A Catered St. Patrick's Day by Isis Crawford

Duncan said.
    Bernie just shook her head in disgust. “No. Not really. He’s a famous American poet.”
    “Whatever,” Duncan said.
    Libby decided that he was clearly bored with the conversation. She didn’t say anything. She just watched Duncan for a moment. Then she leaned back, reached in the pocket of her hoodie, took out a chocolate kiss, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. “I have a question for you before we go,” she said to Duncan, after the chocolate had dissolved on her tongue.
    Duncan planted his feet on the floor, leaned forward, clasped his hands, and rested his arms on his knees. “Yeah? Make it short, because I really have a lot of stuff I have to do.”
    “So you’ve said.”
    “Well, it hasn’t seemed to make any difference,” he snapped at Libby.
    “I’m just curious about one thing.”
    Duncan’s left leg started jiggling up and down. “I’m waiting,” he said when Libby didn’t say anything else.
    “How come your aunt is paying for your lawyer?” she asked, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. She was just curious to see what Duncan was going to say.
    Duncan gave her a blank look. “That’s it?”
    Libby nodded. “That’s it.”
    “I don’t get the question.”
    “The question is simple,” Libby went on. “From what I hear, you’re a very rich man, a man who could easily afford the one hundred thousand dollars, even the two hundred thousand it costs to mount a defense, let alone post a bond for bail, and yet your aunt is doing it. And not only is she doing it, but she’s letting you live in her guest cottage as well.”
    “That’s because the lawyers thought it would be better,” Duncan replied, a sullen tone creeping into his voice.
    “Why is that?” Libby asked, noting as she did that Duncan had stopped tapping his foot.
    Duncan glared at her. “Ask them if you’re so interested. See, I knew hiring you was a mistake.” He started to get up. “I think we’re just about done here.”
    Libby stayed where she was. “You know what I think?” she said. “I think that if we asked around we’d find that you’re living in your aunt’s guest house because you’re behind on your rent. In fact, I bet we’d find you’re in the process of being evicted. Am I right?”
    “My money is tied up right now,” Duncan told her stiffly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
    “And that’s why your aunt is paying for your defense as well?” Bernie asked.
    “I’ll pay her back,” Duncan said. “She knows that. I’m just not very liquid right now.”
    “So what happened?” Bernie asked him.
    “What do you mean ‘w Cyouthe hat happened’?” Duncan demanded.
    “I mean what happened to your money?”
    Duncan adjusted a button on his shirt. “You wouldn’t understand,” he told her. “It’s very complicated.”
    “You’re probably right,” Bernie said. “I don’t understand all this high finance stuff.” She turned to Libby. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t Mike Sweeney involved in the finance business?”
    “I believe he was,” Libby replied.
    “And didn’t he trade something like derivatives?”
    “Right again,” Libby said.
    “And aren’t those very volatile?” Bernie asked.
    Libby nodded. “Indeed they are, Bernie. In fact, a lot of people have lost enormous sums of money on them recently.”
    Duncan scowled. “Hey. Spare me the finance lesson here. I know what derivatives are, thank you very much.”
    “I bet you do,” Libby said sweetly. “And I’m also going to bet that that’s why you don’t have any money right now. And I’m further going to bet that Mike Sweeney is responsible for your present predicament. And I’ll go even further and say that that’s what the argument was about at the party and that’s why you said you wanted to kill him. And that, coupled with your wallet, is why the police arrested you. You have a really good motive for wanting to kill Sweeney, that motive