The Diva Serves High Tea

by Krista Davis

  Oh no? I could see Kevin on the stoop. No time to ask why she was leaving Kevin in Old Town. “Just be careful.”

  Alex shot me a look of incredulity as Kevin stepped into the kitchen. “Thanks for taking care of him. We’re lucky nothing happened to him on the way here.”

  “Kevin is welcome anytime,” I said. “I think we are in the presence of a future master pastry chef.”

  Kevin high-fived me. “Yeah!” He glanced at Alex, and as they walked out the door I heard Kevin say, “But don’t tell my mom that, okay?”

  I checked the time. With Kevin’s help, I was actually ahead of schedule. I was still thinking about Elise as I walked into my dining room and shifted my thoughts to the tea.

  It was a rare occasion when I was able to use the fine bone china that I had lucked into at an auction. I threw a white tablecloth over my dining table and set it with the delicate pink-rimmed dishes and matching pink-and-gold teacups.

  Mars’s Aunt Faye had left us an antique silver server with three tiers and a handle on top. Each tier decreased in size and the edges had been worked with decorative piercings. We had received a similar server as a wedding gift, except it was very modern, with shiny unadorned square tiers. I planned to use them both and set them on the buffet.

  Faye had collected Reed and Barton’s Tiger Lily silver flatware. Every time I used it I felt like Faye was there with us in spirit. The wind howled outside as I placed forks and spoons at each table setting.

  The phone interrupted me. I had rarely been so relieved to hear Mars’s voice.

  “Just wanted you to know that they’re running tests. I’ll call you when I have the results. And, Sophie? I’d prefer that you didn’t mention this to anyone just yet. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “No problem. I hope it’s nothing.” I hung up, glad that he’d seen a doctor.

  I showered and changed into a periwinkle blue sheath and faux pearls. It wasn’t a typical tea dress, but it was ladylike. Keeping a careful watch on the time, I peeled a cucumber and began slicing it as thin as I could.

  Nina arrived wearing a turquoise dress with large white polka dots. The waist was cinched with a belt and the skirt flared. Very 1950s. When Nina entered my house, I always felt like a rush of energy had blown in the door. “Is that vintage?”

  “Can you believe my mother used to dress this way? I thought the white gloves she wore with it were too much.” She set a small grocery bag on the counter. “No peeking. This is my contribution. It will put those crummy little cucumber sandwiches to shame.”

  “But you don’t cook.” I could not imagine what it might be. I salted the cucumber slices lightly so they could drain.

  “Mmm. But I shop.”

  She pinched a slice of cucumber. “I helped Francie and Velma at Robert’s place all morning. Ugh. It’s so sad going through a person’s things and packing them up. Makes me want to clean out all my drawers and get rid of the junk I don’t need.”

  “Did you find any more notes?”

  “Nope. But he had a bad habit of stashing cash in weird places. Francie found two hundred bucks in a book! That slowed us down a lot. We had to look through every single item carefully. We’re still working upstairs!”

  “Sounds tedious.”

  “It was. But Francie is very excited about her tea today. Hey, did you know that Velma is going to inherit Robert’s antiques business?”

  “I hadn’t given it any thought, but if she’s his only living relative, I guess that’s not too surprising,” I said.

  “Umm.” Nina gazed out the window.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Robert moves to town, gets his business set up, has ladies chasing him every which way, and then boom. He dies.”

  “So?” I asked.

  A tapping at the door made her shriek and jump.

  Wolf opened it, his voice reassuring. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Nina staggered toward him and collapsed into a comfy chair. She did her best imitation of Scarlett O’Hara. “We Southern damsels are delicate and easily spooked. I was looking out the front window. What are you doin’ coming through the backyard?”

  “Don’t mind her,” I said. “Everyone’s jumpy because of Robert.”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. Do you have a list of the people who were at The Parlour for the auction?”

  “He was murdered! I knew it!” Nina exclaimed.

  Wolf asked, “Why do you think that?”

  “You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Unless—” She glanced from Wolf to me and back again. “How’s your wife?”

  Thoroughly embarrassed, I rushed to say, “It’s business, Nina.”

  “You see? I knew it was murder,” Nina said. “How did he really die? Rumor says it was botulism poisoning but that would be an accident.”

  I started assembling the cucumber sandwiches and arranged them on the tiered stands.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m just doing the health department a favor by getting a list of names from Sophie. Were you at the auction, Nina?”

  Nina groaned. “It really was botulism? Ick. I was there. I ate like a little piggy, but so far I feel fine.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  “Wolf, I don’t have the list of attendees,” I said. “It was Natasha’s gig. Would you like me to call her?”

  “I can go over there.”

  “I’ll call to let her know you’re coming. Her mom is here, but she might still be a little skittish after being attacked.”

  “I heard about that. Can’t blame her for being nervous.” Wolf frowned at Nina.

  “Are there any leads on her intruder yet?” asked Nina.

  “Not that I know about,” Wolf said. “Unless someone saw the perpetrator, that kind of crime is tough to solve.”

  I phoned Natasha, who said she would bring the list over.

  Nina perked up. “First Natasha had an intruder who bashed her over the head, then Natasha hosted the auction at The Parlour. Robert was part of the auction, providing the pre-auction viewing, and now he’s dead!”

  “Come on, Nina. There’s no connection. Right, Wolf?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond.

  “I see Velma and Callie,” Nina said. She rose and went to the front door.

  I rushed to put the kettle on and spooned loose Lady Grey tea into a strainer.

  “Uh-oh. Am I interrupting some kind of ladies’ party?” asked Wolf.

  “We’re throwing a little tea for Francie’s birthday.”

  “That’s nice of you. If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll sneak out the kitchen door and intercept Natasha on her way over here.”

  “Chicken,” I laughed.

  In minutes, my dining room filled with a gaggle of ladies. I lit the fire in the fireplace, and they all took seats while Natasha explained in great detail that a proper hostess would have made place cards for a tea, but that I was to be excused as I obviously did not know any better.

  I was tempted to spill tea on her dress. Gray at the top, it faded into cream on the bottom. Cream must be the in color this year. I was very ashamed when the thought that cream would stain well crossed my mind.

  Nina excused herself for a moment and returned with a plate and a bowl. “Ladies, for your enjoyment, I offer you the ultimate Southern snack, warm pimento cheese dip with crackers.”

  “You don’t serve pimento cheese at a tea!” Natasha clasped her hand against her chest as though she could barely contain her horror.

  “Aw, darlin’ git off your high horse. I haven’t had delicious pimento cheese in forever. Did you make it yourself, Nina?” asked Wanda.

  Nina shot me a sly glance when she said, “You might say I cooked it.”

  I suspected Nina’s “cooking” had been limited to popping it into the micr
owave, but there was no question that it was a hit. In fact, I feared that our delicate cucumber sandwiches would taste bland after the tangy cheese dip. If the others thought that, they were kind enough to refrain from saying so. I noticed that Natasha refrained from eating the dip altogether.

  When Callie expressed her delight over the pimento cheese, Wanda asked, “Where are you from, honey? You sound like people from my neck of the woods.”

  “Do I? I was just thinkin’ the same thing about you,” Callie said. “I haven’t heard an accent like yours in years. I grew up in a little town in Virginia called Pike Creek. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “What a small world,” Wanda replied. “That’s about an hour from Berryville, where I live. We used to drive past there for Natasha’s beauty pageants in Forest Glen. We always stayed in a hotel near the college. And there was the best bakery.”

  “I remember that place,” Natasha said. “Wyatt’s? You always treated me to a doughnut after a pageant.”

  “I’ve been there! My uncle knew the owner.” Callie beamed with excitement.

  “Isn’t that odd? I thought you were from Florida,” Francie said.

  “I’m from there, too,” Callie said. “I fled to the sunshine to escape my first husband. We were so young. Of course, that’s no excuse for beating on your wife. So one night when he was sprawled on the sofa, dead drunk, I packed my bags, took the only car we owned, which he woulda killed me for if he’d found me, and drove to Florida. Didn’t know a soul down there.”

  “You’re here today, so I guess he didn’t find you?” asked Nina.

  “I’m no dummy. I traded that car for another one at a scuzzy used-car dealership in Georgia so he couldn’t trace it to me. He never did come lookin’ for me. Last I heard, he got rough with the wrong woman. She shot him in the knee with his own gun.” Callie dabbed her lips and chuckled “’Scuse me for laughin’ but he sure deserved it. I hear he walks with a cane now and is real polite to the ladies.”

  No one looked appalled. In fact, every single one of them smiled, and Wanda guffawed like it was the best story she’d heard. No wonder Francie and Velma found Callie so interesting.

  “Did you remarry?” asked Wanda.

  “I did. I just have the worst luck with men. Seems like I’ve spent my life running from lousy husbands. After Florida, I ran to Charlotte in North Carolina, then I ran here. I thought about New York City but I figured I’d blend in better in these parts.”

  “And now you have a lovely man interested in you!” Velma cooed.

  “You mean Hunter Landon? Aww, he’s just a customer.”

  “Callie, you know as well as I do that most men don’t hang out in tea parlors every day.” Francie grinned at her.

  “He comes in because he’s particular fond of the bacon-cheddar scones. He’s awful cute, but I don’t need man trouble again.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about lousy husbands,” Wanda said.

  “Mom.” Natasha’s voice was stern.

  “You’ve got nothin’ to be ashamed of, baby. It was your daddy who left us, not the other way around.”

  Even Natasha’s heavy makeup couldn’t hide the flush of red that flooded her face.

  I was thinking I had better change the subject when Wanda said, “These lemon tarts are wonderful! You know what I think of every time I hear about Forest Glen? That girl, Rosie, who went missing.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Dear Natasha,

  My know-it-all sister insists that it’s not a proper tea if cucumber sandwiches aren’t served. Is that true?

  —Hostess with the Mostess in Sandwich, Illinois

  Dear Hostess with the Mostess,

  Personally, I loathe the little tasteless things. It may be a British tradition but we Americans need not adhere to it. I was appalled to learn that American scientists dubbed the homely cucumber sandwich the best food to eat during a heat wave.

  —Natasha

  Velma choked on her tea. Francie gasped. Nina’s eyes met mine.

  “Rosie?” I asked.

  “It was years ago,” Wanda said. “She disappeared. I remember seeing her picture in the paper day after day. Such a pretty young woman. They searched for her everywhere. I heard they found some bones partly buried in the riverbank a while back and confirmed they were hers. Did you know her, Callie?”

  Callie chose a macaron from the server. “Never met her. I heard what happened, though. They said she fell in the river.”

  Velma heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s not our Rosie, then.”

  While I enjoyed the sour sweetness of a lemon tart, Velma and Francie told the story of Robert and the curious notes about Rosie.

  Natasha stiffened. She’d been pushing the same macaron around her plate since we sat down. She sipped her tea, holding the cup oh-so-properly with her pinkie in the air. But she took it plain. No sugar, no cream, no lemon.

  Wanda shook her head. “Not a one of us knows when the grim reaper will come callin’. Some things are best not kept for our loved ones to find. Back in Berryville, Elmira Grimley surprised everyone when she passed. She kept to herself, had a vegetable garden that was the envy of the town, never missed church on Sundays, and doncha just know when she died in a car accident and the church ladies cleaned out her house, it turned out she’d been entertaining men on the computer for money. She wore naughty black leather and snapped a whip at ’em!”

  “Mom!”

  “Well, it’s true, honey. We’re among friends anyway.”

  Velma set down her fork. “Goodness gracious! There’s no telling what people are up to. But don’t you think those notes are odd? Sounds like someone was after poor Robert.”

  “Now that he’s dead I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” Callie helped herself to jam and cream. “I wish I had a backyard to plant a few things. I miss that about country life.”

  “We have a lovely farmer’s market,” Francie pointed out.

  “I know!” Callie said. “I worked there this past summer in exchange for some vegetables and fruit that I canned for winter. But it’s not the same as digging in the dirt and growing it yourself.”

  Wanda’s cup clattered to the saucer. “Natasha! I just had the most brilliant idea. Darlin’, I know it has been your goal to be the Martha of the South, but I believe you have been goin’ about this all wrong.” Wanda snapped her fingers. “Instead of Martha, you should be like that Pioneer Woman, Ree. But she’s out west. You could set yourself up as a country girl of the South. I can even help you. I’ve been cookin’ gravy and grits for years. And you know how good my apple fritters are.”

  “Mom, do I look like a country girl?”

  I hoped no one would laugh.

  “Don’t worry about that. I can fix you up. You just need to wear some jeans and boots. We’ll get you some pretty clothes instead of those things you wear that look like they were made out of bargain-bin upholstery material.”

  “I pay a lot of money for my clothes.”

  “Well then I have no idea why you look so plain all the time,” Wanda said.

  Natasha’s eyes narrowed and she studied me. “Hmm. Maybe you’re onto something. Even Martha likes to wear big shirts. Maybe I do look too perfect.”

  Francie coughed so hard that I patted her on the back.

  Between Wanda and Callie and their colorful stories, the afternoon passed too quickly. Before I knew it, I was handing everyone little packets of leftover goodies to take home with them. And I still had a packed fridge.

  Before leaving, Nina pulled me aside. “I’m rushing home to change, then I’m picking up a foster puppy. Would you have time to meet me in an hour or so? It would be helpful if Daisy walked to my house with the puppy.”

  I agreed, suggesting we meet at the hotel because the bus would be back soon. As I closed the door, the phone rang. I picked it up. />
  “I hate it when you’re right,” said Mars.

  “What? You must not be feeling too bad if you’re up to teasing me.”

  I could hear Bernie shouting in the background, “You saved his life!”

  “It’s botulism poisoning.”

  “No!” I said.

  “You bet it is. Looks like it’s pretty mild. They don’t think I need the antitoxin. So I will probably live to tease you in the future.”

  “What about your travel schedule?” I asked.

  “I’ll be hanging around here for a bit, doing what I can from Bernie’s house. I don’t relish the notion of flying and being in crowded places with a gastrointestinal upset.”

  I would feel the same way. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Hey, Mars? Where do you think you got it?”

  Mars lowered his tone. So Bernie wouldn’t hear? “Probably at The Laughing Hound. That’s the only place I’ve eaten since I had breakfast at your house. Bernie brings home leftovers, and I went over there for dinner a couple of nights.”

  Oh no. I hung up the phone. Poor Bernie. The Laughing Hound was his baby, his life!

  I dashed upstairs, and changed into comfy elastic-waist trousers. A dark green, they suited the season better than my dress had. I slid a rosy-pumpkin-colored long-sleeved T-shirt over my head. It covered the forgiving waistband of the trousers. Boots would have given the outfit a touch of style, but if I was going to walk, Keds were my preference.

  I washed the delicate cups and dishes by hand, noting through the window over the sink that the darkness of fall was descending upon us earlier each day. With the cups, saucers, and dishes neatly stacked away in the breakfront, I donned a warm forest-green vest and headed toward the hotel with Daisy.

  The passengers wearily dismounted from the bus. They clutched souvenirs, and bags with Smithsonian museum logos on them. They passed me quickly, undoubtedly eager to get to their rooms and rest.

  The tour guide stepped out for a quick chat. “What a day! I think everyone had a great time, though. A few congressmen and congresswomen stopped by to chat with them when we toured the Capitol, which excited them no end.”