Free A Catered Fourth of July by Isis Crawford Page B

the ribs. Wink. Wink.”
    â€œBut I’m not going to miss him,” Libby objected. “Not one single bit.”
    â€œI know that. You know that. But Gail doesn’t. It’ll be interesting to see the expression on her face when you mention his name.”
    Libby started dissolving gelatin in orange juice, after which she got eggs out of the cooler. She slammed the door shut. “If it’s going to be that interesting, you go,” she said ungraciously.
    â€œIt won’t be the same. Really. Otherwise, I would.” Bernie put her hand up. “Swear.”
    â€œNo, you won’t. You just want me to get my nails done even though you know how much I hate having someone touch my hands and feet.”
    â€œTsk-tsk.” Bernie shook her head slowly. “Such a lack of trust.”
    Libby put her hands on her hips. “It’s true, Bernie.”
    â€œNo, it isn’t,” Bernie answered in as sorrowful a tone as she could manage.
    Libby decided her sister looked as if butter would melt in her mouth. She wished she had her sister’s ability to play the innocent.
    Bernie turned serious. “I really do think you have the best chance of getting something out of Gail. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t ask you to go.”
    Libby crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. She felt herself begin to weaken. “I don’t know.”
    â€œWell, I do. Even if you don’t want to, do it anyway. Do it for Marvin,” Bernie urged. “After all, that’s what this is all about.”
    â€œThat’s a low blow. Even for you.”
    Aware that she had scored the winning goal, Bernie smiled sweetly. She was always magnanimous in victory. “But an accurate one.” She went over and planted a kiss on Libby’s cheek. “Thank you. And who knows? You might actually like it. The mani-pedi, that is.”
    â€œI won’t,” Libby said, getting the last word in.
    Bernie let her. Given the circumstances, she figured it was the least she could do.

Chapter 9
    â€œW hat are you going to do if the garage door isn’t open? ” Libby asked her sister as they drove toward the Evans’s house.
    Bernie had confided that she planned on entering the Evans’s house through their garage. That would give her a chance to try and open the door with the picks she’d “borrowed” from her dad’s desk drawer without anyone seeing her.
    â€œThen I’ll find another way, but it always is,” Bernie replied.
    â€œAnd you know this how?” Libby asked.
    â€œBecause I usually go by their house when I go to Eli’s to get the flour.” Bernie fiddled with the air-conditioning in the van, trying to get a little more cool air out of it.
    Libby fanned herself with the side of her hand. “You go this way?”
    â€œIt’s shorter.”
    â€œNot by much.”
    â€œBy enough.” Bernie gave up on the air-conditioner and leaned back. If I don’t move, I’ll be fine, she told herself. Maybe she should buy a fan. One of the old-fashioned paper variety. She remembered seeing a lovely one in an antique store in the city.
    She ate the last of her slightly stale raspberry chocolate muffin and brushed the crumbs out of the smocking on the front of her dress. Raspberry and chocolate were a no-fail combination, even if she did say so herself.
    It was ten forty-five in the morning and almost ninety degrees. Rain was predicted in the early afternoon from a storm moving up the East Coast. Given the grayness of the sky, it looked as if the rain was going to be coming a lot sooner than that.
    â€œGood luck,” Libby said as she dropped Bernie off three blocks from the Evans household.
    Since they only had one vehicle, a vehicle with the name of their business emblazoned on the side, they’d decided it would be smarter if they met up again at the salon. Parking the van in front of the Evans’s house was