Diva Wraps It Up, The

by Davis, Krista

  I peered into Kat’s room. Sound asleep in a fancy bed, she had curled up and drifted off holding Harry, a gray tabby, in her arms. Above her, a grand crown held sheer pink and white panels that cascaded down the back of the bed and a foot or so along the sides. Exactly as Patty had described, the walls were painted with scenes depicting huge windows looking out over castles and unicorns roaming the hills.

  Baxter closed the door.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  He snorted. “Every single day I learn something else that Gwen lied about. She messed up a lot of lives.”

  “Including yours?” It slipped out.

  “I’m an old guy. Didn’t think anything could surprise me anymore. But Kat . . . It breaks my heart. Mostly Gwen messed me up by spending every cent I had. The day you found Gwen, the antiques dealer called and yelled at me because Gwen’s check bounced for that fancy silver sleigh and the candlesticks she bought. Wanna hear something pathetic? I couldn’t cover it. I don’t even have the money to pay for Gwen’s casket and funeral. I had to return that silver stuff so he wouldn’t call the cops. I’m living day to day, minute to minute, wondering which of Gwen’s lies will be uncovered next and how I’m going to make it right.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Luis appeared carrying a large box wrapped in white paper printed with sheet music. A gigantic lacy silver bow clung to the top. “Would you mind if I hid this gift with you? Liza is so nosy. She always searches the house for her gifts. She would open it and rewrap it if she found it. Just this once, I’d like to surprise her.”

  “Ohhh,” I exclaimed. “What is it?”

  Luis set the package down and smiled at me. Waving his forefinger, he said, “Not a chance. This year her present will be a surprise.”

  Ouch. Baxter didn’t need any more surprises. But he didn’t show any dismay at hearing the word.

  “Of course. I’ll stick it in here. Come get it when you’re ready, Luis.”

  “Thanks! What’s going on downstairs?”

  Baxter filled him in on what had happened.

  “And how do you feel about that?” asked Luis.

  “Well, let’s see. I lost my job, then I lost my wife, now I’ve lost my little girl, and I don’t know how long the bank will let us stay in this house. How do you think I’m feeling?”

  Luis nodded. “Would you excuse us, Sophie?”

  I gladly took my leave, grateful that Luis knew what to say to Baxter. What can you say to someone going through so many crises at once? The sun might come out tomorrow, but it would take Baxter a long time to crawl out from under all his troubles and see anything sunny. If he didn’t end up in jail first for killing Gwen.

  I left their house only to discover Mars and Bernie in front of my home. “What are you doing now? I thought you were finished.”

  “Just a final touch,” said Bernie.

  Mars glared at me. “Your boyfriend is a jerk!”

  I suspected I would take some heat for putting it this way, but I dared ask, “Which one?”

  “The lawyer. He refused to represent Natasha.”

  “She’s getting a lawyer?”

  “The police showed up again today, this time asking questions about Horace. By the way, do you know anything about peanut brittle and pink boxes?”

  “They hopped on that fast!”

  “So you do know about this? Natasha and I had no idea what they were talking about. They confiscated her pink boxes.”

  Nina yoo-hooed from the front of her house. Lights were being draped by men clambering over the roof. She jogged across the street. “I am sooo going to outdo you guys!”

  “Professionals?” Bernie scowled.

  Nina grinned at him and grabbed my sleeve. “Guess what? I know who Brown-Eyed Girl is.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Dear Natasha,

  I have such problems tying special bows on packages. I heard that you have an easy way to do it?

  All Thumbs in Cranberry, Maryland

  Dear All Thumbs,

  Take a very long piece of wired ribbon. Starting on one end, tie a simple bow. Use part of the remaining length to tie another bow around the middle of the first one. Use the remainder to tie a third bow around the middle of the other two. Bend the bow parts so they look pretty.

  Natasha

  “Who?” I could use some good news.

  “Hold it!” Mars interrupted. “I want to know about the pink boxes first.”

  There was so much to talk about. “I have a big pot of chicken stew—”

  Bernie said, “I’ll bring dessert.”

  Nina chimed in, “I’ll pick up rustic bread and some cheeses.”

  They looked at Mars, who shrugged. “Okay, wine.”

  An hour later, we met at my house. I had already heated the stew and built a fire. I switched on the indoor Christmas lights, and the outdoor lights gleamed when I gazed through the windows. I missed the smell of something wonderful baking in the oven, but fresh pine scented the room like Christmas.

  Nina sliced rustic country bread and set it on the cutting board I had placed in the middle of the table instead of a centerpiece. But I had circled it with a string of silver stars, beads, and mirrors that caught the glow from the fire.

  I placed each type of cheese on a small white platter and added a cheese knife with a snowman handle. Mars carried them to the table and poured wine into fun hand-painted red, white, and green wineglasses he and Natasha had given me as a gift. With polka dots and stripes, and words like naughty and nice, they were joyous and perfect for a get-together of old friends.

  Bernie refused to open the dessert box and left it on the counter as a surprise. Daisy settled in front of the fire with Mochie, prompting Bernie to observe, “I spend all day in the restaurant, which is decorated to the hilt. But there’s nothing like a dog and a cat by a crackling fire, good friends, and good food.”

  I ladled the stew into red soup bowls, and we sat down to eat.

  “Didn’t Natasha want to join us?” I asked.

  Mars winced. “I didn’t want her here. She’s too agitated. I need to think this through with people who won’t shout or pout. All she does is decorate and let me tell you, all that black is only making things worse. It’s gloom and doom at our house. So tell me about the pink boxes.”

  Nina and I filled him in about Edith testing the contents of the pink box in Horace’s office and finding peanut brittle in Gwen’s kitchen.

  “Edith is pretty sharp,” said Bernie. “I could have told you that. She and Horace used to come to the restaurant to eat fairly regularly. In fact, she stopped by for takeout the day of the cookie swap.”

  “So that was where she went! I checked on her, but only her housekeeper was home. She was afraid to eat the food in her home.”

  Bernie helped himself to a slice of the rustic bread. “No cobwebs in that brain. However, while it’s no secret that I don’t share Mars’s admiration of Natasha, I can’t really imagine her murdering Gwen, even if Gwen did post ugly things about her on Facebook. I must wonder, though, why the police collected pink boxes from Natasha . . .”

  Mars grimaced. “Me, too. Horace and Natasha hardly have any contact. You know, this could be solved very quickly if Horace came around and confirmed that Gwen gave him the peanut brittle.”

  Nina was about to pop a piece of bread with Brie into her mouth. She stopped short. “I hadn’t thought of that. Gwen must have been worried that he might recuperate. I wonder if he was in danger.”

  “If it was Gwen, then he’s safe now,” said Bernie. “But it begs the question whether Gwen was killed because of Horace. Did someone know she meant to kill him? Did that person murder her to prevent her from trying again?”

  Nina kicked me under the table. I knew what she wanted, but I felt terrible about spreading the story of Brown-E
yed Girl and Moondoggie. Still, someone had murdered Gwen. Nina was right. Something was up. It was possible that Gwen’s motivation in getting rid of Horace had nothing to do with her death. Then again, it just might.

  I capitulated and relayed the story of Horace and his long-lost love.

  Mars snorted. “Oh, puleeeze. Women are always excited about old love letters. Sophie probably grabbed the wrong thing, and poor Horace will be embarrassed to death when he finds out.”

  “Call me a romantic if you like, but I find it rather charming,” said Bernie. “Imagine pining for this Brown-Eyed Girl for so many years.”

  Mars pretended to wipe tears away. “What a sap! You’re as ridiculously sentimental as they are.”

  Nina leaned forward, her eyes bright. “I know who she is. It’s Jill, who owns Fleur de Lis. When she was decorating my house, I very cunningly asked questions about her youth. Turns out she knew Horace! Her family moved away when she was fifteen. Isn’t that a perfect fit?”

  “Did you mention Moondoggie or Brown-Eyed Girl?” I asked.

  Nina beamed. “I did. She said she has a friend who calls her his Brown-Eyed Girl!” Nina squealed with glee. “I think we should arrange a private meeting for them after Horace gets out of the hospital.” She laced her fingers and stretched her arms proudly.

  “But they already know each other.” I sipped my wine. “Why wouldn’t they have gotten together on their own?”

  “Edith!” said Nina. “He told you she could never know.”

  Mars rolled his eyes. “I seriously doubt they’ve walked the streets in Old Town as adults without mentioning their undying love for each other. They’ve probably had a big laugh over it.”

  “Horace was Baxter’s boss,” I said. “Would Baxter have gained anything from his death?”

  Mars sliced more bread. “He probably would have been promoted. Maybe to president of the company.”

  “Maybe Horace’s secretary, Phyllis, did Gwen in,” said Bernie. “She’s been mooning over Horace since I moved here, and long before that, I’m sure. Maybe she couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “She’s been at his bedside every day.” I cut a teeny piece of a creamy goat-cheese log that had been rolled in sweetly tart dried cranberries. “We should find out where she was that night and the next day.”

  Nina stopped eating. “What if it’s Edith?”

  The rest of us groaned.

  “No, hear me out. Think about it. If Horace and Gwen were really having an affair, maybe Edith lost her marbles and killed her. You can’t say her behavior is completely normal.”

  That silenced us.

  I thought aloud. “So Edith confronted Gwen at Gwen’s house and whacked her over the head with something. But that’s where it falls apart. I don’t see Edith having the strength to carry Gwen over to your garage.”

  “What if she lured her there and that’s where she killed her?” suggested Bernie.

  Mars shook his head and spoke with his mouth full, “Very little blood. She must have been killed somewhere else.”

  “At least we know Horace didn’t kill Gwen. There are plenty of people who had motives, though.” I finished the last bite of my stew.

  Mars fetched a pad of paper and wrote as he spoke. “I’m making a list. There’s Natasha, whom we know did not kill Gwen but had plenty of reason after Gwen posted those pictures of her. I’m only putting her on the suspect list because the three of you will complain endlessly if I don’t.”

  “Baxter, who couldn’t stop Gwen from running through their money,” I added. “And Sugar, who wanted her daughter, Kat, back from her mom.”

  The three of them gasped.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you about that? Gwen is Sugar’s mother. Sugar is Kat’s mother. Sugar took off, leaving baby Kat with Gwen, so Gwen pretended to be Kat’s mother.”

  Mars wrote furiously.

  “And get this,” I added. “Jonah is very likely Kat’s father!”

  “How is that possible?” asked Nina.

  “Sugar met Jonah in Las Vegas before he married Twiggy. They had a one-night stand, and Kat is the result.”

  “That family was so messed up!” Nina broke off a piece of bread and scooped up the remaining goat cheese. “Don’t forget about Patty! She gained the most by Gwen’s death. She has Bethany and Bradley back and no one fighting her for them.”

  “And Elvin. Patty said he would do anything for them. He might have killed Gwen for Baxter or Patty or even for the kids if he thought Gwen was a problem.” I paused for a minute and looked at my friends. “Whoever killed Gwen removed a lampshade from the Babineaux house. That means the killer was in their living room at some point. I know this is going to sound odd, but Edith bought a toy mouse—”

  I rose from my chair and fetched one, along with the extra glasses. “—that was stolen from her home. It looked like this. I found it without glasses on the floor near Natasha’s work island. Then Kat turned up with these”—I held up the glasses to the mouse so they could see the match—“which she found in the Babineaux living room. Elvin told her she could have them. When I bought this mouse today, I mentioned it to him. You should have seen him. He knows something.”

  “Maybe he’s the killer. How can we get him to confess?” asked Mars.

  Bernie squinted at me. “I’m not sure I follow the importance of the mouse.”

  “Edith said it disappeared from her house the evening of the cookie swap. If Gwen was the one tormenting Edith, she must have slipped into Edith’s house, taken the mouse, and then gone home to her living room, where something happened to the mouse to break off the glasses.”

  “You mean Gwen was holding the mouse when she was conked over the head and the mouse flew out of her hand and broke?” asked Mars. “Or someone threw the mouse?”

  “And then Gwen’s murderer took her to your garage, wrapped her, and for some reason also took the mouse but forgot him on the floor,” Nina speculated.

  “Why would the killer take the mouse?” asked Mars. “That’s crazy.”

  Bernie sat back. “Maybe it was completely reasonable under the circumstances. The killer must have worked fast out of fear he would be discovered there with Gwen’s corpse.”

  “But he didn’t know the glasses had broken off and were still in the living room,” I finished. “So who was it?”

  “Well,” said Nina, “if that’s how it happened, then we can count out Patty and Sugar. Patty is tiny. And while Sugar is fairly tall, I don’t see either of them having the strength to move Gwen to Natasha’s workshop.”

  “Unless they had help.” Bernie stacked the empty soup bowls. “Elvin or Baxter might have helped either one of them.” He placed the bowls in the sink and untied the box he’d brought from his restaurant, The Laughing Hound. “I present for your enjoyment a Hazelnut-Almond Dacquoise!” He placed it on a cake stand and proudly carried it to the table.

  I whisked the cutting board out of the way so he could place the cake in the center of the table. “This is worthy of the fancy Christmas dishes!” A glossy chocolate ganache covered the square cake. Whole shelled hazelnuts embellished the top edge all the way around the cake.

  I brought the Spode Christmas tree dessert plates to the table, along with a cake knife and server. “Coffee or tea anyone?”

  “No caffeine for me, please.” Mars held up his hands. “I won’t sleep if I drink it this late.”

  Nina laughed. “When did you turn into an old man? How about that Sleigh Ride drink with cranberries that you made last year, Sophie? Can you still stomach booze, Mars?”

  They laughed and teased each other while I heated cranberry juice with a cup of dark rum, sugar, cinnamon sticks, and a hefty splash of Chambord. I poured it into tall mugs and passed them to my friends. Bernie served the cake.

  I took one bite and decided it might just become my new favor
ite, with layers of light meringue, creamy butter cream, and more chocolate ganache inside. Pure decadence. “Is this buttercream coff—”

  Nina coughed, and Bernie interrupted me. “Decaf,” he whispered.

  Mars shot him a look. “It’s espresso. If I can’t sleep, I’ll come over to your place and keep you up, Bernie.”

  And then Mars helped himself to a second piece, which threw us all into stitches. It was a needed relief given the tension and sadness that had invaded our lives. But it wasn’t long before we came back to the subject of Gwen’s murder.

  “Whoever wrapped her knew how to make a large fancy bow,” I mused.

  “Counts me out,” Nina teased.

  “And a lot of men. I doubt Baxter or Elvin could do that,” said Mars.

  “Elvin can!” Nina ate her last bite of dacquoise. “I bought gifts for my brother’s children today and everyone teased Elvin about his bow-tying skills. He doesn’t even need a gizmo to do it.”

  Elvin again! His name kept turning up. “Where did he learn to do that?”

  “Apparently he often does those charity gift-wrapping things they have at malls around the holidays. He taught himself to make fancy bows so people would increase their donations.”

  That didn’t sound like a killer. It seemed like everything Elvin did was for other people.

  “So what next?” Mars sat back and nursed his drink. “How do we figure out who the culprit is? I need Natasha off the hook before they arrest her and haul her off to the pokey.”

  Bernie became somber. “Are we overlooking someone obvious? What about the Lawrences? Twiggy, Jonah, and Claudine. They had all the time they needed to wrap up Gwen and stash her in the garage. They had access to Natasha’s wrapping paper. And to her pink cookie boxes.”

  Mars gazed at me. “See? Thank you, Bernie. I’ve been trying to tell Sophie that they’re involved. Natasha saw Claudine at their apartment when she was supposed to be at work.”

  “I grant you they had opportunity. And it would have been the easiest for them. But why? What would motivate them to kill Gwen?”