Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The (18 page)
Read Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The Online
Authors: Krista Davis
Tags: #Winston; Sophie (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Cooks, #Large Type Books, #Cookery, #Mystery, #Divorced Women, #Cooking, #Divorced Women - Crimes Against, #Weddings, #Crimes Against, #Sisters
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 has 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.
“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 ElkDear 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.
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