The Diva Takes the Cake

by Davis, Krista

  She’d lost me. “And why would that be?”

  “He’s back—the wedding is on again.” She pressed her fingers against her cheeks. “There’s so much to do. Oh no! I have to stop Kevin from leaving.” She opened the door and fled down the short walk.

  “Did you find your mother?” I called after her.

  She stopped for a split second, turned, and said, “No. If you see her, send her home.”

  I closed the door and set Mochie on the floor. He scampered up the stairs, no doubt eager to be part of the excitement.

  But neither Mom nor Humphrey looked excited. They watched from the arched opening to the kitchen.

  Mom sounded tired when she asked, “He’s really back?”

  Humphrey put an arm around her shoulders, tentatively, like he wasn’t sure if he dared. “At least there won’t be a wedding. We have time to prove to Hannah that he’s a rogue at the very least, if not worse.”

  Phoebe trotted down the stairs, her face flushed. “I’m afraid not, Humphrey. We’re all supposed to be at the hotel in an hour for the rehearsal.”

  Someone banged the door knocker. I opened it to find Darby.

  “I got all the way to the train station and realized I left my purse here.”

  “It’s your lucky day,” said Phoebe. “Craig’s back and the wedding’s on.”

  Darby’s mouth fell open. “Fate. It was fate that brought me back. Oy, now I have to check into the hotel again.”

  “If you can tolerate the sleep sofa, you can stay with us,” I offered.

  “I would love that. You people are so adorable. I think I’d feel much safer here.” She peered past Mom and Humphrey into the kitchen. “There’s my bag. I’ll just pay the taxi.” She scurried into the kitchen and returned in a flash, holding her wallet. “Doll,” she said to Humphrey, “would you help me carry my suitcase in?”

  He blushed, and I wondered if Humphrey was beginning to come out of his shell.

  The next hour flew by in a crazy rush of people borrowing clothes, jewelry, and scarves to dress up their outfits. Hannah’s friends called people on the guest list, and I spent the hour with a telephone glued to my ear trying to reach my vendors. Natasha might have made deals with other vendors but she would have to deal with them.

  Only Wolf and Craig were exempt from the mayhem. I knocked once to get some clothes for Jen, but when I walked into the room, silence hung over us like a murky gloom. Neither of them said a word until I left. Hannah flitted about like a butterfly too nervous to land on anything. Wolf and Craig reappeared in time to leave for the hotel—both poker-faced, so I couldn’t tell what had happened.

  Our caravan of cars wound through Old Town to a hotel just outside the historic area—a towering structure, tall and slim, the kind that makes you wonder why it doesn’t topple over. The lobby could have been anywhere, elegant and modern with lots of shiny surfaces, as appropriate in Hong Kong as in London or New York. I missed the graciousness and southern charm of Carlyle House but reminded myself that it wasn’t my wedding.

  Someone must have gotten word to Natasha’s mother. She waited for us in the corridor outside the ballroom with Craig’s father, Uncle Stan, and the minister. Friday evening weddings were about to start in the ballrooms on both sides of us. Guests in wedding finery loitered in the massive hallway that served the ballrooms. Three boys close to Jen’s age and wearing suits dodged through the guests and raced the length of the long foyer in a noisy game. Our crowd bunched together to make room for them when they flew back by us making engine noises, their arms extended out to the sides.

  Curiously, Wanda hadn’t bothered to dress for the occasion. Her hair actually looked better than it had the day before, since she’d brushed out all the spray and it no longer looked like wax hair. But I had a feeling that Natasha would have a word with her mother about her attire. The rings and jangling bracelets had returned. Skinny bird legs stuck out of a skirt that was too short, and her top revealed cleavage that had surely been bronzed in a tanning bed.

  Natasha stopped dead when she saw her mother. She parked a large box on the floor and, holding her head high, marched over to Wanda and insisted she slip on Natasha’s elegant jacket. It didn’t help the outfit, but it did cover up a bit of cleavage.

  Mom told me to get things going, but as far as I was concerned, this was Natasha’s show. I had no idea what else she and Hannah had cooked up. I was along for the ride, like the rest of the bridal party.

  The minister latched on to Natasha, and the two of them herded everyone into the ballroom.

  I knew it had the potential to be elegant, but at the moment the ballroom was at its worst. Partitions on both sides had been drawn closed to accommodate the other weddings, and hotel employees worked around us, unfolding chairs for another function.

  Following Natasha’s instructions, we lined up just inside the door. On her command, I gave Jen the signal to start the processional.

  I walked along our imaginary aisle toward Craig, who appeared no worse for wear. Had he been hiding somewhere? Had he gone away to grieve for his former wife? Or had he killed her? Mom stood off to the side watching him, her lips mashed in disapproval.

  I reached my position near the minister and turned to watch Hannah process toward me with Dad.

  Not prone to showing his emotions, Dad usually appeared calm and in control, but today he stared daggers at Craig. I doubted that Craig noticed, because he and Hannah were beaming at one another as though Craig had never disappeared.

  They reached the minister and as he explained what would happen in the ceremony, a shot fired.

  TWENTY-ONE

  From “THE GOOD LIFE ONLINE”:

  If you invite children to your wedding, ask your caterer if child-friendly food can be provided. Hot dogs and pizza are often available at a substantial discount. Keep the kids together, preferably seated at the edge of the floor plan so that they’re not underfoot. Provide entertainment like coloring books, puzzles, and favor bags of munchies. A movie shown in a room nearby with popcorn will make you the coolest bride ever. And hire a couple of responsible teenagers to keep the kids busy so the adults can enjoy your big event.

  —Sophie Winston

  No one appeared to be injured. A sizzling sound worried me as I looked around. Familiar popping noises in quick succession came from the foyer, but I couldn’t quite identify them. A tiny sparking missile shot into the ballroom and hit the ceiling over our heads.

  It all happened so fast that everyone still stood in the same positions. Before we could take cover, more missiles zinged their way toward us. Three bored holes through the partitions to the weddings going on beside us.

  Water began gushing from the ceiling, all over Hannah, Natasha, and Craig as though a downpour from a single cloud drenched only them. But as missiles and sparks continued to fly and we all ducked, the deluge spread and got the rest of us, too. In seconds the entire wedding party was soaked.

  A couple of steps propelled us out of one waterfall and into another as the sprinkler system let loose. Natasha’s perfect eye makeup ran down her cheeks in black rivulets, and the hair that was never out of place draped on her head in dark webs.

  Soaking wet, I leaped toward Jen, the carpet squishing with every step I took. I tugged her into the hallway, but water rushed down on us there, too.

  The stench of sulfur overwhelmed me, but even more worrisome, the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air. I hustled Jen toward the exit, looked back, and saw Natasha’s box burst into flames. Crackles and whistling noises filled the air as fireworks exploded like a war zone.

  I shoved Jen through the door to fresh air. Guests in wedding finery emerged, every bit as wet as we were. The little boys I’d seen earlier were propelled out by an angry woman who held two of them firmly by their collars. A siren howled and a man holding a cell phone to his ear propped a door open and urged everyone to evacuate.

  Two stunned brides swathed in layers of soaked silk, tulle, and lace advanced on
him. Natasha complained to him with indignation. A sour look on his face, he informed us that a sprinkler puts forth twenty-five gallons of water a minute and if Natasha thought she was staging a wedding in his hotel the next day, she would be sorely disappointed because it would take days to clean up and dry out, not to mention the smoke damage.

  Which brought forth another torrent of water, this time salty and from Hannah.

  Two women, who must have been the wedding planners for the other weddings, demanded explanations. The manager was at a loss. I couldn’t help noticing that Natasha had been silenced. As far as I could tell, the box Natasha left in the hallway had contained fireworks, and something had set them off.

  Sirens grew in intensity and in a matter of minutes, firefighters rushed in.

  Standing next to me, Wanda chanted, “Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday best of all, Thursday for losses, Friday for crosses, Saturday for no luck at all.”

  “They never should have scheduled the wedding for a Saturday,” said Robert, offering Wanda a handkerchief to wipe soot off her face. “Did Hannah ever find her engagement ring?”

  I was surprised by his question. I’d forgotten that the loss of the engagement ring meant loss of the husband. Surely Robert didn’t believe that.

  Wanda batted her lashes at him as she wiped her face. “How thoughtful.”

  “A gentleman always carries a handkerchief for occasions such as this.”

  As I surveyed our wet and dirty group, I felt a twinge of guilt for being one of the few people who weren’t upset. If they couldn’t have the wedding in the hotel, they were out of luck and would have to postpone the wedding indefinitely.

  An hour later, we were home. I’d pulled on dry clothes and skipped a shower so the others could use the sole shower in my house. Now that there clearly wouldn’t be a wedding, the pressure was off. For the first time in days, I relaxed with my feet up.

  Bernie, who’d heard about the catastrophe, lit a blaze in the fire pit in my backyard. Nina, Humphrey, Bernie, and I settled in with martinis.

  Everyone else was still changing into dinner clothes. Hannah’s girlfriends insisted that she, Craig, Darby, and Kevin go out with them to take their minds off the wedding that wouldn’t be, but I’d begged off.

  Daisy lay at my feet and pricked her ears at the sound of high heels on the brick pavers.

  “Well, well, if this isn’t the hang-Craig posse.” Hannah planted her hands on her hips and a pashmina slid down over her bare arms. Now that Craig was back, she’d ditched my bright clothes and changed into the pastel maiden again.

  I bit my lip. It wasn’t over yet. We still had time to find evidence tying Craig to Emily’s murder.

  “This is a little hard to ask, knowing how you feel, but, Sophie, could we have the wedding here tomorrow?” Light from the fire flickered across Hannah’s face. She wasn’t kidding. I wanted so badly to point out that if she had stuck to our original plans, the wedding would still be on at Carlyle House. But that would have been cruel.

  Fortunately, Mom appeared behind her, dressed for dinner. “Honey, I think it’s time to accept that it wasn’t meant to be. At least not this weekend.”

  Hannah’s chin tilted upward in defiance. “We still have the caterer and the florist, and our families are here. We just need a place. Natasha’s backyard would be beautiful, but it’s got police tape around it and everyone would be thinking about Emily and what happened there.”

  Phoebe wandered into the firelight and stood by Hannah as though she’d come to support her.

  Hoping to put a quick stop to this nonsense, I hauled out the big guns. “Did you know that Emily checked into the B&B under the name of Lina Kowalski?”

  I heard Mom gasp.

  Hannah counterattacked. “Why do you insist on casting Craig as an ogre?”

  “Because he killed his ex-wife?”

  “He did not kill her. And for your information, Miss Know-It-All, Lina Kowalski was Emily’s maiden name.”

  Mom scowled. “No one changes a first name when she gets married.”

  “Emily did.” Hannah pulled the pashmina up. “She didn’t like the name Lina.”

  That didn’t make sense. “If she didn’t like it, why did she go back to it?”

  “It was her middle name or something. I’m sure I don’t understand the workings of the mind of a troubled woman. Is this your way of saying that we can’t have the wedding here?”

  Phoebe looked out into the dark yard. “Do you think you could accommodate everyone back here?”

  I wished they would shove off to their dinners. “Good point, Phoebe. It would be cramped.”

  “How many guests are still in town?” Bernie asked. “We could set up eight rows of chairs, about eight across with a small aisle in between. If you did that way back in the yard near the potting shed, there would still be room for long tables near the house for the dinner after the ceremony.”

  I shot a dagger-filled glance Bernie’s way.

  Hannah didn’t wait for anyone to argue. “Wonderful! You’re my hero.” She bent to kiss Bernie and flounced off quickly with Phoebe, no doubt so I couldn’t refuse.

  “Good job, Bernie,” I said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

  Mom groaned. “Don’t blame him. Hannah is determined to marry this man. We might as well get it over with. Putting it off is just delaying the inevitable.” She ambled away, muttering, “I don’t know where Hannah got that stubborn streak.”

  The news that the wedding was on again probably ratch eted up the festivities at the last-night-of-freedom parties, but it put a damper on the rest of us. Voices died away and car doors slammed as they left.

  “We have to stop her.” Eerie shadows danced across Humphrey’s pale face. “I could detain the minister.”

  Nina snorted. “You mean kidnap him?”

  “Not permanently. I could offer to drive him and simply get lost for a while.”

  Bernie shook his head. “Sophie’s mum is spot on. You’d only delay the wedding. Hannah needs evidence.”

  Nina tipped her head back to empty her martini glass. “We could have a look around.”

  “You mean Natasha’s yard?” I asked. “The cops have searched it thoroughly, I’m sure.”

  Bernie tamped down the fire. “Let’s go.”

  “Right now?” Humphrey’s voice squeaked.

  “Why not?” Bernie beckoned to Humphrey. “Natasha and Mars went to dinner with Natasha’s mum and that Mordecai chap, and Kevin is with Craig.”

  I jumped up. “I’ll grab a couple of flashlights and meet you out front.”

  I went into the house, located two flashlights in a kitchen drawer, and grabbed a box of freezer bags. I didn’t bother locking up because we would be right across the street. But I clicked a leash on Daisy and met the others on the sidewalk.

  Nina pointed at the freezer bags. “Are you out of dog poop bags?”

  I handed her a flashlight. “We’re looking for evidence. We don’t want our fingerprints on anything we might find.”

  The four of us trooped along the sidewalk past the yellow police tape that still hung in front of the house. Since Bernie resided in back, we theorized that he had every right to bring his friends over for a visit, but we rounded the corner and walked down to the alley to enter from the rear.

  Natasha and Mars had built a red brick garage with an apartment above, where Bernie currently resided. An arched gate led into a covered passage on the south side of the garage. It creaked when I swung it open. A huge trash can sat just inside. To the left, a door led somewhere, the garage, I presumed, and to the right, a sliding glass door opened into a gardening room, complete with running water. Stairs led upward to Bernie’s apartment.

  I slid the door open to check out the gardening area in greater detail. Specifically, I wanted to know if Natasha’s wired ribbons were readily available to anyone who happened by.

  Bernie flicked on an overhead light.

  “The woman h
as more ribbons than a craft store.” Nina peered at rainbows of ribbons mounted on the wall.

  “Do you see a coil of brown ribbon?” asked Humphrey.

  Spools of ribbons hung on dowels in five wide rows. Every color in the universe appeared to be represented, even the much maligned pink.

  If there had been a matching brown ribbon, and there must have been once because she’d made the topiary with one, it wasn’t there now. Other shades hung in abundance, but nothing matched the ribbon on the topiary.

  Daisy pawed at the glass door, and Bernie let her out.