A Catered Fourth of July by Isis Crawford Page B

said.
    â€œHa!” said Brandon
    Bernie lifted an eyebrow. “Ha?”
    â€œYes, ha. You’ve been complaining about the heat nonstop.”
    â€œHave not,” Bernie protested.
    â€œHave so.” Brandon turned to Libby. “Isn’t that right?”
    She threw her hands up in the air. “I’m staying out of this.”
    â€œYou know your sister does.” He shook a finger at Bernie. “You complain about the winter, you complain about the summer. What does that leave you?”
    â€œSpring and fall, of course,” Bernie replied.
    Marvin waved a pretzel in the air. “Could you two stop bickering and get back to me?”
    â€œI suppose that’s only fair,” Brandon said.
    â€œI think so,” Marvin replied. “Especially since I’m the one who’s going to be indicted for murder.”
    â€œManslaughter,” Libby corrected.
    â€œI’m still going to jail,” Marvin said.
    Libby reached over and patted him on the back again. “You won’t. Okay. So let’s go over this one last time.”
    Marvin groaned. “You’re worse than the police.”
    â€œPlease,” Libby said. “We’re just trying to help.”
    Marvin hung his head. “I know,” he said in a contrite voice.
    â€œOkay.” Brandon took a sip of his drink. “One more time. Did anyone hand Jack Devlin his musket?”
    â€œHow many times do I have to tell you I don’t remember?” Marvin demanded.
    â€œYou’re sure?” Brandon asked.
    â€œOf course I’m sure,” Marvin cried. He took a pretzel out of the bowl and crumbled it into little bits. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you. I’ve tried remembering, but I can’t. Things were so hectic and I was so hot. All I was thinking of was how long it would take before it was over.” Marvin shook his head. “I’ve tried picturing what happened, but I can’t. My mind is a blank.”
    â€œSomeone had to have handed the damn thing to him,” Brandon observed.
    â€œWhy?” Bernie said. “Devlin could have picked it up by himself.”
    â€œBut then how could whoever wanted him dead make sure that the musket reached its intended target?” Brandon asked her.
    â€œI don’t know,” Bernie told him.
    â€œHow about Rick Evans?” Libby asked Marvin. “What about him?”
    Marvin pounded the bar. “How many times do I have to tell everyone I didn’t see anything?”
    Brandon leaned forward. “So tell me what you did see.”
    Marvin frowned. “I put the guns in a pile on the bench and everyone took one.”
    â€œWhere were you when this happened?”
    â€œI already told you, Brandon. I was there, but I wasn’t watching.”
    â€œWhat were you watching?”
    â€œI was watching Libby walking toward the gazebo. I was thinking how nice she looked.”
    â€œThat’s so sweet, Marvin,” Libby said.
    Marvin blushed.
    â€œAnd then?” Brandon prompted.
    â€œAnd then I turned back and all the muskets except the one I was going to use were gone.”
    â€œAnd none of them looked any different from any of the others?” Brandon asked.
    Marvin shook his head. “Not that I noticed.” He buried his hands in his face again. “I am so screwed. So, so screwed.”
    â€œDon’t say that,” Bernie told him.
    â€œBut we’re not getting anywhere,” Marvin told her. “We’re just going around in circles.”
    Bernie drummed her fingernails on the bar. “You’re right. This tack is getting us nowhere. We might be better off figuring out who among the people at the reenactment had a motive to kill Devlin.”
    Brandon laughed. “That would be everyone.”
    â€œI think we need to be a tad more selective,” Bernie said.
    â€œGive him the list,” Libby told Bernie.
    â€œI am giving