The Diva Frosts a Cupcake (9 page)

Alex rose to speak with me. “You look beautiful.”

I knew that was impossible for a host of reasons, but it was sweet of him anyway. “Black eyes are de rigueur for black-tie affairs.”

He leaned close to speak to me in the noisy tent, his breath soft and warm on my ear. “Brunch tomorrow?”

I nodded.

“I’ll pick you up at ten.”

It didn’t escape me that Mars frowned at me from our table. I had mixed feelings about that. Mostly I thought this was none of his business, but some tiny part of me was glad he cared, and I didn’t like that about myself.

Natasha loomed beside me in her super-high heels. She gushed over Alex. Maybe I’d been wrong about Mars. Maybe that frown reflected his feeling toward Natasha’s incessant attention to Alex.

Nina stepped up to the podium, and I hurried Daisy to our table.

Nina made some introductions and thanked everyone for their support, but kept her remarks short. The centerpieces on the tables, as well as the slew of other items along the wall, were up for auction after the dinner. When she took her seat, the waiters poured wine, offering a choice of cabernet or chardonnay. One featured a dog label and the other bore a cat label. They soon brought around tiny pupcakes for the dogs and the amuse bouche, a bite-size cupcake. The human first course, a Tex-Mex-style cupcake, was made of black beans and onion. The baker had incorporated cumin and a teeny kick of chipotle. The icing on top was a cool, creamy avocado that went perfectly with the spicy cupcake.

“Black beans and avocado?” Natasha broke off a small corner and tasted it. “Ugh. As dreadful as I expected.”

Not everyone shared that opinion. Nina and Bernie wolfed theirs down with gusto.

“Mmm. Those were great.” Mars snatched the remainder of the cupcake on Natasha’s plate. “I hope that bakery starts making them on a regular basis. I’d eat a couple of them for lunch any day.”

“Oh, Mars,” grumbled Natasha. “Your palate is just so primitive.”

Daisy eagerly ate the tiny dog appetizer and sniffed around for more.

Natasha frowned as she scoped out the room. “I’m quite taken aback by the lengths people go to for their pets. I thought Martha’s cupcake outfit would be adorable, but it’s rather plebian compared to the flashy gems and tiaras some of these dogs are wearing. Hmm.”

“Did you see Maurice’s cat?” asked Bernie.

The fish course arrived with a small fish-shaped cookie for the dogs and another cupcake for the rest of us.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Salmon Cupcakes? Really? Couldn’t they have thought of something more clever?”

“What would you have baked, Natasha?” asked Bernie. “Anchovy cupcakes?”

“Puffer fish?” suggested Nina, in reference to a deadly Japanese delicacy.

“She’s very partial to black squid ink.” Mars’s voice was so droll, that everyone at the table laughed hysterically.

“Are you making fun of me?” asked Natasha.

“Are you going to complain about every course until we hit yours?” responded Nina.

While salmon certainly wasn’t an ingredient I would think of for cupcakes, the coral-colored icing with little scales and fish lips was so cute that I hated to bite into it.

It wouldn’t win my vote for best cupcake of the banquet, but fish was a tough category, and I thought the baker had done a remarkable job with it.

The entrée arrived on larger plates. The lasagna was surprisingly delicious.

Natasha scoffed at the Rosemary Bacon Corn Cupcakes. “These are cornmeal muffins. They’re not cupcakes at all.”

“Go with the flow, Nat,” muttered Mars.

“Honestly, they ought to be disqualified. They’re nothing more than seasoned corn muffins. Dotting the top with butter and jamming a piece of bacon into it does not make them cupcakes!”

Uh-oh. I saw a fight coming on. “Then don’t vote for it, Natasha.”

“But other people might not realize that it’s not a cupcake. And this lasagna thing. It’s not a cupcake at all.” Natasha pushed it to the side of her plate. “Nina owes it to everyone to disqualify the ones that aren’t truly cupcakes.”

Nina did not look happy about the direction of the conversation.

“What’s the difference between a cupcake and a muffin anyway?” asked Mars. “I buy blueberry muffins from Big Daddy’s Bakery that come in little paper wrappers like these. Is it icing? Muffins don’t have icing and cupcakes do?”

As though she were an expert on baking, Nina stated, “The line is becoming somewhat imprecise. Technically, a muffin has a coarser texture while a cupcake should be finer, like a cake.”

Her knowledge surprised me. Nina had been known to dirty pots and pans so her mother-in-law would think she had prepared a dinner that was actually takeout. When had she become an expert on baking?

“I didn’t realize that you watch my show,” exclaimed Natasha. “I’m delighted that you have learned so much.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but my education on the subject has come from the bakers themselves,” Nina explained.

While they chatted, I nonchalantly observed Alex. Francie was giggling at something he said. Not every guy would take out a woman old enough to be his mother and be a good sport about it. I barely knew him, but that impressed me as an indicator of a kind and thoughtful person who wasn’t so self-absorbed that he had to parade around with a supermodel type on his arm.

Joy had engaged the general in a discussion. Nick piped up now and then. As I watched their table, it dawned on me that Nick looked strikingly like Alex and the general. The dark hair, the full lips, even the rounded tips of their noses.

I nudged Nina, who was still busy defending the corn cupcakes. “Is Nick Rigas related to the general?”

“What an odd question. I don’t think so.” She glanced in their direction and did a double take. “I see what you mean. That’s one handsome gene pool. Is it the lighting in here, or is the general looking a little bit green?”

General German gave a little jolt, like he’d been kicked in the abdomen. He stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to Joy’s chatter. He opened his mouth as though he couldn’t get air, and braced his hands on the table.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dear Sophie,

My neighbor, who believes everything she hears, told me that chocolate is bad for dogs. My Rhodesian ridgeback loves it and has never had any ill effects. Is this true or just an old wives’ tale?

—Chocoholic in Hershey, Pennsylvania

Dear Chocoholic,

Never
feed chocolate to dogs. The theobromine in chocolate can make them very ill and even lead to death. If your dog loves that chocolate flavor, look for treats made with carob instead. Should your dog accidentally eat chocolate, contact your veterinarian immediately.

—Sophie

General German tried to push himself up into a standing position. He teetered forward, overcompensated, and fell backward, pulling the tablecloth with him. Glasses spilled and china crashed to the floor.

Screams pierced the air. I tossed Daisy’s leash into Bernie’s lap and rushed to the general’s table with Nina. He lay on the floor breathing heavily.

Alex knelt over him, dissuading everyone from taking action. Turning down all offers to place a spoon on his tongue, sit him up, or carry him outside for air, Alex remained admirably calm. “Please call 911. Everyone, stand back.”

Nick hovered behind Alex, seemingly at a loss.

Natasha wedged her way in and nearly fell over the general.

Officer Wong was already on her phone calling an ambulance. Even in a strapless red gown, she cut an authoritative figure. When she hung up, she spoke with a commanding voice. “Let’s move back, folks. Give the man air.”

Alex positioned the chair on which General German had been sitting so that it formed a bit of a barrier to the onlookers. Sirens sounded nearby.

The attendees had stepped back when Wong asked them to, but they still formed a tight horseshoe around the table.

Joy cried out and jumped forward a couple of steps, wiping the rear of her dress. “Something stung me.”

Appropriately solicitous, Nick examined her dress. “I don’t see anything.”

A couple of women closed in behind her. I feared the crowd wouldn’t part for the rescue squad. Nabbing Mars and Bernie by the hands, I tugged them away and recruited Spenser, Leon, and Humphrey as I walked.

Shouting to be heard over the din, I said, “We need to move everyone back so help can get through.”

Each of them took up a position. Spenser and Bernie held their arms out to the sides, moving the crowd like pros. I skittered through the space that opened up and met the rescue squad outside.

People inquired about the general as I returned, but I had nothing to tell them other than the fact that he’d been taken ill. When I reached the table again, I overheard one of the paramedics say the general had a weak, rapid pulse.

Before long, the general had been loaded onto a gurney and carried out through a whispering crowd. When they passed by me, General German’s eyes were closed, and he lay as still as a corpse.

Alex and Nick trailed along behind him. Alex gently reached for my arm. “Would you mind seeing Francie and Duke safely home?”

I assured him I would take care of them. Given the circumstances, I thought it extremely telling about his character that he even remembered his elderly date.

Nick was equally considerate and insisted Joy remain. She assured him she could walk home or catch a ride with someone.

The relief that swept through the tent was palpable. The general was in good hands, and the din rose again.

Wong clinked a fork against a glass a few times. “May I have your attention? Does anyone else feel sick?”

As unobtrusively as possible, I moseyed over to the general’s table and examined it. Wong had prevented the waitstaff from cleaning up the mess, but there was no telling who had eaten what, since everything had landed on the floor.

Daisy had been passed along to Francie. I leaned over, and whispered to Francie, “Did you notice what the general ate?”

“It was the oddest thing. I watched him all evening because he was so quiet. He refused wine and didn’t eat a bite. I asked him if he wasn’t hungry, and he said his stomach was giving him some problems.”

A wave of relief washed over me. It was unlikely that whatever caused him to be ill had come from the cupcakes.

But then someone spoke up. “I do. I feel sick.”

Everyone turned to look—at Maurice. Of course. Who else?

“You do
not
!” I couldn’t help myself. The man would do anything ornery. He probably wanted a refund.

Wong held up a hand to stop me from saying anything more. “What’s the problem, Mr. Lester?”

“I’m queasy. Sick to my stomach.”

“In that case, we’d better get you to the hospital, too. No point in taking any chances,” said Wong.

At least it would get him away from poor Myra for a while.

A murmur spread through the tent like a wave. A few people rose and left. Nina buried her head in her hands. Poor Nina! This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Anyone else feel sick?” asked Wong.

I held my breath. Nina peeked through her fingers. Not a soul. Nina and I accompanied Wong over to Maurice.

“Do you need an ambulance, Mr. Lester?” she asked.

“Will Cupcakes and Pupcakes pay for it?”

I
knew
he wasn’t sick. What a crumb. Someone who was truly ill wouldn’t stop to ask if it was a free ride.

Wong must have had thoughts along the same lines. “Mr. Lester, do you need medical attention or not? I am not inclined to tie up ambulances and rescue squads with phony illnesses.”

Myra leaned away from Maurice as though she didn’t want to be associated with him.

His eyes shifted to her. Moaning, he grabbed his stomach. “Maybe Myra could drive me home.”

Clearly appalled by the thought, the corners of her mouth jerked downward. She spoke softly. “I am not your date. And the only way I’d go anywhere near your home is in your dreams.”

“Besides, she promised to help with the auction.” It was a big, horrible lie, but I liked Myra, and despised Maurice for being so obnoxious to her.

Myra jumped to her feet. “I should be sitting at your table then, shouldn’t I?”

“First Spenser poisons me with his cupcake. Now you’re embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend.” Maurice stood up and bent his slight frame, clutching his stomach.

Seated at the next table, Spenser clearly heard Maurice’s accusation. “For pity’s sake, Maurice. Let it go already. Besides, I didn’t bake any of the cupcakes. They were all baked by my trusty crew here.” He smiled at the people seated at his table.

In her soft voice, Myra protested, “And I am
not
your girlfriend. Stop saying that. People will start to believe you.”

“Aw, snookums.” He reached out and grasped her arm.

She stepped out of his reach. “Get away from me. It was bad enough having to sit beside you. Please just leave me alone.”

“I’ll see you at home later.” He raised his head proudly. “I’d like the rest of my cupcakes, please.”

He was nuts. Wong shot me a look that suggested she was thinking the same thing. He claimed to be poisoned by the cupcakes, but now he wanted more of them? The man twisted everything.

Nina held her hand just below her neck. She swallowed hard, her jaw muscles tense. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“I think Wong has it under control. Why don’t you leave it up to the guests? I’ll handle Maurice. You talk to the guests.”

Nina made her way to the podium. The loudspeaker crackled as she picked up the microphone.

Wong walked Maurice to the entrance of the tent, and I followed, listening to Nina apologize to the guests. She was up front with them, saying she wasn’t sure if we should call off the rest of the feast. A chorus of boos filled the tent. Behind me someone yelled, “Bring more cupcakes!”

Applause broke out as everyone got back to their merriment.

I asked the headwaiter for Maurice’s share of the remaining cupcakes. Fortunately, Nina had thought ahead and provided cupcake boxes and doggie bags for those who wished to take home some of their dinners.

I handed two boxes to Maurice. He had trouble holding them with Guinevere in his arms.

“I’ll carry them to your car for you.” I didn’t want to, but frankly, I was glad that he was leaving, and was willing to do whatever might be necessary to speed up his departure.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He loomed over me. “I don’t have a dog in my car!” With that odd comment, he seized the boxes and strode off into the night.

While it had never occurred to me that he might have Buddy in his car, his strange outburst piqued my curiosity. I waited until he was a good distance from me before I followed him. Two blocks later, he stopped by a small car and unlocked the door. He was careful and gentle with Guinevere. He folded himself into the driver’s seat and hastily closed the door, no doubt so Guinevere wouldn’t spring from the car.

His head nearly hit the interior roof of the car. If he’d had Buddy, the silhouette of the big dog’s head would probably have been visible in the back seat. With a sigh, I returned to the party.

Bernie had pulled chairs up to our table for Myra and Francie during my absence.

The second I sat down, Nina asked Myra, “How do you feel about spying?”

Myra thought a moment. “I suppose it’s politically necessary. To be honest, I’ve never given it much thought.”

Nina held up her forefinger. “Necessary! That’s exactly it.” She lowered her voice. “You’re the only one who can get into Maurice’s house.”

“You couldn’t get
me
in there for anything.”

Nina launched into the sad story of Buddy’s disappearance, ending with “and he hasn’t been seen since.”

“And you think he’s in Maurice’s house?”

All eyes focused on poor Myra.

“Oh! I see now. No, no, no. I don’t think so. Alone with him in his home? No way! Isn’t there someone else? He rents the upstairs apartment to Nick Rigas. He’s a slimy sort. Maybe he’d snoop around.”

“At the very least, he might have heard Buddy bark,” I said.

“Too bad he left with the general. I’d like to find out what he might know about Buddy.” Nina bit into her cheesecake cupcake.

Natasha picked a corner off the cheesecake cupcake and sampled it. “At least no one can blame me for making the general sick. My cupcakes hadn’t been served.”

I thought Nina might explode. “Why don’t you go right on up to the loudspeaker and announce which ones are your cupcakes?”

Natasha glared at her. “No wonder Sophie didn’t bake cupcakes. She probably knew what a pill you would be.”

Gritting her teeth, Nina hissed, “It’s not a popularity contest. People should vote for the cupcake that tasted the best—which you should be glad about, because if it were about popularity, Sugar Baby or Cake My Day would probably win.”

Although I had enjoyed the savory cupcakes, I had to admit that the sweet ones were my favorites. The Blueberry Cheesecake Cupcake was delicious, though perhaps a bit too much like cheesecake. The Strawberry Cupcakes and Natasha’s Coco Loco Cupcakes, which combined dark chocolate with coconut, were superb. I wanted to love the Salted Caramel Cupcakes, but something wasn’t quite right. The base was a yellow cupcake with a hint of caramel and just a wisp of saltiness. The baker had carved out a divot in the center of each cupcake and filled it with caramel. That part was fabulous. But the icing, which contained caramel, tasted like paste. Whoever made them had used the caramel to make kitty stripes and piped the icing to look like fur. I felt sorry for the baker, because the little faces were so artistic, but the flavor of the frosting was far too much like elementary-school glue. A quick glance around confirmed that I wasn’t the only one who’d left most of that cupcake on my plate. I’d seen them come in on the Cake My Day truck, which meant they’d been baked by Spenser’s bakery, or by Renee. As much as I might have liked the others, the indulgence of sweet, creamy strawberry frosting, a tiny bit of a luscious strawberry surprise inside, balanced with a tiny portion of moist cake could not be beat. I voted for the Strawberry Cupcake.

A team of waiters collected ballots, and when Nina trotted up to the podium for the auction, I stole away to the small tent with Humphrey and Francie to tabulate the results. When Nina selected her counting team, she’d taken care to choose people with no stake in the outcome. Of course, that was well before anyone realized that Humphrey had a thing for Renee.

Only when he walked into the small tent did it occur to me that Renee’s interest in Humphrey might be directly related to his position as a counter of the ballots. It wasn’t like there was an incredible award at stake, just the honor and a very cute trophy. A black block base with a gold inscription—
Cupcakes and Pupcakes Gala Dinner Best Cupcake.
On top of the base sat a cupcake statuette consisting of a gold wrapper topped with enamel that looked like white frosting, topped with chocolate frosting, topped with raspberry frosting with a cherry on top.

The three of us sat down at a table. Francie pulled out her reading glasses. “I’ll call them out,” she said. “Sophie, you keep track of the cupcake votes. Humphrey, you keep track of the pupcake votes.”

It didn’t take long to realize that a lot of people felt as I did. The sweet cupcakes took the lead, though all the cupcakes received votes.

The pupcake votes went in the savory direction. While the dogs liked their desserts, the chicken liver pupcake won their hearts.

We wrote the winners on cards and returned to the banquet tent, where the auction was still in progress. In spite of the general’s illness, life and laughter had returned to the festivities, and bidding between Spenser and another well-heeled Old Town resident had become spirited. Spenser finally conceded and allowed the other man to win. Applause broke out, as did a chorus of barking.

I handed the results to Nina and returned to my seat. Na-tasha gripped Mars’s hand. I hadn’t seen any physical contact between them in a very long time. The pang that I felt at their tiny display of togetherness tore through me in a way I would never have expected.

I barely noticed Nina congratulating the baker of the Strawberry Cupcake—one of Bernie’s employees at The Laughing Hound.