Free A Catered St. Patrick's Day by Isis Crawford Page A

getting back to the matter at hand.
    “Ah,” Brandon replied. “The duchess must not be pleased about the situation her nephew has gotten himself into.”
    “You could say that about her royal highness,” Bernie said, thinking back to Bree’s behavior in their flat.
    Brandon leaned over, grabbed a handful of peanuts out of the bowl, and began shelling them. “Well, over the years she’s spent a lot of time and money keeping Duncan out of trouble. I’m not so sure she can do it this time.”
    “I guess we’ll see what we can turn up,” Bernie said noncommittally.
    “You think there’s a chance that Duncan didn’t do it?” Brandon asked.
    “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bernie said. She took a peanut out of the bowl, shelled it, and popped it into her mouth.
    As he did likewise, Brandon said, “You know the cops were around a while ago asking for Liza.”
    Bernie reached for another peanut and cracked the shell between her thumb and forefinger. She decided that what she liked about peanuts in the shell was that you had to eat them slowly. “So what did you tell them?” she asked.
    “I didn’t tell them anything because there’s nothing to tell,” Brandon replied. “I haven’t seen Liza since the night Mike Sweeney died.”
    “Have you heard anything?”
    “About her?”
    “No. About my dad.”
    Brandon shook his head. “Not a peep. It’s like she’s disappeared from sight.”
    “Was she in here a lot?” Libby asked.
    “She’d stop in at least three or four times a week with the other potato heads.”
    Libby wrinkled her forehead. “Potato heads?”
    “He means Sweeney and Liam and those guys,” Bernie explained. “So,” she said to Brandon, “I don’t suppose that by any chance you heard any of those guys saying anything about her?”
    Brandon straightened up. “What are you implying?” he asked Bernie.
    Bernie rolled her eyes. “I’m not implying anything.“
    “You most certainly are. You’re implying that I eavesdrop on my customers, a suggestion I find abhorrent in the extrem Sin “e.”
    Libby giggled. “Like you’re not the gossip queen.”
    “Queen?” Brandon squeaked. “You’re calling me a queen now?”
    “Okay, a king then,” Libby said.
    Brandon tried to look offended. “That’s terrible.”
    Libby giggled harder. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed to get out.
    “I didn’t think it was that funny,” he said when Libby stopped laughing. “Seriously,” Brandon said.
    Libby tried to look repentant. “You’re right.”
    Bernie decided it was time to intervene. “Okay, Brandon,” she said. “Let me ask you another question. Do you think it’s possible that Liza put some kind of knockout drops in Duncan’s drink?”
    “For real?” Brandon asked.
    Bernie nodded.
    “It’s a theory we’re exploring,” Libby added. “So what do you think?”
    “I think it’s certainly possible; anything is possible. But there’s no way I can tell you for certain. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
    “There weren’t a lot of people in here that night,” Bernie observed.
    “I know, but I was busy cleaning and then I was reading the newspaper for a little while. I wasn’t watching Liza, Duncan, or Sweeney. I mean she was sitting between both guys, but ...” Brandon shrugged his shoulders.
    “But what?” Bernie asked.
    “I remember Duncan and Sweeney both hit the head a couple of times. I suppose Liza could have put the stuff in Duncan’s beer then.”
    “Was Duncan acting weird?” Bernie asked Brandon.
    “Weird as in how?”
    “Weird as in spacey,” Libby said.
    “No more than usual.” Brandon straightened up. “Of course, that’s the beauty with roofies. People act the way they usually do. They’re just more suggestible. Of course, the same holds true of Oxis.”
    “Oxis?” Bernie asked.
    “Oxycontin,” Brandon said. “The painkillers.”
    “I know what they are,” Bernie told him. “But I didn’t know they did