by Krista Davis
Natasha observed me, her arms crossed, her hands gripping her upper arms. “You do know that she doesn’t understand you. Why bother talking to her?”
“She understands much more than you realize. Research has shown repeatedly that dogs understand anywhere from one hundred and fifty to five hundred words.”
“Puh-leeze. Now if you were to tell me how gorgeous my dress is . . .”
Nothing like fishing for compliments. “It’s stunning. And so is the jewelry.”
Natasha touched the large stones just below her collarbone. “Isn’t it beautiful? I’m still surprised that Clarissa wanted to sell it. Robin’s-egg blue is a good color for her. I thought she ought to keep it, but she said she would sell it on the Internet if I wasn’t interested.”
“Looks like you got lucky.”
We made our way to the cocktail bar, where I ordered a Tiger Paw and offered Daisy one of the baked chicken cookies for dogs. Daisy snarfed the biscuit, which was in the shape of a tiny chicken.
Francie drifted by, and whispered, “I can’t keep Natasha away from Alex. She’s making me nuts.”
Not far from us, Myra turned her back on Maurice and wound through the crowd wearing a stormy expression. Her hair seemed even bigger than I remembered, but gentle tendrils curled around her face, softening the look. Her makeup appeared toned down, or maybe it just wasn’t as noticeable, since everyone had gone heavier on eye makeup for the evening event. She wore a flashy violet halter-style gown, cut to her navel but cinched together under her bust by a matching ribbon, giving the effect of a keyhole underneath. The beaded top, holding her considerable cleavage, glistened under the lights.
Maurice trailed after her. If he’d made any attempt to tame his mop of white hair, it certainly wasn’t evident. Instead of an elegant tuxedo, he’d dressed in gray and black plaid trousers, a black suit jacket, and a bow tie and suspenders imprinted with cat faces. The outfit suited him. It rebelled by not being a tuxedo, yet the cat motif on his accessories revealed a desire to play along. He carried something pink that I couldn’t quite make out at a distance.
Daisy and I cut through the crowd to intercept Myra and, hopefully, save her from Maurice. “Myra!”
She raised her head and waved. In spite of Humphrey’s feelings about her, there was something about Myra that I liked. She might be a little bit bold and brassy, but she struck me as sweet and genuine.
“I understand you work at the mortuary with Humphrey,” I said.
Her eyes lit up when she smiled at me. “I started out doing hair and makeup, but I’m taking classes to be a bereavement counselor. There’s such a need for them. It breaks my heart to see the way people suffer. Not all of them, but so many don’t know how to cope. Sometimes people have a priest or preacher to turn to for comfort. Too often, they don’t know where to turn.”
Her voice was so soft and gentle that I could imagine she would be comforting to others.
“Is Maurice watching?”
I glanced his way. “Yes.”
“I shouldn’t have worn this dress. My mother says the reason I love bright colors and flashy things is because I’m around death all day, and I have a need to celebrate life when I’m not at the mortuary.” She giggled. “I think she might be right.”
“You’re reminded every day that we have to make the most of our lives.”
“You should see my condo. It’s all yellows and pinks and happy colors. I wore this because it usually attracts men, but I wasn’t thinking of sour old Maurice.”
She reached out to pat Daisy. “Sophie,” she whispered, “how do you get rid of men who won’t leave you alone?”
“I don’t have a very good track record with that. I usually tell them I’m involved with someone else.” I doubted this was the first time Myra had ever dealt with an overly zealous suitor.
She released a deep breath. “I’d like to be involved with someone, but he has eyes for another.”
I followed her gaze across several tables. Humphrey was ogling Renee like a lovesick teenager while Renee chatted with someone else, laughing, and ignoring Humphrey.
Just past them, Nick appeared to be admiring Clarissa’s necklace. He slid a seductive finger along the jewels on her neck. Was she trying to sell that necklace, too? Unfortunately for Myra, Maurice joined us. In his arms he held a large gray cat wearing a pink wig and a tiny cat crown along with a necklace of glittering pink stones.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Gun . . . ivere.”
“Gunivere? That’s unusual.”
“It’s different.” Myra edged away from him.
He snorted. “What’s wrong with you two? Guinevere.”
I was certain he’d said Gunivere. “How does the crown stay on her head?” Daisy had once worn a wreath of flowers, but not for very long. One good shake of her head, and a bejeweled tiara would have flown to the floor.
“He had it made specially for her.” Myra’s words came out flat. She didn’t seem to be impressed.
“Is it attached to the wig?” I was curious about the crown, but, more important, I was wondering if Myra could get the truth about Buddy, the missing dog, out of Maurice. He was clearly smitten with Myra. Would it be too much to ask of her?
“Of course not. Her head is the perfect shape for a crown,” insisted Maurice.
I edged toward Guinevere’s right to see behind the crown, which was actually a tiara, since it didn’t have a back. No clips of any sort were visible.
Maurice shot me a smug smile before turning his attention to Myra. “I think we’d better take our seats, dear.”
I wished I could rescue Myra, but many of the tables had been reserved for entire groups, and it was too late to switch things up. As Maurice turned away, he adjusted his grasp on Guinevere, and I saw a little bit more of Guinevere than I was probably supposed to see. I wondered if Maurice knew that Guinevere was really a Lancelot.
Spenser and Clarissa had purchased two tables for their employees. They were already sitting at one of them, chatting animatedly with the people sitting close by. If I hadn’t been privy to some of their problems, I would have imagined them a perfectly happy couple.
The general had taken his place at his table with his boxer. Francie and her golden retriever, Duke, sat between the general and breathtakingly handsome Alex. I sidled over to their table to say hello just as Joy and Nick took seats there.
Alex rose to speak with me. “You look beautiful.”
I knew that was impossible for a host of reasons, but it was sweet of him anyway. “Black eyes are de rigueur for black-tie affairs.”
He leaned close to speak to me in the noisy tent, his breath soft and warm on my ear. “Brunch tomorrow?”
I nodded.
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
It didn’t escape me that Mars frowned at me from our table. I had mixed feelings about that. Mostly I thought this was none of his business, but some tiny part of me was glad he cared, and I didn’t like that about myself.
Natasha loomed beside me in her super-high heels. She gushed over Alex. Maybe I’d been wrong about Mars. Maybe that frown reflected his feeling toward Natasha’s incessant attention to Alex.
Nina stepped up to the podium, and I hurried Daisy to our table.
Nina made some introductions and thanked everyone for their support, but kept her remarks short. The centerpieces on the tables, as well as the slew of other items along the wall, were up for auction after the dinner. When she took her seat, the waiters poured wine, offering a choice of cabernet or chardonnay. One featured a dog label and the other bore a cat label. They soon brought around tiny pupcakes for the dogs and the amuse bouche, a bite-size cupcake. The human first course, a Tex-Mex-style cupcake, was made of black beans and onion. The baker had incorporated cumin and a teeny kick of chipotle. The icing on top was a cool, creamy avocado that went perfectly with the spicy cupcake.
“Black beans and avocado?” Natasha broke off a small corner and tasted i
t. “Ugh. As dreadful as I expected.”
Not everyone shared that opinion. Nina and Bernie wolfed theirs down with gusto.
“Mmm. Those were great.” Mars snatched the remainder of the cupcake on Natasha’s plate. “I hope that bakery starts making them on a regular basis. I’d eat a couple of them for lunch any day.”
“Oh, Mars,” grumbled Natasha. “Your palate is just so primitive.”
Daisy eagerly ate the tiny dog appetizer and sniffed around for more.
Natasha frowned as she scoped out the room. “I’m quite taken aback by the lengths people go to for their pets. I thought Martha’s cupcake outfit would be adorable, but it’s rather plebian compared to the flashy gems and tiaras some of these dogs are wearing. Hmm.”
“Did you see Maurice’s cat?” asked Bernie.
The fish course arrived with a small fish-shaped cookie for the dogs and another cupcake for the rest of us.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “Salmon Cupcakes? Really? Couldn’t they have thought of something more clever?”
“What would you have baked, Natasha?” asked Bernie. “Anchovy cupcakes?”
“Puffer fish?” suggested Nina, in reference to a deadly Japanese delicacy.
“She’s very partial to black squid ink.” Mars’s voice was so droll, that everyone at the table laughed hysterically.
“Are you making fun of me?” asked Natasha.
“Are you going to complain about every course until we hit yours?” responded Nina.
While salmon certainly wasn’t an ingredient I would think of for cupcakes, the coral-colored icing with little scales and fish lips was so cute that I hated to bite into it.
It wouldn’t win my vote for best cupcake of the banquet, but fish was a tough category, and I thought the baker had done a remarkable job with it.
The entrée arrived on larger plates. The lasagna was surprisingly delicious.
Natasha scoffed at the Rosemary Bacon Corn Cupcakes. “These are cornmeal muffins. They’re not cupcakes at all.”
“Go with the flow, Nat,” muttered Mars.
“Honestly, they ought to be disqualified. They’re nothing more than seasoned corn muffins. Dotting the top with butter and jamming a piece of bacon into it does not make them cupcakes!”
Uh-oh. I saw a fight coming on. “Then don’t vote for it, Natasha.”
“But other people might not realize that it’s not a cupcake. And this lasagna thing. It’s not a cupcake at all.” Natasha pushed it to the side of her plate. “Nina owes it to everyone to disqualify the ones that aren’t truly cupcakes.”
Nina did not look happy about the direction of the conversation.
“What’s the difference between a cupcake and a muffin anyway?” asked Mars. “I buy blueberry muffins from Big Daddy’s Bakery that come in little paper wrappers like these. Is it icing? Muffins don’t have icing and cupcakes do?”
As though she were an expert on baking, Nina stated, “The line is becoming somewhat imprecise. Technically, a muffin has a coarser texture while a cupcake should be finer, like a cake.”
Her knowledge surprised me. Nina had been known to dirty pots and pans so her mother-in-law would think she had prepared a dinner that was actually takeout. When had she become an expert on baking?
“I didn’t realize that you watch my show,” exclaimed Natasha. “I’m delighted that you have learned so much.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but my education on the subject has come from the bakers themselves,” Nina explained.
While they chatted, I nonchalantly observed Alex. Francie was giggling at something he said. Not every guy would take out a woman old enough to be his mother and be a good sport about it. I barely knew him, but that impressed me as an indicator of a kind and thoughtful person who wasn’t so self-absorbed that he had to parade around with a supermodel type on his arm.
Joy had engaged the general in a discussion. Nick piped up now and then. As I watched their table, it dawned on me that Nick looked strikingly like Alex and the general. The dark hair, the full lips, even the rounded tips of their noses.
I nudged Nina, who was still busy defending the corn cupcakes. “Is Nick Rigas related to the general?”
“What an odd question. I don’t think so.” She glanced in their direction and did a double take. “I see what you mean. That’s one handsome gene pool. Is it the lighting in here, or is the general looking a little bit green?”
General German gave a little jolt, like he’d been kicked in the abdomen. He stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to Joy’s chatter. He opened his mouth as though he couldn’t get air, and braced his hands on the table.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dear Sophie,
My neighbor, who believes everything she hears, told me that chocolate is bad for dogs. My Rhodesian ridgeback loves it and has never had any ill effects. Is this true or just an old wives’ tale?
—Chocoholic in Hershey, Pennsylvania
Dear Chocoholic,
Never feed chocolate to dogs. The theobromine in chocolate can make them very ill and even lead to death. If your dog loves that chocolate flavor, look for treats made with carob instead. Should your dog accidentally eat chocolate, contact your veterinarian immediately.
—Sophie
General German tried to push himself up into a standing position. He teetered forward, overcompensated, and fell backward, pulling the tablecloth with him. Glasses spilled and china crashed to the floor.
Screams pierced the air. I tossed Daisy’s leash into Bernie’s lap and rushed to the general’s table with Nina. He lay on the floor breathing heavily.
Alex knelt over him, dissuading everyone from taking action. Turning down all offers to place a spoon on his tongue, sit him up, or carry him outside for air, Alex remained admirably calm. “Please call 911. Everyone, stand back.”
Nick hovered behind Alex, seemingly at a loss.
Natasha wedged her way in and nearly fell over the general.
Officer Wong was already on her phone calling an ambulance. Even in a strapless red gown, she cut an authoritative figure. When she hung up, she spoke with a commanding voice. “Let’s move back, folks. Give the man air.”
Alex positioned the chair on which General German had been sitting so that it formed a bit of a barrier to the onlookers. Sirens sounded nearby.
The attendees had stepped back when Wong asked them to, but they still formed a tight horseshoe around the table.
Joy cried out and jumped forward a couple of steps, wiping the rear of her dress. “Something stung me.”
Appropriately solicitous, Nick examined her dress. “I don’t see anything.”
A couple of women closed in behind her. I feared the crowd wouldn’t part for the rescue squad. Nabbing Mars and Bernie by the hands, I tugged them away and recruited Spenser, Leon, and Humphrey as I walked.
Shouting to be heard over the din, I said, “We need to move everyone back so help can get through.”
Each of them took up a position. Spenser and Bernie held their arms out to the sides, moving the crowd like pros. I skittered through the space that opened up and met the rescue squad outside.
People inquired about the general as I returned, but I had nothing to tell them other than the fact that he’d been taken ill. When I reached the table again, I overheard one of the paramedics say the general had a weak, rapid pulse.
Before long, the general had been loaded onto a gurney and carried out through a whispering crowd. When they passed by me, General German’s eyes were closed, and he lay as still as a corpse.
Alex and Nick trailed along behind him. Alex gently reached for my arm. “Would you mind seeing Francie and Duke safely home?”
I assured him I would take care of them. Given the circumstances, I thought it extremely telling about his character that he even remembered his elderly date.
Nick was equally considerate and insisted Joy remain. She assured him she could walk home or catch a ride with someone.
> The relief that swept through the tent was palpable. The general was in good hands, and the din rose again.
Wong clinked a fork against a glass a few times. “May I have your attention? Does anyone else feel sick?”
As unobtrusively as possible, I moseyed over to the general’s table and examined it. Wong had prevented the waitstaff from cleaning up the mess, but there was no telling who had eaten what, since everything had landed on the floor.
Daisy had been passed along to Francie. I leaned over, and whispered to Francie, “Did you notice what the general ate?”
“It was the oddest thing. I watched him all evening because he was so quiet. He refused wine and didn’t eat a bite. I asked him if he wasn’t hungry, and he said his stomach was giving him some problems.”
A wave of relief washed over me. It was unlikely that whatever caused him to be ill had come from the cupcakes.
But then someone spoke up. “I do. I feel sick.”
Everyone turned to look—at Maurice. Of course. Who else?
“You do not!” I couldn’t help myself. The man would do anything ornery. He probably wanted a refund.
Wong held up a hand to stop me from saying anything more. “What’s the problem, Mr. Lester?”
“I’m queasy. Sick to my stomach.”
“In that case, we’d better get you to the hospital, too. No point in taking any chances,” said Wong.
At least it would get him away from poor Myra for a while.
A murmur spread through the tent like a wave. A few people rose and left. Nina buried her head in her hands. Poor Nina! This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Anyone else feel sick?” asked Wong.
I held my breath. Nina peeked through her fingers. Not a soul. Nina and I accompanied Wong over to Maurice.
“Do you need an ambulance, Mr. Lester?” she asked.
“Will Cupcakes and Pupcakes pay for it?”
I knew he wasn’t sick. What a crumb. Someone who was truly ill wouldn’t stop to ask if it was a free ride.
Wong must have had thoughts along the same lines. “Mr. Lester, do you need medical attention or not? I am not inclined to tie up ambulances and rescue squads with phony illnesses.”