A Catered St. Patrick's Day Read Free Page A

that was that. Until now, that is.”
    “Why are you back here so early?” Libby asked.
    “Bad luck,” Brandon said. “Shorty was supposed to open, but he’s in the ER down in Mount Sinai with a kidney stone, so he woke me up and asked if I could be a pal and come down and take care of things for him.” Brandon frowned. “If I find out he’s lying to me, he’s in deep trouble. Anyway, I threw on some clothes, jumped in my car, and here I am. When I came in, the place looked exactly the way it had when I’d left. Then I opened the back door to olaack dooair the place out and that’s when I saw Sweeney.”
    “How do you know it’s Sweeney?” Bernie asked. “Did you turn him over?”
    “No. I haven’t touched him.” Brandon smoothed down his cowlick with the palm of his hand. “I know it’s Sweeney because I recognize the pants and those friggin’ shoes of his.”
    Bernie and Libby both looked down. Sweeney had on saddle shoes.
    “Evidently they’re the latest thing in trader land,” Brandon said. “I heard him bragging to Duncan about how they cost him five hundred bucks.”
    “Leave something long enough and it becomes fashionable again,” Bernie commented.
    Libby pointed to her jacket. “So I guess I should keep this.”
    Bernie snorted. She was about to reply that the jacket hadn’t been worth keeping when Libby bought it, when she heard the sound of a car entering the parking lot. A moment later, a Lexus barreled into the back lot and squealed to a stop a few feet in front of them. RJ’s owner, John Mulroney, got out of his car and waddled over. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, even though Brandon had already told him when he’d called him.
    Mulroney was a little guy, about five-foot-six, and almost as wide as he was tall. Bernie could see from the way he was moving that any sort of motion at all exhausted him. Brandon stepped aside so Mulroney could see the barrel and Sweeney floating in it.
    “Jeez,” Mulroney said. “Who is that?”
    “Mike Sweeney,” Brandon answered. “Remember?”
    “Yeah. Yeah.” Mulroney swallowed. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that he got really drunk and passed out and that he’s still alive.”
    “Not unless he’s grown gills,” Bernie said.
    Mulroney looked up and the flesh under his chin jiggled and his face got red. He seemed to be noticing Bernie and Libby for the first time. He turned to Brandon. “What the hell are they doing here?” he demanded. “I thought I told you not to call anyone.”
    Libby put on her game face. “Sorry. We were wandering by and we stopped to say hello,” she said brightly. “We were just keeping Brandon company until you came.”
    “He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” Mulroney growled. He took a handkerchief out of his vest pocket and mopped his brow, after which he turned to Brandon and jerked his head in the sisters’ direction. “These two are the busybodies who always get themselves involved in things they have no business getting involved in, correct?”
    “I wouldn’t go that far,” Bernie said.
    Mulroney ignored her.
    “And our chief of police doesn’t like them,” he continued.
    Brandon suppressed a smile. “Hates them, actually.”
    “That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Bernie said.
    “Not really,” Brandon replied.
    “All of you be quiet,” Mulroney snapped before Bernie could reply.
    “That’s rather rude,” Bernie said to him.
    “Ask me if I care,” Mulroney spat out as he glared at Brandon, Libby, and Bernie.
    Bernie thought it was a good glare as far as these things went and she could see why some people she knew might be intimidated by him. Then her gaze drifted to Mulroney’s tie. It was red and white check with black dots in the middle o"1ethe midf the red checks. Bernie was thinking it was one of the worst ties she’d seen in a while when Mulroney started talking again.
    “Listen,” he continued, “the only thing I care about is getting