The Diva Frosts a Cupcake

by Krista Davis

  Juggling my purchases, I found myself dodging dogs and their people. A medium-sized white dog with black freckles across his nose resembled one of the dogs in the corral. In the company of a young couple, he pranced by me, his tail wagging so hard it smacked everyone within close range.

  I finally scooted behind the booth and set down the cupcakes and lattes. Nina was kissing the forehead of a basset hound mix. The dog shuffled off happily with a new owner. I looked for the freckled dog. It was gone.

  “Two adoptions already?” I asked Nina.

  She latched onto a latte and pulled back the top. “And a kitten, too.” Nina beamed. “You wouldn’t believe how wonderful people have been. They walk by with a dog, stop to see ours, and want to adopt another dog on the spot. All local people whom I know, so I was able to approve the adoptions right away. Humphrey is helping someone with that gorgeous Siamese cat.” She took a long swig of latte. “Mmm.” Peeling back the paper on a Caramel Spice Cupcake, she said, “I’m going to pick up a couple more dogs in a few minutes.” She wolfed down the cupcake. “These have to be from Cupcake Saloon. They make the best cupcakes in town.” Her voice suddenly lowered several notches. “Don’t look now,” she whispered, “but what is Maurice Lester doing?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dear Sophie,

  I want to rescue a mixed-breed dog from the shelter, but my husband insists on a purebred bulldog. How can I convince him to adopt a mixed breed?

  —Dog Crazy in Bulldog Crossing, Illinois

  Dear Dog Crazy,

  Buy a purebred bulldog to keep hubby happy, and adopt a mixed breed, as well! Don’t forget that purebred dogs often end up in shelters, too.

  —Sophie

  “You know, they say Maurice used to be in the cupcake business,” said Nina, nodding in his direction.

  At the Sugar Baby booth, Maurice was arguing with Renee. The lank white hair that hung in his face reminded me of an old man in a horror movie. I shivered at the thought. Poor Myra, to have a guy like him interested in her. “Is he haggling with Renee over the price of a cupcake? He’s already been by here once today. I hope he skips us this time.”

  Renee handed him a cupcake and waved her hands at him, apparently refusing to accept any money. He headed straight toward us.

  “Well, what have we here?” Maurice peered at the dogs in the pen. Dark hollows sank in under his high cheekbones and bushy eyebrows dramatized his melancholy brown eyes. “Mutts.” He spat the word as though it were distasteful to even speak it. He peered over the table. “Don’t you two have dogs?”

  “I have a hound mix,” I said proudly, hoping to shame him.

  Daisy must have sensed my reaction, or perhaps Nina’s, because she growled and backed out of her position under the table.

  “Good heavens! One of them is loose. There’s a leash law, you know.” Maurice postured protectively. “You really ought to put her in the pen.”

  “That’s Daisy. She belongs to Sophie and is very friendly,” Nina assured him. “Besides, her leash is hooked to the table.”

  Maurice focused on me. “Reaaally? I would have pegged you for a purebred type. Hmm, I believe I’ve seen Mars running with it. Natasha must loathe having a mongrel.”

  My mouth dropped open. It was true in a way, because Natasha didn’t like anything with four legs. Neither my ex-husband, Mars, short for Marshall, nor I could bear to give up Daisy in our divorce, so we shared custody of her. Every other week, Daisy stayed with Mars and Natasha. Mars doted on her while Natasha barely tolerated her. But to come right out and say it like that! The nerve of Maurice! What a snooty guy. I edged closer to Daisy and rested my hand on the scruff of her neck. “She’s the most wonderful dog.”

  “Why don’t you have a dog, Nina?” Maurice peered at the cats in the cages.

  “My husband travels constantly. We plan to adopt a couple when he retires. But until then, there are so many who need help. I’d rather foster them until they find homes. I can save more animals that way. I’m glad you’re coming to the big cupcake feast tomorrow night. It should be a lot of fun.”

  How clever of her to change the topic before I said something I might regret.

  “You should be ashamed asking those prices. I do love a cupcake, though.” He returned to watch the dogs in the pen. “I hope the money doesn’t just benefit mixed-breed dogs like these.” He pushed back a hank of white hair and cast a disparaging eye on the three dogs in the pen, all happily wagging their tails. “I’m a cat person. Black tie ought to be reserved for elegant creatures.”

  For my job, I arranged black-tie events constantly and had nothing against them, but every word this man uttered elevated him a notch on the too-pompous-to-live scale.

  I reminded myself that I didn’t have to do anything with him, other than smile and act gracious.

  His nostrils flared. “Nina, darling, I must warn you. Nick Rigas, you know him, don’t you? Everyone does. Anyway, Nick has been making noises about acquiring a canine companion. You should be aware that he’s four months behind in rent. He won’t leave the premises, just laughs at me in that condescending way of his when I bring it up. I’m going to have to evict him. So if he comes sniffing around for a hound, keep in mind that he’ll be homeless himself in fairly short order.”

  I supposed it was good for Nina to know that, but it was distasteful of him to be so public about Nick’s inability to pay his rent.

  Spenser Osbourne ambled up carrying a huge box of cupcakes from Sugar Baby. Rather odd, since he owned Cake My Day, the biggest cupcake chain on the east coast, and could surely have as many as he wanted free of charge from the Cake My Day booth. He immediately reached out to pat the head of a huge black and tan dog. Its fur and size reminded me of a Bernese mountain dog.

  The two men were a study in contrasts. Spenser’s round face was as open and friendly as Maurice’s was closed and sour. By nature, Spenser was stocky and muscular. He wasn’t particularly tall, a few inches shorter than Maurice, and he tended just a bit toward pudginess.

  “Sugar Baby Cupcakes?” sneered Maurice. “Well, well. It says a lot when the owner of a cupcakery buys the cupcakes of his competition. Are you trying to duplicate Renee’s recipes? The ones you stole from Colleen weren’t enough?”

  Colleen? I mouthed the name and looked at Nina, who shrugged.

  Spenser released a long breath and appeared to consider his response. “Good to see you, Maurice.”

  “It’s never good to see you.”

  Maurice was known to be a first-class grump, but this display of uncalled-for animosity was just plain rude.

  Spenser flicked a glance at Nina and me. He bore the slight nobly, though I suspected it pained him.

  “All these dogs and cats are up for adoption,” said Nina.

  Spenser reached over the pen and stroked the dog again. “What a big guy. Reminds me of a dog I had as a kid. You’re a special boy.” The dog’s tail wagged, and he licked Spenser’s hand. “I hope you’ll get a great home, buddy.”

  “Buddy!” Nina spoke cheerfully. “That would be a cute name for him.”

  I saw what she was doing. By acting like Spenser had named the dog, she was getting him invested in Buddy.

  “I’d love to adopt you . . .” His voice trailed off, and he stared at the dog while rubbing its ear. “Well, maybe!” he declared with enthusiasm. “Maybe I can work something out!” Clutching the cupcake box, he leaned over the rail of the corral, bringing his face close to the dog, whose feathery tail whipped back and forth with joy. “I’ll be back, Buddy,” he whispered.

  “Hurry,” said Nina. “I can’t hold him, you know.”

  Spenser lumbered away.

  The second he was out of hearing range, Maurice said, “I want that dog.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dear Natasha,

  My wife insists on dressing our dog. If you ask me, a dog shouldn’t have to wear anything other than a collar and a leash. Would you please tell her to quit buying doggy paja
mas?

  —Cat’s Pajamas in Hounds Ear, North Carolina

  Dear Cat’s Pajamas,

  She buys them? Why isn’t she sewing them herself? Ask her to sew you a matching pair so you won’t be so jealous.

  —Natasha

  Nina looked at me in shock before focusing on Maurice. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want to adopt that big dog.”

  Nina’s mouth bunched up in anger. “You just said that you don’t like mutts.”

  Smooth and slippery as butter, he said, “I’m selective.”

  “So am I—and I’m holding him for Spenser.” I’d never seen Nina so angry.

  “You can’t do that. You just said you can’t hold dogs.” Maurice opened the dog pen. “I’m here, ready and able to adopt. I insist on this dog!”

  I raced to his side to prevent the dogs from wandering out of their little fence.

  “Fine.” Nina addressed him in a sugary tone. “Here’s an adoption form for you to fill out.”

  Behind his back, I waved my hands at her. How could she let this horrible man adopt a dog he clearly wanted only to spite Spenser?

  She wiggled an eyebrow at me. I hoped that meant she was up to no good.

  Maurice flipped through the adoption form. “I don’t have time for this!” His thin lips twisted to the side. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  He loped away in the direction Spenser had gone.

  Nina sucked in a deep breath and released it. “I’ll adopt that poor dog myself if I have to. Imagine having the nerve to try to adopt it after he just insulted dogs.” She patted the stack of applications into a neat pile. “I probably ought to take him back to the shelter, but then no one will see him and adopt him. Poor fellow. Honestly,” she huffed, “what could Maurice be thinking? If he comes back, tell him that the dog has already been adopted.”

  “Like he’ll believe that.” I stroked the dog. He would be hard to place because of his size. He deserved to be here so people would see him. Hiding him would only delay the process of finding a home for him.

  I grabbed my wallet and dashed over to a nearby dog apparel vendor. Eyeing their wares, I purchased a yellow dog bandanna with adorable pink cupcakes on it. A little girly for such a macho dog, but it would have to do. Looking over my shoulder for Maurice, I raced back and tied it on the big dog’s neck. “There. You can tell him that means this guy has been adopted.”

  “He’s so cute! I’m hoping Maurice will just forget about it.”

  “Fat chance.”

  Nina stepped away to assist someone who was interested in one of the dogs.

  I gladly hurried to help a little girl who was exclaiming over the kittens. Happily, her two friends wanted kittens, too, and after prolonged phone calls between all their mothers, three fuzzy little balls of fur went home with their doting new owners.

  By noon, the spring day hadn’t warmed too much. A huge relief, because we didn’t have to worry about the cats and dogs overheating. Old Town’s residents flooded Market Square with their dogs. It was perfect weather for dog walking.

  Renee used Humphrey as her personal gofer, sending him back to the bakery several times and asking him to fill in for her while she took bathroom breaks. Humphrey blushed every single time she asked him for a favor. She flitted her hands like a baby bird trying out wings and fawned over him like she was smitten.

  Even busy Nina noticed. “Do you think Renee has the hots for Humphrey?”

  “I’m not sure.” I wasn’t. Renee had obviously found herself in an unenviable position now that Joy had left. I hoped she didn’t think she’d also found a source of free labor. Humphrey was so eager to have a relationship that he might misinterpret her need for help as interest in him. “I hope she’s not taking advantage of him. Do you know her very well?”

  “I know she bakes a great cupcake. And I’m about ready to strangle Joy.” Nina held the top of her head with both hands as though she feared it might explode. “I can’t believe this is happening. Everything was planned so far in advance, and now Joy is demanding her own course at the dinner tomorrow. I already managed to secure a spot for her booth”—she pointed with her entire hand—“way over there, but how can I invent another course for the dinner?”

  “Let’s go over it. Appetizer, salad”—I laughed aloud—“give her a soup course. How could anyone do soup as a cupcake?”

  Nina glared at me.

  “All right, all right.” I tried to be serious about it. “We have an appetizer, a fish course, vegetables, a main course, a fruit, and two desserts. Oh! How about an after-dinner cheese course? Very elegant and French.”

  “Perfect! Hold down the fort while I go tell her.”

  Humphrey returned again and my elderly neighbor, Francie, showed up with her golden retriever, Duke, for her shift at the booth. Hair the same color as Duke’s but the texture of straw stuck out from under Francie’s hunter green canvas hat. She’d dressed it up with a pin in the shape and color of a golden retriever. Francie wore her jacket open, revealing a bright yellow long-sleeve T-shirt and loose drawstring pants. “It’s cold out here! I’m your lunch relief, so you’d better go grab something to eat. Bring some back for me, will you?”

  “Soph, could we pick up the desk for Renee while we’re out getting lunch?” asked Humphrey. “It’s not far from here.”

  I didn’t imagine we would have more time later. Not to mention that we would be worn out.

  Humphrey retrieved my car and picked me up. Leaving Daisy in the care of Nina and Francie, I hopped into the passenger seat to give him a hand with the desk. We cruised a mere six blocks away. Humphrey parked the car in front of a typical Old Town red brick town house. Located on a corner lot, it was four stories tall if one counted the basement and attic. Small dormer windows peeked out of the third-floor attic, and tiny basement windows showed just above the sidewalk. I gauged the steps to the front door that we would no doubt have to negotiate with the desk. Five steps—wide, but steep. A fan-shaped window graced the top of the front door, and a topiary sat on the stoop.

  Humphrey plunked change into the meter. From the sidewalk we could hear someone yelling, one of the drawbacks of living so close to the street. A woman’s voice shouted angrily, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  “Maybe we should come back another time,” I said.

  “What if it’s coming from the neighboring house?” asked Humphrey.

  I didn’t think it was, but before I could dissuade him, he trotted up the steps and rang the bell.

  Somewhat leery, I followed him.

  “I don’t want to disappoint Renee,” he explained.

  The door opened immediately, and a woman yelled, “What do you want?”

  There, right before us, stood a steaming mad Clarissa Osbourne—the very same woman who had been angry with me when I was getting coffee.

  She took one look at me, and her mouth opened wide. She threw her hands in the air and shook her head. Her hands flailed in anger. She closed them into fists, and snorted like a bull. “You! How dare you come to my home?”

  Humphrey took a step back.

  Clarissa ran her hands through her hair, mussing it into a wild mess. Breathing heavily, she said, “So it’s come to this, has it? Perfect timing. Just perfect!” Her eyes searched the floor, and she pumped her fists on her waist. Meeting my eyes, she shook a trembling forefinger a bare inch from my nose. “I’m not through with you. You will rue the day you did this to me.”

  Spenser approached her from behind. She whipped around, screamed in his face at a pitch that caused Humphrey to stick his fingers in his ears, then she pounded up the stairs, her heels kicking out to the sides like a child’s.

  The color of Spenser’s face reminded me of a purple tomato, but he forced a feeble smile. “Sorry about that.” His forehead creased. “Sophie? What are you doing here?”

  Humphrey’s hand shook much as Clarissa’s had when he held the check out to Spenser. “We came for the desk.”

 
; “We could come back later,” I offered. “This obviously isn’t a good time.”

  “It’s the right time. You saved me from another agonizing hour of that tantrum.” Spenser pulled reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and peered at the check. “What desk?” He leaned forward and looked around. “Is Renee with you?”

  “She can’t get away, so we’re picking the desk up for her,” explained Humphrey.

  Spenser examined the check again. “I don’t know anything about a desk. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll ask Clarissa.”

  “Look, if this is a bad time—”

  He was already halfway up the stairs when he interrupted me. “No,” he said softly. “This is fine.”

  We waited quietly. I hoped the screaming wouldn’t begin again.

  The Osbourne’s entrance hall was barely larger than the width of the door. Marble tiles alternated in a black and white checkerboard on the floor. An English-style table with turned legs and three drawers straight across the top held an assortment of blue and white pitchers and vases. Two oriental rugs lay end to end, stretching to the bottom of the stairs. A third oriental runner padded the stairs. To the left of the stairway was a tiny upholstered bench. The sun shone through windows in a back room, probably the kitchen.

  Spenser returned, looking perplexed. “I apologize for the confusion. I had no idea that Clarissa had agreed to sell my grandmother’s desk. I’ll need a hand bringing it up from the basement.”

  I followed Spenser and Humphrey down the hallway and into a modern kitchen decorated in a colonial style. The stove was set in an old-fashioned brick nook, designed to appear like a colonial fireplace. Shiny copper pots with black handles hung on it. Sunshine flooded through a window over a farmhouse-style sink and tiny pots of seedlings basked in the rays.

  Spenser opened a door that led to a lower level. Only partly finished, it was being used as an exercise room.

  He stared at a petite lady’s writing desk at the bottom of the stairs. Rubbed to a shining polish, the cherry wood gleamed. He took a deep breath and held it, his lips mashed together, wrinkling his chin. Finally, he nodded his head. “Humphrey, if you can carry one side, I’ll get the other, and Sophie, maybe you could close the door behind us?”