The Diva Spices It Up

by Krista Davis

  I half expected Nina or Mars to drop by for breakfast, but neither of them appeared. After a quick shower during which I took care not to aim the water at the spot I had covered, I pulled on a teal cotton sweater, light brown pants, and a scarf that contained shades of teal and brown. I slid the apple tarts out of the oven and left them to cool while I took Daisy for a walk around our neighborhood. It was remarkably quiet and peaceful—so much so that it was hard to believe Mia had been murdered and stuffed into a freezer and Charlene had been badly beaten.

  On our way back, I stopped by Natasha’s house. She answered the door in a flowing icy-green bathrobe. She looked like a 1950s starlet who had just stepped off the screen. Except for her eyes. They were tired.

  “How is Charlene?”

  “Why is there an entire cake in my fridge?”

  “Charlene first.”

  She cast a glance at Daisy. “I would invite you in if you didn’t have the furball with you.”

  “The furball and I don’t need to come in. How is Charlene?”

  “They don’t expect her to survive. She has a broken leg, a broken rib, a bruised kidney, and a bruised liver. Her hands and elbows are raw from trying to drag herself across the ground. The doctor says she was bleeding internally and had so much blood loss that it was a miracle she was still alive and managed to make it to my house.”

  “No!” I cried. “I’m so sorry, Natasha.”

  “Isn’t it odd to feel such devastation over the impending death of someone I didn’t even know? If I hadn’t sent off the DNA swab, she would have died and I would have gone on with my life, never having realized that my sister was in a nearby hospital taking her final breaths.” Natasha broke into tears. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

  I hugged her. There wasn’t anything else I could do.

  When she recovered, she sniffled and wiped her face. “I’ve called in to work and asked them to run some of my old shows. You know, The Best of Natasha or some such. I plan to stay with Charlene to the tragic end. It’s the least I can do for the only sibling I didn’t know I had.”

  It occurred to me that she might have other half siblings who had not submitted their DNA. But it didn’t seem like the right time to say that. “Of course. If there’s anything I can do, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “You can find the horrible person who did this to her.”

  She was serious. “I have nothing to go on. Did the doctors say what they think happened?”

  “When she dies, it will be a homicide. Someone beat her very badly. She has swelling on the brain. She’s so dehydrated that they couldn’t believe that she was still alive.” Natasha gripped my arm. “She came to me, Sophie! She needed help and she trusted me because we’re blood. That . . . that means everything in the world to me. She came looking for me because she knew I would help her.”

  “You’re a great sister, Natasha. I’m certain Charlene would tell you that if she could. Maybe through the fog she realizes that you’re by her side at the hospital, looking out for her. I hope you’ll keep me posted.”

  “Find him, please. Find the person who beat up my sister.”

  I nodded. What else could I do? Daisy and I walked down the stairs and went home. I didn’t know anything except Charlene’s name. I had no idea where she lived or what she did for a living or whether she was married or had children. I had nowhere to start.

  After feeding Daisy and Mochie, I packed the apple tarts and used them as an excuse to pop in on Tilly.

  Tilly seemed glad to see me. She ushered me into the family room. I said hi to Stu Jericho, who hovered around. I was glad Mars had mentioned him to me. He looked like trouble.

  Wesley waved at me but kept his eyes on the news program on TV. “Enough of this,” Wesley barked. Looking at me he asked, “Have you heard from Wolf?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “For cryin’ out loud. You heard him. He promised to keep us informed. The news said they have a person of interest. Do you know who that is?”

  He was extremely agitated. As calmly as I could, I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t have any information.”

  Stu Jericho watched me. Shivers ran down my back. I tried not to show my discomfort.

  To break away, I walked to the rear of the huge room and placed the apple tarts on the kitchen counter.

  Unfortunately, Jericho followed me. “I’m sure Mars has explained the situation to you,” he said. “Clearly, Wesley’s career can be ruined if aspersions are cast upon him. More than one politician has suffered from false accusations. People only hear the bad and never pay attention when the politician is later cleared of any wrongdoing.”

  He fixed those brown eyes on me. “I hear you’re good friends with Wolf.”

  I didn’t respond. He was clearly getting at something, and I was certain I wanted no part of it.

  “Maybe you could act as our liaison with Wolf. Find out what’s going on and report back to us?”

  Why wasn’t he asking Mars? Where was Mars, anyway? He had warned me about Jericho. Was that coloring my impression of the man? “I appreciate the importance to Wesley, but Wolf does his job well. I seriously doubt he’ll share anything with me that he wouldn’t tell Wesley.”

  I would have sworn that Jericho’s eyes were boring into me.

  Happily, Tilly charged toward us. “What did you bring? Oh, the tarts! We have to try them.”

  She chattered as she did what she loved. Tilly was definitely a domestic diva. “You won’t believe what happened, Sophie. With all this business about Abby going on, it’s sort of getting short shrift around here.” Tilly looked over at me. “The station that hosts Natasha’s show wants me to take it over!”

  Chapter 17

  Dear Natasha,

  I adore your TV show. You have such style. I try to model myself after you. My dear husband’s birthday is coming up. His favorite meal is meatloaf and corn bread, but after watching you, I know that’s too pedestrian. What would you serve for a birthday dinner celebration?

  Loving Wife in Celebration, Florida

  Dear Loving Wife,

  I am so glad you asked! Chilean sea bass with sweet-and-spicy hot pepper jelly would be such an elegant entrée. Serve it with lima beans and pureed turnips.

  Natasha

  I was horrified. Natasha would wither and die without her TV show. She might be a pest and have some weird decorating ideas, but the show was the one thing that anchored her. Maybe they wanted Tilly to fill in for Natasha while she was with Charlene?

  “You mean on a temporary basis?” I asked.

  “No. They want me to come in and bring them down-home flavor.”

  I tried to sound happy. “That’s wonderful. And just in time for your book to come out, too.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Things are looking up for me.” She glanced toward her husband. “I wish I could say the same for Wesley. He’s completely distraught about the Abby situation. He didn’t sleep all night. And he has barely touched any food. He just chugs down coffee by the potful.”

  Was that normal? If he truly had nothing to do with Abby’s disappearance or Mia’s death, would he be so troubled about it?

  “Is he usually high-strung?”

  Tilly gazed at me in surprise. “Never! Wesley is the calmest man in the world. He’s the one you want to have around in a crisis because he’s so logical and placid. He takes care of everything. He’s a born leader.”

  Funny how different my impression was of Wesley. I was itching to ask if she was certain nothing had been going on between her husband and Abby, but I didn’t dare.

  Since I was there, Tilly decided to cook Wesley’s favorite meal for the cookbook. While I took notes on her Southern-style meatloaf and corn bread, I eavesdropped on the conversation between Jericho and Wesley.

  “You have to ride it out,” said Jericho. “This is nothing compared to what I’ve been through before.”

  “Call Wolf. I want an update.”<
br />
  “Get a grip, Wesley. You don’t want to poke the Wolf. He’s the one person we need to handle very carefully.” Jericho lowered his voice, and I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I would have sworn that I heard my name.

  By noon, I had everything I needed to add the two recipes to the cookbook. Only a couple more and we would be done. I left the three of them to eat meatloaf and corn bread for lunch. I was walking toward the front door when I heard someone jogging down the hallway behind me. Jericho caught up to me.

  “Hey, Sophie! I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner sometime?”

  No! Either he was very bad at picking up on subtle hints that someone wasn’t crazy about him, or he wanted to press me to get information from Wolf. I decided it was the latter. “Look, Stu, you must not know Wolf at all. He’s not going to tell me anything unless it will be public knowledge in five minutes.”

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You think I’m using you. Actually, I just wanted to get to know you better.”

  I didn’t believe a word he said. I grappled with the problem women have had for eons. How to turn down a guy without being rude or hurting his feelings. Not that I particularly cared about his feelings, but no one likes to be hurtful. “That’s very kind of you, but I’ve just started seeing someone,” I lied. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll let you know.”

  I smiled at him and hoped I sounded convincing.

  “And who is this lucky guy?”

  Oh no! I was giving him an easy out. Why did he have to push it? “I’m not quite ready to let people know yet.” I winked at him and fled out the door before he could pursue the topic or me!

  All I’d had to eat was half a little apple tart. I was famished. I stopped by The Laughing Hound. Located in an old building that was once a huge home, it was broken into several dining areas.

  Bernie saw me enter and motioned for me to join him. “You’re just in time for lunch. Roasted chicken salad?”

  “Sounds great.”

  He took me through the kitchen, where he asked a waiter to add another chicken salad, then led me out on the back deck, where Wolf sat at a table with a young woman.

  Bernie, who had been raised in England and various exotic ports around the world, spoke with a delightful British accent, which made anything he said sound completely brilliant. His mother had dragged him along as she married an assortment of absurdly wealthy men. The last I’d heard she currently lived in Shanghai. Bernie had been the best man at my wedding to Mars. None of us had expected footloose Bernie to settle in Old Town, but to our surprise, he took over management of The Laughing Hound for an absentee owner and turned it into a popular eatery. He had a talent for the business.

  Even though he was now a respectable restaurateur, his sandy hair still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. And he would forever be marked by the kink in his nose where it had been broken once, or possibly twice. The stories about just how it had happened varied and seemed to grow with each retelling.

  “Soph, this is Brittany Shelburne,” he said.

  Brittany wore the restaurant’s uniform of black trousers, white shirt, and black vest. When she turned her head, I saw that she wore a sparkling rhinestone ponytail holder.

  We gathered at a table under ceiling heaters. We were the only people on the porch.

  The waiter brought out hot apple cider and roasted chicken salads for all of us. They were plated beautifully on a mound of mixed greens and red quinoa. Strips of roasted chicken radiated from the top with long pieces of red and yellow peppers between them. A creamy garlic dressing was served on the side.

  “Tell Wolf what you told me, Brittany,” said Bernie.

  “Sure. You know that lady, Abby? I didn’t know her name before I saw her picture on the news. She was here Friday having dinner with Bernie’s friend.”

  “Mars?” asked Wolf.

  That came as a surprise. I had known that they were dating, and I was certain Mars would have told Wolf. But I didn’t realize that Mars had been out with Abby the night she disappeared. I looked at Wolf’s expression. He always had a poker face. It was so frustrating not to know when he was surprised or worried. I now wondered if Mars had been the last person to see her alive. That would mean the police would be taking a harder look at him.

  “Did they leave together?” I asked. “Do you recall?”

  Brittany thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure they did. I was their waitperson that night. For what it’s worth, they didn’t seem to be having fun. You can tell when a date isn’t working out. One person does all the talking and the other one looks eager to run out of the restaurant. Also, when it’s a lousy date, they never order dessert. They want to get away from each other as soon as possible.”

  Wolf listened intently. Her last comments made him chuckle.

  “They said on the news to call the police with any information on Charlene Smith. She’s been here, too,” said Brittany.

  I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork and listened.

  “She comes in with a guy who looks like he’s older than her. I always notice them because she’s kind of out of his league. You know what I mean? She’s strikingly pretty, but he’s sort of flabby and plain. Love is a weird thing. You never know who might be attracted to each other. Right?”

  “Do you recall his name?” asked Wolf.

  “Fred Conway. He usually pays with a credit card. That’s where I saw his name.”

  “Big tipper?” asked Wolf.

  “Not particularly. He pays a normal tip, nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “When did you last see them?”

  “Must have been during restaurant week. They could have been here on one of my days off, but that’s the last time I saw them. I remember him liking the crab legs. He asked if we would continue to serve them.”

  Wolf looked at Bernie, who said, “End of August. I can go through the credit card receipts if that would help.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Bernie. Thank you very much, Brittany. Sounds like this is our first solid lead to find out more about Charlene.”

  We chatted about lighter topics while we ate. When we finished, Brittany went back to waiting on tables, Bernie headed to his office to look through receipts, and Wolf said he was going back to his office. I assumed he would be looking up Fred Conway.

  I thanked Bernie for lunch and left with Wolf. When we were outside on the sidewalk, I said, “Natasha had spoken to Charlene on the phone. You could track down information on her that way.”

  “Natasha? They were friends?”

  “Ha! You’re so far behind. They’re half sisters.”

  “No kidding?”

  “You can probably find Natasha sitting by Charlene’s bed.”

  “Thanks, Sophie. I’ll pass that along. It’s not my case, but everyone is upset about it. I haven’t seen anything so brutal in a long time.”

  “What happened with Abby? I thought I’d be hearing about her arrest on the news this morning. Did you find her?” I asked. “Wesley is dying to know.” And so was I.

  “Is he? Does the name Dusty Lynton mean anything to you?” asked Wolf.

  “Not off the top of my head. I meet a lot of people through the conventions and events I set up. You know, I’m introduced but then I never see them again, so I’m never a hundred percent sure.”

  “Did you ever hear anyone mention him when you were at Wesley and Tilly’s house?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Wolf kept his eyes on me. “He’s young, only twenty-two, but he has a rap sheet that you wouldn’t believe. A small-time crook. He had Abby’s phone in his possession.”

  Chapter 18

  Dear Sophie,

  I would like to learn how to bake. Do I need to take a class, or can I learn from the Internet?

  Sweet Tooth in Upper Pig Pen, North Carolina

  Dear Sweet Tooth,

  You don’t have to take a class. Start with an easy recipe such as a coffee cake or
a dump cake. Look for one that doesn’t have a lot of complicated steps. You can graduate to more difficult recipes after you’re comfortable with simple cakes.

  Sophie

  I took a sharp breath of air. “Do you think he murdered Mia and stole Abby’s phone?”

  “I’m not sure. He denies knowing Abby. He claims he found her phone in a shopping mall.”

  “But he’s a crook,” I protested. “Why would you believe him?”

  “That’s the problem. I’m trying to find the connection between him and Abby.”

  “Maybe the phone will give you the answers you need. Maybe there are texts between the two of them.”

  Wolf grimaced. “Our forensic technicians are looking at it now. It would be great if they had been communicating. My fear is that Dusty managed to clear the memory.”

  “How could he do that if he didn’t have the password?”

  “There are half a dozen ways, some surprisingly easy. These low-life types use a lot of stolen phones. They cycle through them, tossing each one after a while, which makes it harder to keep tabs on them. And they know it.”

  “Where was the mall?” I asked.

  “In Reston.”

  “Assuming his story is true,” I said, “it would mean that someone, most likely Abby, accidentally left the phone there. Which would probably mean Abby murdered Mia.”

  “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet,” warned Wolf. “We haven’t corroborated his claims.”

  “Don’t they have a lot of cameras in malls?” I asked. “That would be an easy way to confirm his story.”

  “Don’t worry. We have people on it. I sure wish we could find Abby, though. She appears to be the key to this entire mess.”

  Wolf headed back to his office, and I walked home.

  It seemed as if everything revolved around Abby. What had Mia been doing at Abby’s house, anyway? They had probably become friendly at Tilly’s. Maybe they shared some interest like yoga or gardening.