Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The (14 page)
Read Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The Online
Authors: Krista Davis
Tags: #Winston; Sophie (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Cooks, #Large Type Books, #Cookery, #Mystery, #Divorced Women, #Cooking, #Divorced Women - Crimes Against, #Weddings, #Crimes Against, #Sisters
Kevin backed up a step. “This is the suspicious Sophie that Craig warned me about, isn’t it?”
I grabbed his arm and didn’t let him pull away. “This is my sister’s life. If he’s not a doctor, you’d better tell me what you know—now.”
“Look, Sophie, Craig is my friend and he’s very sensitive about this. I better let him tell you the rest.” With an eye on Natasha and her admirers, he said, “I’m enjoying the tour, but this is my only chance to escape for a while. You don’t know where I am. Okay?” He wound through our little group and ran like a frightened buck until he vanished around the next corner.
Anxiety gnawed at me. What else didn’t we know about Craig? Was Hannah aware of all this? I reminded myself that it was over. He’d left, and I hoped he wouldn’t return.
I looked around for Jen. She and Darby lagged behind, and I was happy to see Jen licking a chocolate ice cream cone.
Robert stopped and waited for them.
I sidled over and waited with him. “Where’s Uncle Stan this morning?”
Darby and Jen caught up to us, Jen reached for Hermione’s leash with her free hand, and we all strolled behind the tour group.
Robert’s odd voice crackled as he said, “He went to visit a relative. I’ve been calling Craig all morning but I guess he turned off his phone.”
It was Jen, with chocolate lips, who spilled the beans. “He left.”
Robert stopped walking. “Whaddya mean?”
There was no getting around it. “He took off during the night.”
“No!” whispered Darby. I didn’t think she could look more shocked. Her eyebrows lifted and her brown eyes grew huge. And if I wasn’t mistaken, a look flashed between Darby and Robert.
“Poor Hannah. I should go to her,” said Darby. “I know exactly how she feels.”
“You were left at the altar?” I nabbed one of Jen’s paper napkins and wiped a drip of chocolate off her shirt.
“My deadbeat husband left me. Never said a word, just didn’t come home one day. Now I ask you—is it really too much to expect them to scribble a note on the mirror with your lipstick? How hard would that be?”
We continued on the tour, and I spotted Bernie’s pub on a side street. I picked up my pace and caught up to my dad. “Keep an eye on Jen, will you? I’m going to have a word with Bernie.” I handed him Daisy’s leash, but he seemed more interested in the guide, who was telling a spellbinding story about George Washington. Jen listened at Darby’s side, and I figured between Gramps and Darby she’d be okay.
I hurried along Pitt Street, glad I’d worn rubber-soled shoes because the brick sidewalks weren’t completely even. I pulled open the heavy front door and found that the “pub” wasn’t at all what I remembered. Someone had put serious money into renovations. Brass and glass gleamed against gorgeous dark wood. The bar, a few steps down to my right, reminded me of an upscale men’s club. Large leather chairs and sofas clustered around tables. A huge stone fireplace occupied a far wall, and behind the bar, longer than any I could recall seeing, glasses of every imaginable shape and kind glinted under the lights.
I told the host I was looking for Bernie. He led the way through a dining room with French doors that opened onto a private garden that I hadn’t noticed from the street. A few steps up, we walked through another dining room, this one with a glass ceiling and wall overlooking the garden.
Lunchtime diners crowded every seat. If the food was half as good as the decor, the place would be a huge success. It was a little hard for me to imagine eternally rumpled Bernie, with the kink in his nose from being broken one too many times, running an elegant restaurant.
At the end of the glassed-in dining room, the host rapped on a door and opened it for me. Bernie, his yellow hair mussed as usual, read the local paper, his bare feet on the desk, reading glasses perched on his nose.
“Sophie!” His feet landed on the floor with a loud
thunk
. Addressing the host, he said, “Could you send us two Irish Breakfast teas and a couple of chocolate mousses.” He smiled at me. “I’ve been wanting your opinion on the mousse.”
thunk
. Addressing the host, he said, “Could you send us two Irish Breakfast teas and a couple of chocolate mousses.” He smiled at me. “I’ve been wanting your opinion on the mousse.”
“When you said you were running the pub, I thought you meant a one-room dive with a fryer in the back.”
“So it’s a restaurant. And a splendid one, I might add. You’ll have to come for dinner sometime. The chef whips up a beef Wellington that you won’t believe.”
“Have you ever managed a restaurant?”
“The owner’s a Brit like me. I suppose we clicked. And I have plenty of help.”
A pretty girl in a refined black waitress vest served our tea British style, by pouring steaming water over loose black tea in a silver strainer.
“Your touch, I imagine?”
Bernie laughed. “Worth an extra star, don’t you think?”
I sipped the tea. Perfect. Strong flavor, pleasant, no bitterness. I dipped a spoon into the mousse and tried it. Dark chocolate, smooth and dense yet airy and light—I was in heaven. Even if I hadn’t been hungry because of a breakfast that had been cut short, I could eat this stuff by the bucket. “It’s fabulous,” I murmured with my mouth full. Absolutely delicious.”
Bernie shoved the newspaper in front of me. “Congrats on the syndication of your column. I imagine Natasha is up the wall about it.”
I hadn’t mentioned my syndication news to anyone. It wasn’t a big deal to anyone but me. The column had been picked up by a few newspapers in Pennsylvania, Delaware, and New Jersey. “How would you know about that?”
“I have my sources.” He winked slyly. “Coswell comes in every morning. He brings the paper, and I provide the coffee and a fresh croissant.”
Coswell, the editor of the local rag, never seemed to have time to dally. I made a mental note that I could catch up with him at Bernie’s pub.
“Smart fellow, Coswell. Keeps his ear to the ground. Likes to hear what everyone’s bellyaching about.” He tapped the newspaper. “Emily Beacham was the topic today. She was in here the night before she died.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?”
“Didn’t know she was the dead woman until Wolf turned up this morning asking questions. When I saw her in here night before last, I thought she was just some pretty girl Tucker had picked up.”
“Tucker? Did they come in together? Did it look like they knew each other?”
“Hard to tell.”
“Tucker. So maybe Craig didn’t kill her.” Guilt washed over me. What if I’d been wrong all along? It seemed so obvious that Craig had killed her, but if Tucker knew her, too, that changed everything.
“Heard he ran off. Bummer for Hannah.”
Old Town felt like a village, but I hadn’t realized just how fast news traveled. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Mars came by this morning. Humphrey, too.” He checked his watch. ”Humphrey’s probably at your place by now.”
What if Tucker was the evil one and I’d tried to sic him on my sister? I recoiled at the thought. “If Craig wasn’t the killer, I’d have expected it to be one of Craig’s relatives, not Tucker.”
“Odd that you should mention them. They were here that night, too.”
Darby had acted surprised to learn that Emily was in town. Had she been pretending? “Did they speak to Emily?”
“They were here a little earlier. I can’t say for certain whether they intersected or not.”
Bernie’s phone rang, so I asked him to keep me posted and left the restaurant. Craig’s abrupt departure had dominated my thinking this morning. But since I was only a block and a half from the bed-and-breakfast where Emily stayed, I thought I should drop in to see what worried Wolf.
A wrought-iron gate marked the entrance. The lush garden, an oasis from the bustle of the city, lay beyond. As I walked through the walled garden, dappled sunlight sneaked through the leaves overhead to dance on a bistro table and chairs.
I knocked on a quaint door, and a disheveled woman answered. Hair the color of straw frizzed around her ruddy face. Holding a large wicker laundry basket, she said, “Hi Honey, I’m Polly. Your room isn’t ready yet, but you can leave your luggage and have a look around town.”
“I’m not a guest.”
She squinted at me. “You don’t look like a cop.”
I introduced myself, but before I could finish, she said, “You must be the one they were teasing Wolf about. The girlfriend who keeps finding bodies, sister of the bride.”
Teasing? No wonder Wolf had cooled off. It might be childish and worthy of elementary school, but I could just imagine the ribbing he would get for dating a woman who’d found more than one dead body. Unless I took a liking to Humphrey, it seemed my love life was doomed.
“Honey?” She shifted the basket. “Come on in.”
I stepped inside and she closed the door.
“I’m never this late. The darned police have got me running behind, so if you want to talk about Lina you’ll have to do it while I take care of getting the room ready.”
Following her to a tiny laundry room, I said, “I wanted to ask you about Emily.”
She tossed white sheets into the washing machine. “Yeah, Emily, Lina, same person.”
EIGHTEEN
From
“Ask Natasha”
:Dear Natasha,When I was a bridesmaid in my brother’s wedding, the bride gave us clunky barrettes shaped like frogs. I’d love to make something more personal for my friends that would show my appreciation. Suggestions?—Seamstress in Hope MillsDear Seamstress,Embroider their initials on tote bags. You can add embellishments that remind them of good times you’ve shared in the past. Fill the bags with special items, like books, CDs, candles, and hand-knitted throws.—Natasha
“Lina was very polite.” Polly slammed the top closed on the washing machine and rested her arm on it. “Had that odd New Jersey accent, but then, I imagine they’d think I sounded funny in New Jersey. You meet all kinds when you run a B&B. That’s half the fun.”
I was barely listening, still hung up on what she’d said earlier. “Who’s Lina?”
“The girl they’re calling Emily in the newspaper called herself Lina Kowalski.”
“You’re sure it was the same woman?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Polly bustled through the house and up the stairs into a bedroom.
I followed and watched her run a dust cloth over furniture. “Lina?” Maybe she was wrong. “Did you see any identification? A luggage tag, maybe?”
Polly paused. “Seeing as how it’s your sister that’s all tangled up with her killer, I’ll be honest with you—I never ask for identification. The cops think I did, and I will from now on, of course. I never expected to have one of my guests murdered. Thank goodness it didn’t happen here.”
Did Tucker know her as Lina or Emily, I wondered. “Did she have a male visitor?”
“What do you think I’m running here? Do you think most madams look like me and do their own cleaning?”
“That’s not what I meant. Did you see her with anyone?”
“Nope. Just a nice girl named Lina.”
“I suppose the cops took all her belongings. Could I see her room?”
“You’re lookin’ at it, honey.”
I gazed around. The bed had been stripped. The top of the dresser held only a crocheted lace runner. The closet door gaped open and revealed a narrow but empty closet. “How about a trash can?”
“Cops took my trash.” She rested a hand on a generous hip. “There’s nothin’ left.”
“What about her necklace? Did you find the diamond necklace?”
“That was a knockout, wasn’t it? She was wearin’ it when she left here.”
I thanked her and saw myself out. Walking home slowly, I was oblivious to the world around me. Had Emily used the name Lina so Craig wouldn’t find her? Had she changed her name to keep him from locating her? But then why would she come here? Was that what Wolf wanted me to discover? Had Emily come to warn Hannah about Craig? That didn’t make sense. Darby said Emily adored Craig. What if Craig was right and she had come to stop the wedding because she loved him?
“You should have told me, you know.”
I looked up to find Wolf blocking the sidewalk. He hadn’t assumed the intimidating police stance, and his chocolate eyes regarded me with such warmth that I wanted to throw myself at him for a much-needed hug. But after the cold reception he’d given me earlier, I didn’t dare. “How did you find out?”
“Your dad. Where do you think Craig went?”
“Oh Wolf, you’re asking the wrong person. Have you talked to his best man, Kevin? He knows Craig much better than I do.”
“Kevin hasn’t been very forthcoming. Either he doesn’t know much or he’s a very good friend and isn’t about to betray Craig.”
A flicker of movement behind Wolf drew my gaze past him. Mordecai observed us from a window that looked out on the front part of his porch.
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