The Diva Takes the Cake

by Davis, Krista

“They don’t look a thing alike. He still has a decent head of hair.” She squinted and lowered her voice. “Or is that a bad toupee?”

  “I’m afraid it might be the latter.”

  “Why is it,” she asked, “that men don’t understand bald is sexy? The uncle is rather elegant, though, don’t you think?”

  Nina wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Uncle Stan was attracting admiring glances from a number of women.

  I filled a plate and sat down where I could keep an eye on Craig. Mars slid into the chair next to me.

  I had no idea where Tucker had gone, but he timed his reappearance perfectly. He waltzed in and stopped abruptly. Throwing his hands out dramatically, he cried, “Greetings, all!”

  Hannah choked on iced tea, and I admit that I felt a twinge of guilt for bringing Tucker into her life again. He closed in on her right away. “My darling little wife . . .”

  For the first time ever, I saw emotion on Craig’s face. Clearly horrified, he bent his head toward Hannah, no doubt awaiting an explanation.

  Even more interesting than Hannah and Craig, though, was Uncle Stan, who watched Tucker like a hawk. Despite Hannah’s protests, Tucker found a chair and insisted on wedging it in next to her. Hannah wore a pained expression, but Tucker acted exactly as I’d hoped, familiarly taking her fork and sampling her dinner.

  At the next table over and directly in my line of sight, Natasha flirted shamelessly with Kevin. “What is it with that guy?” asked Mars. “He’s grotesquely muscular and a dreadful bore, yet Natasha and her mother act like they think their prince has come.” I should have hidden my amusement, but I had never seen Mars, Mr. Everybody Loves Me, jealous of another man. I checked out Kevin again. He certainly wasn’t my type.

  Humphrey, seated with my parents, was sneaking glances at me. I flushed, certain my mother had planted ideas in his head. Darn Natasha for ruining my date with Wolf.

  Thankfully, Robert pinged his fork against his glass. When he had our attention, he raised the glass and said, “To our children, may they live long and prosper. Bacio, bacio!”

  Craig leaned toward Hannah. “He wants us to kiss.”

  Maybe it was my imagination, but Craig seemed wary of his dad. I wished I knew more about what had driven them apart in the first place.

  Mars whispered, “Wasn’t that toast from Star Trek?”

  I elbowed him in the ribs as Craig and Hannah kissed to applause. Tucker even whistled. Not exactly the jealous suitor I had in mind.

  But the happy moment came to an abrupt halt when Stan asked, “Where is the ring? Why doesn’t she have a ring?”

  “It’s bad luck not to have an engagement ring. I brought you up better than that.” Robert cuffed Craig’s head.

  “She has one.” Craig lifted Hannah’s hand. “Where is it?”

  Hannah gulped. “I took it off earlier and with all that happened, I guess I just forgot to put it back on.” She smiled at Robert and Stan. “It’s the most beautiful ring. He surprised me with it—”

  “I bought it specially for Hannah,” interrupted Craig.

  Wanda set her glass on the table. “You have to find it. Losing your ring means you will lose your fiancé.”

  A hush fell over us.

  Darby piped up. “I’m sure she’ll find it. I know I can’t wait to see it.”

  I was relieved that Darby broke the silence. A slow chatter started again. “The toast you made, wasn’t that Italian?” I asked.

  “You have a good ear.” Robert dug into his potatoes.

  “Beacham sounds so English,” I mused aloud. I must have said something insulting because Craig’s entire family focused on me and not in a happy way.

  “It was Piccione in the old country, but at Ellis Island they had different ideas and made us Beachams.” Uncle Stan scowled as he explained. I gathered it was still a source of irritation for them and was sorry I’d mentioned it.

  On the whole, everyone except Craig appeared to be enjoying themselves. Craig seemed subdued, not unusual given what he’d been through and especially now that Wanda had predicted his demise. I suspected his relatives weren’t yet aware of Emily’s death but figured it wasn’t my place to tell them. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined the festive atmosphere, and I barely knew any of them anyway.

  Uncle Stan stood to refill his plate and squeezed Craig’s shoulder with affection. “In keeping with tradition, Robert and I will pick up the tab for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.”

  Craig protested, but Stan interrupted him. “It’s the least I can do for the nephew who followed in my footsteps.”

  Darby had lifted her drink to her mouth and froze as if waiting for something terrible to happen.

  Wanda gushed, “You’re a doctor?”

  Robert looked like he’d heard this one too many times.

  “Just like Craig,” said Stan. “I feel quite confident in saying that if it weren’t for me, Craig would not be a doctor today.”

  Wanda rose so abruptly that she nearly fell face-first onto the table. She braced herself, patted hair so thoroughly shellacked that a tornado wouldn’t have moved it, and took her plate to the buffet table.

  I almost laughed aloud at her hurry to meet Stan there.

  Everyone appeared to be getting along. As we expected, more friends of Hannah and Craig arrived as we ate. People milled around the table laden with food, some helping themselves to seconds, and that made the latecomers feel they’d arrived right on time. I hadn’t had a chance to eat much since that one little doughnut at breakfast, so I pigged out on the pork, so tender it was falling apart, and the juicy chicken, while surreptitiously watching Craig and his family.

  Stuffed, I excused myself to start coffee perking and put on tea. It wouldn’t be long before people drifted inside in search of dessert. For some reason, Natasha, Wanda, and Mordecai, who clutched his dog, were in my kitchen again. Natasha tried to steer Mordecai out in a big rush, but he said, “I’m glad you left the fireplace in the dining room. A lot of people close them up.”

  “Mordecai,” she said, gritting her teeth, “this isn’t my house.”

  “Didn’t Faye leave it to you?”

  “She left it to my . . . my . . .”

  Natasha wasn’t often at a loss for words. I bit my lip to hide a grin.

  Her mother jumped to her aid, though. “Faye left the house to Natasha’s fiancé, Mars.”

  Fiancé? That was news to me. My gaze darted to Natasha’s hand, but I didn’t see a ring. She nearly shoved poor Mordecai and his little dog out the door in her hurry to escape.

  Chuckling, I started the coffee in the quiet house and turned when I heard footsteps.

  Darby was tiptoeing up the stairs.

  THIRTEEN

  From “THE GOOD LIFE ONLINE”:

  No matter how large your wedding, you can personalize it and add charm by incorporating family heirlooms like your grandmother’s crystal vase or the cake platter used in your parents’ wedding. There’s no rule that everything has to match. Don’t be afraid to add your own personal touches.

  —Sophie Winston

  Maybe Darby didn’t know there was a half bath on the main floor? I intended to find out and did a little tiptoeing myself. But thanks to my ever-curious cat Mochie, who scampered up the stairs ahead of me, his little paws sounding as heavy as Daisy’s when they hit the wooden treads, I lost the element of surprise.

  At the top of the stairs, I stopped to listen. Where had Darby gone? Mochie knew and sprinted straight into the guest room where I’d inspected Craig’s suitcase. I heard snapping, and I swear I saw Darby stand the suitcase upright.

  When she saw me, she acted embarrassed and gestured toward the window that overlooked the backyard. “I hope you don’t mind. I started out looking for the ladies’ room, but this house is so interesting, I couldn’t help myself and I took a little tour. How old is it?”

  I didn’t believe her for a minute. “The original structure was built in 1825.”

 
; “What a cute cat,” she gushed. “He’s very inquisitive, isn’t he?”

  Pretending to be friendly, I ushered her downstairs. Why would she go through Craig’s suitcase? “How long has it been since you saw Craig?”

  “Five years, I’m sure. I notice the house doesn’t have a garage. Where do you park?”

  “On the street.”

  “That must be inconvenient.”

  “Sometimes it can be a little aggravating. Like when it’s raining and I have to lug groceries inside, but it’s one of the minor inconveniences we put up with to live in Old Town.”

  “You have the most adorable southern accents. I swear you, your sister, and Natasha sound just alike.”

  When we reached the kitchen, she didn’t hang around to chat and she didn’t ask about a ladies’ room, either. Instead of putting out desserts as I should have, I hurried into the sunroom that overlooked the backyard, but hung back where I wouldn’t be so obvious if Darby looked my way.

  She returned to the table and said something to Robert. I wished I could have heard what she told him. He didn’t laugh or seem surprised.

  A few people headed for the house so I hustled to the kitchen, started the coffee perking, and put on the kettle for tea. I cleaned up a bit, tossing crumpled paper napkins into the trash. And that’s when I saw them.

  Delicate Fairy roses peeked out from behind a wad of napkins. Horror built in me as I retrieved them and stood them in water glasses. If they were in the trash, then—

  I ran to the dining room. My peonies and lilies had vanished. And my linens had disappeared, along with my samovar and my grandfather’s trophy.

  The dining room had been transformed into a black-and-brown wonderland. Natasha’s complicated linens dressed the table, complete with gauzy overlays accented with gold sparkles, swags, and bows. Her heart topiary still stood in the middle of the table, but sleek modern risers of glass had replaced my upside-down Christmas tins. Even the buffet sported a black cloth with gold squares around the edge. Two coffeepots, at least I assumed that’s what they were, looked like overgrown versions of cheap creamers, shiny and gold. I had a feeling they were supposed to be the latest thing.

  I itched to open a window and pitch every last black and brown item out. But people poured into the house, oohing and aahing and helping themselves to the desserts already on the table, on square black plates, no less. I could hardly rip anything out from under them.

  I could only smile politely and rush the rest of the desserts onto the table. Furious, I collected the coffeepots to fill them and carried them back to the kitchen. What had Natasha done with my samovar? If I could find it, I would use it, or maybe bonk her over the head with it. I clanked the coffeepots together carelessly. They had probably cost a fortune, but my old samovar had a burner underneath that would keep the coffee warm.

  Natasha couldn’t have pulled off the switch by herself. She must have had an accomplice who’d hidden all my stuff. I leaned against the kitchen counter, the aroma of hazelnut coffee swirling near me. Mordecai, Kevin, or—oh, she wouldn’t have! Jen. Even if Jen hadn’t innocently assisted Natasha, she might know where the samovar had been stashed.

  I found her in the sunroom with Kevin and Darby. As I approached their group, I overheard Kevin say, “I guess you knew Craig’s ex-wife pretty well?”

  Darby blinked at him. “Oh, yes. Everybody loved her.”

  “But you know she’s dead, right?”

  “Dead?” Darby repeated. “His ex-wife is dead?”

  “Oh, gee. I thought you knew. She was m-u-d-e-r-e-d across the street this morning.”

  “I think you left out an r,” Jen corrected him, unperturbed.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Craig swivel in our direction. In a heartbeat, he had a bracing arm around Darby. “I’m sorry you heard about it this way.”

  It appeared to me that he meant to steer her away, but Robert showed up and asked, “Who’s dead?”

  Craig released Darby. “Jen Ba-ben, would you get Darby a cup of coffee?”

  I gave him credit for getting rid of her so she wouldn’t hear the sordid details. But Jen asked, “Cream and sugar?”

  That brought smiles to all the faces.

  The second she left, Craig, with an ugly glance in my direction, said, “My ex-wife, Emily, was murdered this morning. She was hanged in a backyard across the street.”

  In his weird slow way, Robert drawled, “Emily?”

  “Dad.” Craig patiently prodded his memory. “You remember Emily. The woman who made your all-time favorite osso buco.”

  Robert’s eyes widened. “What was she doing here?”

  Darby clutched at Craig’s arm to steady herself. “She’s really dead? How? What happened?”

  I excused myself from the stunned group. They still needed to break the news to Uncle Stan, and I felt like a terrible outsider, hanging on and watching their shock.

  I’d forgotten all about the samovar until I reached the kitchen, where Jen bravely poured cup after cup of coffee from the pot for thirsty guests.

  “We need more, Aunt Sophie.”

  I scooted in to help her and put on another pot. “Do you know where Natasha put my big silver coffee urn?”

  “The samovar? Sure. I wondered why it was on the desk chair in the den.”

  Poor kid. She’d probably inherited the Bauer family snooping gene. “Would you get it for me?”

  “I haven’t brought Darby her coffee yet.”

  “I’m not sure she wants it anymore.”

  No doubt glad to have a task, Jen ran past Darby, who drifted into the kitchen, zombie-like.

  I pulled out a chair for her and brought her a glass of ice water. She gripped it with both hands as though she thought she might drop it.

  “You must have been close to Emily.”

  She raised her eyes to me, and I saw something I couldn’t quite grasp. No tears yet, but a strange look. “I hadn’t seen her in years, but we were once very close. Craig, Emily, and I—we’re all from the same neighborhood. Grew up together. Everybody knew everybody else’s business. I always thought we’d be friends again, you know?”

  It wasn’t compassionate of me, but I squatted next to her and asked, “Why would anyone want to kill Emily?”

  She locked her eyes on mine in horror. Her voice dropped to barely audible. “You think it was Craig. Of course, you would.”

  “You know him much better than we do. Do you think he’s capable of—”

  Darby set the water down and hid her face in her hands. “She adored Craig. Emily’s dad was a hard man. You know the kind? Whacks his wife and kids when he comes home drunk? When we got into trouble, Craig used to take the blame for Emily to protect her.” Darby’s hands slid down over her mouth. “He wouldn’t kill her. But then . . .” She stopped herself and blinked at me. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  That seemed to end the conversation. Jen skidded into the kitchen carrying the samovar. I thanked her, picked up the coffee carafe, and juggled them both through the cluster of people in my foyer and to the dining room.

  I set the samovar on the buffet and poured coffee into it. In sharp contrast to the drama in my kitchen, guests milled about, enjoying themselves. I could hear Hannah laughing somewhere and spotted Wanda making eyes at Uncle Stan, the other doctor.

  Natasha observed me warily from the living room. If she thought I would make a big stink in front of everyone, she was sorely mistaken. But I’d get even. I had put up with her self-important attitude one time too many, and when an opportunity presented itself, I would pounce. With claws extended.

  Hoping to irritate Natasha by not demonstrating my ire, I ignored her and wandered to the sunroom to switch on the tiny lights strung across the glass ceiling. Daisy and Hermione, who still wouldn’t let me pet her, followed me out to the backyard. I turned on the battery-operated candles on the tables. In the dark, I couldn’t differentiate between them and the flickering of real candles.

&nb
sp; A voice behind me whispered, “I’m hiding from Natasha.”

  I couldn’t place the voice and turned to find Kevin, Craig’s best man. Maybe I could pump him for information.

  “How do you know Craig?” I asked.

  “We work out together. Go for a beer or watch a game once in a while.”

  “Kevin!” There was no mistaking Natasha’s trill.

  He grabbed my arm. “Save me. Please. I thought it would be fun to stay with a TV star. My mother adores her. But the woman is all over me. Please, just help me hide for ten minutes.”