Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The (6 page)

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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

BOOK: Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The
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If it had been up to me, I would have canceled the wedding so fast that Craig’s comb-over would have flapped in the resulting breeze. Instead, my mother was making sandwiches, proving that I wasn’t the only member of the family who could eat no matter what happened.
Mom looked at the boxes loaded with gift baskets that still cluttered the kitchen floor. “You’d better deliver these, Sophie. Even if we cancel the wedding, guests ought to get some small token for their efforts.” I figured she was right, so Dad helped me load them into my hybrid SUV and I left my parents and Humphrey behind to break the news to Jen and deal with the mayhem of Craig’s ex-wife’s dramatic death.
Life went on as normal a few blocks away on King Street, in the heart of Old Town. I pulled into a loading zone in front of the hotel, and a bellman appeared as if by magic. When I explained about the gifts, he acted like he’d done it a million times before.
I handed him a copy of the list of names and went inside to speak with the manager again. Just to be on the safe side. Two men and a woman waited at the front desk. The woman smiled at me. The shorter of the two men, small and wiry with a wizened face, spoke slowly, drawing out his words in a crackling voice. “Beacham. We checked in last night. Beacham, Beacham, Beacham. How many times do I have to tell you?”
The clerk drew back. “I’m sorry, sir. I cannot just hand you a key card. Security regulations require that you show me identification.”
Craig’s last name was Beacham. “Excuse me,” I said, “are you here for the wedding?”
They looked at me like I had butted into their private business.
“Yes.” The wiry guy drew the word out slowly. “Are you the bride?”
The thought of marrying Craig made me queasy. “I’m the sister of the bride.” I leaned toward the desk clerk. “The Bauer-Beacham wedding. We have a block of rooms reserved at a special price.”
“The sistah of the bride?” The chestnut-haired woman gushed in a nasal New Jersey accent. “Can you believe this?” She pushed the shorter man’s shoulder. “And you’re so adorable. Is your sister as adorable as you, honey? I’m Dawby, Craig’s cousin.”
I would never have pegged her as a relative of Craig’s. Wearing a summer suit that screamed high fashion, she was loud and bubbly. She probably hated her prominent nose, but it suited her expressive face and wide mouth.
“Dobby?”
She nodded. “Dawwwwby.”
The taller man wore a suit that must have been hand-tailored. It fit him perfectly, in spite of his considerable height, and imparted a distinctly European elegance. “Darby,” he said, “give somebody else a chance. I’m Craig’s Uncle Stan.” His voice came from a place low in his belly, deep and husky. “And this is his father, Robert.”
His dad? Dear Lord, they’d decided to put aside whatever quarrel they had with Craig, and now they’d arrived just in time to hear that a former family member had been murdered.
“It’s . . . wonderful that you decided to come.” Either they’d made the trip for nothing, or my mother would have a cow when she found out we had to add three guests to an already full guest list. I tried to remember the maximum capacity at Carlyle House.
“Does Craig know you’re here?”
Darby grinned, revealing perfect teeth that had surely been whitened. “We thought we’d surprise him.”
The last person who’d said that hadn’t fared well. “He’ll be surprised, all right.”
I gave them my address and directions to my house. “It’s an easy walk.” They would encounter the cops on my street, but somehow that didn’t seem like the right thing to say. Craig should be the one to break the bad news to them.
“We’re having a dessert party tonight. Nothing fancy, just a come-as-you-are-when-you-arrive-in-town kind of thing. Oh, but you’re family now. You should definitely come for dinner beforehand.”
Uncle Stan jumped at my offer. “We’ll be there.”
The desk clerk handed Robert a key card, and as they walked toward the elevator, I wondered how many family holidays we’d be spending together.
After a quick chat with the manager, I tipped the bellman for distributing our gift baskets and headed home, brimming with the news of Craig’s relatives but determined to keep it quiet so I wouldn’t ruin the surprise for Craig.
Driving by rote, I slowed for a light. My mind still on Craig, it took a minute before I recognized the guy driving the car in the lane next to mine.
I took a hard look.
He flashed a wicked grin at me.
If we hadn’t had trouble before, it had just arrived.
SEVEN
From “THE GOOD LIFE ONLINE”:
Instead of spending a fortune on cut flowers, consider ordering plants from your local nursery. Live plants in elegant urns or darling buckets provide the same splash of color for less. Your nursery can even force bulbs for stunning winter and spring centerpieces of your favorite flowers. Plant the bulbs outdoors after the wedding and remember your special day each year when they bloom.
—Sophie Winston
Blond, blue-eyed, the bane of women everywhere, there simply was no doubt about it. Hannah’s second husband, Tucker, had rolled into town.
Tucker Bradford Hensley V, to be very precise. Lady’s man, gambler, sought by mothers on three continents. Money rolled off him like sweat, yet he had no apparent means of support. He broke hearts everywhere he went. He had most certainly broken Hannah’s.
If I hadn’t been on Duke Street in the middle of congestion, I’d have taken off like a drag racer to escape him. He drove a red convertible, and I could see women in other cars admiring him. I wasn’t an expert on cars, but it looked like a vintage Alfa Romeo, the sexy car Dustin Hoffman drove in
The Graduate
.
I gunned my engine and contemplated getting away from him so he couldn’t follow me home. But sanity took over and I realized how futile that would be.
I squinted at him with suspicion. Tucker wasn’t on the guest list, and I felt certain his sudden appearance in Old Town couldn’t be a coincidence. Surely he hadn’t come to interfere with Hannah’s wedding. Why would he want her back after all these years? Good grief. I wasn’t sure which would be worse, Tucker, who couldn’t keep his trousers zipped, or Craig, the killer. Wait, what was I thinking? Craig made Tucker look like a gem.
The light changed and so did my mind. I drove steadily but slow enough for Tucker to follow me. Hannah probably wouldn’t fall for him again, but if he could drive a wedge between her and Craig, that might be a good thing. Despite Tucker’s shallow nature and many shortcomings, he was harmless enough. We’d had some good times when they were married.
Just to amuse Tucker, I made a few sudden turns and wound through Old Town a bit. If he thought I wanted to lose him, he’d be more likely to follow.
He bit like a hungry dog offered a sausage.
Back near my house I had to park on a side street because police cars still crowded my street. I waited for him on the sidewalk and neatly sidestepped the hug and kiss he aimed at me. “I never thought I’d see
you
again.”
“There are no coincidences, Sophie. Who said that? Someone wiser than I.”
Maybe he was right. He had appeared just when I needed someone to make Hannah reconsider her decision to marry Craig.
“How is my darling Hannah?”
How to answer that?
She’s engaged to a murderer who killed his ex-wife just this morning.
No, that didn’t seem right. Tucker was so darned cocky and full of himself that I hated to bloat his head any more. But I needed to plant the idea that Hannah could still be interested in him.
“She’s pretty busy. Her wedding is the day after tomorrow.”
“Who’s the lucky dog?”
“A doctor.” I bit my lip to keep from grinning. The Tucker I remembered would be desperate to win Hannah away from someone who might pose a challenge. “He’s tall and athletic and adores Hannah.”
“Good hair?” he asked.
No point in lying about something he’d figure out the second he saw Craig. “No, you still win in the hair category.”
We reached the front stoop. “I know she’ll be excited to see you.”
Dismayed
would have been more truthful.
We walked inside and I led the way through the arch to the kitchen. Mom tied the last ribbon on the favors and tucked the little package into a box with the others.
“Look who I found,” I said.
Tucker held his arms wide like a showman. “You know how I love a wedding.”
My father remained seated and grumbled, “You’ve certainly had enough of them.”
My perky mother, who would sooner eat dirt than be rude to anyone, said, “I need an aspirin.” Her shoulders sagged and for the first time in my life, I saw her place her elbows on the table.
But Tucker was on top of his game. The second he saw Jen, he said, “Excuse me ma’am, I’m looking for a little girl . . .” Tucker pretended to gasp. “Can it be? No, I’m looking for a child, about this high.” He bent over to indicate a one-foot-high kid.
Jen ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. It must have been gratifying to know that one person still liked him. He swung her around in a circle, and she giggled like most women did when Tucker fawned over them. It wasn’t fair of him to work his charm on anyone as young as Jen. She hadn’t built up immunity yet.
When he set her down, Tucker, never one to believe that people didn’t adore him, clapped Dad on the back and asked about his golf game. I fetched the aspirin for Mom. She swallowed them with a sip of tea and said, “I wish you had told me you were going to cancel the wedding.”
Tucker latched onto the conversation immediately. “Cancel? The wedding? Trouble in paradise already?” He didn’t seem too troubled by the news, though, as he helped himself to a fruit tart.
There was no way to avoid it. He’d hear about it sooner or later. But while I wondered how to tell him without Jen hearing, Jen said, “Craig’s ex-wife was murdered.”
“The groom’s ex?” Tucker’s pretty-boy face crumpled with worry. “I’m the bride’s ex. Hope no one does me in.”
“Many would like to.” Dad said it with a straight face, but Tucker guffawed.
“My winsome Hannah has seen the light now?” he asked.
Mom sighed and ignored him. “Why did you cancel Carlyle House? Did you run into Hannah?”
“I didn’t cancel anything.”
She frowned at me. “They called here upset about the last-minute cancellation. I tried to explain, but they were quite put out. Rightly so. Fortunately, they were able to book someone else.”
I figured it could only be Hannah who’d canceled the wedding venue.
Mom rubbed her temples. “I hate to think how many people have already made the trip here for the wedding.”
“I suppose we should still go ahead with the party tonight,” I said.
“Party?” Tucker perked up. “Will you be my date?” he asked Jen.
Mom looked like she wanted to toss him out. “If Craig isn’t up to it, everyone will understand. We’ll have to entertain them to try to make up for their trouble. And we’ll do the tour of Old Town tomorrow as planned.”
Tucker consulted his watch. “What time shall I return for dinner?”
“Six.” I hadn’t invited him to dinner, but I figured the sooner he came between Hannah and Craig, the better.
He snatched another fruit tart. “For the road.” Jen held his hand as we walked him to the front door.
He blew kisses to Jen, and as he left, I spied Humphrey watching Craig and Hannah leaving Natasha’s house, as cheerful as if nothing had happened.
EIGHT
From
“Ask Natasha”
:
Dear Natasha,
My mother stopped speaking to my sister for a week because she didn’t get thank-you notes out fast enough. How do I avoid getting behind?
—Writing Fast in Wrightsville Beach
Dear Writing Fast,
I don’t know why this poses a problem for brides. Before the wedding, spend a fun afternoon crafting thank-you notes. Use your wedding colors and embellish card stock to reflect the theme of your wedding. Then handwrite a lovely note on the day each gift arrives. You’ll never fall behind. Some guests will bring gifts to the wedding, but one afternoon after the honeymoon is all it takes to catch up.
—Natasha
Craig laughed at something Hannah said. Hardly the bereaved ex-husband.
I sidled up to Humphrey. “You have to tell her.”
But at that moment, Phoebe, Hannah’s college roommate and dear friend, arrived with her boyfriend. Lively Phoebe inspired fun everywhere she went. Petite and perky with hair the color of gleaming copper, she edited scientific books for a publisher in New Jersey. I was thrilled to see her because Hannah would need her closest friend when she heard about the murder.

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