The Diva Spices It Up

by Krista Davis

  Natasha repeated her name and the information about her TV show. “Are you Griselda Smith?”

  The white-haired woman looked fearful.

  “I believe you may have been married to my father,” said Natasha.

  As we watched, Griselda dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

  Natasha and I rushed behind the counter.

  Lonnie, the woman with the long braid, tapped Griselda’s cheeks.

  I propped her up and held her to prevent her from falling back.

  “Griselda! Take two of these.” The woman with the braid handed her two tiny pellets.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Ignatia. It calms people. It’s especially helpful when they have experienced a death in the family. Griselda hasn’t been able to reach her daughter in days. She’s quite fragile at the moment.”

  I could feel Griselda supporting herself. She sat up. With Lonnie’s help she stood and faced Natasha. “I am not fragile,” she snapped. “Anyone whose daughter goes missing would be upset.”

  “It’s perfectly understandable,” Natasha murmured. “I’m heartbroken that I have to tell you Charlene is in the hospital.”

  I feared Griselda would faint again, but she shrieked instead. “Where? What’s wrong with her?”

  Natasha teared up. “She suffered a terrible attack. She’s unconscious.”

  “I have to go. I have to go to her! Lonnie, I’m packing an overnight bag. Get the name and address of the hospital.” Griselda disappeared into the back of the store.

  “I’m devastated that I never got to talk with Charlene face-to-face,” said Natasha. “We spoke on the phone, but she was injured before we could meet.”

  “I’ll say this, the two of you sure look like sisters. Come on over here.” She motioned to Natasha to follow her to a wall full of photographs.

  It wasn’t hard to pick out Charlene. Her resemblance to Natasha was uncanny.

  To the woman with the braid, I said, “Hi. Sophie Winston.”

  “Lonnie Bayfort.”

  “I gather Charlene told her mom about the DNA test she took?”

  “Griselda was completely against it. She’s so angry with Amos for leaving them.” She leaned toward me and said under her breath, “It’s been decades. I don’t think she’ll ever get over it.”

  “How did it happen?” asked Natasha.

  “He just walked out one day and never came back. After spending years looking for him, she finally decided he must have died. Then one day someone recognized his photo on the wall over there. We think he’s still alive, but heaven knows where he might be.”

  “That sounds exactly like what he did to me and my mom.” Natasha’s face flushed with anger.

  “Do you really have a TV show?”

  “Yes. And a newspaper column, too. Do you recognize me now?”

  “No. You just look a lot like Charlene. There are so many cable shows these days, you know? Griselda hasn’t had a TV in years. I don’t know how she does it. She refuses to buy a cell phone, too. She’s stuck in the past.”

  “Did you ever meet Charlene’s boyfriend, Fred Conway?” I asked.

  “Don’t bring up his name to Griselda. She’s certain that he’s no good. He’s a bit of an odd duck, isn’t he? Charlene brought him around a couple of times. He was always polite enough, but he gave me the creeps.”

  “Did Charlene ever mention someone named Abby to you?”

  Lonnie shrieked. “Yes! Charlene was so excited about Abby. They met at an advanced class on French pastries.”

  Finally, a connection that made sense. “Did they do other things together?”

  “I believe they became fast friends.”

  She was happy to gossip, which I appreciated. I tried to pull as much information out of her as I could. “I’m a little surprised that Charlene was interested in Fred.”

  “We were, too. She’s such a pretty woman. You’d think she could have her choice of gentlemen friends. Of course, she has her mother’s moxie. Griselda is thickheaded and opinionated, which can be hard to take sometimes. But I’ll let you in on a little something.”

  “Oh?” I leaned toward her.

  “Charlene was about to break off their relationship.”

  “Are you certain about that?”

  “I was standing right here when she told Griselda. She slipped a topaz into Charlene’s pocket when she wasn’t looking. They’re supposed to bring courage to the wearer.”

  I reeled from that information. “Did you tell the police?”

  “Of course! Griselda hasn’t been able to work since Charlene stopped answering her phone. She’s been hanging out in the back pretending to take inventory, but I know she’s just trying to keep herself busy so she won’t have to think about Charlene. I’ve been crying myself, but I try not to do it in front of Griselda. I love Charlene as much as if she were my own child. She is the sunshine in Griselda’s life.”

  Natasha huffed. “Well, now I’m just mad. I used to be sad about my dad, but I’m angry with him now.”

  She wiped away tears viciously.

  Griselda reappeared rolling an overnight case behind her. She stopped in front of the wall of herbs and selected a number of them, which she placed in an old-fashioned doctor’s bag. “Got that hospital information?”

  Lonnie handed Natasha a pad of paper and a pen. Natasha wrote it down and tore off the sheet, which she carried over to Griselda.

  Griselda wrapped an arm around Natasha. “The next time your mother comes for a visit, I hope you’ll bring her up here. I’d like to meet her. We have a lot in common. And if you learn anything about who mugged my Charlene, I hope you’ll tell me.”

  Griselda hugged Natasha and kissed her on both cheeks. She took Natasha’s hand, dropped something in it, and closed Natasha’s fingers over it.

  “Thank you, Griselda.”

  I said goodbye and left the store, noting that no customers had visited while we were there. I hoped they weren’t having financial difficulties.

  When I started the engine, Natasha opened her hand and smiled.

  “What is it?”

  “A piece of topaz. For courage, I imagine. Isn’t that what she gave Charlene?”

  Natasha was uncharacteristically quiet on the drive home. It wasn’t until I stopped my car in front of her house that Natasha said, “I think Fred is the one who beat Charlene. But I don’t know how to prove it.”

  The trouble was, neither did I.

  * * *

  I took Daisy for a long walk that evening. She needed to get out, and I needed to think and wrap my head around all the things that had happened. It was a cold night. I pulled my fleece jacket closer and could smell smoke from fireplaces. It was a familiar and cozy scent that evoked memories of fun times with friends and family around a crackling fire.

  Meanwhile, I was out in the cold, pondering murder.

  Daisy wagged her tail cautiously, as if she wasn’t certain about something.

  She stopped before a young woman who sat on brick steps.

  “Schuyler?” I asked.

  “Hi, Sophie,” she patted Daisy.

  “What are you doing out in the dark?”

  “I was supposed to meet up with a guy, but I guess I’ve been stood up.”

  Ouch! I remembered that kind of hurt. “What time was he supposed to be here?”

  “An hour ago.” She snuggled deeper into her hoodie.

  “You must be freezing.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Does your dad know you’re here?”

  “Please don’t tell him! He thinks I’m at Briley’s house studying for a biology test.”

  “We could walk you home.”

  “Thanks. I know he’s not coming, but sometimes I like to get away for a little bit.”

  “How about a hot chocolate?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Come on.” The three of us strolled to the coffee place where Mars had asked me to work fo
r Tilly. I ordered two hot chocolates and one carrot pupcake for Daisy. We sat down at a table and warmed our hands on the hot cups.

  “I gather you don’t particularly want to go home.”

  “It’s not really like that. I just need to take a break now and then. My dad says I was everything to my mom. I appreciate that, but it’s weird now that she’s gone. My dad’s an obstetrician, so he’s always having to go deliver babies. No wonder my mom wanted me around all the time. She was lonely. Was your mom that way?”

  “No. But I remember being your age and wishing I had more freedom to do things on my own. Aren’t you afraid hanging out in the dark?”

  Schuyler shrugged. “What’s there to be afraid of?”

  I didn’t want to scare her. On the other hand, maybe she needed a little fright so she would realize that bad things could happen to her when she was wandering around in the night. “Your mom was murdered, Abby disappeared, and another woman was brutally attacked.”

  “I heard about that. My dad says they were probably using drugs and didn’t pay their bills.”

  “You knew Abby.”

  “Sure. I met her at Briley’s house.”

  “Did she seem like a drug user to you?”

  “No. She was really nice to me. I don’t think my dad ever met her. What do you think happened to her?”

  “I wish I knew. Did she ever say anything to you about being scared of someone or worried about something?”

  “No. She was always cheerful. The last time I saw her, she helped me put my hair up in a messy bun and said I looked very grown-up.”

  Chapter 22

  Dear Sophie,

  Some of my friends are into dinner parties. It seems like they all received gorgeous china as wedding gifts and they bring it all out. I need to reciprocate, but my dishes are mismatched and I can’t afford to buy an entire set of fancy china for a dozen people. What do I do?

  Hopelessly Mismatched in Dish, Texas

  Dear Hopelessly Mismatched,

  You’re in luck. It’s trendy to mix and match dishes. All you need is a set of one dozen plain white plates. You can get a good deal on them at some of the big box stores, restaurant supply shops, or even at yard sales. I get some of my best buys at yard sales! Now all your mismatched salad, soup, and dessert dishes will look intentional.

  Sophie

  By ten o’clock on Friday morning, I had walked and fed Daisy. I popped open a can of chicken with cheese for Mochie. I could see bits of yellow, so maybe there really was cheese in it. He settled by his bowl and ate with gusto.

  Anticipating warmer weather, I wore a simple white shirt with khaki trousers. I grabbed my bag and headed for Tilly’s house.

  Television vans still clustered in front of Tilly’s home. I wondered what they expected. Did they think Wesley would come outside and make some kind of incriminating statement?

  A handful of reporters jostled around me as I made my way to the front door.

  Tilly let me in. “It is so hard for me not to yell at them! I thought the paparazzi were bad when I was a kid, but they’ve got nothing on these people.”

  On our way to the kitchen, we walked by the living room where Wesley, Jericho, and another man appeared to be meeting.

  In the kitchen, Tilly said, “I guess this is the last recipe. I have to say that a week ago I was in despair and never imagined we would be able to catch up and complete this on time.”

  “I’m glad I could help. What are we cooking today?”

  “I thought I’d make my famous garlic mashed potatoes with meatloaf for lunch. That should improve Wesley’s mood.”

  I tried to sound casual. “Is he upset about Mia’s death?”

  “That, too. Someone has been hacking into his computer and releasing information. And he’s not the only one. It’s a dire situation. He’s reached the point where he’s afraid to put anything in an e-mail.”

  Tilly got to work, and in minutes I was measuring and jotting down notes.

  When the meatloaf was in the oven, I helped Tilly set the table in the dining room. She used teal Lenox French Perle Groove dishes against a brown tablecloth. Even though it was only lunch, she fussed about a centerpiece and left the dining room in search of one she liked better while I added the flatware, napkins, and aqua glasses that matched the dishes.

  The dining room was located next to the living room. I felt certain the gentlemen could see me through the French doors, but that didn’t prevent them from continuing their lively conversation.

  “Look,” said Wesley, “I feel terrible about it. He’s a nice guy, and he’s good at what he does. He never steered me wrong.”

  “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. It all happened before the Internet. It’s highly unlikely that anyone will find out.” It was Jericho’s voice.

  I glanced over at them, trying to keep my head bowed so it wouldn’t appear that I could hear their discussion.

  “We have to locate Abby. Once she shows up, no one will be digging around anymore.” Wesley sounded angry.

  “How do you suggest we do that?” Jericho asked in a voice tinged with sarcasm.

  “I still feel lousy about this.” Wesley sat on the sofa, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together.

  I realized suddenly that they might not know I was in the dining room. It appeared that the angle of the doors blocked their view of most of the room. I could hear them just fine, but I couldn’t see them unless I moved very close to the table.

  “You had to do it. He would have taken you down. This way when he’s investigated, you remain in the clear and he takes the fall. You’re the good guy because you got rid of him as soon as you realized there could be a problem.”

  I backed up against the wall. At that moment, I knew they were going to blame Mars for whatever had happened at Abby’s house that fateful night.

  Chapter 23

  Dear Sophie,

  I am the worst at arranging flowers. My family teases me about my centerpieces. I never know what to do to dress up the table. Do you have any easy suggestions?

  Hopeless Flower Arranger in Centreville, Virginia

  Dear Hopeless Flower Arranger,

  Here’s one of my favorite quick fixes. Buy a couple of small but beautiful blooming potted plants at a nursery. Wrap the containers in foil. Pop them into a pretty soup tureen or basket. They’ll fill it up, and people will rave about how lovely they are.

  Sophie

  They were throwing him under the bus, sacrificing him to protect Wesley from something. But what? I wasn’t clairvoyant, but everything fit together. Wesley’s way out of this mess was to place blame on someone else, and Mars was his target. Could he have arranged for Mars to meet Abby? Had Wesley and Abby known each other before Mars worked for Wesley? Just how long had this scheme been in progress?

  I probably would have been thrown out, too, if Tilly hadn’t been so desperate to finish the cookbook. I bolted from the dining room before they could realize I was there.

  Tilly sallied forth through the kitchen carrying a tray that contained three smallish pumpkins. She had used them as vases and bunched golden mums in each of them. It was delightful. Casual enough for lunch and elegant in its simplicity.

  Lest anyone was paying attention, I made sure I spoke from the kitchen as she placed it on the table. “You should make some centerpieces for the book. You have a knack for putting together tablescapes.”

  “Do you really think so? A photographer will be coming next week to photograph me for the cover. Maybe we should take it in here. What do you think?”

  Wesley opened the French doors to the dining room.

  “You have a beautiful dining room,” I said. “Why not?”

  “Why not what?” asked Wesley.

  Tilly launched into an excited recitation of our conversation, demanding opinions from Jericho and the third man about the best background for the cookbook cover.

  It was somewhat amusing, because I had a hunch none of the three me
n had ever bought a cookbook.

  Wesley followed Tilly into the kitchen. “It smells wonderful in here. How’s the cookbook coming, Sophie?”

  “We’re getting close to wrapping it up.” I packed up my notes and discreetly bowed out for the day.

  Tilly was in her element, fussing with the presentation of the meal on platters. “See you tomorrow,” she sang.

  I let myself out the front door, deeply disturbed by what I’d heard. What had happened that night? Where had Abby gone? And why was Wesley so worried about it all?

  The reporters didn’t bother to approach me this time. I guessed they were used to seeing me come and go.

  I strolled home by a store that featured a gorgeous sink in their show window. It had been painted with an intricate design of flowers. It would have been overwhelming had it been larger, but it might be perfect for my main floor powder room. What would be a better focal point for a tiny bathroom?

  I stepped inside and inquired about it.

  The saleswoman raved, “Isn’t it wonderful? That one is sold, but it was made by a local artist, Maury Ipswitch. He probably has more if you want to check with him. I’m itching to buy it myself, but we just finished renovating our bathroom and I can’t bring myself to throw out a perfectly good sink.”

  “How much does he charge?”

  She quoted a price that was higher than most sinks but might be doable. I thanked her and headed home.

  A crowd of reporters lurked outside of Bernie’s house. What on earth was going on? I ran toward my own home, planning to call Mars the minute I stepped inside.

  But to my surprise, I found him sitting on the banquette in my kitchen with Daisy on one side and Mochie on the other. I hadn’t seen Mars look so miserable since Natasha had tried to put his mother in a home. I moved Mochie and wedged in next to him, wrapping my arms around him as if he were a kid who’d had a bad day.