Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The (2 page)

Read Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The Online

Authors: Krista Davis

Tags: #Murder, #Winston; Sophie (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Dwellings

BOOK: Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The
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Team Iris
Iris Ledbetter
Bedelia Ledbetter
 
Team Sophie
Sophie Winston
Bernie Frei
Mars Winston
Nina Reid Norwood
Francie Vanderhoosen
Humphrey Brown
ONE
From “ THE GOOD LIFE” :
Dear Sophie,
 
My miserable cousins have been pawing through Grand-pa’s house, claiming they’re there to spruce it up. Granted, the house does need painting, but I don’t see any improvements. How do I get them out of Grandpa’s hair?
 
—Steamed in Frostproof
 
Dear Steamed,
 
With Grandpa’s consent, throw a painting party. Gather funky old hats to wear (maybe from Grandpa’s attic?), make fun drinks with umbrellas in them, and hand all the cousins paint brushes and rollers. Either they’ll leave, or they’ll paint.
 
—Sophie
I momentarily forgot about the icy February rain when a light flashed in a dormer window of Mordecai Artemus’s house. In the many years I’d lived in Old Town, I’d never seen an inside light on. But the glimmer didn’t last long, and seconds later, I wondered if it could have been some kind of reflection. Droplets of water ran from my face down my neck. I shivered, huddled under my coat again, and hurried toward my home, thinking about poor old Mordecai.
When he died two days ago, there were no hushed mentions of what a fine man he was or how much he would be missed. All anyone could talk about was getting into his mansion. I paused for a second and looked back, wondering if someone had managed to do just that. But the rambling house was still and dark in the night.
Shaking off my thoughts, I continued on my way. I had worked late at Rooms and Blooms, Old Town Alexandria’s annual home and garden expo where two hundred builders, landscapers, interior designers, and companies selling home products had set up booths in the convention hall of a local hotel. It had been in full swing for a few days and would be winding down in a couple more, culminating with an awards banquet. I was glad for the work, but it was strenuous, and right now all I wanted was a mug of hot tea and to put my feet up.
Mochie, my spunky Ocicat, met me at the door, mewing complaints about being left alone. He rubbed against my legs but aborted that maneuver quickly once he realized I was wet, and retreated to wash his coat with indignation.
I hung my sopping clothes in the bathroom and slipped into a fuzzy bathrobe to warm up. Even though it was late, I lit a fire in the kitchen fireplace.
But when I poured water into the kettle and looked out the window over the sink, I couldn’t help leaning forward to look at Mordecai’s house again. Long a recluse, he had kept the drapes closed downstairs, and if he had ever ventured upstairs, I didn’t know about it. I shut off the tap and stared at the dark dormer window, barely visible in the attic of his mansard roof. Had I imagined the light? The house looked as it always had at night—a giant, elegant ship of a house, faintly outlined by the streetlights.
Mochie watched me with knowing eyes, waiting for the moment when I would settle down and he could jump into my lap. “Soon,” I assured him, filling his dish with food.
But Mochie showed no interest in his food. His golden green eyes wide, he stared over my shoulder and semi-crouched, his muscles tense as though ready to flee.
I looked around slowly, wondering what was agitating him. A gaunt face stared at us through the window of the kitchen door. Wet hair plastered the head of the man outside, and in the dark his head looked more like a skull than a living person. Raindrops on the glass distorted the image. A scream rose through my throat, drowned out by the shrill whistle of the kettle.
My heart thundered as I realized it was too late to turn off the lights and pretend no one was home. Grabbing my cell phone off the table, I started backing away.
“Sophie! Let me in out of the rain.” I felt a total fool when I recognized Humphrey’s voice.
I took a closer look before I opened the door. “I’m sorry, Humphrey, I didn’t recognize you.”
He stopped just inside, and water dripped off his black raincoat into a major puddle. But before I managed to shut the door, Nina Reid Norwood, my neighbor and best friend, barged past him, demanding, “Where have you been?”
I retrieved towels and handed one to Humphrey.
After I sopped up the water on the floor, I reached for his raincoat and stifled a laugh. Thin, pale Humphrey usually looked meek, but after being towel dried, his silvery blond hair stood up in spikes and he resembled a deranged punk rocker.
Nina didn’t remove her coat. “I’m not that wet.”
I hung Humphrey’s coat in the bathroom, and when I returned, I thought Mochie was stalking him. Low to the floor, he stretched out one foot slowly, like a panther.
Awwk.
A green head with a bright yellow patch on the back of its neck emerged from Nina’s coat. “She’s a witch!” the bird screamed at Mochie, who drew back in alarm.
Nina shrugged off her coat and let the bird climb onto her shoulder. “Meet Hank.”
Humphrey shrank back, as appalled as Mochie. “Hank?”
“He sings Hank Williams songs. Someone found him on a park bench on King Street, and I’m fostering him because we’re not set up for big birds at the shelter. He’s a yellow-naped Amazon parrot. Apparently they’re big talkers.”
“You’re keeping him in your home?” Humphrey didn’t disguise his distaste. “Birds are so dirty. How do you know he’s not carrying a disease?”
Who knew Humphrey would be so finicky about a bird? “Excuse me, but as a mortician, don’t you embalm people who died from diseases?”
“That’s entirely different. Birds belong in the wild.”
“Someone must be looking for Hank,” I said. “There can’t be too many birds who sing country songs.”
“That’s what I think.” Nina settled at the table, Hank still on her shoulder, Mochie eyeing him warily. “So where have you been? Why aren’t you answering your phone? Do you have any cheese pretzels? I need something comforting to eat—you will
not
believe what happened!”
“I’ve been at Rooms and Blooms. Cell phones don’t work in the convention center of the hotel. Something about the steel and the way it’s constructed.” I poured soothing lavender chamomile tea into mugs and found a stash of my homemade pretzels in the freezer. After starting the oven, I placed the mugs on the table and noted that Humphrey sat as far away from Hank as he could.
As I sliced strips of Asiago cheese, I glanced from Nina to Humphrey. It was closing in on eleven. What were they doing here, anyway? What was so important?
Nina leaned forward. “I am
so
furious.”
“She’s a witch! A witch!” cawed Hank.
“Last fall my husband testified on a murder case involving insulin that made the news every day. As a result, he was asked to go on a cruise as an instructor.” She waved a hand carelessly. “I didn’t go because it’s business—he’s teaching a class to doctors. But I just found out that the woman who organized the course used to work with him and had the hots for him—and she’s on the ship!”
“She’s a witch,” Hank announced.
“She
is
a witch,” confirmed Nina.
“He already picked that up from you? You better be careful what you say around that bird.” I popped the pretzels into the oven and sat down.
Humphrey’s eyebrows raised, and I had a bad feeling he was assessing Nina as though she were now available. “You don’t think she set it up that way on purpose?”
“Of course I do! He’s clearly the one who got away.”
“Can you join the cruise somewhere?” I asked.
“I thought about that. But there’s no one else to take care of Hank, and the cruise is in Asia. By the time I got there, it would almost be over.”
“Are you really worried?” I asked. “You trust your husband, don’t you?”
“I don’t trust
her
. If she’d go so far as to arrange this convenient cruise rendezvous, over Valentine’s Day no less, imagine what else she might do.”
Humphrey cocked his head. “If I were married to someone like you, I would never be tempted by a conniving seductress.”
Nina froze, and I was about to burst out laughing, so I quickly changed the topic. “And what are you doing out in this weather, Humphrey?”
A flush of red rose in his cheeks. “I had some . . . business up this way. I hope you don’t mind. I saw you coming home.” He shivered. “It’s dismal outside.”
Business? I glanced out the window for his hearse. “You don’t have a body out there, do you?”
“Personal business.”
“Did you happen to notice a light on in Mordecai’s house?”
He frowned at me. “You do know he’s dead?”
“That’s why the light caught my attention.” I got up to put the cheese on the pretzels. News of Mordecai’s death two days before had spread rapidly through Old Town. “No foul play, though, right?”
“He died from natural causes. Nothing sinister about it,” Humphrey assured me.
I laid the savory cheese slices on top of the pretzels and slid the tray back into the hot oven.
“Maybe relatives have arrived and are staying there,” said Nina.
A plausible theory.
Humphrey rose, stood in front of the fire, and rubbed his hands together. “Sophie, do you remember Hannah’s wedding?”
Of course. Who could forget that nightmare? There had even been a moment of attraction between my sister and Humphrey. I wondered if he still held a flame for her. If he could just meet someone who would return his attention. . . . A wave of apprehension swept over me as I suddenly knew where he was going with his question. At the wedding, I had promised to help him meet women. More specifically—a girlfriend. During our high school days, Humphrey had a crush on me. I hadn’t noticed, no doubt busy with my own teen angst. Unfortunately, my mother brought him back into my life, and he promptly pursued me in his own awkward way, then turned his interest to my sister, who, thank goodness, was now safely 150 miles away.
“Humphrey,” I said gently, “I completely forgot about finding a girlfriend for you.”
He straightened up, flushed from the warmth of the fire. “You don’t have to. I’ve found her.”
Relief washed over me. I wouldn’t have to dodge poor Humphrey anymore. “That’s great! I’m so happy for you.” I clinked tea mugs with him in celebration. But then why was he here? “When can I meet her?”
“First I need you to introduce her to me.”
I nearly spewed my tea.
“You haven’t met her?” asked Nina, her expression incredulous.
“Please, Sophie?”
I wanted to tell him to grow a spine. But I didn’t have the heart. He regarded me with a pathetic hangdog expression. “Humphrey, you’re an adult. You pay taxes and a mortgage, you . . . you”—I searched for something adventurous to say—“you embalm people. It’s time you had the courage to ask a woman for a date.”
He hung his head and stared into his mug. His neck jutted forward and he reminded me of a huge blond vulture. It was hopeless, unless, of course, he’d chosen someone as meek as he was. I removed the pretzels from the oven, and Nina grabbed one even though they should have cooled a little bit first.
“This is exactly what I needed,” she said. “I eat when I’m upset.”
Nina believed in ordering out. With her husband away, as usual, I guessed her refrigerator was empty.
Humphrey watched as she tore the steaming pretzel and a dollop of melted cheese dragged loose. “Not me.” He nibbled the edge of a pretzel as if he wanted to taste test it first. “If I’m upset or excited, I can’t eat a thing.”
I should have such problems. But since I was wrapped in a big bathrobe with no tight waistband cutting into me, I reached for a pretzel and bit into the warm cheese.
Unfortunately, Mochie chose that moment to jump onto the table and stretch a curious paw toward Hank. Hank screamed and flew to the seat of the bay window, Mochie leaping after him.
The big bird backed up, emitting horrendous, ear-splitting screeches that deterred Mochie from launching himself at Hank.
I grabbed Mochie, and Nina, holding her pretzel between her teeth, reached for Hank.
Behind us, Humphrey quietly said, “Look.”
The three of us paused to stare out the window at Mordecai’s house. Raindrops ran down the glass of my window, but there was no mistaking the dim light that shone in a second-floor window. It flashed brightly, then disappeared altogether.
TWO
From
Natasha Online
:
Find inspiration for your own home by visiting a decorator show house. The best interior designers in your area know that show houses are the place to display their creative ideas. Study the rooms you like and take home fresh ideas to make your own castle gorgeous.

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