by Krista Davis
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
RECIPES & COOKING TIPS
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Krista Davis
PRAISE FOR
The Diva Paints the Town
“[Davis] handles this tricky tale with aplomb and fills it with a cast of eccentrics . . . And the three animals are endlessly amusing. Davis includes several recipes, and although the novel takes place during a Virginia winter, the strawberry daiquiris will have you pretending it’s summer.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“Davis plates up another delectable whodunit, complete with recipes. Indeed, her novels are every bit as good as Diane Mott Davidson’s Goldy Schulz mysteries.”
—Shine
“Davis’s latest is an enjoyable mystery that includes decorating tips, a few pets, an unusual bequest, and recipes . . . Once again, Krista Davis brings us interesting, fun characters.”
—Lesa’s Book Critiques
“Ms. Davis immerses the reader into the world of interior design.”
—TwoLips Reviews
The Diva Takes the Cake
“The Diva Takes the Cake does just that—takes the cake.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Mistaken identities, half truths, buried secrets, missing jewelry, wedding jitters, and family squabbles are whipped into a sweet froth in this second of the Domestic Diva Mysteries . . . A fun little bonbon of a book to enjoy on the beach or as a break from any wedding plans.”
—ReviewingTheEvidence.com
“Sure to thrill cozy fans.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Davis has devised a delightful romp, with engaging characters and a nicely crafted setting in which to place them. The author sets just the right tone to match her diva’s perfect centerpieces, tablescapes, and lighting effects.”
—Shine
The Diva Runs Out of Thyme
“[A] tricky whodunit laced with delectable food . . . [A] fine mystery that’s stuffed with suspects—and a reminder that nobody’s Thanksgiving is perfect.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“A mouthwatering mix of murder, mirth, and mayhem, nicely spiced by new author Krista Davis.”
—Mary Jane Maffini, author of Closet Confidential
“This cozy mystery delivers a plethora of useful household tips and mouthwatering recipes immersed within a keep-you-guessing plot filled with suspicious-acting characters, and twists and turns around every corner. Davis’s smart writing style and engaging characters are sure to garner fans.”
—AuthorsDen.com
“Filled with humor, delicious recipes, and holiday decorating tips, The Diva Runs Out of Thyme is a lighthearted mystery that is sure to get you in the Thanksgiving mood . . . [A] must-read to prepare for the holiday season!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“[A] fun romp into the world of food, murder, and mayhem.”
—Armchair Interviews
“The Diva Runs Out of Thyme is as much comedy as mystery . . . [A] really good book . . . [A] series worth watching.”
—Mysterious Reviews
“An entertaining mystery novel with charming characters. The plot of the mystery is well drawn out . . . Davis is an excellent mystery author.”
—MyShelf.com
“The beginning of a good culinary cozy series with some interesting and different characters.”
—Gumshoe Review
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Krista Davis
THE DIVA RUNS OUT OF THYME
THE DIVA TAKES THE CAKE
THE DIVA PAINTS THE TOWN
THE DIVA COOKS A GOOSE
THE DIVA HAUNTS THE HOUSE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
THE DIVA HAUNTS THE HOUSE
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Cristina Ryplansky. Cover illustration by Teresa Fasolino. Cover design by Diana Kolsky. Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN : 978-1-101-55112-7
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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For Janet Bolin and Daryl Wood Gerber (Avery Aames) with love and appreciation
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
> I am so grateful to all the wonderful people who gave of their time, expertise, and imagination during the writing of this book. Special thanks to Rhonda Dossett, who shared her childhood memory of wrapping socks around her neck to prevent vampire bites! Also to Julie Hyzy, who so kindly filled me in about the details of a séance she attended. Naturally, any errors in the séance in this book are my own. I am also grateful to Beth Solheim for her expertise on coffins and caskets.
I was overwhelmed by the generosity of Mary B. Smith-Morrison for sharing her famous Sweet Potato Pie recipe, and I thank her daughter, Patsy Smith Morgan, for coaxing it out of her. This is the real thing, and has already become a favorite at my house. Many thanks, too, to Meg London for the fabulous microwave risotto recipe, which I turned into Bat Cave Risotto by adding black beans for a creepy touch. And what would I do without my wonderful friend Amy Wheeler, who patiently mixed ingredients until she achieved the delicious Immortal Kiss.
As always, I’m grateful to my mother and Susan Smith Erba for their suggestions and enthusiasm. My friends Meg London, Kaye George, Marilyn Levinson, Laura Alden, Janet Bolin, and Avery Aames are always there to help me get over humps and think outside the box. Janet and Avery also keep me on track with their insightful critiques. I can’t forget my dear friend Betsy Strickland, who is my best first reader and biggest promoter. Her support surpasses anything I could possibly deserve.
Many thanks to my delightful new agent, Jessica Faust, for staying on top of everything. And very special thanks to my editor, Sandra Harding, who is always such a delight, not to mention patient and fun! Thanks also to the very talented Teresa Fasolino, who has once again painted a cover that is a perfect window into Sophie’s world.
I must thank the charming Robin Bierlein, who told me about the Dracula orchid when I was on tour in North Carolina. Last, but not least, I thank Brach’s and Dianna Dailey of Kroger for providing a case of candy corn off-season—for free!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Old Town Alexandria is rumored to have plenty of ghosts, as one might expect of a historic location. However, Viktor Luca is totally a figment of my imagination. If any vampires have resided in or passed through Old Town Alexandria, I have no knowledge of it.
BUBBLE & TROUBLE
A COFFIN & CAULDRON FOR OTHERWORLDLY TRAVELERS
Adult Volunteers
Bernie
Humphrey
Nina Reid Norwood
June Winston (Mars’s mom)
Wanda Smith (Natasha’s mom)
Owner of Building
Ray Barnett
Student Volunteers
Jen Bauer
Vegas Lafferty
Jesse Unterberger
Blake Bennett
Parents/Guardians
Me
Mars Winston & Natasha
Dana Unterberger
Maggie Bennett &
Dash Bennett
ONE
Dear Sophie,
My neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. I’m planning to use pumpkins, but I’d love for my house to stand out. What can I do to my front door that no one else will have?
—Not Spooky Enough in Spook City, Colorado
Dear Not Spooky,
Cut bare branches, or small dead trees, and spray paint them black. Wrap them with strands of orange lights, then arrange them in an arch around your door. They’ll be creepy during the day, and when those lights glow in the dark, you’ll have a super spooky entrance.
—Sophie
I balanced on the ladder, aimed my gun, and squeezed the trigger. A gossamer string of wax shot out, creating a creepy cobweb. I cackled with glee. Pointing the gun at the gauzy black curtain covering the front window of the haunted house, I let fine threads fly. In seconds, it looked like no one had cleaned the place in years.
A shout upstairs interrupted my fun. It had to be my neighbor, Frank Hart.
I stepped off the ladder. “Frank?” A thud upstairs worried me. Had he fallen? I dashed to the foyer in time to see Frank slam against the built-in bookcase at the top of the stairs and stumble down.
“Frank, are you okay? What happened?”
He brushed past me as though I wasn’t there, fumbled with the door handle, yanked the front door open, and staggered out to the sidewalk. His chest heaved as he gasped for air and stared up at the windows on the second floor of the haunted house. The skin on his face had turned ashen.
“Frank?” I hurried down the few steps to the brick sidewalk.
He blinked at me and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “There’s some . . . one, some . . . thing up there, Sophie.”
A tall runner in his thirties, Frank owned a wine and cheese shop in Old Town. He’d generously and most enthusiastically donated time to the creation of a community haunted house. I’d never thought of him as skittish. In fact, when another volunteer, Lulee Jenkins, bolted out of the haunted house a week ago, declaring she would never step foot inside the building again, Frank had chuckled about it.
Maybe humor would be the best approach now. Like the kids who pitched in to help with the haunted house and loved to play pranks on each other, I sang, “Psych!” With a big grin, I added, “Isn’t it great the house is so scary that we’re spooking ourselves?”
Frank didn’t laugh. Not even the hint of a smile crossed his face.
A cool October wind kicked up and shuttled dry leaves past our ankles. Frank finally shifted his gaze from the windows. He grabbed my wrist with icy fingers. “Do not go back in there, Sophie.”
“Now, Frank.” I tried to keep my tone light. “Exactly what happened?”
His eyes were wild with fear. “Heed my warning. Close it down, Sophie.” His voice rose. “Close it down!”
His words and behavior alarmed me. I couldn’t disappoint everyone by closing the community haunted house. I made my living as an event planner but in my spare time had taken on the creation of the haunted house as a volunteer community project, and I intended to deliver. This was my first year in charge of the haunted house, and I was determined to see it succeed. The community haunted house idea had nearly died the year before, thanks to an uninspired effort of hay bales and plastic ghosts in a school auditorium. We’d lucked into a historic building in a great location this year. The Ye Olde Candle Shoppe building was a little creepy, but that made it perfect for a haunted house. Besides, Frank really hadn’t told me what frightened him.
He took off at a jog, nearly colliding with Bernie, who’d gone for midmorning coffee and pastries. “What was that about?”
“Another defector. Frank says there’s something upstairs.”
In his charming British accent, Bernie said, “Never would have expected it of a solid fellow like Frank.” He shifted the coffees and bag of pastries to his left hand with the ease of a restaurateur and high-fived me with his right hand. “If Frank is scared—we must have nailed it.” He shot me a wickedly amused look and ran a hand through his perpetually mussed hair, which, along with the slight kink in his nose from an old break, gave him a grown-up Dennis-the-Menace appearance. Bernie, who was inclined to wear Birkenstock sandals, except in snow, had surprised us all by becoming an outstanding restaurant manager for a British absentee owner. My ex-husband’s best friend and the best man at our wedding, Bernie had flitted between jobs and towns around the world before settling in Old Town. I was a bit surprised that he’d hung around as long as he had. Maybe even vagabonds eventually found someplace to call home.
Ray Barnett stuck his head out of his store next door. Inappropriately named Le Parisien Antiques, the hazy, smoke-filled shop was closer to an indoor junkyard. “Bernie! Found what we were looking for. Could you give me a hand?”
Bernie held up the bag. “How about a pastry first?”
Ray bustled out of the shop, wiping his hands on baggy trousers. “Don’t mind if I do. Can I have a peek at the house?”
Hefty Ray led a beer-swilling, chain-smoking, bacongorging life that left him looking haggard. Dark semicir
cles hung under slightly bulging eyes. He could have made a living doing voice-overs. I didn’t think he was capable of a whisper with that deep, gravelly voice. He’d lived over top of the shop since his wife passed away. I shuddered to imagine what the upstairs apartment might look like.
We ushered him inside, thanking him yet again for his generosity in lending us the empty building for the haunted house. His last tenant, the Ye Olde Candle Shoppe, hadn’t fared well and had closed down after less than a year.
“I’m hopin’ some of the folks who go through will get ideas and want to lease it. It’s a right good location for a business. Gets lots of foot traffic, seein’ how close it is to King Street.”
Bernie handed out coffee and chocolate croissants in the small foyer where visitors would enter. We faced a stairway and a narrow hallway. To the left visitors would see the lights leading to the witch’s lair, where they would eventually exit, having come full circle.
“One of the kids, who have named themselves the Ghastly Guides, will emerge from the hallway to lead a small group on a tour, beginning with the stairs,” said Bernie. “They’ll wind through the upstairs rooms, down the back stairs into the kitchen, out into the small backyard—which we’re transforming into a mock graveyard—back through the kitchen, and end in the witch’s lair in the front of the house.”