Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The (6 page)

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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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Holy moly. The old guy hadn’t understood that event planning meant big events. I wasn’t in the business of arranging small parties. But I could hardly turn him down now that he was dead. Not to mention that the invitees had already been notified.
While Mochie investigated the box, I sank into a chair by the fireplace and opened the remaining envelope.
Dear Ms. Winston,
 
Last summer at your sister’s wedding, you handled the dinner after the murder of your relative with such aplomb that I knew you were the right person to undertake this function for me. I would like you to provide food and beverages in accordance with the attached menu. No substitutions, please. In the event that someone has moved the furniture in my living room, I have provided a diagram of how the room should look. Please ensure that the furniture is exactly as shown. You will fi nd dishes and necessary accoutrement in the butler’s pantry. The vases on the fireplace mantel should be fi lled with purple lilacs. I realize that it may be diffi cult to obtain lilacs at certain times of year, but they are crucial to the gathering. The room must smell of lilacs.
Please present the bequests to my guests with my very best wishes.
 
Mordecai Artemus
Audacior in morte quam in vita
I knew serving dinner after a murder at my sister’s wedding would come back to haunt me. Mordecai’s menu wouldn’t be much of a problem, though. It was a little dated, but the dishes were probably the height of fashion before he became a recluse.
Strawberry daiquiris
Baked Brie
Savory onion quiche
Crudités with spinach dip (served in a hollowed-out bread loaf )
Chocolate-chip blondies
Old Mordecai had certainly thought through the details. I was perturbed by the notion that Mordecai and his attorney assumed I would throw everything together on such short notice. On the other hand, the people who catered wakes usually only had a day or two lead time. Post-death functions weren’t the sort of thing one could plan in advance.
The only thing that might pose a problem was the lilacs. A quick phone call to my florist took care of that little matter. It was a bit early in the season, but they could be had for a price.
I would have to pick up groceries and cook tonight, maybe stop by Mordecai’s early in the morning to dust, and make sure the living room was in order. Why did he have to die during Rooms and Blooms, when I was so busy? I slapped a hand over my mouth. What a horrible person I was. Mordecai had died, and this was all he wanted. No funeral, no wake. This was his last wish, but all I could think of was me, me, me.
Ashamed of myself, I made a quick list of the groceries I would need, and in the middle of writing the word “Gruyère,” I remembered Wolf.
Who’d have thought a hand from the grave would interfere with our date? Sighing, I phoned Wolf and explained.
But instead of breaking our date, he offered to help. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but I can slice and dice.”
Grinning from ear to ear, I dashed upstairs for a shower. I dressed in a lilac sweater, soft as bunny fur, and a pair of casual trousers. I added dangling amethyst heart earrings, and tried to use mascara without leaving any hateful clumps on my lashes. I finished just as Wolf banged the knocker on the front door.
Our adventure in the grocery store yielded some interesting sides of Wolf. I was used to Mars, who would have said, “Cheese is cheese is cheese.” But Wolf sniffed cheeses, and bought a small wedge of artisan cheese with black truffles for us to try. To simplify things, we decided to make two quiches and eat one for dinner. Wolf selected a Riesling to go with the Gruyère I was planning to use in the quiche. I couldn’t remember ever smiling so much in a grocery store.
Back at home, while I put groceries away, Wolf lit a fire, and soon the dry wood crackled and warmed the kitchen. Mochie sat in front of it, entranced.
Wolf found the blender, whipped up strawberry daiquiris, and handed me a glass of the icy concoction. In spite of the winter temperatures outside, the bright red drink brought instant festivity to our work. He slathered the expensive truffle cheese on crackers and offered me one. Our eyes met as the rich cheese melted in our mouths. “Heavenly,” I murmured with my mouth full.
True to his word, Wolf began slicing cauliflower, red peppers, mushrooms, carrots, and cucumbers for Mordecai’s party. “This is a little different, isn’t it?” he asked. “Not many people plan a bequest party.”
“He obviously gave it a lot of thought.” I mixed butter, flour, water, a splash of vinegar, and a little bit of salt and sugar into a dough for the quiche crust.
Wolf started a rasher of bacon in a pan. “It’s not a bad idea. I hate funerals and wakes. This way, it’s just a very small group of people that he cared about, and nobody has to stand out in the freezing weather.”
I lined two quiche pans with the pastry, and had enough left for the Brie and two more pies. The extra dough went into the freezer for future use. “It’s a little morbid, though, don’t you think? Kind of like a dead person reaching back to the living.” I spread piquant grainy mustard around the bottoms of the quiches, and let the pastry stand while I made quick work melting the brown sugar for the blondies. The scent of sizzling bacon perfumed the kitchen, and Wolf waggled a crispy piece under my nose. To my complete surprise, he held it while I bit into the salty meat. He popped the rest into his own mouth, and returned to the bacon to crumble it for the quiche.
“I don’t see it as creepy,” mused Wolf. “He probably wished he could have done this while he was alive. He wanted to do something nice for the people he loved.”
I spread chocolate chips on the blondie mixture and poured the rest of the dough over top of them. While the blondies baked, I whirled sour cream, mayonnaise, spinach, and spices into dip in seconds in a food processor.
Glad to have that done, I gave a stir to the onions Wolf had sliced. They began to caramelize, sending their mouth-watering aroma into the air. I layered translucent onions and nutty Gruyère cheese in the quiche shells, omitting the bacon from the quiche for the party, in case anyone was a vegetarian, poured seasoned and beaten eggs, mixed with cream and milk over the top, then slid them into the hot oven.
Wolf and I had made quick work of Mordecai’s menu. It seemed premature to say so to Wolf, but I thought we made a very good team. He sliced a few extra mushrooms and some black olives while I prepared a salad of young mixed greens for our dinner. He didn’t ask if he should toss them into the salad, just did it on his own, while I made a sweet red raspberry balsamic vinaigrette.
As Wolf ambled away, I couldn’t help sneaking a few glances in his direction. He poked at the fire, threw on another log, and ran his hand over Mochie’s fur.
As a homicide detective, Wolf had seen things I didn’t even want to imagine, but he didn’t have a hardened appearance. I’d seen him under pressure in some dire circumstances, and he always kept his cool. His physique reflected his love of food, but not in a bad way. The extra pounds just softened him a little bit.
Wolf caught me watching and smiled. “Ready to switch to wine?” He poured two glasses, and we settled in front of the fire while our quiche baked.
The flames cast shadows that danced on Wolf’s face, and his hand sneaked out to squeeze mine and stayed there.
“Poor Mordecai. He lived his life in fear of nothing. He called the police constantly. Always thought someone was breaking into his house.”
“I feel terrible for not doing anything for him. He was so alone. It wouldn’t have hurt me to invite him for dinner sometimes.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. Mordecai’s problems—whatever they were—ran deep.”
“Someone said he used to wander the neighborhood at night.”
Wolf snorted. “Not likely. He rarely left his home.”
“He came to Hannah’s wedding last spring. Have you heard the rumors about the body of his wife being in the house?” I wanted to bite my tongue as soon as I said it, since there were ugly rumors of a similar nature about Wolf’s wife.
Wolf sat up and leaned toward me. “You don’t believe what they say about me, do you?”
I cleared my throat. I’d heard the rumors that he murdered his wife, but I didn’t believe them. Still, I did want to know the truth. Everything was going so well that I took a chance. “What really happened to your wife?”
He looked me straight in the eyes. “She left me. She took her things and left. But you know how it is. The husband is always a suspect when the wife disappears. And it doesn’t help that I’m a homicide detective. You can imagine what her parents said—
he knows how to hide a body.
But I didn’t hide anything.”
“She never turned up?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I was surprised that she didn’t get in touch with her parents so they wouldn’t worry. Maybe she has by now. The first year I tracked everything that could have been a lead. The second year, I searched the Internet, sure she’d turn up somewhere.”
“Nothing?”
He released my hand to rub his brow. “In spite of all our modern technology, a person can still disappear and start a new life. Tens of thousands of people vanish each year, and some of them are just living elsewhere, under a new name.”
I meant to ask if his wife had a reason to want to vanish, but the timer rang on the oven. We ate by candlelight at the kitchen table, with the fire casting a glow our way. It couldn’t have been more romantic. I wasn’t about to bring up the missing wife again when we had a savory quiche, a crisp salad, a lovely Riesling, and the perfect atmosphere. Mordecai’s request for a party had resulted in a wonderful evening for Wolf and me.
He left around midnight. I wouldn’t get much sleep if I cleaned Mordecai’s living room in the morning before work, but it was worth it. I could catch up on sleep after Rooms and Blooms closed.
Dog-tired but giddily happy, I went upstairs and nestled in bed with Mochie.
I woke to the sound of banging. Mochie stood on the bed, his tail raised in alarm. Disoriented, I sat up and looked at the clock. One thirty in the morning. Wishing I could ignore the noise and snuggle under my feather comforter, I flung my feet to the floor and blearily walked downstairs, the wood floor cold under my bare feet. The banging continued unabated, and I could hear Nina outside, screaming something incoherent.
I swung the door open, and Nina burst into the foyer. “I’ve killed Kurt!”
FIVE
From “THE GOOD LIFE” :
Dear Sophie,
 
I’m not very adventurous when it comes to decorating, so I went with beige walls in my dining room. But now I can’t find an area rug in the same color. Who would have thought there could be so many shades of beige?
 
—Beige Gal in Bayshore Gardens
 
Dear Beige Gal,
 
All colors, even beige, have undertones that can make it hard to find an exact match. Look for a complementary shade, perhaps a darker hue in the same family, or be bold and go for a contrast that will make your dining room pop!
 
—Sophie
Unlike Natasha, Nina wasn’t a drama queen, so her words made me uneasy. “Calm down. What happened?”
She paced the floor. “I need a Scotch. No! I have to keep my wits about me. The police will ask me all sorts of questions.”
Now she really had me worried. “Where is Kurt?”
Nina seized my arms. “I forgot! You have a key! We have to go
now
. Maybe it’s not too late.” Her voice droned off in a whine.
I grabbed a coat and shoved my feet into flip-flops. “Where are we going?”
“Mordecai’s house. Everything was going so well. We had drinks and a lovely dinner, and we laughed about old times.”

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