"We don't have anything," Libby interjected.

Bernie cracked open a peanut. "Except for what Annabel said."

"To which no one is paying any attention," Libby observed.

"And they may be right," Bernie said. "Who knows? She might have staged this whole thing herself. According to Dad, that's the latest theory going around-no doubt suggested by her husband."

"He suggested what?" Libby practically yelped.

Bernie took a sip of her Brooklyn Brown. "Didn't I tell you? The new scenario is that Annabel poisoned herself out of spite, so Richard would then get arrested for her murder."

"I gotta say, that would be quite a grudge she was carrying," Brandon said. "Talk about not being clear on the concept."

Libby turned to her sister. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

"Obviously not," Bernie told her.

"Me neither," Libby said. "But it's a very..."

"Seductive explanation," Bernie supplied.

Libby nodded. "Exactly."

Brandon refilled the plastic bowl in front of Libby and Bernie with sh.e.l.led peanuts. The peanuts were R.J.'s trademark. Usually the floor was littered with the sh.e.l.ls, which crunched when people stepped on them, but tonight the only piles were around Bernie's and Libby's feet. Not only did the peanuts add a little local color, but they were cheap, and they absorbed the alcohol so people could drink more.

"I thought you guys weren't going to take this on?" he said. "How come you changed your minds?"

Bernie lifted up her hands and brought them down. "What can I say? Our consciences got the better of us."

"I hate when that happens," Brandon said. "But deathbed promises are hard to ignore."

"It wasn't a deathbed promise," Libby said. "It was more like a dining room table promise."

"You don't have to be so literal," Bernie retorted.

"I was just being accurate," Libby rejoined. "You always tell me my speech is sloppy."

Bernie rolled her eyes. "Let's just get on with it, shall we?" She picked up her drink and walked over to where Kevin O'Malley was sitting.

He didn't look up. Not promising, Bernie thought as she sat down next to him.

"The answer is no," he said, before taking another sip of his drink.

"No to what? I haven't even said anything yet," Bernie protested.

"No. I'm talking about Annabel Colbert's business."

"How do you know that's what I want?"

He gave her a look. "I'm not stupid. This is a small town. What else could you want?"

"Well, I could want to know how much you're selling your mangoes for."

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"Or your hothouse peaches. Or how you price your platters. Richard Colbert was especially pleased with the feta, grape leaves, and olives. The garnish was quite nice. I'll have to try the three different types of radishes myself."

"By all means do," Kevin said.

"I was thinking of doing more veggie things. What do you think?"

"I think that you're perfectly capable of adding some new items to your menu without my help, so you can can the charm."

"That's rather rude," Bernie said.

Kevin took a sip of his Scotch. "It was meant to be."

"So," Bernie said, trying again. "When did Richard Colbert order the platters to be sent to his house?"

Instead of answering, Kevin laughed and rubbed his finger around the top of his gla.s.s. "Do you know why I'm successful?" he asked.

"Good hygiene?"

"Seriously."

"Okay. Because you stock good products. Because you offer good service. Because you have good suppliers."

"Besides that."

Bernie thought for a moment. "Good word of mouth."

Kevin nodded. "Exactly."

"I'm still not seeing where this is leading," Bernie said.

"It's really simple. I've targeted my business to the rich, the superrich, and the merely well-off."

Bernie nodded.

"And one of the things people like that appreciate is discretion."

"You run a grocery store, for heaven's sake."

"Then why are you talking to me now?"

Bernie fell silent.

"Exactly. You're talking to me because you want to know all the latest gossip that I've heard. Well, I don't do that. I don't do that because it would lose me customers. I have keys to my customers' houses so I can go in and put their orders away before they come home from vacations. That way there will be food in the house when they get in.

"I wouldn't have that level of trust if they didn't know I was discreet. That is the foundation I've built my business on. There are lots of fancy grocery stores. My discretion is my ace in the hole. And in any case there's nothing to say about Annabel Colbert. Her death was an accident. Everyone says so."

"Especially her husband."

Kevin inclined his head but said nothing.

Bernie thought for a second. Then she said, "But if you were going to tell me something, what would you say?"

Kevin laughed again. Bernie noted that his teeth were small and pointed and very white.

"I would say you should go see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Longely Playhouse. I think you'll like Brick."

"That's it?" Bernie said.

"That's it," Kevin replied. "And now, if you'll pardon me, I'd like to finish the rest of my drink in peace and quiet."

"By all means," Bernie said, and she returned to her stool.

"But what does that mean?" Libby asked when Bernie told her what Kevin had said.

"I have no idea, but I think we'd better check it out," Bernie told her.

Libby groaned. "Like I have time to go to a play."

Brandon grinned. "There's always time for culture."

Libby laughed. "Like what? Fantasy Football?"

"Exactly." He c.o.c.ked his lead. "Listen," he said.

"Listen to what?" Bernie asked.

Then she heard it. Something was flapping outside. A moment later there was the unmistakable sound of hail hitting the roof.

"I do believe the nor'easter has arrived," Brandon loudly announced.

Down at the other end of the bar Kevin O'Malley lifted his gla.s.s. "Then I'd better have another quick one before I go."

"I'm just glad we got new tires on the van last week," Libby said. The old ones had been so threadbare the van probably would have slid all the way home.

Bernie was just about to tell her that she worried too much when the front door banged open and Marvin came stumbling in. He shook his head and brushed off his coat. Little snowflakes danced to the floor. He gave Libby a hug and a kiss.

"Boy it's really starting to come down," he said. "It's not much fun out there. It's not much fun at all."

Which turned out to be an understatement.

Chapter 10.

The storm blew itself out around four in the morning, leaving lampposts capped in little hats of snow and cars buried halfway up their tires. For a short while, until people got up, everything was sparkling white.

"You have to admit it's pretty," Bernie said, looking out the window as she sipped her coffee.

"It's beautiful," Libby allowed as she dug her snow boots and mittens out of the closet. "And if we didn't have to shovel it would be even prettier."

It was a little after six, but Libby figured they'd better get started clearing the sidewalk. At least that way they wouldn't be too far behind with the other stuff they had to do.

"I wonder if Trudy goes out in the snow?" Bernie mused while slipping into her Uggs and ski parka.

"She probably has custom-made boots and a matching jacket," Libby said as they started down the stairs.

Bernie dug her mittens out of her parka's pockets. "It wouldn't surprise me at all."

It took the sisters a little over an hour to salt and shovel. They were totally exhausted by the time they were done, but as their dad said when they got back upstairs, people might not be able to drive down Main Street yet, but when they were able to A Little Taste of Heaven would be ready to receive them. Which was a good thing, because the number of people who started trickling in as soon as they opened the doors wanting to buy coffee and a pastry or two surprised Libby.

By nine o'clock the shop had already sold out of their apple, apple cranberry, and prune and apricot pies, as well as their corn, pumpkin, and chocolate chip m.u.f.fins, in addition to their apricot and oatmeal cookies. Googie and Amber, who had fortunately made it in, were a blur of activity behind the counter.

Libby and Bernie were in the kitchen drinking coffee, eating slices of two-day-old apple pie that hadn't sold, and getting ready to make some more m.u.f.fins.

"Pie in the morning," Bernie observed. "Nothing better."

"For sure," Libby said as she mashed the last crumbs of the crust onto her finger and conveyed them to her mouth. "You know," she said, "I was thinking. Maybe we should try half whole wheat and half white flour in the pie dough."

"I don't know." Bernie added a little more heavy cream to her coffee. "I think I go with Mom's adage: If it ain't broke don't fix it."

Libby cut herself another little sliver. "She never said anything like that."

"She didn't have to. That's the way she lived."

"Maybe," Libby conceded. "But there's always room for improvement."

"Not with our pie dough. Our pie dough is perfect."

"We could sell this as a healthier alternative."

"Then we'd have to have too many different types. We'd end up throwing too much out."

"We could only do it by special order."

Bernie frowned. "I don't know. It's one more thing to keep track of and we don't do such a good job keeping track of what we already have, as it is. Basically, I think it's going to be too much work and not enough profit."

"Boy you're in a bad mood," Libby noted. Normally she was the negative one, not Bernie. Bernie was always up for trying something new.