Diva Wraps It Up, The (26 page)

I burst out laughing. “It’s a good thing you’re cute, because you are so behind! But if you tell me more about what you know, I might be inclined to share that Gwen tried to kill Horace with warfarin before she died.”

The astonishment on his face was priceless. I gave him a big kiss, said good-night, and closed the door. That would teach him!

Light snow still glittered outside in the morning. It blew in the air, reminding me that Christmas would be here soon and I needed to do some shopping. But I found it difficult to think about anything other than Gwen’s murder.

I let Daisy out in the fenced backyard, put on the kettle for tea, and fed Mochie shredded chicken, which he usually liked. Apparently not anymore. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t plan to open three cans of cat food every morning like a kitty smorgasbord.”

He watched me, clearly confident that I would continue to offer him food until he found one with contents that suited him. Aargh. He knew me too well. I flipped back the top on a can of salmon and spooned the contents into a second dish.

He stretched his neck out to sniff it before he deigned to sample it and settle happily into his eating position to chow down.

I still wore a cozy red flannel nightshirt that came to my knees. After doctoring my tea with milk and sugar, I sat at my kitchen table to consider the events of the previous night.

If I could believe Elvin, and I thought he was telling the truth because everything fit—the fancy bow on Gwen that he knew how to make quickly, the expert wrapping he’d done, the lampshade, and the sirens he would have heard—everything except the mouse’s glasses that Kat found in the living room. I still believed that Gwen must have stolen the mouse from Edith, gone home, and then something had happened to the mouse in her living room. Maybe she threw it at someone. Maybe she’d been holding it when she fell. But Elvin had found her in the kitchen. That didn’t make sense. I had to rethink my theory.

Patty could be crossed off the list of suspects. Where had the Lawrences been? Twiggy went home to deposit her cookies in the carriage house. She would have had ample opportunity to go back to the Babineauxs’. She might have seen Gwen returning from Edith’s house and gotten into an argument. Or perhaps Edith lied to us. Maybe she saw Gwen pinch the mouse and followed her home to confront her. Heaven knew Edith could be unpleasant. They would certainly have had an ugly encounter.

Hadn’t all the Lawrences taken a break from the store after Twiggy came back earlier than expected that evening? Claudine or Jonah could have come home, killed Gwen, and gone back to work.

Baxter had shown up to help Luis. He must have been in the neighborhood. Hmm, Luis told Wolf that he had been with Liza. But she was at my house from the time she left the cookie swap until the ambulance arrived. He’d been home alone for a good period of time, but did he have a motive? And what about Sugar? When everyone left, she would have been there alone with Gwen.

We knew that Gwen had posted the photos of Natasha. Then she could have trotted across the alley to Edith’s house to steal the mouse. Sugar could have been waiting for Gwen to return and then clobbered her.

I let Daisy in and made a second cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal, perfect for a cold, snowy morning. I spooned some of the oatmeal and sliced bananas into Daisy’s bowl but didn’t tell her about the yummy dark brown sugar that landed in mine.

After a shower, I dressed in forest green jeans, pleased that the waist wasn’t too tight, and a coral turtleneck. Simple gold hoop earrings, my brown boots, and a white parka with faux-fur trim on the hood finished my simple look.

I swapped Daisy’s collar for a red one with snowflakes on it, snapped on her leash, and we were out the door. First stop, a quick check on Natasha. We crossed the street and discovered Wolf standing in front of the Babineauxs’ house.

After the requisite
good morning
s, he asked, “Hey, do you know who might have bought the deer-head candleholders from the antiques store?”

Dear Natasha,

My husband is lactose intolerant. I have all these lovely cookie recipes that call for milk or buttermilk. What can I use instead?

Baking Elf in Cookietown, Oklahoma

Dear Baking Elf,

Soy milk is a terrific substitute. If you need buttermilk, add a little lemon or vinegar to it. Instant soy buttermilk!

Natasha

“I noticed they weren’t in the window anymore.”

“That’s what the store’s owner claims.” Wolf lowered his voice. “Just between us, he’s kind of a jerk. Says some woman came in shortly after they were returned by Baxter and paid cash for them. He doesn’t have a name or address.”

“Cash? That should narrow it down. Not many people have access to that kind of cash. Did she buy the sleigh, too?”

“Apparently so. You run in the same circles as some of Old Town’s wealthier folks. Let me know if you hear about the pieces turning up somewhere.” Wolf knelt to rub Daisy’s ears.

“Did he give you a description?”

“Yeah, what’s a Burberry coat? Common?”

“Fairly popular, actually. Their trench coats are classics. I have one.”

“Allow me to quote him, ‘Sleek black hair with bangs, makeup like a hooker, a fashionable Burberry coat, garish nail polish, and she wore a rock that belongs in the Smithsonian on her bony left hand.’”

“Doesn’t sound like anyone I know.”

“Can you believe it? He thinks she wasn’t very young, and he did notice that she had brown eyes, which—”

I finished his sentence for him, “—only includes over half of the population. Tell me about it. So you can’t check the candleholder for fingerprints.”

“The store owner polished them when they were returned, so that was doubtful anyway, but we’d like to have them.”

“To match them to the wound on Gwen’s head?” Maybe the killer snatched it off the mantel but conked Gwen over the head in the kitchen?

He smiled. “I’ll keep after the store owner, but you might hear about it first on the grapevine. Let me know, okay?”

Daisy and I walked on toward Natasha and Mars’s house. It was the holiday season, and plenty of Old Town residents would love those pieces of silver. Who was I kidding?
I
would love to have them. It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibilities that someone totally unrelated to Gwen’s murder had bought the set.

Still, if I had bonked Gwen over the head with one of the candlesticks and had accidentally left it behind in my haste, I might want to buy them before the cops could use them against me. Not many people could come up with that kind of cash, though.

Edith could buy just about anything she wanted. Claudine had sold her house, so she might be flush with cash at the moment. On the other hand, she was living with the kids in very tight quarters, so she maybe she didn’t have much money. I didn’t know anything about Natasha’s finances, but I could certainly ask Mars. I knew nothing about Sugar’s financial background, either. Didn’t pole dancers rake in a lot of money in tips? Phyllis had worked as Horace’s assistant. Hadn’t she mentioned a divorce? That could have left her with some cash, depending on how they’d split things up.

We trotted up the front steps and knocked on the door.

Mars swung the door open. “Daisy!” He said hi to me as an afterthought.

“How’s Natasha this morning? Is she eating yet?”

“Come see for yourself.”

Mars led us to the kitchen.

Sugar and flour canisters, a bowl of chocolate chips, salt, baking powder, soy milk, balsamic vinegar, and assorted herbs in bundles sat on the stainless steel countertop. A sugar pearl silver-colored KitchenAid mixer whirred together ingredients. The scent of baking herbs wafted to me.

I waited for Natasha to shut off the mixer. “You look much better today.”

Natasha grimaced. “I’m so embarrassed. Mars says no one took a picture. Is that true?”

“You’ve got to lighten up a little bit, Natasha. You’re making yourself sick. I promise, no pictures were taken.”

She adjusted her apron. The dominant fabric featured silver snowflakes on a snow white background. The straps, cinched-in belt, and flared apron skirt that layered underneath the white fabric were all black. A retro look—it brought chic to the kitchen.

“Did you sew your apron? It’s beautiful.”

“You like it? Really? Mars, maybe I should try marketing these. Oh! We can call the line Natasha Cooks! No. Natasha
Buon Natale
!”

“Italian? What’s Italian about it?”

“Sophie, you don’t understand branding and marketing. But you’ve given me a grand idea.”

Oy, she was back all right. Back to her old self.

Natasha raised her arm toward the windows as though she were imagining billboards. “Aprons are only a small part of the business. I see pot holders and towels, wreaths and ribbons, and, oh my—wrapping papers!”

Meanwhile, I saw something else. Soy milk. “Natasha, excuse me for interrupting your grandiose dreams, but did you make your cookies for the swap with soy milk?”

“I did! It’s a wonderful ingredient. With the addition of the balsamic vinegar, it becomes like buttermilk. Really, Sophie. You should know things like that.”

My head spun. “Did you give any of your cookies to Liza or Luis?”

“Only at the cookie swap.”

“Excuse me, I have to run. Come on, Daisy.”

Mars blanched. “Don’t be upset. Natasha’s like that to everyone. You know that.”

“See you later.” Daisy and I shot out the door and down the stairs. Once we reached the sidewalk, I slowed down to think.

Luis was allergic to soy milk. The day he was shocked by the frayed Christmas lights, he’d had a rash on his chest.

I took a deep breath of the cold winter air.

But Liza and Nina came straight to my house with their cookies. Luis couldn’t have eaten one of Natasha’s cookies unless he had been in Gwen’s house, where they were arranged on the table for everyone to see—and sample. Of course, he could have eaten soy elsewhere. It was in everything these days.

I had to keep my cool. If I told Wolf about this, he would sneer like he did about Edith’s mouse. Only one person would understand—Nina. Daisy and I hustled to her house. I raised my hand to the door knocker just as Nina swung it open.

“Sophie! Perfect timing. I’m going over to Liza’s. Come with me.”

While we walked next door with her, I explained my soy milk theory.

Nina tilted her head. “Oh, honey! You’ve been concentrating on this way too much. It’s in candy bars, salad dressings, bread. He could have eaten soy so easily. I’m sorry. I really don’t think that means anything.”

Maybe she was right. I was back to suspecting everyone again.

Liza waited for us at her front door. Her expressive brown eyes opened wide. “Sophie, thanks for coming. There’s safety in numbers, right?”

“Safety? What are you two cooking up?” Daisy loped into the house to play with Oscar.

“I’m so frustrated. This is the very first time since Luis and I have been married that I haven’t been able to find my Christmas gift hidden in our house. I told you this place is too big for us.”

I grinned. Luis had her pegged. She wouldn’t find it this year, and it would finally be a surprise.

“It’s driving me crazy. I’ve turned the place upside down.”

“Are you sure he bought it yet?” asked Nina.

“He must have. He already bought several things for Pandoooora.” Liza rolled her eyes. “It’s jewelry, so it has to be in a small box. I’ve been through all his trouser pockets, all his desk drawers, even the faux ones that you have to know how to open.”

“We’re going into the dungeon,” Nina told me. “He knows Liza won’t go down there.”

“I don’t like going by myself, so Nina agreed to come with me. Everyone ready?”

I couldn’t tell her it wasn’t there! I kept mum and followed them through the kitchen. A dark wood prep island with open shelving underneath dominated the kitchen. The cabinets against the wall had been painted a grayish green and rectangular coarse-textured tumbled tiles formed the backsplash.

Liza opened a roughly hewn door. Oscar and Daisy raced down ahead of us. That would take care of any mice. We crept down the stairs slowly.

I expected the worst. But Luis’s private man cave turned out to be as inviting as a historic pub. The stone walls and beamed ceiled fit perfectly with plush overstuffed brown leather chairs and a sofa deep enough for a good nap with a fuzzy throw on it. A large-screen TV hung on the wall near the ancient fireplace. The opposite wall had been outfitted entirely for wine storage.

“This is charming, Liza.” I gazed around. Not a single window, but one really didn’t even notice. Luis had excellent taste.

She shuddered. “Ugh. Not my style at all. Now, where would he have put that thing? Aha! In a wine rack.” She hurried over, stopped, and pulled her hands back in little fists.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nina.

“What if there are mice in there?”

I scanned the bookshelves, impressed by the variety of reading material.

“Sophie! You have to look behind the books.” Liza resorted to poking the handle of a fireplace tool into empty spots in the wine racks.

“Soph,” Nina murmured my name softly. She cocked her head.

I drifted over, trying to be casual.

She lifted the fuzzy blanket from the sofa. It wasn’t a blanket at all. The Grinch’s face adorned a pair of green men’s pajama bottoms. I’d seen the fabric somewhere before. On the morning Baxter fell from his roof. Someone wore the matching top—

Simultaneously, Nina and I whispered, “Gwen.”

“Liza, where is Luis right now?” I asked.

“At work. Don’t worry, he won’t be home for hours.”

“Watch Daisy for me,” I said to Nina. “I rushed up the stairs and could hear Liza asking, “What happened? Where’s she going?”

I couldn’t very well tell her I was going to open her Christmas present.