Free A Catered Wedding by Isis Crawford Page B

you when you can leave the premises.”
    Bernie’s eyes narrowed. She began tapping her foot. “Excuse me, but did you just tell me to make myself useful?”
    Officer Fisher stuck his face in Bernie’s.
    â€œYou have a problem with that?” he demanded.
    â€œI always have a problem with . . .” but before she could get the rest of the sentence out of her mouth Libby had dragged her out of the tent. Bernie shook off her sister’s hand.
    â€œLeave me alone,” she spat. Then she turned on her heels and started marching back towards the tent. “He wants coffee,” she announced to Amber and Libby. “I’ll give him coffee.”
    â€œNo,” Amber and Libby cried simultaneously as each one of them grabbed one of Bernie’s arms and held on.
    â€œLet go of me,” Bernie demanded, struggling against their grip.
    Libby clamped down harder on her sister’s wrist. God, Bernie was strong. “Not until you calm down. Can’t you see he was baiting you? I need you with me, not off in a cell on some obstruction of justice charge.”
    â€œThat’s because you’re afraid I won’t be there to help peel the tomatoes,” Bernie retorted.
    But even before the words had flown out of Bernie’s mouth she knew her sister was right. Being in jail would suck under any circumstances, but it would especially suck tonight. She had plans involving Rob and some really hot underwear she’d bought yesterday.
    â€œNow that’s not true and you know it,” Libby answered.
    â€œNo, I don’t.” Bernie sighed. “Okay,” she conceded. “It’s mostly not true. All right. All right. It’s not true at all.”
    Libby peered at Bernie’s face. “You promise you won’t run in there if we let you go?”
    Bernie nodded.
    â€œSay it,” Libby ordered. She’d learned long ago to her cost that unless Bernie said it it didn’t count.
    â€œOkay. I promise I won’t assault Officer Fisher.”
    â€œOr say anything stupid.”
    â€œOr say anything stupid. There. Are you satisfied?”
    â€œYes, I am.” Libby and Amber loosened their grip.
    Bernie rubbed her wrists. “You didn’t have to grab me so hard.”
    â€œThen don’t flip out,” Libby said. She trimmed one of her cuticles with her teeth. “Officer Fisher is right about one thing, though,” she said to Bernie.
    Bernie glared at her. “And what would that be?”
    â€œNo matter what. Wedding. Funeral. Murder. People need to eat. Thank God,” she added. “Otherwise we’d be out of a job.”
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    As Jura and Esmeralda Quinn, Leeza’s maid of honor walked into the kitchen, Libby was thinking that the condition of the place was a good indication of Jura’s lack of concern for the people that worked in it. As her mother used to say, if you want to know about a man or a woman look at how they treat their wait staff.
    Jura had mountains of money to spend on the wedding, he’d probably spent millions on furnishing his house, and yet it was perfectly obvious to Libby that he hadn’t spent a penny on upgrading and modernizing the kitchen. No doubt because he never set foot in it.
    No wonder the cook was so grumpy, Libby thought. If she had to work here every day she’d be more than grumpy. She’d be suicidal! The place probably hadn’t been touched in twenty years. At least. The walls were dingy, the lighting inadequate, the white enameled sink was chipped, and the old Viking stove needed a good steam cleaning.
    Libby couldn’t even discern the original pattern on the linoleum floor, let alone see out of the window by the sink. And she wasn’t even mentioning the fact that the counters were too low and the refrigerator should be in the Smithsonian. It wasn’t even frost free for heaven’s sake. It still had to be defrosted.
    â€œHere,”