Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The (9 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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I could understand her reaction. What
had
happened to Kurt last night? I asked the young redhead to let me know when Kurt showed up. Then, since my cell phone didn’t work in the convention hall, I took the escalator up to the hotel entrance and called Nina to tell her what had happened.
Afraid of what she might say, I asked, “Any news from Kurt?”
“No.”
“Did you know that he’s married?”
“Of course. His wife’s name is Earl, and she’s out of town, visiting her mother.”
“Did you say Earl or Pearl?”
“Earl, like Earline.” Nina drawled the name in her North Carolina accent.
“Nina, he didn’t go home last night, and Earl turned up at the home show looking for him.”
“
Eww.
He must have shacked up with someone else. Poor Earl.”
“I gather he’s had some affairs.”
“
Ugh
. He used to be such a great guy. What happened to him? After the way he acted toward me last night, I guess he flops into bed with anything that has a pulse these days.”
I hoped she was right, and that he’d found someone else when Nina spurned him. “You’re not worried anymore about that fall he took?”
“You’re the one who said dead people don’t get up and walk away.”
I
was
the one who said that, so why was I upset that he hadn’t shown up anywhere? It was still early, though. If he’d taken a hotel room to shack up with some floozy, he wouldn’t have to check out until eleven, and he could ask for an extension. “Do me a favor and look for his car. I’m curious about whether he ever moved it.”
I hung up and tried to put Kurt Finkel out of my mind. He might be the best kitchen designer in the area, but I was beginning to think he was also the biggest Lothario.
And maybe he wasn’t the only one who was cheating on his spouse. As I began to descend on the escalator, I caught a glimpse of Camille DuPont stepping out of the elevator that went up to the hotel rooms. She strode with her usual self-assurance, head held high, but she also gave a furtive little glance around, and adjusted the collar of her jacket.
No sooner had I returned to the convention hall than I was snagged by an apologetic Ted Wilcox about a leak in the exhibit that he had installed. Strawberry blond with a sprinkling of freckles, Ted was the owner of Leisure Landscapes. He lacked the paunch that often came with middle age, probably because he spent a good chunk of time outdoors, building and planting.
His exhibit, called Ted’s Backyard Escape, was adorable.
Essentially a one-room A-frame building, the peaked roof was built of rustic caramel-colored beams that supported large panels of glass. The bottom featured French doors on all sides that could be opened to let in summer breezes and night air. The few parts that weren’t glass were covered with quaint fish-scale shingles of a vivid blue hue. Ted had surrounded the building with purple and pink azaleas, except for the entrance, which was accessed by a walkway over a shallow pond.
Gauzy white curtains danced at the French doors as if set up for a photo shoot. He’d outfitted the interior with shabby chic whitewashed furniture, a fluffy bed that begged to be napped upon, airy blue linens, a cozy wood-burning stove, and sparkling lights that glittered along the roof windows and in the filmy curtains.
It would be an adorable getaway on a large estate, I supposed, but I didn’t know many people inclined to build an extra bedroom detached from the house. It could serve as a gorgeous playhouse or studio, though.
I understood why Ted intercepted me when I saw a woman with hair the color of black cherries striding toward us, pointing and jabbing a finger at Ted. Her hair feathered around her face, super short, but she had the bone structure for it. The daring color emphasized her pale skin. But her dark eyes blazed, and I suspected she wasn’t someone I would want to tangle with.
“Ted, I swear if that water comes one inch closer to my wall, so help me, I’ll tear down your fancy little house—fish scale by fish scale.”
Ted introduced her as Posey Powell.
She gave me a distracted nod, then turned to me with new interest, as if she’d just realized who I was. In a sweet drawl that sounded more like Mississippi than Virginia, she said, “Isn’t that just like you, Ted. Already kissing up to the woman who organized the show.” Flashing a gorgeous toothy smile at me, she added, “Don’t let him fool you. If that pond of his leaks any more water, you’ll have a major mess on your hands, and I won’t be the only angry exhibitor.”
“Posey, darlin’, Sophie was just coming to help me.” Ted looked at me hopefully. I walked toward his exhibit with them while he insisted that the water hadn’t done any damage yet. But Ted wasn’t helping things by rolling his eyes every time Posey opened her mouth. “Don’t mind Posey,” he whispered. “We’ve known each other since college. She likes to play the excited drama queen.”
Posey whipped around. “I heard that, Ted. If I were swinging a wrecking ball near your little glass house, you’d be plenty agitated.”
When we arrived at Ted’s exhibit, I understood Posey’s concern. Ted had built a clever water feature. Since he couldn’t dig into the convention hall floor, he’d constructed a large frame and lined it with a sheet of thick plastic. He’d cleverly hidden the frame with rocks and plants, tucked lights around the edges underwater, and added golden koi to his pond. But on the side closest to Posey’s exhibit, water seeped out. Hardly a flood, but it rolled steadily in the direction of her booth.
Ted asked me to hold the edge of the black plastic liner while he searched for the source of the leak.
While Ted patched the plastic, I held the liner and arched back for a peek at Posey’s booth. An accomplished artist, Posey had used trompe l’oeil techniques to transform her area into a wine cellar. I’d noticed her remarkable room during my morning walks through the exhibits. A dark side wall appeared to open to a writing nook with an antique desk lighted by candles. The sun shone through faux open doors on the back wall, which featured a view of a charming vineyard so authentic that I felt I could walk into the image. She’d even painted a cloth that covered the floor. It looked exactly like a stone floor with an Oriental carpet carelessly tossed on top of it with one corner flipped over.
I couldn’t see to whom she was speaking, but Posey’s irritated voice came through loud and clear. “I don’t care if he hears me. In fact, I hope he does. He can’t just steamroll through life oblivious to other people. He didn’t spend days painting this floor cloth, so he doesn’t care if it’s ruined. Do you know how many people can build a glass house like that? Besides, who wants a detached bedroom without a bathroom? It’s nothing but a ridiculous indulgence.”
“Sophie.” Someone poked me in the shoulder. The voice came from behind me, soft, almost a whisper. “Sophie, she’s here.” I turned to find Humphrey, pale as the corpses he handled. Under the harsh lights, his fair hair seemed almost translucent. I tried to appear glad to see him but hoped he wouldn’t press me about his mystery woman right now.
His eyebrows met in an endearing wistful expression. “She’s perfect. Beautiful and smart. And she’s here! You can invite her to dinner.”
Oy. Like I didn’t have enough on my plate at the moment. “In a couple of weeks?” I said. “After Rooms and Blooms is over.”
“It ends tomorrow.”
Apparently, he couldn’t take a hint. “But I’ll still be busy. Two weeks from now would be great.” I couldn’t evade him the way I usually did—by running off—because I was still holding the liner. I contemplated dropping it, but the fight that would surely ensue between Posey and Ted forced me to stick it out.
“But she’s here now.”
I nodded toward the liner I held. “I’m a little tied up. Find her and say something to her about an exhibit. Just strike up a conversation. It doesn’t have to be brilliant. Then, when you’re comfortable, ask her if she’d like to get a cup of coffee. Take the coffees over to the center, where all the flowers are, and sit on a bench and talk. It’s that simple.”
He frowned. “I’m afraid she’ll turn me down.”
I was afraid of that, too. “Humphrey, that’s how people meet. How will you ever get to know her better if you don’t spend time with her?”
He brightened up. “I have tickets to the Design Guild dinner tomorrow night.”
I wondered why a mortician would be interested in the Design Guild dinner, but I didn’t really care. “Perfect. That would be a lovely first date. And on Valentine’s Day, too. What could be more romantic?”
He flitted off in search of a red rose to give her when he asked her out. Poor woman. Then again, maybe she was as shy as Humphrey, and he’d finally met the right person. I hoped so.
Ted shouted for me to release my hold on the plastic. I let it go and exercised my stiff fingers.
When he came to thank me, I said, “Not the best-quality liner?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the liner.” Ted held up five sharp nails.
“Finishing nails?”
“Exactly.” He held one between his fingers and pretended to aim it like a dart. “Just about perfect for making holes in liners when shot with a nail gun.”
“I thought nail guns had safety catches. Don’t you have to press them against something to make them fire?”
Ted laughed. “Every guy who has ever used one knows how to hold back that latch and fire in the air.”
He didn’t appear to be too upset, but I was worried. “Are you saying someone intentionally caused that leak?”
“Don’t be so shocked. Designers and decorators aren’t beneath a little sabotage. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if Posey herself flicked these nails into my pond.”
EIGHT
From
“Ask Natasha”
:
Dear Natasha,
We’re building a new house and my mother-in-law insists that all proper homes have a butler’s pantry. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one, but I am sure I will never have a butler. Is she just making fun of me?
 
—No Butlers in Butler Beach
 
Dear No Butlers,
Listen to your mother-in-law! Butler’s pantries aren’t just for butlers anymore. They provide additional storage for fine crystal and china, and for those bulky serving pieces that clutter up kitchen cabinets. Today these little hallways between the kitchen and the dining room even double as bars. They’re the perfect place for wine storage, an additional sink, a dishwasher, or a refrigerator. Or build in drawers for storing table linens.
 
—Natasha
I skipped lunch since I would be taking time off for Mordecai’s bequest party. By one o’clock, I’d had enough of scheming designers and gladly walked home. As I strode along King Street, I caught a glimpse of Wolf seated at the front window of Café Ole with Tara, the officer who’d responded to my call about Kurt. They sat side by side, and she leaned toward him with familiarity, her head tilted and her hair swinging loose. Momentarily surprised at seeing them together, I felt a pang of jealousy that quickly swerved to uneasiness. Even though I knew I’d done nothing wrong, the mere fact that she must be telling him about our bizarre encounter early that morning made me uncomfortable. Hoping they hadn’t noticed me, I backtracked and cut up a side street.
When I swung open the gate that led to my service alley, someone squealed. I peered behind it and found Nina crouching on the ground. She tugged me inside and held a finger to her lips.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
“Do you see anyone?”
I peeked over the gate. “Who am I looking for?”
“There’s no one hanging around, watching?” She rose up just enough to see the street.
“Does this have something to do with Kurt?” I feared the stress of Kurt’s disappearance was playing on Nina’s nerves. “C’mon”—I motioned to her—“there’s no one there.”
She followed me into my kitchen. “I’m not so sure. Have you told anyone about Kurt?”
“I haven’t mentioned your name.”
Mochie head-butted Nina, and she ran a hand over his shiny fur. “I was putting up lost dog notices about Emmaline, and I got the feeling someone was watching me.” She carried Mochie to the bay window and looked out while I packed the food for Mordecai’s soiree.
“Kurt has you spooked.” I eased the crudités and dip into a box with the bread and blondies. “Did you actually see anyone?”
“It’s just a feeling. I kept seeing a thin blond looking into store windows, but she might have been shopping.”
I smacked her hand when she reached for a blondie. “Could it have been Tara? The cop who came to Mordecai’s?”
She frowned at me. “I don’t know. She wasn’t wearing a uniform. Why would she follow me anyway? If you didn’t mention my name, she wouldn’t have any reason to tail me.”
I loaded a second box with food while Nina fidgeted and looked out the window. “I think it’s Kurt,” she finally said.

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