Diva Wraps It Up, The

by Davis, Krista

  Wolf’s head snapped toward me. “That’s why you left? You called a lawyer? Whoa.” He held up his hand and regarded me while shaking his head in disbelief.

  “It’s not like that, Wolf.” I introduced them. “Alex was supposed to be my date tonight.” He must have planned to pick me up. Dressed in an elegant suit with a burgundy tie, he held his chin high.

  Wolf stared at Alex. “And now you’re representing her?”

  “Could I have a word with Sophie?”

  Alex drew me away. “Hire me as your lawyer?”

  “You don’t understand. I didn’t kill Gwen. I found the body. I have nothing to hide.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, please! I think I would know if I had killed someone and wrapped her in Christmas paper!”

  “Eww. Okay, if you insist, you can tell him what happened, but if I think you’re incriminating yourself, I’m going to stop you.”

  Alex was adorable. He would probably hate knowing how cute I thought he was to try to come to my rescue. A wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows, and his eyes were so earnest and sweet that I wanted to kiss him. Instead, I walked back to Wolf and told him exactly how it was that I had found Gwen.

  He nodded. “That accounts for the staples we found on the floor. That’s the cleanest garage I’ve ever seen. How well did you know Gwen Babineaux? Anybody have a beef with her?”

  “I barely knew her at all. I didn’t even know Sugar was her daughter.”

  Wolf’s eyebrows raised. Someone called his name. Wolf paused for a second more. “Now could I have a minute with Sophie, Counselor?”

  Alex turned to me with concern. “That’s up to you. Remember, you don’t have to say anything.”

  “Go on. I’ll be all right.”

  Alex backed away, keeping us in his line of sight.

  Wolf scratched his neck. “Your date, huh? Seems very protective. Should I be worried that you’re more involved in this case than I think?”

  “No. I’ve told you everything. I even offered you the mouse.”

  “Are we going to be okay, then?” he asked.

  Aha. He meant us, as in Wolf and Sophie, who used to date. “We are.” We would be okay. I had made my peace with the end of our relationship.

  “You look great. Stick around awhile in case anything comes up. Okay?” He ambled away, a figure of calm authority in a sea of bright lights and hysteria.

  Maybe it was lucky that I had been wearing a beautiful dress tonight, even if I wasn’t going to the ball.

  Alex stood at my elbow in a second. “What did he want?”

  “Uh, this is a little awkward. We used to date.”

  His mouth twitched to the side. “Good to know. Might complicate things for me.”

  “It’s over. Has been for quite a while.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant. He might try to make things difficult for me as an attorney. Don’t be so sure he’s over you, either. He’s still looking at you.”

  Wolf was speaking with a police officer, but Alex was right—Wolf was watching us.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.

  “I came to see a client.”

  “Me?” That didn’t make sense. How could he have known?

  “Someone else. That was why I canceled our date. I hope you understand.”

  “Who?” I squinted at Alex. Who would have been so panicked that they called a lawyer within an hour of the discovery of the corpse? “Natasha?”

  “I can’t divulge that.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

  For my benefit or for Wolf’s? Either way, I didn’t mind. I snuggled a little closer to him.

  “It’s actually a relief that you don’t need a lawyer. I wouldn’t have been able to represent both of you.”

  Wolf had moved on to Natasha, yet Alex didn’t race to her side. She wasn’t the client.

  “I’m sorry about tonight.” Alex’s fingers closed over mine. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I told Wolf I would come right back to tell him what I knew. At best, we would have been embarrassingly late.”

  “Are you all right? I know you’ve found some bodies before, but this one sounds particularly disturbing, wrapped up and all.”

  “I’m just devastated for the Babineauxs. They had plans for a very special holiday and, well, it doesn’t get any worse than this. I can’t imagine what they’re going through. They have a sweet little girl who is only six. This will shatter her world.”

  “I need to get back to my client. Is there someone who can walk you home?”

  I tried not to laugh. He was too sweet! “I live on the other side of these houses. I think I can get there on my own.”

  He kissed me lightly on the lips and strolled away. I was dying to know who had called him. I strayed toward Bernie, Nina, and Mars, but kept my eyes on Alex. He walked straight through the Babineauxs’ gate.

  “So what’s the scoop?” asked Nina.

  “I’ve got nothing.” I jammed my hands into my pockets and felt the mouse. I turned to gaze at Edith’s house. From the alley, I could see only the second and third floors. The windows were black as pitch, as though no one was home. Suddenly, the little mouse scared me. What if Gwen’s killer had knocked off Edith, too?

  “Anybody want to come with me to check on Edith Scroggins?”

  Mars and Bernie snickered like I was joking, but Nina said, “Sure, I’m game.”

  We left the busy alley and walked around to the front of Edith’s house on the next street over.

  Christmas lights sparkled around the door imparting a charming glow. I banged the knocker on the front door. No one answered.

  “I’m getting worried about her. She was afraid, and she hasn’t answered her phone or her door for two days now.”

  Nina reached over and tried the door handle. “Locked.”

  “Let’s look around back. The housekeeper said there’s a key over the ledge.”

  Nina followed me in the dark. “They really ought to have spotlights or something along here.”

  I knocked on the back door. “Mrs. Scroggins? Mrs. Scroggins?”

  I tried the door handle. It turned, and I opened the door but remained outside. “Mrs. Scroggins? It’s Sophie Winston! Hello?”

  My heart sank. “Maybe she’s not home.” Or maybe she’s dead.

  “She could have taken your advice and moved to a hotel.”

  “Then why was her mouse in Natasha and Mars’s garage?”

  “I’ll take the second floor,” said Nina.

  “Hello? Mrs. Scroggins?” I flicked on light switches as I went.

  I was in the living room when I heard screams.

  “Nina?” I dashed up the stairs.

  More screams. I ran into the bedroom in time to see Edith and Nina screaming, aghast at the sight of each other.

  “Why are you screaming?” I asked Nina.

  “She scared me. She was in here with the lights off.”

  “La Traviata” played softly in the background. “Out! Out of my home!”

  “You’re alive!” I said.

  “Of course I’m alive,” snarled Edith. “When did it become socially acceptable to barge into a person’s home?”

  “You haven’t been answering your phone or your door.” I spoke calmly, hoping she would understand.

  Edith stood amazingly erect, her head held high. “That is my option. One isn’t always receiving. One has special times and days of the week when one receives.”

  “This is a beautiful bedroom,” said Nina.

  Edith became momentarily gracious. “Thank you.”

  Soft blue walls offered a calm backdrop to a bed with a bold blue canopy built into the ceiling. A cream fabric ran in folds behind the headboard up along the wall and ov
er top of the bed. Swags of cream fabric printed with a colonial pattern in the bold blue and edged with blue pom-poms draped from the canopy. The same material covered a curved headboard with a border of blue fabric accenting the curves. Cream throw rugs and chairs upholstered in blue continued the stunning theme.

  Edith’s scowl returned quickly. “You needn’t bother trying to flatter me. Leave my home this instant.”

  Nina tilted her head suspiciously. “What were you doing with the lights off?”

  “How dare you? It’s none of your business what I was doing in my own bedroom. Get out, you impertinent imbecile!”

  Binoculars lay on one of the blue chairs near the window. “Spying?” I asked.

  “There’s nothing wrong with looking out the window when the police are practically in one’s own backyard.”

  “Gwen Babineaux is dead.” I watched her reaction. I thought I saw a momentary flicker of discomfort.

  “That’s too bad. It’s of no consequence to me, I’m sure.”

  How could anyone be so cold?

  “Have any other odd things happened in this house since we last spoke?” I asked.

  She assessed me. “If I tell you, will you leave?”

  “Yes. We will.”

  “Very well. I shall hold you to your promise. Nothing has happened. Now kindly see yourselves to the door and don’t pinch any of the silver on your way out.”

  I pulled the mouse out of my pocket and held it in my open hand without saying a word.

  Horror crept over her face. “Where did you get that?” she whispered.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Dear Sophie,

  We have a breakfast nook with built-in shelving that screams for Christmas decorations. I’ve tried adding cards and candles, but nothing seems to do the trick.

  Clueless in Shepherd, Texas

  Dear Clueless,

  Start by placing pine branches on the shelves. Add red candles, jars, plates, mugs, and ribbon, then add a few Christmas items that your family loves, like a toy, a Santa, angels, or a nutcracker.

  Sophie

  “Suppose you tell me what happened?” I suggested. I wasn’t going to give her a chance to create a story by telling her where I’d found the mouse.

  The corners of her mouth still turned down, but I sensed a change in her attitude. She had lost her angry edge.

  “Very well. Perhaps we should speak in the library.”

  She sailed past us and led the way down the stairs. I flicked off the bedroom light on my way out.

  The library featured a white marble fireplace against paneled walls of bookshelves. A painting of an attractive young woman hung over the fireplace, flanked by sconces. It took a moment for me to realize that it captured Edith in her youth. The young woman beamed. Hair the color of pecans cascaded around her shoulders. She sat with one shoulder forward, in a form-fitting pale green gown that showed off a tiny waist. From the shimmer, I guessed it might have been silk or satin. Most amazing, her face didn’t harbor any bitterness. No hostility. I couldn’t imagine that happy young woman screaming at anyone.

  “May I offer you cognac or sherry?” she asked, her hand resting on a crystal decanter.

  She poured three glasses. I noticed that she wasn’t afraid of the sherry, even though she’d told me she was afraid to eat anything in the house.

  She handed each of us a small crystal glass in the shape of a thistle. The stems supported small rounded cut-crystal bowls with tops that flared out. “Scottish?” I asked.

  “Yes. Horace is particularly fond of them.”

  She took a seat in a burgundy wingback chair, arranging her long legs side by side. “Where did you find the mouse?”

  “Where did you lose it?”

  Edith took the mouse into her hands. “Didn’t it have glasses?”

  I thought it had.

  “I did not lose it. I placed it on a shelf in a built-in cabinet in my breakfast room. Yesterday evening it was gone.” Her nostrils flared, and she closed her eyes briefly. “I had hoped that the torment had ended. That with Horace in the hospital and incapacitated, there would be no other strange occurrences.”

  “So now you know conclusively that it’s not Horace who is playing tricks on you.” I sipped the sweet, rich sherry.

  “Unless he has an accomplice.”

  Nina flashed a look at me. I knew she was thinking about Brown-Eyed Girl. I hoped she wouldn’t spill the beans.

  “Do you have any reason to think Horace is having an affair?” I asked.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised if he had. He stays with me out of guilt and promises he made to my father. But, no, I am not aware of any philandering on his part.”

  “Then why haven’t you been to the hospital to see him?” blurted Nina.

  I expected to be summarily tossed out on our keisters.

  Edith said simply, “I don’t do hospitals.”

  “You don’t do hospitals?” Nina repeated incredulously.

  “Pardon me, I’ll try to speak up so you can hear. That’s right. I do not visit hospitals.”

  Nina shook her head in disbelief and held out her hands as if she were pleading. “But . . . but he’s your husband. Don’t you think he needs you?”

  “He knows why I’m not there. And I know there’s nothing I can do for him. I don’t relish the thought of watching him die. He is aware of my reasons.”

  Horace might understand, but we were at a loss. I sipped the sherry wondering what I could say to get Edith to tell us more. “How did you meet Horace? I bet it’s a lovely story.”

  “He worked for my father. There was nothing lovely about it. I married Horace under pressure from my parents.”

  Ouch! So much for the theory that everyone likes to tell the story about how they met.

  While I was wondering how to get her to talk and Nina was sending me messages with her eyes, Edith surprised us both by opening up.

  “I was planning a wedding.” She paused, swallowed hard, and studied the floor. “My parents took me to New York to shop for my trousseau. A whole new wardrobe. Ohhhh, the dress was beautiful. Sleeveless with a scooped-out back and an empire waist. The top was hand-beaded with pearls and the floor-length skirt was tailored satin. It even had a matching coat. We were going to be married here in Old Town.” She stroked her eyebrow gently. “But exactly two weeks before the wedding, my fiancé was killed in Vietnam.”

  I hadn’t expected that. Poor Edith! “I’m so sorry. What a tragedy.”

  “That must have been very hard on you,” said Nina. “Is that why you won’t go to hospitals? Because of your fiancé?”

  Edith glared at her. “Why do you persist in questioning me about my personal history? It’s none of your business.”

  I didn’t know what to do. She had never recovered from losing her fiancé. I sought something positive to say. “You were lucky to find Horace.”

  She stared at me like I was daft and shook her head, snorting his name. “Horace. When I made no effort to procure a suitable husband, my parents chose one for me. Horace had come to work for my father’s real estate company. He was from the wrong side of the tracks, eager to please my father and claw his way up in the world. I didn’t love him, but Horace understood the deal as well as I did. Marry the boss’s daughter and inherit the business.”

  I had always liked Horace so much. This was a side of him I didn’t know.

  “Oh, don’t be so appalled, Sophie,” said Edith. “It’s not the first time a dowry has been offered. Horace and my parents got what they wanted. Almost.” She rubbed her hands together in her lap as though she were washing them. “Horace and I had a son, Samuel, after my father.” She stopped talking and gazed at the fireplace, her lips drawn tight.

  Nina looked over at me. I moved my hand ever so slightly in a signal to wait.

 
“When Sammy was five, Horace took him along to look at a house in Old Town. Sammy was so excited.” She smiled at the memory. “He loved going to work with Horace and running around empty houses. I remember thinking he would surely be an architect. That particular day, they visited an exceptionally old building. Sammy raced ahead of Horace and climbed the stairs to the attic.” She paused and seemed to be gathering strength. “A beam collapsed on him. For thirty-eight days and nights, I never left his side. But my poor, sweet Sammy died.”

  The only sound in the room was a ticking clock.

  My heart broke for Edith.

  “I had everything anyone could want. More money than I needed. A lovely home. Beautiful clothes. Good health. But the one thing that mattered to me was gone forever.”

  I choked out, “I’m so sorry, Edith. I had no idea.”

  “Why should you? It happened a long time ago. Horace says I have allowed it to ruin my life. Don’t dislike Horace. He’s basically a decent sort. He stepped up and married me at my parents’ request. And he put up with me after Sammy was gone.”

  “But you blame him for Sammy’s death, don’t you?” asked Nina.

  “It was Horace’s fault.” She stated it as fact.

  “Now you think Horace is trying to gaslight you,” I reminded her.

  “That’s the only way he can have the entire business for himself, isn’t it? Who else would want to be rid of me? Only Horace, or, perhaps, his paramour.”

  Nina tilted her head. “If you’re afraid, why aren’t you locking your back door?”

  “Are you criticizing me?” Edith folded her arms across her chest and gripped her upper arms. “I have lived in this house since the day after I was born.” She bowed her head slightly. “But this is the first time I have lived here alone. Horace took care of locking the doors at night. I will be more vigilant from now on.”

  For the first time, I thought I saw a softer side in Edith’s expression. A gentleness that the young woman in the portrait had lost through tragedy.