The Diva Takes the Cake

by Davis, Krista

  “You know it’s too late to change the color scheme, Natasha. And I thought we agreed the party would be at my house.”

  “But I didn’t have a pergola then. It’s perfect for a garden party.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “The invitations state my address.” Fortunately, Daisy tugged me to the door. They say an owner’s emotions run down the leash, and I wondered if she’d picked up on my impatience with Natasha.

  “Oh, all right. She’s shedding. Wait outside on the stoop, please.”

  We stepped out like we were unworthy.

  Natasha reappeared with a heart-shaped topiary in a black pot. Two feet tall and nearly as wide, ivy wound upward to form a heart, and Natasha had tucked in yellowish orchids with burnt-orange markings. A sheer chocolate-colored ribbon with wired gold edges coiled delicately around the heart shape. She must have started the topiary months ago. It didn’t suit Hannah’s colors, but it touched me that Natasha had bothered to do anything so extravagant and I told her so.

  She beamed. “I’ll be along shortly to arrange the tablescape.”

  I thanked her again and walked carefully down the stairs. Her gorgeous topiary weighed a ton, and I wished I could hang on to the railing so I wouldn’t fall if Daisy pulled at her leash. She seemed to sense that she ought to be on her best behavior until we reached the bottom. But when I hit the last step, Daisy propelled me to the gate on the south side of Natasha’s house.

  “C’mon, Daisy.” I pulled at the leash, but she maintained her ground and scratched at the gate.

  Afraid she would mar the white paint and wondering what she wanted, I set the topiary down, opened the gate, and peered into the shady passage that led to the backyard.

  Nothing seemed amiss. Daisy had probably seen a squirrel through the window and expected it to be there waiting for her to chase it.

  I grabbed her collar to turn her around, but she lunged, breaking my grip, and raced to the backyard. Natasha would have a fit if she saw her. Daisy wasn’t permitted in Natasha’s fancy garden. I closed the gate and jogged after her, calling, “Daisy!” in a loud whisper. But when I rounded the corner of the house I stopped short.

  Daisy whined and nuzzled the feet of the woman who had been looking for Craig. Her limp body hung from Natasha’s brand-new pergola.

  FOUR

  From “Ask Natasha” :

  Dear Natasha,

  My cousin’s fiancé showed up at their wedding in white patent leather shoes and a powder blue tuxedo. I’d like to think that my darling has better taste, but just to be sure, how can I approach this subject without offending him?

  —Disco Is Dead in Denton

  Dear Disco,

  Go with your sweetheart and his groomsmen to select what they will wear. Never leave the groomsmen’s attire up to them. They must try on their tuxedos and they must show them to you. You don’t want to learn on the morning of the wedding that someone’s trousers don’t fit.

  And don’t overlook their feet. Men won’t think twice about wearing filthy, frayed running shoes, but you will remember every time you look at your wedding photos.

  —Natasha

  Was she alive? I raced to the pergola and grabbed the woman’s legs. They buckled at the knees when I tried to lift her to release tension.

  “Natasha!” I screamed. “Call 911!”

  Did she hear me? I needed help. I was way too short to do anything useful for the woman.

  Mars’s old pal Bernie lived in the apartment over the garage in back near the alley. I glanced in that direction but suspected I would have better luck on the street. I ran back through the narrow passage and out to the road in the hope that someone tall would be around.

  The only person I saw was Craig. At least he was tall.

  “Craig! Help! Come quickly.”

  He frowned at me but must have heard the panic in my voice, because he didn’t hesitate to run along the street toward me.

  In the meantime, I hurried up the stairs to Natasha’s front door again, rang the doorbell, and stumbled my way back down.

  Craig reached me at the same time Natasha answered the door.

  I shouted up to her, “Call 911.”

  “Sophie! Don’t leave my centerpiece on the ground. Honestly.”

  “Just call 911.”

  Craig dutifully followed me to the pergola, where Daisy was still sniffing the woman’s feet. Craig’s eyes opened wide, but he didn’t stop, not for a second.

  But even he wasn’t tall enough. A small table lay on its side a few feet from her legs. I righted it and carried it over to him. He stepped up on it and tried to loosen the noose, but I feared it was too late. He whipped a folding hunting knife out of his pocket and began the laborious task of sawing into the rope.

  As I watched helplessly, it dawned on me that she might have stood on the table and kicked it away, and now I’d disturbed the evidence.

  “Is she . . . dead?” I asked, my voice shaking. I reached up to hold her hand. It didn’t feel cold.

  Fortunately, Old Town wasn’t big and I could already hear the sirens of emergency vehicles on the way.

  Craig didn’t stop hacking at the rope. “I can’t just leave her like this.”

  Natasha emerged from the back side of her house onto a deck, her hands pressed against her cheeks in horror.

  The sirens, now excruciatingly loud, came to a halt. I jogged out to the street to show them where to go. Neighbors appeared on their front lawns, among them Hannah and Nina, who saw me and sprinted my way.

  I led the rescue squad and a young cop to the pergola. Just as we rounded the corner, the woman’s body dropped to the brick patio with a thud.

  Daisy moved in to inspect her face, and Craig jumped off the table. I weaved through the rescue people, grabbed Daisy’s leash, and pulled her away. Nina and Hannah crept up and peered over the shoulders of the emergency medical technicians.

  Natasha joined us and asked, “Who is she?”

  Nina’s eyes met mine. She gestured toward Craig, who had collapsed into a garden chair, and said, “His ex-wife.”

  Hannah shrieked. But even her shrill scream didn’t appear to impact Craig. He slumped in the chair, his eyes glazed and fixed on one spot.

  Hannah rushed to his side and threw her arms around his shoulders. I guessed all was forgiven.

  The cop pulled a pad from his pocket and asked, “What’s her name?”

  Hannah stroked Craig’s arm and repeated the question.

  He raised his head. His blank eyes strayed like he couldn’t quite grasp it all. Finally, he muttered, “Emily.”

  “Emily Beacham,” said Hannah.

  Craig blinked hard and turned his head slowly to look at Hannah, as though he’d just realized she was there.

  “I’m so sorry.” Tears brimmed in Hannah’s eyes. “This is all my fault.”

  The young cop swiveled toward her, holding his pen midair. His incredulous expression changed to one of hunger, like a hunter who had spotted elusive prey.

  Good heavens, the kid thought Hannah was confessing. I leaped toward her, shouting, “No!”

  The young cop’s brow furrowed. “Who are you?”

  A deep, masculine voice answered. “Sophie Winston.” Detective Wolf Fleishman’s generous lips pulled tight. Sun glinted off the silvery hair on his temples as he strode toward the pergola with the confidence of a homicide detective who’d been around long enough to know his stuff.

  The mere sight of him brought on conflicting reactions within me. Mostly I felt relief that he was here to take over, but that relief must have diminished the adrenaline flow because my knees buckled as shock set in. I tugged Daisy over to a chair and sank into it. The shaking in my hands jiggled her leash.

  The young cop straightened up and tucked his shirt into his uniform trousers, even though it wasn’t necessary. The hand holding a pen came to rest on the gun in his holster.

  Hannah choked out, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hush!” Didn’t sh
e realize that her words would be misinterpreted? The woman had quite possibly killed herself, but now that I had moved the table, that wouldn’t be immediately obvious. Hannah whimpered and wrapped her arms around Craig’s neck.

  Wolf exchanged a few quiet words with the young cop and an emergency technician before turning to us. His expression grim, he asked Craig, “Am I correct in understanding that the deceased is your ex-wife?”

  Craig didn’t lift his eyes to Wolf, but he bobbed his head in assent as though he’d been drained of energy.

  “Who found the body?” asked Wolf.

  “That would be me.” I raised my hand a bit and wiggled my fingers at him.

  “Naturally. You,” Wolf pointed at Craig, “and Sophie stay here. Everyone else go home.”

  No one moved.

  “Now!” he growled.

  The crowd filtered out through the small passage to the street. Nina didn’t leave. She narrowed her eyes to mere slits as she observed Wolf and Craig.

  “Hannah,” I hissed, “go with Nina.”

  Hannah’s face worked into a determined expression that meant she’d made up her mind and wouldn’t listen. She shook her head.

  Wolf motioned to me. Holding Daisy’s leash, I walked beside him deeper into Natasha’s walled garden. Roses, yellow lilies, and bold purple Dutch irises bloomed in beds along the fence. He slung his arm around my shoulders and if there hadn’t been a dead woman nearby, it might have been romantic.

  I hadn’t seen much of Wolf lately. We’d both been busy, and though we kept trying to set up dates, it simply hadn’t happened. It didn’t help matters that my job kept me busy at night and on weekends. But Wolf planned to attend the dessert party at my place tonight and had promised to be my date for the wedding. For once I wouldn’t be seated next to my ex-husband, and I wouldn’t hear my parents’ friends whispering about my unmarried state.

  Wishing we could have met under different circumstances, I stood in front of him, taking in his broad shoulders and strong jawline. Wolf carried a few extra pounds, but they looked good on him. He puffed out a deep breath and stared at me like he couldn’t believe I found the body.

  I explained what happened. “I moved the table. I’m sorry. She must have stood on it and kicked it over because it was on its side and then we were so desperate to get her down that I gave it to Craig to stand on before I realized that it was important.”

  “What do you know about this woman?”

  “Nothing. She walked up this way earlier today, looking for Craig. I didn’t even know she existed until this morning. Apparently Craig thought she had some emotional issues and was afraid she would make a scene at the wedding.”

  Natasha screamed, and for a second I thought maybe Emily had been revived. But she pointed at Wolf and me, her face screwed into anger.

  Wolf bit back a smile. “I think she’s upset with Daisy.”

  I looked down to see Daisy squatting among Natasha’s gorgeous blooms. I shrugged at Natasha. I couldn’t stop Daisy now.

  “What about Hannah?” he asked. “Had she met Emily before?”

  “She didn’t even know Craig had been married before.”

  “His family in town yet?”

  “They’re not coming. It’s kind of sad,” I said, “they’ve been estranged for a long time.”

  “Wolf!” An officer called him back to the body.

  He rested a hand on my arm. “You okay?”

  I still trembled, but I nodded anyway.

  “I’ll see you tonight then, if the party’s still on.”

  I returned to Hannah and Craig, who hadn’t moved.

  “Hannah,” I said gently, “I think you should come with me.” I wasn’t leaving my little sister behind to get herself into trouble.

  I wished I hadn’t been stupid enough to move the table. The cops might not find suicide as obvious as I did. They would look to Craig first as a potential murderer, but as his fiancée, Hannah would be a close second. My sister might be a computer wiz, but sometimes she didn’t have much common sense. She would defend Craig, not considering the peril her words might create for herself.

  I grabbed her arm. “Come on. You know Wolf doesn’t bite. Craig will be fine. I’m sure he’ll come over shortly.”

  Hannah shook me off. “No, I’m not leaving my husband when he needs me.”

  Her husband? They weren’t even married yet. The tragedy of a stranger’s death had wiped out her doubts and anger about Craig. Amazing.

  “Go on, Sophie.” Natasha waved at me to leave. “Hannah and Craig can come up to the kitchen with me and wait for Wolf.”

  Backing away, I said, “Hannah, don’t say a word. Not one word.”

  Daisy and I hurried through the service alley and burst through the gate, alarming a cluster of cops who were encouraging gawkers to move on. Yellow police tape already circled Natasha’s property, and Nina waited for me on the other side.

  “Hannah won’t come.”

  “Don’t worry, she’s a sharp cookie.”

  “Not when it comes to love.” Hannah had already married two losers, and, in my opinion, Craig would be number three.

  A woman in the crowd tangled with a policeman, arguing incoherently, her arms waving as she tried to pass him. Salt-and-pepper hair escaped an untidy ponytail and gray wisps frizzled around her face. Her multiple bracelets jangled, adding to the confusion, and her low-slung jeans would have been better suited to a teenager and needed to be two sizes larger.

  But something about the blue eye shadow and neon orange lipstick struck a chord with me.

  FIVE

  From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

  Dear Sophie,

  My Nana makes the most delicious cake in the world and has offered to bake my wedding cake as a gift. I don’t want to sound like a spoiled child, but while her cakes taste wonderful, they don’t look as professional as I’d like. Okay, they’re downright homely. Finances are tight for her, so she thinks a cake will be less expensive but much appreciated as a gift. I don’t want to hurt Nana’s feelings. Any suggestions?

  —Wedding Cake Blues in Bloxom

  Dear Wedding Cake,

  Tell Nana you’d rather have her attend as an honored guest. Look for a bakery willing to make custom cakes based on family recipes, and ask Nana to compile her favorite recipes as a gift so you can carry on cherished family traditions. In fifteen years, when you prepare a holiday meal, you won’t remember who gave you place settings of silver or china, but you’ll always think of Nana when you reach for her recipes.

  —Sophie

  “Mrs. Smith?” I said.

  “Sophie,” she begged, “tell them who I am.”

  Nina and I made our way to her. I grasped Wanda Smith’s hand gently. “Natasha is fine. Relax, she’s okay.”

  Nina turned to me, her face incredulous.

  I couldn’t help grinning. Few mothers and daughters differed as much as Wanda Smith and Natasha. Wanda had scrabbled to provide for her daughter after Natasha’s father walked out on them. She’d waitressed at The Dixie Diner, the local watering hole in our hometown, for as long as I could remember. I gave Wanda a lot of credit for managing on her own. Natasha’s participation in beauty pageants must have cost a small fortune.

  Nina held out her hand. “Mrs. Smith, I’m Nina Reid Norwood, your daughter’s neighbor a few houses down.”

  Although she appeared distracted and bewildered, Wanda shook Nina’s hand.

  “Come with us. Everything will be all right,” I assured her. “You can call Natasha from my house.”

  Wanda followed us across the street, where my parents and niece were stepping out of a Buick.

  Frowning, Dad demanded, “What’s going on?”

  My ten-year-old niece, Jen, launched herself at me for a hug. “Can I pleeeese stay with you after the wedding?” She looked up at me with innocent blue eyes, her silky auburn hair gleaming as only a child’s can. Whispering, she pleaded, “They’re driving me nuts!”

  My
brother and his wife had left the week before on a sabbatical in the Sahara. Hannah had made a fuss about them missing the wedding, but our brother pointed out that he’d done the wedding thing for her twice already and neither of those marriages took.