“Better hang on to her leash,” I cautioned him. “Natasha will pitch a fit if Daisy poops out there.”
He grinned. “Natasha doesn’t frighten me. I think it irritates her that I refuse to be at her beck and call like Mars.”
We followed Daisy into the backyard, the two flashlights radiating bright orbs that roamed about against the dark house. Yellow tape still wrapped the doomed pergola.
“How come they didn’t tape the garage?” I asked. “Seems likely the killer could have strangled Emily back there. No one would have noticed.”
“I thought the same thing. But mine is not to question the authorities,” said Bernie.
“Do you suppose he grabbed her when she was walking by, or did he kill her somewhere else and bring her here?” I mused aloud.
Bernie took the flashlight I held and shone it on the grass. “There aren’t any drag marks. If he strangled her elsewhere, he must have carried her in.”
Nina pointed a flashlight at the flower beds that ran along the brick side walls of the garden. “Why would anyone bring her to Natasha and Mars’s pergola? Especially Craig. If he killed her elsewhere, he’d have left her body as far away from here as possible. You’d think a doctor would be smart enough to figure that out.”
“That would mean he saw her, either on the sidewalk or in the back, grabbed her, strangled her, and then strung her up.” Humphrey spoke with the objectivity of a person who deals with death on a daily basis, but I shuddered at the thought.
Bernie kneeled on the grass next to Daisy and detached her leash.
I grabbed her collar immediately. “I don’t want her trampling Natasha’s flowers.”
“She saw everything.” He pointed the flashlight at the basement window. “She was right there. She saw the killer hang Emily. Let her go. I want to see what she does.”
She did what I expected. Squatted and did her business. I pulled out one of the freezer bags and collected it.
Meanwhile, Daisy wandered toward the flower beds, as I’d feared. She didn’t trample anything, though. She delicately picked her way through flowers, sniffing carefully.
Unfortunately, Bernie’s theory didn’t pay off. If Daisy had seen the murder as Bernie suspected, she wasn’t giving us any clues.
Bernie snapped the leash on her again, and we returned the way we’d come.
I closed the gate behind us. “We knew it was a long shot.”
We trudged along the alley, but when we turned onto the sidewalk, Bernie couldn’t coax Daisy along. He let her pull him over to the fence, and she began to scratch at the soil in between old rosebushes. Nina turned a flashlight on her. Daisy dug with furious energy, her rump in the air, her front paws churning.
I grabbed her collar.
“Wait! Stop.” Nina angled her flashlight. “Do you see that?”
I didn’t see anything except the mess Daisy had made.
“Right there,” said Humphrey, “in the bush next to your left foot.”
The three of them watched me, their heads all cocked in the same direction.
I kneeled on gravel and cold dirt Daisy had dislodged and saw it. A thin gleam of silver glinted under the glare of the light. Reversing a plastic freezer bag over my hand, I said, “One of you bring me a piece of ribbon so we can flag the location for Wolf in case it’s important.” Reaching my bare arm deep into the thorny stems, I felt smooth metal.
Nina tapped my shoulder and handed me a ribbon. “It’s pink. I’m hoping Natasha will be appalled.”
Grinning, I looped it over the branch, certain the thorns would hold it in place, grabbed the silver thing, and yanked. Thorns scratched my arm and caught my hair. I pulled back and staggered to my feet.
Bernie kicked the dirt back where it belonged, and Nina held out her hand.
I removed the freezer bag from my hand so that the item was encased inside and dropped it into her open palm. Both flashlights shone on it. The initial C was attached to a matching silver chain, which had been broken near the latch.
TWENTY-TWO
From “Ask Natasha” :
Dear Natasha,
I’m trying to figure out how to allocate my wedding funds. What’s the one thing I shouldn’t skimp on?
—Breaking the Bank in Banner Elk
Dear Breaking,
Professional lighting is a must. Color washes on the walls, pin spot lighting on ice sculptures and floral arrangements, and special spots for your first dance are things you can’t achieve without a professional. Lighting creates a mood and ambiance that you and your guests will never forget.
—Natasha
Had I broken it when I pulled it off the rosebush? Or had Emily done it when she ripped it off her killer’s neck?
“It looks like a man’s, but it’s not Mars’s, that’s for sure,” said Nina.
I giggled at the idea of starchy Mars wearing a macho chain.
Bernie ran a hand through his messy hair, looking rather ghostly lit by the beam below his face.
“I guess we’ve got him now. No wonder he took off.” I gripped Daisy’s lead tighter and told her what a good girl she was.
Running his fingertips across the top of the bag to seal it, Bernie said, “To tell the truth, I didn’t think Craig would be so daft.”
It did seem rather obvious. “I guess he killed her in the heat of the moment.” Had Lina said something that angered him? Was her mere presence enough for him to be violent?
“Then why did Craig come back?” asked Humphrey. “You don’t think he intends to whisk Hannah away and hide with her?”
Despite the warm night air, I couldn’t help shivering. “Stop that!”
“No, Humphrey’s right,” said Nina. “If Craig murdered Emily, why would he leave and then return? What did he do while he was gone that gave him the courage to come back?”
“Maybe he worked out an alibi,” I suggested.
Humphrey picked up the bag and borrowed Nina’s flashlight for a better look. “She cannot marry him. We have to stop her. That vile man has such a hold over poor Hannah that she can’t see the truth. If this doesn’t convince her of his guilt, nothing will.”
One kiss in the shed and Humphrey was smitten. I felt terrible for him. Humphrey wasn’t Hannah’s type. To her detriment, she gravitated to men who were wealthy or flashy, the type women fawned over and other men envied. Even if she dumped Craig, poor Humphrey wouldn’t stand a chance with her.
We walked home somberly.
I called Wolf immediately but got his voice mail. My desires and fears about our relationship played havoc with my mind, and in the end I babbled about finding a potential clue.
Even though it was early summer and too warm to need a fire, Bernie insisted on building a tiny one in the kitchen fireplace. Meanwhile I boiled water for linguini and Humphrey set the table. Nina poured each of us a glass of Our Dog Blue Riesling.
I sliced a loaf of Italian bread so that it was still held together by the bottom crust and spread piquant garlic butter between the slices. The bread warmed in the oven while I tossed a salad of young mesclun lettuce leaves, chunks of juicy mango, crunchy red pepper, and sweet mango vinaigrette.
“I’ve been trying to think of other people with names that begin with C,” said Humphrey. “But I can’t come up with anyone. Unless it was a stranger, that necklace points to Craig.”
“He must realize he lost it. Bernie, did you hear anyone prowling about in the yard last night?”
“I didn’t hear a thing. You think Craig was looking for it?”
While we talked, I poured olive oil into a large sauté pan. When it warmed, I sprinkled in chopped garlic and stirred until it infused the oil and the scent drifted to my hungry friends.
I added salt and leftover shrimp from the night before just long enough to coat and warm it. The al dente linguini went into the sauté pan next to soak up all the zesty flavor. A few turns mixed it and I poured the pasta into a large bowl from which everyone could serve themselves. Bernie
pulled the bread from the oven and set it on the table next to the steaming bowl of pasta and the colorful salad.
We stuffed ourselves with comforting linguini, yet managed to indulge in leftover Chocolate Mousse Cheesecake while we engaged in wild speculation about Craig and the mysterious Emily/Lina.
Mom and Dad returned with Jen, surprisingly gloomy after their dinner out. My parents joined us but picked at their cheesecake without enthusiasm. Jen plopped in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, and let Daisy lick a bit of the nonchocolate portion of the cheesecake off her finger.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
Dad shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We ran into Wolf. One of the neighbors claims he saw Hannah walking in the vicinity of Natasha and Mars’s house at the time of the murder.”
“It must have been someone else,” I blurted. “Hannah was here with Nina and me.”
“Which neighbor?” asked Nina in a suspicious tone.
Dad toyed with his fork. “Wolf wouldn’t say.”
“Honestly,” huffed Mom, “even if it was Hannah, it’s meaningless. Being seen on the street doesn’t mean one has committed a crime.”
Humphrey’s fingers coiled into fists. “Does this mean Hannah is a suspect?”
Mom rubbed her forehead. “I’m beginning to believe Wanda’s ridiculous nonsense about bad luck. It’s like we’re cursed. Every time I think things might work out, something goes haywire.”
Dad sighed. “Let’s get this wedding over with tomorrow and put it all behind us.”
Only one problem with that, Dad. The murderer will be part of our family.
Mom sagged, her eyes weary. “It’s time for bed, Jen.”
Jen protested, but Nina caught on fast. Claiming fatigue, she prodded Bernie and Humphrey to see her home safely. Promising they’d arrive early in the morning, Nina turned the silver necklace over to me and departed. When I turned, Dad comforted Mom, her head leaning against his shoulder.
I debated taking the chain up to my bedroom, but since someone had searched my nightstand, I hid it in a low kitchen drawer where I kept cake-decorating items. I couldn’t imagine anyone poking around there.
I considered calling Wolf again but decided against it. I didn’t want to be a bother. Maybe he imagined I had called him to vent about the neighbor who said he’d seen Hannah the morning of Emily’s murder. Or maybe he was avoiding me. I tamped out the fire and trudged up to my bedroom, wondering how I’d managed to make such a mess of things with Wolf. I’d foolishly thought this weekend would bring us closer together. Instead, the possibility of a relationship had fizzled to a dim ember. The next time I saw him, I would be witty and clever and charming. I climbed into bed and as I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if Mom could be right about wearing makeup and sexier clothes.
I was up at the crack of dawn. As I pulled on a denim skort, a striped cotton shirt, and comfortable old Keds, I harbored ill thoughts toward Natasha. Hannah’s wedding day could have gone swimmingly if we hadn’t lost Carlyle House as a venue. Natasha thought she knew better than anyone else, yet I was the one picking up the pieces of the wedding I’d planned so carefully. I pushed my ire aside. I had far too much to do and couldn’t dwell on Natasha and her fireworks.
Jen bounced into my room full of energy. My admonitions to be quiet worked until we hit the kitchen. Jen bubbled with excitement about the fancy dress and shoes she would wear later in the day.
I asked her to set the table and put out some extra plates and silverware, because I wasn’t sure who might show up. Meanwhile, I put on coffee and tea, poured orange juice, and mixed flour, milk, eggs, and blueberries for pancakes.
In short order, spicy turkey sausages sizzled in a pan and the aroma of fresh coffee waltzed through the air.
Bernie tapped on the window in the kitchen door. Jen unlocked it and let him in and Daisy out while I spooned pancake batter onto the hot griddle.
Bernie poured coffee into persimmon Fiestaware mugs for us and fetched a pitcher of milk from the fridge.
I flipped pancakes onto a matching plate and handed it to him. “Thanks for being such a good sport and pitching in.”
He helped himself to sausages. “Mars is coming in a few minutes.”
I almost sliced myself with the knife I had picked up to cut a cantaloupe. “Mars? The man has two left hands.”
Bernie grinned and opened the door for Mars. Daisy trotted in behind him, followed by Hermione, Nina, and Humphrey. Mochie and Hermione touched noses, which appeared to satisfy both. Mochie jumped onto the window seat, waiting for his share of attention and, no doubt, a bite of turkey sausage.
Nina passed out tiny bags of kibble. “I want everyone to try to give Hermione treats today so she’ll get the idea that people can be good and she doesn’t have to be afraid.”
“Won’t that be too many treats?” asked Jen.
Nina smiled at her. “You’re gonna be a veterinarian, kiddo. It’s the kibble she would have eaten for breakfast with a teensy treat or two mixed in for variety.”
Bernie pocketed the kibble. “Sophie, when you call the chair rental guy, ask if they have some kind of arch we can use for the ceremony. It would make a big difference to have a backdrop.”
Nina held up her cell phone. “I hereby appoint myself vendor liaison. Bossing people around is one of my specialties.” I handed her the list of numbers and she dialed immediately. “Mars, would you bring me a cup of coffee? Milk and sugar, please.”
Mars sniffed the air. “I’m starved. Last night Nat insisted on a pretentious restaurant that served food the size of a quarter. They think they can charge more because they draw a design on the dish with a useless sauce the color of grass.”
Humphrey slumped next to Mochie. “Can’t we stop this disaster from taking place? What if we refused to help?”
Jen piped up, “But Aunt Hannah wants to get married.”
While I cut juicy mango and ripe kiwis to add to the fruit salad, Mars heaped pancakes onto plates and passed them to the others. “So what’s the plan?” he asked. “Nat will be over here to help a little later.”
Nina paused between mouthfuls. “Oh swell, a show! I missed the one at the hotel. What’s she going to set on fire this time?”
Still wielding the knife, I whirled toward Mars. “Call her right now and tell her she’s not needed. I’m not working like a maniac so she can come over and change everything.”
The furrow between Mars’s eyebrows deepened. “I think it would be good for her.”
“Mars, we wouldn’t be in this mess if she hadn’t canceled Carlyle House or taken those ridiculous fireworks to the hotel.”
“The fireworks weren’t her fault. Those boys who were running wild set them off. She couldn’t foresee that. She wanted to light them later, as a surprise for Hannah and Craig.”
I sighed and helped myself to pancakes. Natasha ought to feel responsible for the disaster at the hotel. I knew I would have. Mars probably thought it would make her feel better to contribute. It would be kind of me to put up with Natasha, but we were sticking to the original pink color scheme if I had to lock Natasha in the shed to do it. I plopped the bowl of fruit salad in the middle of the table, sat down, and poured blueberry syrup over my pancakes, glad Mom wasn’t up yet to pour on the guilt.
Craig strolled in, all smiles, and took some ribbing about his last day of freedom in a good-natured way. He sat down to eat but avoided my eyes when he asked, “Did you need something from my room last night, Sophie?”
TWENTY-THREE
From “THE GOOD LIFE”:
Dear Sophie,
I can’t believe the cost of flowers. Everyone says not to do them yourself, but I don’t see any way around that. Is it tacky to use flowers from my mother’s garden?
—Tossing the Bouquet in Basye
Dear Tossing,
It’s never tacky to use flowers from your garden! They don’t have to come from a florist to be beautiful. Time your wedding to coincide with
flowers you love. On the day before the wedding, invite friends to an informal flower-arranging party. Use seashells, marbles, or glass vase gems to weigh the vases down so they won’t tip over. For a country wedding, choose canning jars and wildflowers. There’s no end to the possibilities—wicker baskets, terra-cotta bowls, tiny galvanized buckets, or wrap empty tin cans with anything from satin ribbons to bundled twigs.
—Sophie
I nearly choked on a pancake. Was that Craig’s oh-so-subtle way of telling me he’d noticed that I went through his closet before he left?
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