A Catered Mother's Day Read Free Page A

at the screen.
    â€œIt’s Ellen,” she informed Libby as she answered.
    First Bernie heard, “I’m in so much trouble.” Then Ellen began to laugh hysterically. “What’s the matter?” Bernie asked.
    Libby moved closer so she could hear.
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” There was another cackle of hysterical laughter from Ellen.
    â€œEllen, tell me what’s going on.”
    â€œI should never have listened to you, Bernie.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bernie told her. She’d been up since five in the morning and was not in the mood for drama.
    â€œYou know, Bernie. Your suggestion. Your brilliant plan.”
    â€œWhat suggestion, Ellen?”
    Ellen’s answer was another burst of maniacal laughter.
    Libby raised an eyebrow, demanding clarification. Bernie shook her head in response. She had no idea what Ellen was talking about. She decided to try a different tack. “Okay,” she said. “At least, tell me where you are.”
    â€œI’m at the Riverview Motel. Room twenty-one.”
    â€œJeez, that’s an oldie but goodie. What are you doing there?”
    â€œNow, that’s a good question. An excellent question. Of course the better—”
    Bernie interrupted. “Ellen, stop. Just tell me what’s going on.”
    This time Ellen let out something between a laugh and a sob. “How can I tell you when I don’t know? I thought I did, but now . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    Bernie looked around the kitchen and saw her evening plans disappearing. “Are you on something?” she asked, although she couldn’t see Ellen ingesting anything that didn’t come from Whole Foods. Was acid organic? Probably not.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œI don’t know. Pills. Acid. Bath salts.”
    â€œAre you nuts?” Ellen’s voice rose in indignation. “I have three kids, for God’s sake.”
    â€œRight. Moving on. Are you hurt?” Bernie asked. “Should I call nine-one-one?”
    â€œNo,” Ellen cried. “Absolutely not. Whatever you do, for God’s sake don’t do that.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Bernie asked.
    â€œI’m positive,” Ellen said. “I couldn’t explain. I don’t know who it is.”
    â€œWho who is, Ellen? You’re not making any sense at all.”
    â€œI did a bad thing, Bernie. A really bad thing. You’ll come, won’t you? Please.”
    Bernie grimaced. She’d really been looking forward to a shot of Scotch and a visit with Brandon. “Do I have a choice?” Ellen started sobbing on the other end of the line and Bernie immediately regretted her comment. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised.
    â€œThank you. Thank you so much.” Ellen hung up, leaving Bernie looking at her phone.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” Libby asked.
    Bernie shook her head as she put her cell back on the kitchen counter. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
    â€œWhy doesn’t she call Bruce?” Libby asked as she quickly finished tying the bow on top of a box holding the six chocolate macaroons with a hazelnut praline filling. She fluffed out the loops on the ribbon and added, “Isn’t that what husbands are for?”
    â€œTheoretically.” Bernie picked up a broken macaroon that was lying on the prep table and ate it. It melted in her mouth, leaving behind the taste of chocolate and hazelnuts. “Maybe she didn’t call him because this has to do with him.”
    â€œWhat did he do? Kill someone?”
    â€œBruce?” Bernie laughed at the idea. “Not hardly. He’d outsource it. He’s not a get-your-hands-dirty kind of guy.”
    Libby sighed as she looked at the unboxed macaroons.
    â€œYou don’t have to come,” Bernie told Libby, correctly