Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The (29 page)

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Authors: Krista Davis

Tags: #Winston; Sophie (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Cooks, #Large Type Books, #Cookery, #Mystery, #Divorced Women, #Cooking, #Divorced Women - Crimes Against, #Weddings, #Crimes Against, #Sisters

BOOK: Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The
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THIRTY-THREE
From “THE GOOD LIFE”:
Dear Sophie,
One of my daughter’s bridesmaids has the most awful tattoo of a dragon on her breast. The tail comes up in the middle of her cleavage, and it looks like a creature jumped into her bra. The bridesmaid dresses aren’t low cut, but we can’t cover up that tail unless the girl wears a turtle-neck. I’ve told my daughter that she has to pick another bridesmaid and write off Dragon Lady, but she refuses.
—No Lizards Please in Slaughter Beach
Dear No Lizards,
Kudos to your daughter for standing up for her friendship with Dragon Lady. Although ordinary makeup seldom covers tattoos, there are now companies selling kits that can cover the darkest dragon tails.
—Sophie
Donata? It sounded like Darby. I must have dialed wrong. I tried again. The same perky tape answered again. The Jersey accent sounded like Darby’s. Maybe she had a roommate?
I debated leaving a message and finally said, “This is Sophie. Just wanted you to know that Darby left her cell phone at my house and I think she might have mine. Call me if you want Craig or Robert to bring it to New Jersey.” If I had the wrong number, the Donata person could ignore the message. If Donata lived with Darby, I hoped she would pass it along.
I perched on the desk chair and typed the number into a reverse directory on the Internet. It turned up under the name D. Franchini. Donata Franchini, probably. There could be half a dozen explanations. Idly, I searched “Donata Franchini,” but all the results were for women in Italy.
“Hannah,” I called into the sunroom, “did Craig or Darby ever mention someone named Franchini?”
Hannah appeared in the doorway with Craig behind her. Where did he come from?
“Nope,” she said, her jaw tense.
“Where’d you get that name?” asked Craig.
When did he return? I promptly shut down the computer. Darby’s fear rushed back to me, and I wanted to protect her. It seemed imprudent to mention her name, and I was at a loss to explain my question. “Craig.” I forced myself to sound pleasant. “How’s your dad?”
“Torn up. He’s taking it very hard.”
Unlike his son, apparently. “Is there anything we can do for him?”
Craig placed a hand on Hannah’s shoulder, and her eyes sprung wide. “You can convince Hannah to come to New Jersey with us. Meeting the newest member of the family might soften the blow of losing Stan.”
Hannah gulped and appeared frightened but quickly composed herself. “Not this time, Craig. We have some things to resolve first.” She turned and pushed past him and must have been desperate to find something to do because my sister, who detests cleaning even more than I do, suggested that everyone pitch in to help clean up the brunch dishes.
I joined them in the dining room. Humphrey and Hannah carried dirty dishes to the kitchen, but Tucker, not used to lifting anything heavier than a poker chip, stared out the window at the street.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I said, though I suspected they weren’t worth that much.
“Saint Thomas Aquinas said ‘Justice is a certain rectitude of mind whereby a man does what he ought to do in circumstances confronting him.’ ”
Maybe his thought
was
worth more than one penny. I stopped stacking dishes. Did that mean he knew something about the murders? “And what ought you to do in these circumstances?”
He held up a finger and bowed his head, as if deep in thought. The finger waggled and he said, “Atlantic City.”
“What about it?”
He swung around to face me. “That’s where I know Stan from.”
“You knew Uncle Stan?”
“Well, not to speak to. I didn’t know him by name, but he was a fairly distinctive guy, being so tall and all. I just couldn’t place him until now. He hung with some unsavory types.”
“You should tell Wolf.”
He smacked a hand over his mouth, and for one fleeting moment I thought he’d remembered something. But he removed his hand and grinned. “I should have set up a poker game with him. Missed my chance.”
I sighed. Why had I thought for even a moment that Tucker might think of something other than himself?
I carried the leftovers into the kitchen, wrapped them in foil, and stashed them in the fridge.
The reassuring murmur of Hannah and her friends in the kitchen followed me when I returned to the dining room. I paused to look out the window where Tucker had stood and saw Nina running along the sidewalk toward Natasha’s house.
Fearing something was wrong, I rushed to the front door, slammed it behind me, and loped along the sidewalk. Little Hermione dodged back and forth across the street with Nina chasing after her.
I raced toward them, hoping to herd Hermione in Nina’s direction. But the impish dachshund dodged both of us and wedged herself under Natasha’s gate. I caught up to Nina at the yellow tape.
“She dashed out the front door. At first all she did was hide, but now she thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood.” Nina fingered the yellow police tape. “I have to go in and get her.”
She had no choice. It wasn’t like she could explain the meaning of the yellow tape to Hermione.
Nina unlatched the gate and we slipped through to forbidden territory. All I could think of was Emily. When we rounded the corner, I half-expected to see her, but the beautiful pergola stood alone and abandoned.
“There she is.” Nina pointed toward the garage in the rear, where Hermione was digging in the soft soil of Natasha’s flower garden.
“You come around from the side and I’ll go for her straight on.” Nina flexed her fingers like she was ready to grab the little dog. “If we’re very quiet, maybe she won’t see us coming.”
I stole across the yard, changed direction, and hurried to the rear. Crouching, I prepared to stop the clever dog if she bolted. Across from me, Nina stepped stealthily toward her.
As Nina bent to grab her, I heard heated voices.
A figure moved in the shadows of Natasha and Mars’s garage, giving me a jolt. It turned out to be Mars, who scurried toward me, a finger pressed across his lips.
“It’s not working, is it?”
“Obviously not.” Natasha sounded angry. “I’ve done everything except howl at the moon.”
Holding a wriggling Hermione, Nina joined Mars and me to listen.
“Maybe you should visit her again. I’ll go with you this time.”
“All right. But Mother, be careful. Mars saw the chamomile in his wineglass last night. He confronted me about it when he came home.”
“No wonder it didn’t do the trick. What did you tell him?”
“What could I say? I made up something about wanting to calm him. He was furious with me. And then this morning he ran straight to Sophie’s house again. I’m getting desperate . . .”
The voices came closer. Mars signaled wildly and the three of us sprinted across the yard toward the passage leading to the front gate.
Once we were safely on the other side of the yellow tape, Mars asked, “What in the devil could they be plotting?”
I felt sorry for him. Of course, I wasn’t the idiot who had fallen for Natasha. Considering the amount of time he’d spent at my house lately, I wondered if their problems ran deeper than I’d suspected. “Have you been fighting?”
“Not at all.”
Nina shifted Hermione in her arms. “Want me to talk to her?”
“Oh, right,” I said. “I forgot you were such good friends. I’m sure she’ll reveal her darkest secrets to you.”
“We could hide in the house somewhere.” Nina sucked in a little breath.
Hermione pricked her ears and turned her long nose, looking about in alarm.
“Bernie’s apartment. She and Wanda obviously talk out there. We could drop a microphone out one of his windows to pick up their voices.” But as Nina spoke, a squad car drove toward us. “Oh, crud. Natasha called the cops on us!”
A shiver ran through me. Natasha might be up to no good, but the police car came to a halt directly in front of my house.
There weren’t any flashing lights, which I hoped might be a good sign. Detective Kenner stepped out of the car and smirked. Surely he hadn’t taken Mordecai’s nonsense about Hannah seriously.
Dear heaven, they couldn’t arrest Hannah!
I broke into a run, but Kenner beat me to my front door and had already banged the knocker.
My heart pounded. “What do you want?”
His lips pulled upward in a cruel grin. “I’m just doing my job.”
His answer irritated me. He could give me a proper response. The door swung open, revealing Hannah, sweet and vulnerable. Tucker and Humphrey crowded behind her.
“Tucker Bradford Hensley the fifth?” said Kenner.
Tucker stepped forward. “Good afternoon, constable.”
“I’d like you to come down to the station with me for questioning.”
“No!” shouted Hannah. She reached for Tucker, but Kenner swiftly steered him to the police car. Mars, Nina, and I stepped aside so they could pass us, but Hannah ran after them. As she caught up to them, Tucker leaned toward her for a lingering nuzzle on her cheek. Hannah nodded as if he’d said something. Then she watched him fold himself into the backseat of the squad car. When Kenner slammed the door, Hannah placed her palm on the window.
The police car drew away and Hannah marched into the house, her face grim. My parents and Jen peppered her with questions until she finally threw her arms in the air and said, “I don’t know more than any of you.”
Craig puffed out his chest. Wrapping his arms around Hannah, he said, “It appears the police have their man. I’m so relieved. Now you can go to New Jersey with me. Maybe we can even get away on our honeymoon?”
Hannah wrenched loose. “I . . . I’m sorry, Craig. I have to help Tucker. He doesn’t have anyone else.”
“But now you know it wasn’t me, Hannah.”
I held my breath, afraid Hannah would do an abrupt about-face and melt into Craig’s arms.
She stood her ground. “Do I, Craig?” Her eyes sparked with fury.
I was relieved by her response but wondered what she was thinking. She motioned to Joel, who trailed after her into the sunroom. I followed to see what was going on, and the others crowded into the sunroom, too. Hannah picked up a designer duffel bag. “This must be Tucker’s. As they were taking him away, he said Joel could cash in the contents if we need to bail him out.”
THIRTY-FOUR
From “THE GOOD LIFE”:
Dear Sophie,
What two things does every wedding need? I’m on a shoe-string and can’t decide what’s most important.
—Cutting the Cake in Custer
Dear Cutting,
A written budget and a calendar. Once you see the numbers, you can adjust so that you’ll spend less on things that don’t matter to you and move your money where it counts. Don’t be under the misimpression that a wedding has to be fancy or large to be special. A wedding in a national forest, by a lake, or in a small country chapel has every bit as much charm as a major production in a hotel or mansion.
—Sophie
“Your ex-husband murders my uncle and you’re going to bail him out?” Craig stared at her in astonishment. “This isn’t like you. You were always on my side. I thought you loved me.”
Hannah ignored him and shook the contents of the duffel bag onto the floor. Along with Tucker’s clothes, the tiaras tumbled onto the old brick.
Jen screeched with joy and launched herself at the small tiara while Hannah pawed through the remaining contents. “I don’t see anything valuable. Do you think he meant the tiaras?”
Craig snickered. “He’s an idiot, Hannah. Tucker doesn’t love you. He’s been cozying up to you so I’ll pay him to leave.”
Hannah’s brow furrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true! Surely you don’t think he came here to win you back. All he wants is money. It’s probably not a coincidence that your engagement ring went missing at the same time Tucker showed up.”
“Oh, that’s low. He would never steal my ring.”
“No? He stole your tiara. He’s broke . . . again. Come on—pack up and let’s head north.”
Joel held the larger tiara in his hand. “Aw, he must have thought these were real. Why else would he stash them in his bag?”
“They’re not real?” asked Jen.
“They’re real tiaras,” Joel said sweetly, “but not real diamonds.”
Jen plopped hers on her head and said, “I don’t care. I love mine.”
“Poor Tucker! What are we going to do?” said Hannah.
Craig cleared his throat. “You, Mrs. Beacham, are going to go upstairs and pack your bag so we can leave. Tucker doesn’t deserve your pity. He killed my uncle, and he stole from you.”

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