The Diva Cooks up a Storm

by Krista Davis

  “So when Hollis went to bed, I walked over to Angus’s house. His face and hands were all swollen. That eye was still swelled shut, and he had stings just everywhere. He could barely handle the remote with his hands because they were so puffy. So I cooked him dinner, cleaned up the kitchen, and did some laundry for him. It was the least I could do. After all, it was our bees that stung him!”

  She placed her elbows on the table and leaned her forehead into her hands. “I never dreamed that anything would happen to Hollis while I was out. I left him snoring happily in the bedroom.” She looked up at me. “I didn’t want Hollis to know I had gone to Angus’s house. He would have jumped to the wrong conclusions like everyone else will. Angus needed a hand, and he had been so good to me when I needed help that . . . well, I guess you could say I felt like I owed him for being there when I needed someone.”

  I sat back and wondered what I would have done. I didn’t have to ponder it long. I would have done the same thing if it had been Mars who was stung. “What time did you go home?”

  “It must have been around three thirty in the morning when I left Angus’s place. The door to our master bedroom was closed. I didn’t want to wake Hollis, so I showered in the guest bathroom. When I got out, I quietly opened the door and went into the master bedroom, but Hollis wasn’t there. I put on my nightgown and bathrobe and was looking for him when I saw lights flashing on the street. And you know how it went from there. I thought someone had had a car accident.”

  There was one major item she hadn’t mentioned. I couldn’t help wondering why. “You didn’t smell anything funny when you came home?”

  “I did. But it wasn’t very strong downstairs or in the guest bathroom. It was the kind of thing when you wonder what that funny smell is, but then you walk away and don’t really notice it as much. But it was very strong in the master bedroom.”

  The door had been closed. If Kelsey had placed all four foggers in the master bedroom while Hollis slept with the door closed, he would have inhaled far too much.

  I wanted to believe her. I wanted to think that she had tried to be kind to Angus and hadn’t killed Hollis. On the face of it, I didn’t see any holes in her story. On the other hand, she had spent years on the run, perfecting the art of lying about who she was. And there was another problem. That story could be one hundred percent accurate, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t set off four foggers in the bedroom and left the house.

  “Kelsey,” I said softly, “there’s more bad news.”

  She looked at me in alarm.

  “Someone saw you buying the foggers.”

  She licked her lips. “It was the bees. They managed to get inside the house. Hollis told me to buy four cans of that bug bomb stuff. I didn’t tell the cops that yet. They would have handcuffed me and carted me off.”

  “Wait. I’m not following you. Are you saying that Hollis set them off?”

  Her brow furrowed. “No, maybe. I don’t know,” she wailed. “What I do know is that they’re gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t imagine what happened to them.”

  “But this doesn’t make any sense. Do you think Hollis set them off before the dinner last night?”

  “No, I remember seeing them on the kitchen counter before we left.”

  “So what you’re saying is that Wolf doesn’t know yet that you bought foggers and that they’re gone. Did you also buy bee spray?” I asked.

  “No, Angus said he thought they were getting into the house, so Hollis told me to buy foggers. You know the hardware store will tell the cops that I bought foggers right before Hollis died. They’ll think I did it intending to murder him!”

  Unfortunately, that was exactly what they would think. It all fit together. “Or maybe they’ll think you bought the foggers to kill the bees in your house. That’s what any rational person would have done.”

  “He died from something he inhaled. What if it was from the foggers?” Kelsey looked like she felt sick.

  I looked into her eyes. “Did you set off the foggers?”

  In a tremulous voice, she shouted, “No!”

  A few people nearby turned to gaze at us.

  I didn’t know what to say. She had laid out a perfect setup for murdering Hollis. “Thank you for telling me what happened that night, Kelsey.”

  She placed her hand on top of mine. “Thank you for believing me.”

  I’d never felt like such a crumb.

  Chapter 20

  Dear Sophie,

  My sister-in-law has suggested throwing a party to which the guests bring their own cookout meat. I’m baffled by this and feel one ought not extend an invitation if one doesn’t intend to feed the guests.

  Horrified Hostess in Turkey, Texas

  Dear Horrified Hostess,

  The concept of a potluck has been around for a long time. However, you’ll note the difference. At a potluck, one brings a dish to be shared by all. The bring-your-own-beef idea arose among college students, all living on a budget. In such a case, it is perfectly reasonable for friends to agree to such an event. But if you are hosting a party, then you are indeed expected to provide the food and beverages.

  Sophie

  Kelsey left to place an order for flowers and donate blood.

  I strolled home, wondering if it was possible that Kelsey was innocent when everything pointed to her as Hollis’s killer.

  A tall, white-haired woman stood across the street from the Haberman house. As I approached her, I recognized Humphrey’s mother, Lavinia Brown. I briefly considered crossing the street to avoid her, but I knew that would be wrong, no matter how much I wanted to.

  Pasting a smile on my face, I said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown.”

  She eyed me with steely aloofness. “What are you doing here?”

  Really? The woman sounded like she thought she owned the town. “I live on this street.”

  “In one of these big old houses?”

  “Yes.”

  One of her eyebrows arched. Honestly, the woman didn’t need to dress up for Halloween.

  “Which house belongs to Dr. Charles?”

  “The one with the gray door across the street.”

  And just like that, without so much as a thank you, she turned and stalked away. I hoped Humphrey would never introduce any girlfriends or prospective wives to his mother. She could kill the deal without a single word.

  I watched as she walked to the corner and crossed the street. Putting her out of my mind, I hurried home lest she catch up with me.

  Mochie met me at the kitchen door, complaining about an empty food bowl. I scooped him up and cuddled him. He tolerated me for a minute, then wrestled to be put down. He ran straight to his food bowl and flipped it with his paw so it banged against the counter.

  “I got the message, Mochie. How does chicken in aspic sound?”

  His tail twitched. I took that as approval.

  When he was eating, I pondered what I should bring to Kelsey’s house. They would probably release Hollis’s body soon. I decided on funeral potatoes because they were always popular. The shredded hash browns needed to thaw first, so I took the bag out of the freezer and popped it into the fridge.

  The truth was that my mind was totally on Kelsey. I made a crust for a tart and while it was in the oven, I sat down at the kitchen table and made a list. Mars was the one who usually did that, but this time, he seemed sure that Kelsey had killed Hollis.

  I began the list with Cindy. I didn’t write anything beside her name. She was angry in many ways as a result of the divorce. And I had heard her threaten him. They had threatened each other actually, but he was the one who was dead.

  Next I wrote, Angus—jealousy. If Angus was still in love with Kelsey, he might have murdered Hollis to get him out of the way. If Kelsey’s story was true, he might have even seen it as a way to financial security if he thought Kelsey would inherit Hollis’s money and marry him. There was the issue of his beestings,
though. He might have been incapacitated. On the other hand, I wasn’t ready to write him off.

  As I pondered the possibility that Angus was the killer, I realized that the timing wasn’t quite right, either. If Kelsey was with him that night, when could he have set off foggers in the house? Kelsey would have to be involved for Angus to have killed Hollis. I struck his name from the list, then added it back +Kelsey.

  Trula and Parker fell into a category all their own. If Gage hadn’t died suspiciously, I wouldn’t have considered them at all. Then again, Trula had lied about buying silver polish at the hardware store. Very curious. I jotted down Talk to Madison.

  It wasn’t much of a list, but it was a place to start. I took the tart crust out of the oven and set it on a rack to cool. Still thinking about who else might have murdered Hollis, I heated cream and watched chopped chocolate melt into it. There was something soothing about stirring the melting bits. I poured the chocolate truffle filling into the tart pan and set the tart on a rack to cool. I checked the time. Unless I missed my guess, Trula might be at the library.

  I locked up and walked over to the library. Sure enough, Jay and Trula were in the special collections room.

  When I entered, Trula was saying, “I just don’t understand how this can be. I wish we had some of his DNA to test.”

  Jay said, “Can you imagine how much easier genealogy will be in the future? You’ll be able to enter a saliva swab in a machine and all your ancestors will pop up on a chart.”

  “I wish we had that now,” Trula grumbled. “I don’t suppose they’d let me dig up his father for a DNA sample.”

  “What’s going on here?” I asked. “It sounds very intriguing. Whose grave are you planning to rob, Trula?”

  “I’m joking, of course. I thought I had Parker’s ancestry sewn up. But we just found out that the lineage stops because the sole offspring of John Dixon died at age fifteen in the Battle of Eutaw Springs. I’d like to jump over him and dig up his dad to test his DNA.”

  “Weren’t there a lot of unacknowledged children back in the day?” I asked.

  “Of course. But how would I know with whom John may have dallied?”

  “Good question.” I looked at the vast array of resources available to them. “It could be something as obscure as a veiled remark in a letter.” I stared at the pile of books in front of Trula. “You know, it’s not all that different from searching online. Computers are quicker, of course, but sometimes one thing leads to another.”

  Jay raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

  “Hasn’t everyone sleuthed online?” I asked. “Any word on Gavin, Trula?”

  “Not since we were there earlier. Cindy was a mess. Poor thing. When I think of all she’s been through.”

  “It was nice of you, Parker, and Madison to go to the hospital.”

  “We had to! I don’t see much of Cindy and Madison anymore, but we were all very close when our husbands opened the law firm. I remember how thrilled Cindy was to be pregnant. I carried little Gavin around in my arms back in the day. He was a very sweet child.” She glanced at her watch. “I can’t believe I’ve been here so long. The time flew by. Forgive me, Sophie, but I have to pick up Parker. He has AB-positive blood, so he went over to make a donation. See you soon.” She flicked her hand in a quick wave and left.

  Jay stared after her. “Did she have that right? Gavin is type AB-positive?”

  “That’s what his mother told us. I can’t imagine they would be asking for blood donations of that type if it weren’t accurate.”

  Jay’s eyes widened. “Hollis wasn’t Gavin’s father.”

  Chapter 21

  Dear Natasha,

  I hate bringing my lovely casserole dishes to repasts and potlucks because they invariably disappear. How does one mark them so they will find their way back home?

  Not Made of Money in Sandwich,

  Massachusetts

  Dear Not Made of Money,

  The proper way to identify your glass casserole dish is to etch your name into it. This can be done with glass etching cream, which is available at craft stores.

  Natasha

  “How do you know that? Did he tell you?” I asked.

  “A type O father cannot produce a type AB child.”

  “You know for sure that Hollis was type O?”

  “It’s on his medical records.”

  “So who can produce an AB child?”

  “That depends on the mother’s blood type, but practically anyone could produce an AB child with the exception of a type O.”

  “Cindy had an affair!” I blurted.

  Jay nodded. “Most likely. Though she could have been inseminated.”

  “Maybe that was what Hollis meant. They were fighting at the underground dinner and he said something like ‘Do you really want to open that can of worms?’”

  “So he knew. He was a good father to Gavin. I never would have imagined that Gavin wasn’t Hollis’s child.”

  I whispered lest a library employee overhear me. “Do you think she could have killed Hollis so he wouldn’t tell Gavin the truth?”

  “Anything is possible, but word around town is that Kelsey was the one who murdered him because she was having an affair. Poor Hollis! He knew how to pick unfaithful women.” Jay drummed his fingers on the table. “What intrigues me about this whole thing is the method of death. It’s a very hands-off way to kill someone. Similar to poisoning food, a favorite of women. I suppose one can’t draw definite conclusions about the gender of the killer from the method of death, but I’m sure you can see what I mean. There’s something sneakily civilized about setting off poisons that would eventually disperse as opposed to slamming someone over the head. No blood, no mess, no confrontations.”

  “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”

  “Death and its causes are things I ponder professionally on a regular basis.”

  “Of course. How silly of me. Do you have any other observations about Hollis’s death?”

  “I do. I hope Kelsey has a good lawyer.”

  I was about to leave but stopped to ask him one more question. “Do you know anything about Gage Jenkins’s death?”

  He nodded. “Drowning. As I recall, they found alcohol, but no drugs.”

  Nothing new there. “Still hearing voices?”

  “I’m sorry to say that I am.”

  “What do they say?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell. It’s sort of like whispering.”

  “Would you like me come over and listen with you sometime?”

  “Oh no! I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you. I’ll figure this out.”

  “Call me if you change your mind.” I left the building, wondering where Madison might be at that time of day. She’d said something about staying home too much. I thought I’d take a chance and walk over.

  Madison’s house stood three stories tall with elegant blue-gray double front doors. There were no front steps, only a tiny railing on each side of the door. The house almost merged with the brick sidewalk, a testament to its age. I glanced at the plaque that verified it as a historic building. It had been built in 1840. The ornate door knocker looked to be pewter. I lifted the handle and banged it.

  I could hear someone rustling inside. Madison opened the door. “Sophie!”

  “Please forgive me for just dropping by. I was out and thought I’d check on you.”

  “How thoughtful of you. Won’t you come in?”

  Madison closed the door behind me and led me to a charming family room off the kitchen. Original ceiling beams had been uncovered and left open on display. French doors led to a patio and garden outside.

  I perched on a sofa. “At the underground dinner the other night, you mentioned how lonely you were.”

  “Oh, you sweet thing! I’m sure you have better things to do than worry about me.”

  “Are you still thinking about selling? This is a wonderful house.”

  “I change m
y mind every single day. Have you heard anything about Gavin?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It was almost like old times today. Of course, Gage and Hollis weren’t there, but the feeling was. The compassion we used to have resurfaced for just a little while. Gavin is younger than my children. He was a late baby for Cindy.” She grinned. “They were so excited when Gavin was born. Gage and I used to joke that he would grow up thinking he was Prince Gavin. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for that little boy.”

  “You must have gone through a lot together.”

  She nodded. “We shared joys and sorrows for a long, long time. Makes me melancholy to think about it. Those were the days. Halloween costumes and birthday parties . . .”

  “You must miss Gage terribly.”

  “I do. You know what I miss the most? Just talking with him. He was so intelligent and had amazingly varied interests.”

  “Alex is so obnoxious. He never talks about his cases.”

  Madison laughed. “I know exactly what you mean. Gage had the perfect poker face. He’d be working on a prominent case, and I wouldn’t know a thing about it until I saw Gage’s name in the newspaper. I guess that’s why I still don’t understand what happened the night he died. It was so unlike him. It was the worst night of my life.” She stood up. In a congested tone, she asked, “Where are my manners? Would you like a Coke?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  She sniffled and grabbed a tissue before sitting down again. “Working late was the norm for Gage. I’d grown used to it. He was a workaholic. Ridiculously conscientious and he took such pride in his profession.” She massaged a spot over her eyebrow. “He usually phoned, though, if he would be later than nine or ten. Around eleven, I started calling him. He didn’t answer the phone at the office or his cell phone. I thought maybe something was wrong at the office, so I walked over. It was nearly midnight. The doors were locked, and it appeared to be closed up for the night. I called Hollis and Parker. Hollis had planned to meet Gage for a drink after work. By the time I called him, Hollis was home in bed. He said Gage had never shown up. I phoned the police and reported Gage missing, of course. The police verified the information with Hollis and the bartender. It was like Gage had simply vanished. The kids and I were out of our minds with worry. And then he turned up in the Potomac River. I still don’t know how that happened. I suppose I never will.” She wadded the tissue in her hand tightly. “Oh, Sophie. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!”