I was headed to the shed to turn on the cute outside light anyway. “Okay, follow me.” We hurried across the yard, Natasha still trilling his name. But when I opened the door to the shed, I looked back and a figure in a window of my house stopped me.
The light in Craig’s bedroom revealed a man with his back to me. Too short to be Craig. When he moved, I caught the distinct profile of Craig’s father, Robert. Was he taking a much-needed private moment with his son? Or snooping like Darby had been?
Natasha’s tone had turned to a screech, and Kevin must have panicked. Intent on evading Natasha, he tugged me. We stumbled into the dark shed and he yelped in pain.
FOURTEEN
From “Ask Natasha” :
Dear Natasha,
My wife and the wedding planner have arranged every detail from matches and cigars to jewelry and the honeymoon. I would love to surprise my daughter with something special, but they haven’t left anything for me to do.
—Left-Out Dad in Lenox Park
Dear Left-Out Dad,
Surprise everyone with a fireworks display. Your daughter and her guests will be thrilled. If it’s a daytime wedding, shoot off the fireworks the night before, right after the rehearsal dinner.
—Natasha
I didn’t think I’d stepped on his foot. I felt the wall in search of the light switch. When I flicked it, nothing happened. I could barely make out Kevin in the dim light from my house. As I squeezed past him and ran my hand over the work table for a flashlight I usually kept handy, something sharp sliced my finger. I cried out and snatched it back as though I’d been bitten.
“There you are.” Natasha’s dark shape loomed in the doorway, blocking what little light we had. “Sophie, everyone is looking for you. A hostess never leaves her guests unattended,” she scolded. “Oh! Is that Kevin with you?”
Parts of my hand felt wet, and a throbbing pain beat in my finger. I was in no mood to deal with Natasha.
“What are you two doing out here?”
I could hardly tell her we were hiding from her. “Kevin, are you bleeding?” I asked.
“Bleeding?” Natasha seized Kevin and propelled him out of the shed.
Sorry that Kevin had landed in Natasha’s clutches again, I followed them. As we drew closer to the lights of my house, I could see a dark stain on Kevin’s elbow.
Natasha ushered him into the house and upstairs to my ugly green and black tiled bathroom, leaving me at the kitchen sink to wash blood from my hand. A clean slit soon appeared on my finger, which I found a relief. At least it wasn’t two fang marks.
Bernie, who’d been the best man at my wedding to Mars, arrived via the kitchen door and insisted I clean the wound with rubbing alcohol. He wrapped a Band-Aid on my finger and accompanied me to the shed to figure out what happened.
Bernie grew up in England in a variety of households as his mother made her way through enough marriages to rival Elizabeth Taylor. He’d settled, temporarily, in the apartment above Natasha and Mars’s garage. He usually sported unruly sandy hair, and though he was well educated and had traveled the world with his globe-trotting mother, he drifted from one job to another, often paying his way by tending bar.
We walked across the lawn, Bernie carrying a flashlight so I could put pressure on my wound to stop the bleeding. He had lived in one of my guest rooms for a couple of months before moving to the apartment, so I knew him well enough to be myself and not pussyfoot around. “Were you home when Emily was killed?”
In his elegant British accent, he said, “Regretfully not. I’m no hero but I might have saved her had I been there. I’m afraid I was at the pub.”
“You went in early?”
“Mars didn’t tell you about my promotion? I’m the manager now. The place was bought by an ex-pat. An absentee owner, really. I run it. Practically live there.”
We stepped into the shed and Bernie trained the flashlight on the workbench. A three-inch knife with a stainless-steel handle gleamed in the light. “Kevin must have knocked it with his elbow.”
Bernie picked it up. “Doesn’t look like it could inflict that kind of damage.”
He tested the blade with his thumb as I cried, “No!”
A thin red line emerged immediately.
“It has a surgical blade. Razor sharp.” I muttered what he must have realized by now.
Bernie stuck his thumb in his mouth and mumbled, “It’s not like you to leave a knife exposed that way.”
“It’s not mine.” I was scrupulous about putting away knives and scissors that could hurt Mochie or Daisy. “It’s not supposed to be there. But Craig is giving knives like that to his groomsmen as gifts.”
“Ah, the macho gift. All men are hunters, ergo even those who sit behind desks require an engraved knife with which they could gut an antelope, should the occasion arise.” He turned it over. “Oho! Who is KPA?”
“Kevin, the best man.” Had Kevin meant to coax me to the shed because he intended to harm me? He barely knew me. “Anyone could have taken the knife out of the box.”
“Had Kevin left it here, surely he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to cut himself.”
“We stumbled around. Maybe he didn’t plan on that.”
“Stumbled around in the shed in the dark?” Bernie sounded amused.
“Please, it’s not like that.”
“Sophie! Sophie!”
I recognized Mars’s voice. “In the shed.”
Mars joined us. “What are you doing in the dark?” He tried the switch on the wall. “The light must have burned out. The outside one is burned out, too. Sophie, don’t you ever replace lightbulbs?” He sighed. “I’ll come over in the morning and do it for you.” Stepping outside, he reached up and the outside light came on. “Look at that, it was just loose.”
Bernie showed him the knife.
“Don’t touch, it’s cursed,” I joked. “So far everyone who has come into contact with the stupid thing has been cut.”
“Sophie, I swear your mind works overtime on sinister ideas. Emily was hanged, not stabbed.” Mars took the knife and flicked it shut. “I’m going to walk Darby back to her hotel.”
“She doesn’t want to go with Stan and Robert?” I asked.
“The murder shook her up. She liked the woman who died, and she’s taking it pretty hard.”
The three of us returned to the house, and I went back to my hosting duties. I found Humphrey in the dining room staring at Natasha’s heart topiary.
“Must have been a lot of work,” I said.
“The ribbon—how does it stay in airborne coils like that?” he asked.
“Thin wires run through both sides. You can position it in any shape you like.”
He reached over and squeezed a curl of ribbon. When he released it, the ribbon remained in an ugly clump. “I think this might be what the killer used to strangle Emily.”
“Natasha’s ribbon?”
“They can’t figure out what made the marks on her neck.” He ripped a portion of ribbon loose.
I hoped Natasha wasn’t watching.
Humphrey pulled the ribbon tight between his hands, twisted it, and tugged on it. “This could make uneven marks of varying size and depth. Where the wires were apart, it might look like two strands but where they’re twisted or very close, it would appear as one.”
I was in no mood to defend Natasha, but I pointed out that wired ribbon could be bought at any craft store and it wasn’t uncommon to find it in grocery stores and drugstores.
He examined the ribbon in his hands. “They found microscopic bits of brown fiber on her neck, Sophie.”
FIFTEEN
From “THE GOOD LIFE ONLINE”:
The key to a smooth wedding is to plan ahead. The site, the dress, the food, all of the details can be arranged well in advance. Use checklists and start as early as possible. The week of the wedding, you should only have to make a few phone calls to vendors to verify your plans. Don’t leave place cards, favors, or seating arra
ngements to the last minute. If seating everyone is making your head spin, try http://www.weddingwire.com for a free interactive seating chart.
—Sophie Winston
There must be thousands of chocolate brown wired ribbons within a twenty-mile radius, but it didn’t strain the imagination too much to think that the ribbon might have come from the home where Emily had been found.
When we saw Natasha storming toward us, Humphrey hastily stuffed the ribbon into his trouser pocket.
“Someone has tampered with my topiary,” she huffed, glaring at me.
One tiny bit of ribbon was missing, and Natasha acted like a major crime had been committed. Never mind that she’d replaced everything I had done in my dining room.
“Why would anyone remove a ribbon? Now it’s not balanced.” She reached over to adjust it.
Maybe she didn’t know about the brown bits on Emily’s neck. I’m ashamed to admit that I relished the thought of tweaking her. If she had left my flowers alone or if she had bothered to incorporate them, I might not be inclined to scare her. But I was.
“I expect Wolf took it to compare to the ribbon used to strangle Emily,” I said airily. Natasha’s perfect makeup couldn’t conceal the pallor that swept her face. Underneath her carefully applied foundation, I suspected she might be as pasty as Humphrey.
Her voice quavered when she said, “Strangle?” Before I could say more, she quickly added, “I wasn’t even home.”
I couldn’t help myself. “I’m sure you have a good alibi.”
Natasha appeared to stop breathing. She froze, and I don’t think her eyelids blinked.
Humphrey glanced at me before grazing Natasha’s arm in what appeared to be an aborted attempt to rouse her. He’d reverted to his timid nature, probably shy about touching the great beauty queen from our high school days.
Natasha twitched and brushed her arm, distaste on her face as though a giant fly had landed on her.
“Kevin,” she wailed, looking around the room for him. “I believe it’s time to go home,” she said wearily to no one in particular. “It’s been a rather trying day.”
What was she up to? Shouldn’t she be looking for Mars? Why had he told me where he was going, and why was Natasha hanging on to another man? Natasha planned her life as carefully as she planned a party. Was she preparing to dump Mars?
When Natasha trudged off to find Kevin, I found Humphrey watching me sadly. “At dinner tonight, you and Mars looked like you were still a couple. I feel rather the fool for thinking your relationship was over. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable by being so forward.”
If he’d gotten the mistaken impression that I was still in love with Mars, I was willing to go along with it. “I hope we can be friends, Humphrey.”
In a completely uncharacteristic move, he kissed me on the cheek. I couldn’t help thinking it felt like the end of something.
By one in the morning, only a handful of Hannah’s best friends remained. They clustered under the tiny roof lights in the sunroom, retelling old stories about each other. Mom and Dad put Jen to bed and retired, leaving me to handle the bulk of the cleanup. Every last crumb of my Chocolate Hazelnut Torte and the Lemon Raspberry Cake had disappeared. But hunks of Natasha’s Rhubarb Ricotta Cake remained on her black plates. I put the leftovers into containers.
Phoebe wandered in from the sunroom. “Hannah’s a little tipsy at the moment, but in the morning she’s going to be upset about losing her engagement ring. I thought she might have left it on the windowsill.”
I rinsed the last of the martini glasses. “You know Hannah. She only does dishes if it will get her out of cleaning bathrooms.”
“Do you have any idea where it is? Craig is going to kill her.”
I almost dropped one of Natasha’s plates. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a very expensive ring. Joel’s family had a jewelry store on the Jersey shore for generations. He practically grew up in diamonds, and he says it’s a very pricey ring. One of the benefits of marrying a doctor, I guess.”
Mochie watched Phoebe from the kitchen table, his tail wrapped neatly around his paws, Egyptian cat style. I didn’t dare tell Phoebe, but I had a hunch that Hannah’s expensive ring might have seemed like a fun toy to Mochie.
“I’ll check around for it in the morning.” Under the furniture, where it probably spun when he smacked it. At the moment, I didn’t care how much the ring was worth; all I wanted was to crawl into bed.
Phoebe returned to the sunroom, and I stacked the last dish on top of the others. Bursts of laughter came from the sunroom as I trudged up the stairs to bed. Mochie scampered ahead of me, but Daisy followed slowly, every bit as tired as I was. I drifted off into the deep sleep of the exhausted, but at three thirty in the morning, I woke with a jolt when Daisy let out a little woof.
“Shh. You don’t want to wake everyone.”
The tip of her tail flapped against the bed. She focused on the door, listening. I did too, and heard the unmistakable creak of ancient floorboards. “It’s probably just someone using the bathroom,” I told her.
She pricked her ears and I realized that Mochie was listening attentively, too.
To be on the safe side, I dragged myself out of bed to check on Jen. I thought I heard a door shut but wasn’t sure. Leaving Mochie and Daisy in my bedroom, I tiptoed upstairs and opened Jen’s door a crack. I could see the covers rising and falling. I closed the door and tried the doorknob to Hannah’s room. But before I turned it, I had second thoughts. The steps I’d heard could have been Craig sneaking up to Hannah. I coaxed Daisy and Mochie back to bed and drifted off as soon as I snuggled under the blanket.
The next morning, I woke to honeysuckle-scented air wafting through the window. The sun shone and birds twittered, and it was almost impossible to believe that anyone had killed Emily the day before. It all felt like a distant dream that would fade from memory as the day wore on.
The door to my room creaked open, and a ten-year-old pixie bounded through and jumped on the bed. I could hear Daisy racing down the stairs.
“Grandma says it’s time for you to get up. I don’t want to miss the tour of Old Town.”
Jen nuzzled Mochie while I slung on a nubby chenille bathrobe, an old favorite adorned with fluffy white clouds. It fell just below my knees and looked incredibly haus frauish when I paired it with my fuzzy slippers, but I didn’t care. Only family and Craig would be at breakfast, and unless I could prevent it, he would be family soon.
As we walked downstairs, I could hear voices in the kitchen. The aroma of coffee beckoned, and I looked forward to lounging comfortably with a steaming cup of the rich brew before wedding duties called.
I stopped short at the entrance to the kitchen. For a second I was taken back in time. Mars sat in his old spot at our kitchen table in a bathrobe, which if memory served right, he wore over pajama pants and a bare chest. He was eating scrambled eggs with gusto, and I had a sneaking feeling Mom had made his favorite Crabby Eggs.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Sophie!” Mom scolded. “Don’t be rude.”
Mars swallowed and held half an English muffin in the air. “Let’s just say I prefer the company over here.”
Mom winked at me as though she thought he meant me. I tried not to laugh. Natasha’s mother or Kevin had gotten to him. My money was on Wanda. I poured myself a mug of coffee, and Mom waved one of my many wedding lists at me.
“We need to change the seating plan for the reception. Where do you want to put Craig’s relatives?”
Mars grumbled, “Just don’t seat Kevin or Wanda at my table.”
I slid in next to him and found Daisy nestled by Mars’s feet. “I suppose you’d better ask Natasha, since she changes everything I do.”
Mars slathered another English muffin with dense Plugrá butter and wild blueberry jam and sank his teeth into it.
I reached for an English muffin, but before I could spread it with butter, Mom, avoiding my
eyes, slid the butter dish out of my reach and said, “Mars, you won’t believe how stunning Sophie looks in her maid of honor dress.”
Two could play that game. “Mars,” I said sweetly, “would you pass the butter?”
He moved it in my direction, happily unaware of the little guilt trip Inga Bauer had tried to inflict on her daughter.
Mom poured herself more coffee. “Do you think Craig will want his father or uncle to be groomsmen? We’d have to get their tuxedos today. That uncle is very tall. Do you suppose they’ll have his size in stock anywhere?”
The Diva Takes the Cake Page 9