The Diva Serves High Tea (10 page)

Dear Natasha,

I threw a tea party and served cucumber sandwiches, but it seems nobody liked them, because most of them were left on the serving platter. I spread margarine on white bread, added cucumber slices, and cut off the crusts. Where did I go wrong?

—Embarrassed in Bread Loaf, Vermont

Dear Embarrassed,

You erred by using margarine. The classic cucumber sandwich demands butter. The flavor and texture will be off with margarine.

—Natasha

The other messages were unpleasant, for sure, but that was a death threat. I rose from the table and phoned Wolf. Naturally, I got his voice mail. I left a message. “I'm sorry to call you so late but Francie and Velma found something you should know about. Can you please stop by my house?”

When I turned around, Nina had disappeared. “Where's Nina?”

“She's making copies of the notes in your office.”

It didn't take her long. She was back in a flash, still wearing gloves. “They all look alike. Probably written on a computer and printed out, then cut into little slips.” She handed each of us a copy of them.

I shared a piece of bread with Daisy and Duke while the other three leaned over the table, examining the notes. “Velma, did Robert ever mention anyone named Rose or Rosie?”

“Francie asked me the same thing. I can't remember him mentioning anyone named Rose.”

Her sister had died in an unusual manner. “Are you sure he didn't call your sister
Rose
or
Rosie
as a pet name?”

“Positive. He called her Pookie. Don't ask me why. I found it a bit nauseating, but she loved it. It was probably some kind of private joke between them.”

“What do you know about Robert's past?” Nina asked, helping herself to more plum tart.

Velma settled back in the banquette. “He came from a small town in Virginia, not too far from here. Graduated from college. He married my sister in a beautiful beach wedding and they settled in Charlotte, where he was employed by a company that manufactured furniture. He worked his way up, then opened his own furniture store. He and my sister dreamed of owning an antiques store in their retirement but she never lived to see it happen.”

“Why did he move up here?” asked Nina.

“Because I was his only living relative. My sister wanted to live near me, so they always looked at houses when they came to visit. As you can imagine, they loved the ambiance of Old Town and all the antiques. After Livy died, I didn't think he would come. But you reach an age when you're grateful for family and friends who can lend a hand when you need it. They lived out in the country in a lovely house, but it came with some acreage and was a lot of work. I guess a town house in Old Town started to seem more attractive to him.”

“They didn't have children?” I asked.

“No. And he was an only child. No siblings.”

Daisy and Duke ran to the door. I saw Wolf before he knocked and got to my feet to let him in.

He grinned when he saw the table. “Looks like I'm in time for dessert?”

“Tea?” I asked.

“Sure. Can you make it decaf?” Wolf slid off his jacket and warmed his hands by the fire.

While I cut a piece of the plum tart for him and heated water for tea, Velma and Francie filled him in about the rose items and the threatening notes.

When we had dated, I was often frustrated by Wolf's poker face. It was a good thing for a police investigator, but it drove me crazy when I didn't have a clue what he might be thinking. He listened to them politely, as though they were explaining something less important, like a broken window.

I brought his tart and tea to the table, threw another log on the fire, and joined everyone.

“They're clearly threats,” insisted Velma. “Don't you think that changes things? Someone wanted Robert dead.”

“Thank you for bringing these to my attention.” Wolf turned his focus to the tart.

“How can you be so calm?” Velma's eyes grew large. “This person obviously wanted to kill Robert.”

Wolf took a sip of tea. “And he or she might have done exactly that if Robert had not died from botulism poisoning. I would be much more concerned if Robert wasn't already dead. There's not much anyone can do to harm him now.”

“How do you know the person who left the notes didn't murder him?” demanded Francie.

“Botulism poisoning is an accident, not an intentional murder.” Wolf remained calm and ate more of the tart with a generous dollop of whipped cream on top.

“I thought you were smarter than that.” Francie seemed to be baiting him.

Wolf lifted his eyebrows. “How's that?”

“Botulism would be a very clever method of murder. Think about it. Whoever made the food that was tainted with the deadly botulism can simply pretend it was accidental. Better than that, there are no fingerprints, and virtually no way to follow the trail to the killer. You can find out where someone bought a knife or a gun. But how are you going to figure out where the poisonous food came from?”

“Yeah!” Velma's voice was loud and strong.

“Francie, I'm going to have to keep an eye on you,” teased Wolf. “We can indeed follow the botulism to the source. That's what we're doing right now.”

“Oh, please. You youngsters are so naïve. You see everything in technological terms. Can you even imagine how many cowering wives killed their husbands this way in the old days? Back then, the doctors probably wouldn't have even known it was botulism. Plenty of food spoiled on the prairie and on farms where they didn't have refrigeration. It wasn't uncommon for wives to slip nasty things into food to dispatch men who were cruel to them.”

“Ugh.” Nina stuck out her tongue. “That's scary and revolting.”

“It's just the truth. The ones that do the cookin' have always been in a position to eliminate people.”

“How did you say your husband died, Francie?” asked Nina.

We all burst out laughing.

“How long will The Parlour be closed, Wolf?” asked Francie.

“Probably just another day or two. Unless they find it's the source of the botulism.”

“Velma and Francie go there every day,” I explained.

Wolf looked at each of them. “Any symptoms? Nausea, vomiting, general weakness?”

“Not at all. I can assure you that Martha Carter runs a very clean establishment.” Francie toyed with her fork.

“That's what the health department said. She hasn't
been open too long but her tearoom has passed their inspections with flying colors.”

Suddenly it dawned on me that Francie could be worried about her birthday celebration. She might be a nosy Peeping Tom but I loved the old coot. “What if we had a birthday tea for you here? It won't be as fancy as The Parlour, but we could try.”

Francie perked up for a second but soon sagged. “It wouldn't be right. Not when Robert just died. We need to bury him first, give him the respect he deserves.”

Maybe she was right.

“Aww, I was looking forward to crumpets,” Nina complained.

Velma looked confused. “Just what
are
crumpets? People always talk about them but I don't know what I would be ordering.”

“I think they're sort of a cross between little griddle cakes and English muffins,” I said.

“I'm having trouble imagining that,” Wolf said.

“Would you make us crumpets sometime?” asked Francie.

“I can give it a shot.”

Velma sniffled. “If Sophie is willing, I think we should celebrate your thirty-ninth birthday anyway.”

Francie looked down at her fingers, decidedly unhappy.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“You're so sweet to be doing this for me. I feel guilty asking for any other favors.”

“Spill, Francie,” I ordered.

“Would it be okay if we invited Callie?”

Velma gasped with excitement. “Oh, yes. She's such fun! She won't have to work if The Parlour is closed. And she might be glad to get out. Have you seen her place? I swear I have bigger shoeboxes.”

Wolf carried his plate and mug to the sink. “I need to get going. Thanks for the notes, ladies.”

“Don't you go throwing them out!” cried Velma.

“Trust me. I won't.”

I walked him to the front door. “Thanks for being so nice to them. They're convinced that Robert was murdered.”

Wolf sucked in a deep breath. His eyes met mine, dead serious.

Dear Sophie,

I'm not a terrible baker but those beautiful little macarons simply won't turn out right for me. What can I be doing wrong?

—Florrie on the Farm in Egg Harbor, Indiana

Dear Florrie on the Farm,

The answer may be in your eggs! Make sure your egg whites are at room temperature. And you'll have more success with older eggs. Don't use the farm fresh ones!

—Sophie

“Are you kidding?” I whispered. “You think that's a possibility?”

“Ordinarily? No. But no one else has turned up sick. Not even one report of it. The incubation period for botulism poisoning is twelve to seventy-two hours. Kinda makes me wonder. Let me know if you hear of any developments.”

I was reeling when I closed the door behind him. I had dismissed Francie and Velma's theories as silly.

Of course, those notes were very odd. Stranger than odd, actually. Someone had been intentionally tormenting Robert.

And then he said
Rosie
to me. Why? What had the note said?
Rosie is dead
. If Rosie was dead, why would he say her name? Unless . . . she wasn't dead!

I dashed into the kitchen so fast that the dogs jumped to their feet and barked. “What if Rosie isn't dead? What if Rosie killed Robert?”

The three of them stared at me like I had lost my mind. “Velma,
think
! Who was Rosie?”

Velma sat back, crossed one arm over her abdomen, and touched the fingers of her other hand to the bottom of her chin.

“Did Wolf tell you that?” asked Nina.

“No. I just don't know why Robert's last word would have been
Rosie
if she's dead.”

Nina's eyes went wide. “You think this Rosie could be alive? Was he trying to finger his killer?”

“Now, girls,” Francie said. “I know I'm the one who thinks botulism would be a great way to kill someone, but there are some big flaws in your logic. In the first place, the killer was taking a chance that Robert might survive. If this Rosie”—she chuckled—“rose from the dead, she would surely have used an instantaneous method to kill him. Otherwise she would have run the risk that he would reveal to everyone that she was alive. Right?”

“Maybe she didn't care about that,” Nina said.

“There's another problem. Nina, if you felt deathly ill today, would you blame someone?” Francie asked.

“I might if I knew what made me sick.”

“You see? I doubt that he even knew who was responsible for the tainted food. He probably ate it without realizing that it would poison him. If he had known, wouldn't he have sought medical care sooner?”

“I think that supports my original theory that his death was an accident. But then why did he say
Rosie
?” I asked.

“Francie, I think we'll have to do a little more snooping around Robert's house.” Velma threw her hands in the air. “Don't look at me like that. As his only kin it falls to me to clean out his house, doesn't it?”

Nina grinned. “It sure does!”

“You could help us, Nina,” Velma said.

They made arrangements to meet at Velma's house in the morning. Nina, Daisy, and I walked the elderly ladies home. I left three eggs on the kitchen counter to come to room temperature while we were gone.

It wasn't too late to bake when I returned, so I set about making macarons, the fine, light cookies that were the delight of every tea party.

I cracked the eggs and separated the yolks from the whites. In my food processor, I ground almonds with powdered sugar as fine as I could and pushed them through a sieve to make sure there were no little lumps. After whipping the egg whites, I folded in the sugars as gently as possible, and added a little raspberry juice to give them a faint pink color. I piped the resulting dough in one-inch circles on parchment paper. While they were in the oven, I tackled the filling.

Around eleven, I placed the adorable little cookies in the fridge and headed up to bed.

Just past midnight, someone hammered the knocker on my front door. Daisy and Mochie flew down the stairs to investigate while I lumbered along behind them, half-asleep.

I peered through the peephole. Natasha? What did she want at this hour? I opened the door.

Natasha barged in. “I can't sleep.”

“I was doing just fine.”

“Sophie, I have a problem, and I don't know who else to go to. But let's be clear that I have not forgiven you for throwing yourself at Mars.”

Great. This couldn't have waited until morning? I closed the door behind her. Maybe if I made her some hot milk she would get sleepy. I staggered into the kitchen and flicked on the lights.

“How about some hot milk?”

“Eww. A skin forms on top. How can you drink something like that?”

“Hot chocolate?”

“A glass of white wine, perhaps?”

I poured two glasses and sat down with her. “So what's the problem?”

“I guess you heard about Robert?” she sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a lacy hankie.

I felt ashamed for being a grouch. I'd forgotten that she was crazy about him. “I'm sorry, Natasha. I'm sure he was fond of you, too.”

She bit her upper lip like she was trying to compose herself. “We were perfect for each other. Who knows what would have happened if he had lived?”

Natasha closed her eyes and paused. I thought it best to let her have a minute, so I sipped my wine and waited.

“I know how much you like my mother,” Natasha said.

“I do.”

She reached out a trembling hand. “I think she killed him.”

Natasha couldn't have said a thing in the world that would have surprised me more. I spoke as soothingly as I could. “I'm sure that's not the case. Robert died from botulism poisoning.”

“Exactly!”

“I'm not following you.”

“You know my mom is a little unusual.”

“A free spirit. That's what's so great about her!” I said.

“That's a nice way to put it. But I'm terrified. She was the last person to see him alive.”

“Actually, I think the doctors and nurses were the last people to see him alive.”

“Why are you being so difficult? She went out with him the last night of his life.”

I nodded. “And?”

“And he didn't feel well,” Natasha said.

“So he had already been poisoned.”

Natasha almost shouted. “Would you just listen to me? She gave him some of her potions!”

“Oh, honey, they probably didn't contribute to his death.”

Even though we were the only people in the house, she whispered. “How do you know they weren't tainted with botulism?”

Now I saw the problem. “She makes them herself?” I asked, even though I thought I knew the answer.

“Of course she does! She picks flowers and gathers weeds and weird pods and makes tea out of them. It's just like canning. She has all these little bottles of herbal potions. Mars used to be afraid to eat anything when she was visiting, because she'll pour some of that vile stuff right on your food and you won't even know it!”

“She wouldn't do that,” I said.

“Wouldn't she? She thinks she's doing good. But, Sophie, what if her canning method went wrong? What if she gave Robert something to cure whatever ailed him and it was loaded with powerful botulism?”

I desperately wanted to assure her that couldn't be the case. What had Wolf said?
A twelve to seventy-two hour incubation period.
If Robert had felt queasy for some other reason and Wanda had given him one of her potions at dinner, twelve hours could have easily passed by the time I found him. Maybe Natasha was right to worry.

Horrified and now fully awake, I set aside the wine. What would happen to Wanda if she had poisoned him? It wouldn't have been intentional, of course. I would have to ask Alex what happened under that kind of circumstance.

“I don't know what to do,” Natasha said. “I can't turn in my own mother. She may drive me nuts. She may be a little different from most people—”

“A free spirit.”

“—but I'm scared to death that she murdered him. What do I do?”

“I don't know,” I said. “But let's not be hasty. After all, we don't know for sure that she gave him anything. He could have already been sick from the botulism when she met him at The Parlour.”

Natasha gazed at the floor.

“Natasha! You can't just go jumping to conclusions. Besides, wouldn't it have looked and smelled icky?”

“Not according to the Internet. It's odorless and tasteless. You can tell because a can is bent out of shape or the top on a jar has bulged.”

“Surely Wanda knows that and wouldn't have given him anything that was tainted.”

“Sophie,” Natasha said gently. “What if Mom wanted to get rid of him? What if she thought he was scum for dating me?”

My breath caught in my throat. “Seems awfully drastic. She could have alienated him in some other way. Right?” Of course, if Wanda had used one of her magical potions, that would explain why no one else had gotten sick. But it didn't explain Rosie or the notes.

I told Natasha about them, concluding with, “So you see, most likely Robert's death was an accident. And even if it wasn't, it was probably connected to this Rosie person.”

Natasha burst into tears.

I reached over and patted her shoulder. “There, there.” It was stupid to say. Who said that? Yet somehow, it seemed appropriate under the circumstances. “Let the tears flow. You don't have anything to worry about.”

She bawled even harder.

“Natasha! You should be happy. You should be relieved.” I handed her a box of tissues.

With a totally congested nose, she blurted, “Wanda Rose Beasley Smith. Her middle name is Rose!”