s hand or the sweat.
“Too bad both cars are still in the garage,” Sean said.
“You can’t see them from—” Dwyer said, then stopped himself, but it was too late.
“Where is she?” Sean asked.
“I told you. Anne’s out shopping.”
Sean heard another thump downstairs. “You should get that washing machine fixed,” he said.
“I’m planning on calling the repairman on Monday. You know the builders of this place said the basement was haunted,” Dwyer told Sean. d bad Sean. Something about one of the construction guys being killed there.”
“Pesky little things, ghosts,” Sean said. “Does this one have a name? Like maybe Anne?”
Dwyer forced a smile. “I’ll have to ask the exorcist.”
“I don’t think that’s what you’re going to need,” Sean commented.
Dwyer shook his head. More in sorrow than in anger, Sean thought.
“Amazing how things snowball,” Dwyer said.
“Yes, it is,” Sean agreed. “You start off small and things just get bigger and bigger.”
“They certainly do,” Dwyer responded.
“It might have been better if you hadn’t gone to the gym all these years,” Sean observed.
A smile flitted across Dwyer’s face. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he said. “I guess I couldn’t have done what I did without all that muscle. Interesting argument for not staying fit.”
“Did Anne find out what you did to Liza?” Sean asked.
Dwyer took a deep breath and let it out. “Evidently Liza recorded everything. I thought I’d gotten rid of it all, but I didn’t. She made backups. I came in when Anne was listening to them.” Dwyer shook his head again. “And just when things were beginning to settle down too, the digital age comes and bites me in the ass.”
“You know what they say,” Sean continued. “If you want something done properly, do it yourself.”
“I should have,” Dwyer agreed. “It would have been simpler.”
“So why did you do it?” Sean asked.
Dwyer smiled. “Kill Sweeney and frame Duncan?”
“Attempt to frame Duncan,” Sean said.
“Because of the money, of course.”
“Of course,” Sean echoed.
“Don’t say it like that,” Dwyer cried. His cheeks began to flush. “Do you know how long it took me to amass that sum of money? Do you know how hard I’ve worked? How much I’ve given up? And to be left with nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Dwyer’s voice shook with rage. “And then to have Sweeney and Duncan shrug their shoulders and tell me there was nothing they could do about it. That there was no way to get my money back. To look at their smug faces. No. There was no way I was going to let that pass. None. They both deserved what they got.”
“How did you get Sweeney back to RJ’s?” Sean asked.
“I called him. Said I wanted to do another deal.”
“And he believed you?” Sean asked incredulously.
“Sure,” Dwyer said. “He figured he could fuck me over as many times as he wanted. After all, he’d done it before. But I was waiting for him. I got him in a lock, bashed his head into one of the vats to quiet him down, then held his head under.” Dwyer absentmindedly rubbed his hands together. “Originally, I was going to do something else, but when I saw that fracas with the green beer ... And Brandon never put the top back on properly. Well, when providence hands you something, you have to go with it.”
“So you saw that?” Sean asked.
“I was behind the Dumpster in the alley waiting for Sweeney to leave.”
“And Liza,” Sean asked as he changed the position of his hand on the cane. “What about her?”
“What about her? I gave her money to pur money t that stuff in Duncan’s drink. Five hundred bucks for a minute’s worth of work. She didn’t even have to get it. I gave it to her. But she wanted more money once she figured out what had gone down. She always wanted more. She was a totally worthless individual. A drain on her mother and me.”
“I bet her mother didn’t see it that way.”
“Anne never did have her head on straight when it came to that kid,” Dwyer said ruefully.
“So you went to talk to Liza.”
Dwyer smiled. “Yeah, I did. I told her I was bringing her her money.”
“And then you put roofies in her drink and led her up to the bathroom and shot her.”
“That is correct.”
“You probably picked the bathroom because it was neater.”
“As my mother used to say, neatness counts.”
“I’m sure she’d be so proud,” Sean said. “Answer me this. Why did you point me in Liza’s direction?”
Dwyer smiled again. “I thought it made me look better and anyway I was tired of Anne whining about where her daughter was. I wanted some peace and quiet.”
“Then why did you tip off the cops? It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Who else?” And Dwyer laughed. “Impulse really. I know how much Lucy dislikes you. I thought the scenario would be amusing.”
“You really are nuts,” Sean told Dwyer.
“I believe the correct term is sociopathic,” Dwyer said as he took a step toward him.
“Stay where you are,” Sean warned, raising his cane and pointing it at Dwyer.
Dwyer sniggered. “What are you planning to do with that?”
“Come any closer and you’ll find out,” Sean said.
Dwyer kept coming. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. It’s got a knife in it.”
“A blade,” said Sean, automatically correcting him.
Dwyer didn’t stop. He kept coming. Finally he came up to the cane and held it against his chest. “Do what you’re going to do, old man, before I cave your chest in.”
“You think I won’t?” Sean asked.
“I think you can’t,” Dwyer responded.
“You’re wrong,” Sean said.
“Am I?” Dwyer said.
“Yes you are,” Sean said as he lowered the cane an inch while he pressed the button on the handle.
A long, thin, razor-sharp blade snaked out. Sean made a cross against Dwyer’s stomach. Blood squirted out. He made another deeper cut, then pushed the blade in under Dwyer’s breastbone and pressed harder, thrusting up as he went.
Dwyer’s f
ace turned pale. He dropped his hand. Sean turned the blade again. Dwyer staggered backward. His shirt was bright red with blood. Then he fell to the ground. Sean stood over him for a moment and watched Dwyer try to say something. Nothing came out.
I’ve killed him, Sean thought as he watched Dwyer’s chest stop moving. He reached to take the cane out of Dwyer’s chest, then withdrew his hand. He didn’t want to touch it. Instead, Sean walked into the kitchen and called 911 on the house phone.
When he was done, he walked downstairs and found Anne Dwyer lying on her daughter’s bed, gagged and trussed up with duct tape. A bruise ran down the left side of her side offace.
BOOK: A Catered St. Patrick's Day
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