The Diva Spices It Up

by Krista Davis

  Nina and I sat down at the table, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty. What was Eunice eating tonight? I knew she had some food in her cupboard. Was she eating peanut butter on toast? Crackers with cheese?

  Nina gazed at me. “You’re thinking about Eunice, aren’t you?”

  “We should bring her dinner.”

  “I’m in.”

  I packed the hot food in an insulated carrier on wheels. Nina wasn’t about to leave her drinks behind. She poured them into thermoses and fastened them to the carrier with bungee cords.

  I suited up Daisy in her harness, left Mochie snoozing in the bay window, and locked up. It took us less than six minutes to walk back to Eunice’s house. As we turned onto her street, it appeared that the number of police and emergency vehicles had doubled.

  Daisy stayed close to me, probably worried about the busy people moving around ahead of us.

  When we reached Eunice’s house, we stopped and watched them for a moment. Neighbors and onlookers had gathered to see what was going on.

  We walked up the three stairs to Eunice’s door. I banged the elegant lion’s head door knocker, which had to be antique.

  To my surprise, Wolf answered the door.

  “We brought dinner for Eunice,” I blurted.

  He stepped aside so we could enter. “That was thoughtful of you.”

  Nina sang out, “Eunice! We’re back!” She smiled at Wolf. “We brought enough to share if you’re hungry.”

  “I need to get back to work. But I might find time for just a bite.”

  In a low voice so I wouldn’t cause Eunice more distress, I asked, “Can you tell how Abby died?”

  He shook his head. “We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.”

  “Is she out of the freezer yet?”

  Chapter 8

  Dear Sophie,

  I work a nine-to-five job, then I pick up my children from three different schools. We have athletic events some nights, and I’m okay with eating pizza or takeout on those nights. What can I cook that’s fast but still a real meal?

  Overworked Mom in Sleepy Hollow, Illinois

  Dear Overworked Mom,

  When you cook, do it in a big way so that you’ll have leftovers for other dinners. Chicken breasts and chicken tenders can bake in 15 to 20 minutes. Make a big casserole of mac and cheese on a Sunday, and you’ll be eating well all week.

  Sophie

  Wolf took a deep breath and muttered, “Not yet. I would guess it was easier putting her in there than it will be to get her out.”

  “Hi, Eunice! We brought you dinner.” I took the food from Nina and hustled to the kitchen.

  Eunice rose from her chair and shuffled after me. “It smells wonderful.”

  “The mac and cheese is one of Tilly’s recipes.”

  “Oh gosh. I remember Abby having a fit about that mac and cheese. It was not to her liking at all.”

  Eunice’s words struck a chord with me. Was it the ghostwriter’s job to improve the recipes? We all had different tastes. What I might find bland and boring could be the exact way someone’s mother cooked a dish and the way that the person thought it should taste. Was that my job? Was I supposed to tweak the recipes? Maybe not. For all I knew, other moms had cooked a dish in the same manner and some readers would think they had finally stumbled upon the authentic recipe that they remembered from their childhoods. I’d had that happen to me.

  “Uh-oh. I made it according to Abby’s notes.”

  Eunice held her hand against her chest. “Abby,” she said with a sigh. “If only I could have helped her in some way. Maybe I could have saved her.”

  “Eunice, you can’t blame yourself. Whatever happened to Abby had nothing to do with you,” I said firmly.

  Eunice wiped a tear off her cheek. “I keep telling myself that. But it doesn’t make it any easier to know that I was right next door and I did nothing. I could have at least called 911 or shouted out the front door to passersby on the street.”

  “Eunice, have you considered one of those medical emergency buttons?” I asked.

  She blew air through her lips in disdain. “I don’t need anything like that. That’s for old people.”

  What could I say? I wondered exactly how old she was.

  I found some beautiful Lamberton china in her cabinet. Soft rose and blue flowers were connected by a delicate scroll around the rim. “Do you have everyday china somewhere?”

  “Use that old stuff.”

  “But it’s so pretty.”

  “All the more reason to use it, Sophie. It’s not like anyone is lining up to inherit it. I might as well enjoy it.”

  She had a point. I doled out the chicken breasts, macaroni and cheese, and added a serving of the salad on each plate.

  Nina bounded into the kitchen. “Wolf is working, so he’s not interested in spiked apple cider. How about you, Eunice?”

  “I’ve never been known to pass up a good drink. Bring it on, Nina!”

  “Would you like to eat at the dining table, or are you more comfortable in your chair?” I asked.

  Eunice blushed. “I don’t think the dining table is fit for company.”

  “The chair it is!” I felt terrible for having embarrassed her.

  When we were settled in Eunice’s living room, it grew quiet. Through the window that was open a crack, we could hear murmuring outside, a reminder of Abby’s terrible death. I watched Eunice. She didn’t seem to hear it at all.

  “Was Abby from around here?” asked Wolf.

  I had to give Eunice credit. She was a strong woman. His question didn’t seem to bother her a bit.

  “I got the impression she had moved around quite a bit. She wasn’t a born-and-bred Southerner, that’s for sure. I know she lived in Savannah and somewhere in Texas for a while. But she said a few things that led me to think she might have hailed from Wisconsin. I know she loved children and had been a kindergarten teacher before going to culinary school. By the way, Sophie, I believe she’d be very happy with this mac and cheese. It’s delicious. My favorite part is that it’s so creamy.”

  “That’s the Colby cheese in it. It melts better than cheddar.”

  “Wolf, do you know who lives on the other side of Abby’s house?” I asked.

  Eunice answered. “Bob Hughes and Jerry Schwartz. They were away for the weekend and horrified to learn what had happened.”

  I looked over at Wolf, who took a big bite of mac and cheese. He nodded in confirmation.

  I couldn’t help thinking that the killer had gotten very lucky. A lady on one side who was hard of hearing and no one home on the other side.

  Nina tried to keep the conversation away from the subject of Abby’s death, but it hung over us like a dark cloud.

  Wolf ate quickly, thanked me for dinner, and excused himself to get back to work. “Eunice,” he said, “I know Abby was working for Tilly Stratford. Did she mention any other jobs she had?”

  “She was beginning to look around for another freelance gig. She said she always worried about her next job, but every time one ended, another one came along.”

  I saw Wolf to the door. “Did anyone find her phone or computer?”

  Wolf raised his eyebrows. “How did you know about that?”

  I wasn’t about to confess that I had overheard it. “Just a hunch.”

  “All that’s left is a printer.”

  “What about her purse?”

  “Sophie, I don’t have the time to give you a complete inventory of exactly what we found in Abby’s house.”

  Aargh. It was just like Wolf to clam up. Okay, I could snoop around her garage to see if a car was there. But I couldn’t go into the house. “I’ll only ask about the purse.”

  “You know how it is. Women are always changing purses to match their clothes. All I can say is we haven’t found one with her wallet in it. Okay?”

  It wasn’t very helpful, but it would have to do. Wolf said good night and left me thinking that whoever had murdered Abby had tak
en her computer, telephone, and purse. That had to mean something. Could she have a file on her system that someone would have wanted? Had her killer taken her electronics to prevent anyone from finding out what Abby knew? Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get home. Could the codes on the recipes be related to information on her computer? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened.

  I cleaned up Eunice’s kitchen and stashed the leftovers in her fridge before we left and walked home.

  That night, I built a small fire in my kitchen fireplace and sat at the banquette in the kitchen with all the recipes in front of me. Methodically, I went through each page. When I found a recipe that contained Abby’s mysterious code, I wrote the code on a small yellow sticky note and adhered it to the outer edge of the page. There were twelve in all.

  I studied them, but they made no sense to me. I couldn’t see a logical theme or rhythm to them. I considered what Eunice had told us about a book being the key to a code. I flipped through the pages in search of anything that resembled a book title. At midnight, I gave up, doused the fire, and went up to bed with Daisy and Mochie.

  * * *

  My phone rang at four in the morning. I hoped it was a wrong number, because I was not ready to rise and face some kind of emergency. And why else would anyone call at that hour?

  “Hello?” I croaked.

  “Soph!” It was Mars’s voice. “Is it true that Abby Bergeron is dead?”

  Oh no. I would never get back to sleep now. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The truth was that it didn’t even occur to me to notify Mars. “It was late when I came home.”

  “You were there?” The phone line went dead.

  “Mars? Mars?” Ugh. He was on his way over. And he had a key. We had swapped keys for ease of picking up Daisy. If I didn’t get up, he’d sit on the edge of my bed and bombard me with questions.

  I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on a fluffy white bathrobe, and stumbled down the stairs. Mochie sprang ahead of me, and Daisy was as alert as if she’d slept the whole night.

  I flicked on the outdoor light just in time to see Mars run across the slumbering street and up to my kitchen door. I opened it for him.

  I yawned. “Why is this such an emergency?”

  He held out a plastic container full of croissants and breakfast breads. “A peace offering.”

  “You came prepared to bribe me?”

  “They’re from the Laughing Hound. Day old but still good.”

  After breaking up with Natasha, Mars had moved in with our friend Bernie, who ran The Laughing Hound, a popular local restaurant. The two of them lived in a mansion catty-corner from my house.

  “No wonder you haven’t moved out of there.”

  Mars shrugged. “It’s convenient and comfortable. Bernie brings home a lot of leftovers, so I never have to cook. Altogether convenient. Not to mention that Natasha still hasn’t paid me for my share of our house.”

  I wasn’t getting involved in their financial dealings. “Coffee or tea?”

  “Better make it coffee. I need to be fully awake when I talk to Wesley.”

  “How did you hear about Abby?” I asked.

  “Wesley called me ten minutes before I phoned you. He was distraught. I figured if anyone knew what was going on, it would be you.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said wryly. “How did he hear about it?” I poured coffee for Mars and steeped hot English breakfast tea for myself. I brought the mugs to the table with milk, sugar, spoons, and napkins, and I placed the breakfast breads on a platter.

  “One of his staffers, I think. Bernie said the news made it to the Laughing Hound last night, so I assume it’s spreading like wildfire.”

  “You woke Bernie, too?”

  “He turned over and went right back to sleep.”

  I should have been so lucky.

  Mars stared at the mugs listlessly. A faint smile crossed his lips. “Sophie’s brew. I’ve put a spell on you!” he read. “Where did you find these?”

  “A gift from Nina.”

  “Figures. Very funny.”

  Mars stirred his coffee, and the smile faded. “I liked Abby. What happened to her? Heart attack? A bad fall?”

  “I doubt it. No one, not even Wolf, knows much yet. She was in her freezer.”

  Mars’s spoon clanked to the table. “Are you kidding me? Someone stuffed her into a freezer?”

  “I’m afraid so.” I took a long drag on my hot tea.

  “How would you do that? Aren’t the shelves in the way?”

  “Not in chest freezers. They’re basically a big box. There might be a couple of baskets to divide the space, but they can be lifted out very easily.”

  Mars cupped his coffee in his hands as though he had gone cold. “It never occurred to me that she might have been murdered. I thought for sure that she had some medical emergency or a disease that I didn’t know about.” He looked me in the eyes. “Who would want to kill Abby?”

  “You’re the one who knew her. I wasn’t aware of her existence until you told me about her.” I watched his expression. “She had an ex-husband.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “They’ll probably suspect him first.”

  Mars stared into his mug. “Um, Soph, there’s something you should know. It’s not a big deal actually, but I went out with Abby a couple of times.”

  Chapter 9

  Dear Natasha,

  My mom has a cooking blog. She’s very proud of it, and she’s a great cook. But when she serves a casserole and takes a photo, it looks like garbage! How can I tell her it’s turning people off?

  Worried Son in Difficult, Tennessee

  Dear Worried Son,

  What is your mother doing making casseroles? Is she stuck in the 1960s? Bring her up-to-date by explaining that no one eats casseroles anymore!

  Natasha

  It was far too early in the morning for that kind of revelation. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Mars was a smart, good-looking guy with a sense of humor. I’d heard that single women our age were chasing him in Old Town. Still, it came as a shock to me.

  “Don’t look at me that way. We went out twice.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And nothing. She’s still in an I-just-got-divorced fog. She was nice enough, but there wasn’t a spark.”

  It wasn’t funny, but I had to swallow an urge to giggle. “A spark?”

  “No chemistry. Does that sound better?”

  I knew what he meant. And this really wasn’t the time to tease him about it, anyway. “Are you trying to tell me that Wolf will be coming to talk to you as soon as he’s done with the ex-husband?”

  “I’d say that would be very likely.”

  There was no point in asking if he had an alibi. No one knew yet when Abby had died. And I didn’t have to ask if he had murdered Abby. I knew Mars better than anyone. He didn’t have it in him to kill someone. Even if it had been an accident, he would have been a stand-up guy and called an ambulance. That was Mars. Still, the cops would have to consider him a possible suspect. “Was she dating anyone else?”

  “If she was, she didn’t tell me about it,” he said. “Maybe Tilly knows.”

  “They spent a lot of time together in the kitchen. They probably talked about many things. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  I wasn’t sure how I could broach the subject of his client without sounding accusatory, so I just blurted it out. “Any chance Wesley was involved with her?”

  Mars’s face lost all its color. “No!” He thought for a moment. “No,” he stated firmly. “What would give you that idea?”

  I turned the tables on him. “Why would Wesley call you about Abby in the middle of the night?”

  “Because she was working with Tilly. The newshounds will be all over this. It has to be handled very carefully. I’ll write a press release about how sad they are and what a wonderful person she was.”

  I didn’t press him, but o
ur eyes met across the kitchen table.

  Mars massaged his forehead. “Wesley isn’t that stupid.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing. As if that would prevent a politician from straying. The newspapers were full of stories about infidelity in the political arena.

  “Please tell me that you haven’t heard rumors to that effect.” Mars winced.

  “Pretty embarrassing to date your client’s paramour, huh?”

  Mars’s eyes widened in horror. “Can you even imagine the headlines?”

  “Relax, Mars. I don’t know anything,” I said. “Do you remember Eunice Crenshaw?”

  He frowned. “The wealthy socialite?”

  “That’s the one. She’s Abby’s next-door neighbor. According to Eunice, Abby was quite fond of Wesley.”

  “That doesn’t mean they were having an affair.”

  “I’m in total agreement about that. I just thought I’d point it out to you. It’s always better to be forewarned. Right?”

  Mars did not seem happy. He rubbed the side of his face in discomfort. “You really don’t know how Abby died? Wolf didn’t tell you?”

  “Not the first clue. To be honest, I don’t think the cops know yet. They’re waiting to see what the autopsy turns up.”

  “Mind if I call Wesley?”

  “Not a bit.” I wondered if I should give him some privacy, but I decided he knew his way around. He’d lived in this house. If he wanted to speak privately, he could get up and go into the sunroom. I plucked a croissant off the platter and tore a piece off. Mars was right. They were almost as fresh as the day they were baked.

  Mars didn’t leave the table. He punched a number into his phone. “Wes, Sophie confirms that Abby has died.” He was silent for a moment. “The cause of death wasn’t immediately apparent. Uh-huh. I have some contacts, so we’ll probably know what happened before it hits the news. I’ll draft a statement and be over”—Mars glanced at his watch—“by five. That should give us enough time.” He hung up and took a croissant from the platter. “At least your clients don’t wake you in the middle of the night to confirm rumors.”