The Diva Frosts a Cupcake

by Krista Davis

  “My mum has been making noises about a visit. I’ve stalled her for a bit, but I’d like to get a couple of guest rooms in shape. Don’t know how long I can hold the old girl off.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her.” His mother had been down the aisle more times than Elizabeth Taylor and had lived in exotic places like Shanghai. “Where is home for her these days?”

  “I honestly thought she might settle in Sydney, but she’s in Tokyo at the moment.”

  “Daisy!” Mars waved at us from the front of my house. He jogged over. “There’s my girl. Want to go for a run?”

  I handed him the leash. “How’s Martha?”

  “Just got off the phone with the vet. She’s doing great. They induced vomiting, gave her activated charcoal, and monitored her overnight, but she can come home later today.”

  “It’s so lucky that Humphrey spotted her! Heard you lost your tenant, though.”

  “I don’t blame him for wanting a bigger place. Besides, Natasha has plans for the apartment over the garage. So, what’s with you and the general’s nephew?”

  I’d forgotten all about him. “What time is it?”

  Bernie nudged me. “I’d guess it’s time for him to pick you up. Isn’t that him?”

  Sure enough, like a scene in a movie, Alex stepped out of a flashy metallic red BMW convertible and gazed straight at my house.

  “That, gentlemen, would be my cue to go.” I hurried across the street and waved. “Alex!”

  When I caught up to him, I said, “I wasn’t sure we’d be on after the general fell ill. How’s he doing?”

  “It’s a little dicey. I’ll tell you about it over brunch.” He walked to my kitchen door with me.

  Leaving him in the kitchen, I grabbed my purse, locked the front door, and hurried back to the kitchen, where I stopped cold. Through the window, we could see Natasha sashaying her way toward us. “Do you want company?” I asked.

  “I’d rather it was just the two of us.”

  “Follow me.” We heard the door knocker bang against the front door as we slipped out the French doors in my living room and rushed out my back gate, into the alley.

  When we came around the front corner of my lot, we saw Natasha dash through my side gate, toward my backyard. Giggling like schoolkids, we did our own hurrying before she reappeared. When we passed by the mansion, Bernie and Mars watched us from Bernie’s front porch like a couple of gossipy old women.

  Alex had selected a restaurant on the river. Immediately after we both ordered eggs Benedict, I asked him about the general again.

  The waiter brought Bellinis and poured coffee into our mugs.

  “This isn’t exactly the kind of thing a guy likes to talk about when he’s trying to impress a lady.”

  He needn’t have worried. Those wise eyes and that mouth that looked like it might break into laughter had me mesmerized. I couldn’t imagine anything he could say that would turn me off at that moment.

  “Although our last name is German my family is actually Greek.”

  Aha. That explained the dark hair and good looks.

  “Some people from the Mediterranean have a genetic quirk, a gene that makes them—us—resistant to malaria.”

  He could have launched into a discussion of anything and I would have found it interesting. But being genetically malaria-resistant was a new concept to me, and I found it fascinating.

  “Unfortunately, there’s a flip side. The condition is called favism, because we’re unable to process fava beans. Well, broad beans in general, but especially fava beans.”

  “So you’re allergic to fava beans?”

  “Since it’s a genetic thing, it’s not technically an allergy, but I shouldn’t eat them.”

  I thought back. What had he ordered for brunch? Eggs Benedict—no beans in that.

  “In the simplest sense, they make us anemic. It appears that’s what has happened to the general.”

  “You didn’t ask if fava beans were in anything on the menu.”

  He laughed. “Hannibal Lecter’s tastes notwithstanding, they’re not all that popular or common on menus. I’ve eaten a bite or two by mistake—I feel crummy a few hours later, but so far, as long as I don’t eat more of them, I’m right as rain by the next day.”

  “The general has this condition and ate fava beans?”

  “That’s what the doctors think.”

  “But there weren’t any fava bean cupcakes served. Did you feel ill?”

  He smiled broadly, the tops of his cheeks crinkling up ever so slightly. “I’m fine. I thoroughly enjoyed the cupcake banquet. The general is severely anemic. To have gotten to this point, we think he must have been eating them regularly for some time.”

  I thought back on what little I knew about anemia. “Then he’ll be okay as soon as he gets a blood transfusion?”

  “Not quite. That has already helped, but there are additional complications, especially at his age.”

  “Joy’s condition isn’t related then? She doesn’t suffer from favism?”

  “No. The doctors think she’ll be fine, but something entirely different was going on with her.” He inhaled deeply. “She was suffering from hallucinations. I don’t know what caused that, but it wasn’t favism. It was just serendipitous that they sat at the same table.” He paused and gazed around before leaning toward me, and whispering, “They seemed to think she might be in the habit of taking recreational drugs and that she had a bad reaction to something she took.”

  The waiter arrived with our orders. I cut into an egg, piercing the yolk, and ate a bite coated with creamy, rich hollandaise sauce.

  I examined Alex’s plate very carefully, even though we’d ordered the same thing. Chili, stews, tacos, salads—there were plenty of dishes he needed to be careful about. On the other hand, he was right about fava beans. I didn’t often see them on a menu.

  Alex politely asked me about my life and managed to convince me that he was interested. It was fun brunching with someone new, who hadn’t heard all my stories before.

  When the dessert cart came around, we both went for the fruit tart—photo perfect rings of blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries in a shining glaze. A sweet custard underneath was the perfect complement to the berries. We took our coffee the same way, too, which meant nothing, yet made me wonder if we shared other tastes.

  Eventually the topic of conversation returned to the general, since Alex planned to visit him in the hospital after we ate.

  “Surely the general was aware that he had this condition. After all, you know that you have it.”

  Alex nodded. “Everyone in our family is aware of it. My sister passed it on to her sons.”

  “Then why would the general eat fava beans? Making a mistake once is understandable, but every day? It’s like he wanted to be sick.”

  “That’s something I’ve been thinking about since the diagnosis. He’s a very intelligent man, a graduate of West Point, and a brilliant businessman. He would never intentionally eat fava beans day after day. Never.”

  Alex looked directly into my eyes. “It could only happen if someone intentionally fed him fava beans every day—without his knowledge.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dear Sophie,

  How do I make a filled cupcake? I love that extra surprise when I bite into one.

  —Cupcake Mom in Lemontree, Arizona

  Dear Cupcake Mom,

  After the cupcakes have been baked, cut a small cone out of the middle. I use a paring knife, but an apple corer also works. Don’t worry about it being perfect, because the frosting will cover it. Fill the spot with jam, whipped cream, lemon curd, chocolate, Nutella, Marshmallow Fluff—the options are endless. You can eat the little cone as a snack, or stick it back on top of the filling. It’s up to you.

  —Sophie

  I could barely tear my eyes away from Alex’s. But when he reached across the table and took my hand, my gaze moved down in amazement.

  “Aside fr
om wanting to see you again, I didn’t cancel today’s brunch because I’m told you’re pretty good at solving crimes.”

  I snatched my hand out from under his and leaned back in my chair. Aha. Well, it wasn’t like I didn’t know from the very beginning that guys as handsome as Alex didn’t go for women like me. I should have realized that as soon as I saw his BMW. He was used to sleek sports cars, and I was a VW Beetle.

  Alex cocked his head. “Have I offended you?”

  “No.” He’d disappointed me a little, but I’d sort of expected as much. “I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard, but I’m not a private investigator. I just got lucky a few times. You’re an attorney—I’m sure you can figure out what’s going on. Considering how you phrased that, I’m guessing you think someone is trying to kill the general?”

  He appeared to hold his breath for a moment. “I don’t want to think that. But since the general wouldn’t have eaten fava beans, I have to think they were disguised in some way. There is the possibility that someone has unknowingly continued to offer him a dish containing fava beans, but—” he paused and slowly shook his head “—it seems like an awfully big coincidence that fava beans would happen to be in the dish. When’s the last time you cooked fava beans?”

  “Never.”

  “Precisely. There are a few sweet widows who bring the general homemade goodies. They’re adorable. He’s still popular with ladies. I can’t say that one of them doesn’t innocently make a dish with fava beans in it, but it just seems so unlikely. I’m planning to track them down this afternoon to find out. Three of them called early this morning as soon as they heard he was in the hospital. None of those have ever cooked fava beans. Most of them know he has a thing for sweets. They bring him brownies and cobblers, the kinds of dishes that wouldn’t contain legumes.”

  “Maybe one of them is a health food type who makes him salads or casseroles?”

  “Could be. I’m definitely going to find out.” Alex rubbed his chin and looked away. “The alternative is something I’d rather not contemplate, but I think I have to.”

  “Is there anyone who has it in for the general?”

  Alex leaned back in his chair. “I’m at a loss. I don’t live here, so I’m not familiar with his life and the people he knows.”

  “Any family other than Nick?”

  Alex froze. He stared at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. Had I said something disturbing?

  “No. Just Nick. How did you know? He has a different last name, because his mother is the general’s sister.”

  “You’re his brother’s son, then?”

  He nodded.

  “Wasn’t hard to guess. Nick was seated at the general’s table last night. There’s a strong family resemblance among the three of you. Was it supposed to be a secret?”

  Alex placed his elbows on the table. “Not really. Nick likes to keep it quiet, since he works for the general. He’s sensitive about people knowing he’s related to the boss. You know, nepotism in the workplace.”

  I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid Nick had slowly been killing the general. “Do you know who will inherit the general’s estate?”

  “No, I don’t. It’s a pretty lousy time to ask him, don’t you think?”

  The waitress came around one more time to see if we needed anything else. I checked the time. “I need to pick up a ballot box, and I guess you’d better check on the general.”

  We walked back through the booths on Market Square. They were still doing big business, with throngs of people browsing and buying. We stopped by the adoption booth so I could pick up the ballot box.

  Nina could barely contain herself. She raised her eyebrows at me and whispered, “I want full blow-by-blow details later.”

  I glanced over at Renee’s Sugar Baby booth, but no one was there. “Did Renee shut down?”

  Nina cringed. “There was a major problem with her cupcakes. I tasted one, and they were weird. Now isn’t that odd after the catastrophe last night with her frosting?”

  “Humphrey told me that Renee made the horrible Salted Caramel Cupcakes.”

  “And now there’s something wrong with all her cupcakes.” Her face pulled into an unpleasant distortion. “They taste like a really bad recipe—like I baked them! I was all for her shutting down. Wong took a few of the cupcakes for the police lab, just in case anyone turns up sick.”

  “Do you feel sick?”

  “No, and neither does anyone else. In spite of the problems last night, I’ve heard nothing but raves from the people who attended. Some are hoping we’ll make this an annual event.”

  Alex carried the box for me on the way back to my place. It wasn’t heavy, but it was a nice gesture. We left Market Square, heading for my house, and he asked about the flyers regarding Buddy that were hanging everywhere.

  I explained what had happened. He paused, lifted my chin a tad with gentle fingers, and studied my eye. “You sure you don’t want to bring charges?”

  “I set Maurice up. He never should have kicked a dog, of course, but I was trying to get him to say something horrible and, well, I really don’t think he meant to kick me.”

  “What a worm. Why does that name sound so familiar to me?”

  “He’s the one who made a fuss about feeling ill after the ambulance came for the general last night. Oh! But you were gone by then.”

  He stopped walking for a moment. “Maurice . . . any chance that he could be Nick’s landlord?”

  “Yes, I believe he is.”

  Alex resumed a comfortable pace. “That figures. He wants to throw Nick out. Apparently Maurice went to the general for Nick’s rent, which provoked some fireworks. All three of them were furious.” He shot me a knowing look. “One doesn’t ever ask the general for money. He has plenty, but he likes to remind people that he is not ‘The Bank of General German.’”

  I wanted to ask if the general had paid Nick’s rent, but decided that was just plain too nosy.

  Alex peppered me with questions about life in Old Town.

  “You’re serious about moving here?” I asked.

  “I’ve almost decided to make the move. I’ve extended my trip a few days because of the general’s illness. Tomorrow I hope to check out some properties. Wouldn’t it be great to set up a law practice in one of these historic town houses?”

  What with all the news about favism in his family, I hadn’t asked him about his work. “What kind of law do you practice?”

  That enticing grin appeared. “Your favorite—criminal law.”

  We were laughing when we passed Bernie’s new house. Alex walked me to my front door and reached for my hand. For an awkward moment, I thought he might kiss it. But he leaned toward me for a kiss—

  “There you are!” Natasha had changed into a stunning blue and beige dress that showed off her figure. I didn’t know how she managed to walk on those five-inch heels. “I just missed you before. Alex, you simply must come over for a tour of my house.”

  He still held my hand, and although his face revealed no distress, his hand clenched mine tighter. “I’m afraid I have to get to the general, Natasha. He’s still in the hospital. You understand. Another time, perhaps?”

  She actually had the nerve, the chutzpah, the brazenness to lean toward him for a kiss.

  He obliged her with a perfunctory peck on the cheek—while still grasping my hand!

  Natasha walked him to his snazzy car. I could hear her exclaiming about it nonstop.

  As he climbed in, I realized that Bernie and Mars had witnessed the whole thing from Bernie’s front porch. Maybe having him so close by wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  I unlocked the house, left the ballot box on the console in the foyer, and crossed the street to Bernie’s. The front door stood open. I rapped on it and walked inside. Someone had kept the house clean, but it was so empty that Bernie’s and Mars’s voices sounded like they were in a cavern. I found them in the family room I had once decorated for a show house. Fra
ncie rested on a sofa, holding Daisy’s and Duke’s leashes. The dogs strained toward me. Bernie was exclaiming over the carved wall-to-wall bookcase. They had already hung the TV in a niche.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t tear this out,” said Bernie. “You just don’t see this kind of hand-carved work much anymore.”

  “Have a nice brunch?” asked Mars in a vexed tone.

  “It was lovely, thank you very much.”

  “I see you’re dating married men again.”

  The nerve of him! “I am not. In the first place, he happens to be separated from his wife, and in the second place, it was just brunch, not a date.”

  “I dated him last night,” said Francie. “Whoo, is he adorable!” She winked at me. “But I only got a kiss on my wrinkled old cheek.”

  Bernie and Mars stared at me, their arms crossed over their chests.

  “I have a completely clear conscience. No one calls it a date when I have lunch with one of you.”

  “You boys get over yourselves,” said Francie. “Mars, I’m not one of Natasha’s fans, but it’s time for you to tie the knot. Quit making cow eyes at Sophie. You already made your bed.”

  I held my breath. I was so sure no one had known anything about the spark left between us.

  Bernie laughed at Mars.

  “Not so fast, Bernie,” she added. “Dana is a perfectly darling girl. I can’t imagine why you broke things off with her. You and Mars need to quit giving Sophie a hard time. Besides, Alex’s wife is the one who caused the marriage to fail. She’s the one who started sneaking around to see someone else. Poor Alex.”

  “How did you find that out?” I asked.

  “You young people are too hung up on niceties. If you’d tell each other what you think and come out and ask questions, you wouldn’t have to pussyfoot around so much. I asked Alex why he was getting a divorce. Sometimes, if you just ask, it’s pretty amazing what people will tell you.”

  I hurried to change the subject before Mars could start in on me again. “I came over to see if you’d like to help count ballots with Francie and me. Humphrey had to bow out. Neither of you has a dog in the race. How about it?”