—Natasha
“Oh no, you don’t.” Phoebe shook a finger at Hannah. “We went through the same thing when Junior Wiggins wanted you back our senior year. How is it that you always forget the misery they put you through?”
Ordinarily I’d have agreed with Phoebe, but she was messing with my plan to drive a wedge between Hannah and Craig. “I’d forgotten how good-looking Tucker is,” I said innocently.
“Seeing him brings back so many memories.” Hannah pouted and nibbled at a fingernail.
“Let’s look at this rationally,” said Phoebe, lifting her palms as though weighing her thoughts. “On the one hand, we have a doctor—loyal, considerate, and doting. On the other hand, we have a cheating, lying, unreliable, gambling scoundrel.”
This wasn’t working out at all. “But the doctor may have killed his first wife,” I pointed out.
“Knock it off, Sophie,” Hannah moaned. “We’ve been through all that. I feel horrible about what happened, but Natasha says I didn’t ask for Emily to come here, and it’s not my fault that someone killed her. Too many people have paid for hotels and travel and put off other things to come to the wedding. It’s just . . . I didn’t expect such a strong current of emotion on seeing Tucker again.” Hannah scooped her hair up with one hand and held it off her neck. “I’m okay now. Everything is clear. Tucker just surprised me and threw me off.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what was clear, but Jen found us and handed Hannah the dress bag she’d left in the kitchen.
“A going-away dress?” I asked.
Copping an attitude, Hannah said, “If you must know, it’s another wedding dress. You could have told me everyone is wearing two dresses these days, sometimes three.”
“Hannah, you’re not having a four day Hindu wedding.”
“You’re so behind the times. Everyone is doing this.”
Hannah made a decent living as a computer systems analyst, but she and Craig meant to buy a house and had set a precise budget for their wedding. She had already lost the entire deposit at Carlyle House. A second dress? The bag bulged. Were there two more dresses in there?
She smiled and said cheerfully, “Have you forgotten that I’m marrying a doctor? He’s more than happy to pay for extras.”
I threw my hands in the air. If I could nail him, she wouldn’t need one dress, much less three.
Hannah ran up the stairs with Phoebe, and I trudged up behind them to change clothes for dinner. After a quick shower, I stepped into a gauzy periwinkle and avocado skirt and matching sleeveless top. But when I looked for earrings, I found that one of the drawers in my nightstand hung open as though someone had been going through it. The contents, nothing exotic—lotion, a flashlight, books, and the remote for the TV—had been rooted through. I closed the drawer and put on festive dangling earrings, and, since I was finally going to see Wolf, I spent a few minutes applying eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, and spritzed exotic Opium on my neck. But all the while I wondered what someone needed from my drawer.
I returned to the kitchen, grabbed three cans of cheap beer from the fridge, and enlisted help in carrying everything out to the grill. Shortly thereafter, Craig joined us, a drink in his hand and jollier than I had ever seen him. Then the guests began to arrive, including washed-out Humphrey, who hovered near me as I manned the grill.
I dashed inside to mix more Wedded Blitz Martinis and was passing through the foyer when Mars, my ex-husband, barged through the front door without knocking. Ordinarily I’d have protested, but he appeared upset. He carried a box of desserts.
I took it from him. “Do these need to be refrigerated?”
He looked at the box as though he’d never seen it before and shrugged. “Who the heck is Kevin?”
“Kevin?” I’d expected Mars to be worried about the corpse in his backyard and wondered if the two things were connected. “You think this Kevin murdered Emily?”
His face went through a series of confused contortions. “Murder? I thought she killed herself.”
I brought him up to speed.
“Good golly, don’t tell Natasha. She’s a wreck over this. She already contacted somebody to tear down the pergola because it’s now tainted.”
Mom appeared from the kitchen and held out her arms. “Mars.” She cupped her hands around his face. “You’re as handsome as ever.”
Even if he was my ex, I had to admit Mars was attractive in a polished good-old-boy way. A political advisor, he had better TV appeal than some of his clients. And he could turn on the charm.
“Inga, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were Sophie’s sister.”
She actually giggled. Besides his looks, he could dish out baloney as well as any politician. He roughhoused with Daisy, and the two of them went off in search of Dad.
Mom sighed.
“Don’t start,” I said through clenched teeth.
She eyed me oh-so-innocently. Our mothers couldn’t imagine a world in which Mars and I weren’t together. “Thank you for wearing makeup. Though you could have worn something that shows a little cleavage. Honestly, Sophie, it wouldn’t hurt you to wear something sexy. No wonder Natasha managed to steal Mars.”
Ignoring her, I stashed Natasha’s box of desserts in the kitchen.
The knocker on the door sounded, and Mom opened it.
When I peered into the foyer, Natasha stood possessively close to a man whose muscles bulged so dramatically they looked on the verge of exploding.
Natasha introduced the muscular man as Kevin Pointer. It took me a moment to realize where I’d heard his name. “You’re the best man.” I felt guilty for thinking it, but my mind went straight to how helpful he might have been to the killer. With those arms, carrying the body would have been a snap.
Like Mars, he leaned toward preppy attire, but the sleeves on his lemon yellow polo shirt could barely contain his biceps. He wore light khakis and when he shook my mother’s hand, it was hard not to miss the tight, round bottom and slender waist.
I’d expected Kevin to show up, though not with Natasha, but I hadn’t expected Professor Mordecai Artemus at all. One of the most elusive characters in the neighborhood, he was known to be a recluse. I’d seen him peering from the front windows of his home but had never encountered him outside. He lived across the street in the enormous corner house on the next block. If I strained forward a little, I could see his place from my kitchen window. I’d always admired the long ecru home with a front porch of pillars that rose to create arches. Whimsical dormer windows and intricate ironwork decorated the mansard roof.
Mordecai wasn’t on the guest list, but that was now Natasha’s problem, I thought with wicked relief. I greeted him politely but received nothing more than a head bob in acknowledgment. Unruly hair fluffed around the base of his head, but the top was completely bald. His shirt, a faded jumble of blocks that probably hadn’t been attractive when new a few decades ago, clung to his chunky physique. And then something squirmed on his shirt.
I drew back before I realized that he held a Pomeranian.
“Isn’t she adorable?” Natasha squealed.
She was. Right down to her gold-painted claws.
“I never go anywhere without my Emmaline.” Mordecai made a kissing noise at the dog’s head, and Natasha led him to the sunroom.
Mom seized me to rave over Wanda, who had clearly been the recipient of a Natasha makeover. The gray had vanished from Wanda’s tresses, leaving her with ebony hair pinned up in a French twist. Makeup softened the edges of her weary face, and she wore slender eggplant trousers with a matching top that my mother would have approved as man-catching clothing. Bold silver earrings gleamed against her skin.
I was closing the door when I realized that Wolf paced the sidewalk in front of my house. I motioned for him to come in but he didn’t seem to notice, so I dashed outside. “What are you doing out here?”
He tugged at his collar. “I’ve been uninvited. Natasha has informed me that my presence would disturb t
he guests of honor.”
I was stunned. “It’s my house and my party and you’re my date. Forget about Natasha.”
He looked doubtful. “Maybe it’s better this way, given the circumstances.”
I could feel my ears heating up. How dare Natasha un-invite my date? “Please come in. I’ll protect you.”
He glanced toward the house, and I followed his line of sight. Natasha loomed in my doorway like a vulture.
“Thanks, Soph, but I’d rather avoid a scene. Besides, there’s been a development . . .”
“I know Emily was murdered. I heard about the marks on her neck.” I made upward motions with my fingers.
“Where’d you hear that?”
I wasn’t about to betray Humphrey. “Word gets around,” I said lightly. “Hey, was Emily wearing a diamond necklace?”
His right eyebrow rose. “I don’t think so.”
I could hardly contain my excitement. “Craig must have ripped it off her neck when he killed her. He has it in his pocket upstairs. Is that enough evidence to arrest him?”
“You’re certain it’s the same necklace?”
Darned cop. “No. I only saw her for a few minutes. But I bet it’s hers. Rats. Is there anything I can do?”
Wolf appraised me. “I can’t talk about the case. But if Hannah were my sister, I’d do my best to postpone the wedding. And I believe I’d ask around to find out where the victim stayed last night.”
“At that B&B with the fancy gate.”
Wolf tried to hide his amusement. “You always amaze me. Follow that lead.” He looked into my eyes in a way that made my pulse quicken before he walked away in the direction of Mars’s house.
He’d thrown me a bone, but I couldn’t abandon everyone and run to the B&B. I’d have to go first thing in the morning. Boiling mad at Natasha, I barreled through the gate to the garden, ready to have it out with her. But no sooner had I spotted her than I heard a crackling voice utter, “Well, well, if it isn’t the groom.”
TWELVE
From “THE GOOD LIFE”:
Dear Sophie,
I’m having an open bar at my reception, wines specially chosen for each course at dinner, and champagne with dessert. My uncle can’t drink alcohol, and my mother thinks we should offer punch. I think that’s too childish and old-fashioned. I’d rather he drink a soda from the bar.
—Enough Beverages in Belvidere
Dear Enough,
Your uncle won’t be the only guest avoiding alcohol. Some guests won’t want to drink because they’re driving, some for religious reasons, and don’t forget that a few of your friends might be pregnant. Offer a special alternative, like half lemonade, half iced tea, or a refreshing fruit spritzer. Serve in wineglasses and they’ll be very elegant.
—Sophie
I swiveled around to watch Craig.
He blanched. I’d have said his face froze but he never showed emotion, so it wasn’t really any different.
The wiry man with a long face and a bad toupee addressed him in a slow, gravelly voice. “Where is my new daughter-in-law?”
Craig’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is Hannah.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him.
Hannah smiled at the little man in genuine pleasure. “You’re Craig’s father? What a wonderful surprise!” She promptly hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come for the wedding.”
“Ye-e-es.” He pulled the word out but didn’t have any hint of a southern accent. “And look who else came, Craig. Your Uncle Stan.”
It didn’t escape me that father and son didn’t hug or shake hands. Had he been brought up that way, or was it a remnant of hostility based on whatever drove them apart? At the mention of Uncle Stan’s name, I thought I detected an almost imperceptible change in Craig.
Uncle Stan towered over Craig’s father. His wavy black hair fell into a precision cut, highlighting aristocratic features. If they were brothers, the only resemblance I could see was the long face. Stan’s dark eyes hinted at Italian ancestry.
But Stan didn’t hesitate to slap Craig on the back and embrace him. I couldn’t tell if Craig was glad to see them or not.
Craig’s father laughed unpleasantly, sort of a “heh, heh” donkey bray. “And best of all, look who else came—your cousin Darby.”
Craig turned quickly and Darby pointed at him. “You didn’t expect to see me, didja?” Punching him in a playful way, she said, “Hello, cuz.”
Hannah took over, a good thing since Craig seemed to be at a loss. She called Mom and Dad, and I focused on the food.
The chicken would be ready shortly, as would the ribs. I returned to the kitchen for the potatoes I had put in the oven and platters on which to serve the meats, and found Natasha talking with Mordecai and Wanda in my kitchen.
“Faye would have liked what you’ve done with your kitchen, Natasha,” said Mordecai.
Her kitchen? What had Natasha told him? She’d never said one nice word about my kitchen.
Natasha laid a hand on Mordecai’s arm, which still held little Emmaline. “I’m afraid you’re confused. This isn’t my house. Goodness, no. My kitchen is tastefully refined.”
Wanda edged toward Mordecai. “You knew Faye? Do you feel it? The spirit in the kitchen?”
Mordecai leaned away from her. “I am a professor, highly educated and well traveled. I can assure you, madam, that there is no such thing as a spirit.”
“Mother doesn’t believe in them either, do you, Mother? She likes to joke about them, though.”
Mordecai snorted. “Such nonsense. Faye held séances, but I refused to take part in that claptrap. I don’t associate with people who believe such ludicrous things.”
A witchy expression developed on Wanda’s face, and Natasha abruptly changed the subject. “What’s for dinner, Sophie? Can I do anything to help?”
I pulled a pan of steaming garlic and thyme roasted potatoes from the oven. “That’s the wonderful thing about barbecue, it almost takes care of itself.”
Natasha sniffed the air. “Are you grilling salmon on a cedar plank? That’s one of my favorites.”
“Pulled pork, chicken, and ribs.”
“Oh, that kind of barbecue. I don’t eat that kind of food.”
I brushed off her snooty attitude. “Would you hand me the bowl in the cabinet above the pantry?” If she was going to insult my kitchen and my barbecue, the least she could do was hand me a bowl that I was too short to reach.
Natasha swung the cabinet door open, and a paper fluttered to Mordecai’s feet. Wanda picked it up while Natasha handed me the large bowl.
“Wouldja look at this,” Wanda said smugly.
Mordecai’s face flushed paprika red. “You set me up.”
I leaned over to see what had upset him. Wanda held a photograph of Faye and a much younger Mordecai seated at Faye’s dining room table with a woman in flowing robes. All of them held hands.
“Sophie couldn’t have known we would talk about this.” Wanda flapped the photograph under Mordecai’s nose. “This is a message from Faye!”
“Mother! Don’t be silly.” Natasha rushed them out the door.
After a flurry of trips inside, the buffet was ready and my hungry relatives led the way, helping themselves. In the Bauer family, no one ever had to be coaxed to take a plate and eat.
I relaxed with a martini while a parade of guests loaded plates and sat down to dinner.
Craig’s father, Robert, and his Uncle Stan zeroed in on Wanda like bees on honey. Wanda enjoyed the attention, flirting like a young girl. Hannah gabbed with Phoebe and another of her bridesmaids while Craig watched his father, showing as much enthusiasm as a Civil War statue. I didn’t know much about his family and wondered whether he was in shock, upset, or just being his usual poker-faced self.
Nina showed up with the dachshund Hermione, who lifted her long nose and sniffed the air, no doubt glad she’d come to the barbecue in spite of all the people to fear. Daisy t
rotted over and after the requisite snuffling one another in greeting, they raced off toward the back of the walled garden. Poor Emmaline wasn’t permitted to play with the other dogs. She squirmed on Professor Mordecai’s lap, but he clearly didn’t want to let her go.
“Which one is Craig’s father?” asked Nina.
“The short one.”
The Diva Takes the Cake Page 7