A Catered Murder Read Online Free

Bernie was like living with a talking encyclopedia, an encyclopedia that followed you around, bombarding you with facts you had no desire to know.
    â€œI believe,” Bernie said, “the word puce comes from the French by way of Latin and means flea-colored.”
    Libby felt like slapping her.
    â€œThat is enough.”
    â€œSorry.” Bernie reached for the last bunch of parsley. “It’s not my fault if I have a photographic memory.”
    â€œGo on one of those game shows. Make some money.”
    â€œDon’t think I haven’t thought about it, but all those people. . . I’d get so nervous I’d blank out.”
    â€œPop a beta blocker.”
    â€œI’ll stick with tranqs.”
    â€œWhatever,” Libby said as she put the aspic in the cooler and began washing the celery under the faucet. She preferred to hide in her kitchen, but she never thought of Bernie, the belle of Clarington High, the person who had dyed her hair bright blue, as shy.
    For the next minute or so the women worked in silence. The only sounds in the kitchen were the thunck of Bernie’s knife on the cutting board, Depeche Mode coming from the CD player, and the sound of water as it hit the sink basin and swirled down the drain.
    â€œI can’t believe that reporter,” Libby said.
    â€œWhy not?” Bernie answered. “Laird Wrenn is big business. According to a friend of mine at Willie Morris, he just signed a contract for two books at three million each.”
    â€œBut they’re horrible,” Libby protested. “Damned to Hell was unreadable.”
    â€œSomeone’s reading them. I don’t know why. His vampires can even walk in the daylight. Where’s the fun in that? And on top of everything else, he’s such an asshole.”
    â€œHe’s probably worse now,” Libby said. “Fame doesn’t usually bring out the best in people, that’s for sure. And changing his name from Lionel Wrenkoski to Laird Wrenn?”
    â€œThat was Lydia’s idea.” Bernie grinned. “Maybe we should call him Lionel when he shows up.”
    Libby was just about to remind her sister that you never insulted the guests when she heard a tapping on one of the windows.
    â€œIs that Tiffany Doddy?” Bernie asked, looking at the face staring at them through the panes of glass.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œI thought you told me she was moving to New Jersey.”
    â€œShe was there for two months and came back,” Libby said. “Let me see what she wants.” And she hurried outside.
    â€œIs that Bernie?” Tiffany asked when she saw Libby.
    â€œShe came in early this morning.” Libby took a closer look at her friend. Her eyeliner was smeared, her eyes were red, and there was a coffee stain on her T-shirt. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.” Tiffany sniffed. “Really. It’s just that something’s come up.”
    Libby gestured towards the kitchen.
    â€œCome inside and we can talk while I work.”
    Tiffany shook her head and took a step back.
    â€œNo. It’s all right,” she reassured Libby. “I should have remembered you’d be busy.”
    â€œIf it’s really serious . . .”
    â€œIt’s fine. Honestly.”
    Then, before Libby could say anything else, Tiffany got in her car and sped off. For a minute Libby thought about going after her, but then she thought about how much she had left to do and changed her mind.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” Bernie asked Libby when she came back in.
    â€œShe wanted to talk to me.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œShe wouldn’t say.”
    Bernie wiped her chopping knife off on her apron.
    â€œIt was probably nothing. You know the way Tiffany gets.”
    Libby bit her lip. “I think she’s started drinking again.”
    â€œOh, dear.” Both sisters were quiet for a moment; then Bernie said, “You know