The Diva Paints the Town, page 18
“But Nolan will be okay?” asked Nina.
Camille waved a hand. “His ego is more bruised than anything else. He’s supposed to rest a few days, but he’ll be fine.”
“I gather you’ve heard about Kurt?” I asked.
She hadn’t, so Nina filled her in. Camille gripped the handle of her grocery cart so hard that her knuckles shone white.
“What’s happening to us? It’s as though the Guild were cursed. Of course, some woman probably killed Kurt”—Camille lowered her voice—“if not his wife. He was such a womanizer. You know Iris refused to work with him. She even brought charges against him once.”
Nina seemed appalled, but I wanted to know more. “What happened?”
Camille shot me a knowing look. “She claimed he groped her, but honestly, I always wondered if it wasn’t the other way around—she groped him and he rebuffed her. After all, she did drop the charges, so I always suspected they might have been trumped up.”
That explained a lot about Iris’s behavior. But it also made me wonder if she could have had anything to do with Kurt’s death.
“Good heavens,” said Camille, “look at the time. I’d better get back before the nurse wonders what happened to me. She suggested I make chicken soup for Nolan from scratch. Can you imagine?” Chortling to herself, she hurried toward the checkout counter.
Nina and I moved on. I selected a lovely leg of lamb for dinner, red-skinned new potatoes, and fresh springtime asparagus. The avocados looked so gorgeous, I decided to make a salad with red onions, strawberries, and avocados, topped with a balsamic vinaigrette. I didn’t want to spend a lot of time on dessert and hoped I could locate my recipe for Grand Marnier pound cake.
We checked out, and after a quick stop to buy pet food, we wound our way through Old Town and back to our neighborhood just in time to see a covered body, Kurt’s body I assumed, being removed from Mordecai’s house and placed into an ambulance. Snow flurries blew around Wolf, who watched the process with a group of cops.
I longed to invite him to dinner, but knew he would only say no. Too bad. He would have enjoyed a roast leg of lamb.
In spite of all the police vehicles cluttering the street, I lucked into a parking space in front of Francie’s house. Nina refused to go home alone, and when she spotted Francie watching the activities at Mordecai’s, she recruited her as a bodyguard. I was shaking my head over her paranoia when Posey showed up unexpectedly and grabbed my arm with such vigor that I nearly dropped the bag of groceries I carried.
Her eyes flaming, Posey growled, “Tell me everything, or I’ll go to the police.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
From “THE GOOD LIFE” :
Dear Sophie,
I hate cluttered kitchen counters. Between the mixer, food processor, coffeemaker, toaster, and bread machine (and that’s only the beginning), I feel like I live in an appliance store. My kitchen designer suggested appliance garages, but the mixer and food processor are too big and I’ll lose counter space. Any suggestions?
—Too Many Appliances in Apalachicola
Dear Too Many Appliances,
I’m very fond of under-counter pop-up storage. Sometimes called mixer cabinets, they’re the perfect solution for large appliances. The appliance rests on a shelf that pulls out and raises to countertop level. A huge benefit is that they leave the countertop clear for ingredients, even while you’re using the appliance. When you’re done, the shelf and appliance lower back into the cabinet, out of sight.
—Sophie
I tried to wrest away from Posey. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She followed me to my gate. “You’re at the root of this, Sophie. You’re the only one who knows what’s going on.”
That was an exaggeration. I didn’t even understand what she was talking about, and I told her so as I unlocked the door to my kitchen.
“There were five of us in the beginning.”
“Five?” I asked, setting the groceries on the counter.
“Five of Mordecai’s students were invited to the bequest party. Kurt was knocked off first. Then someone went after Nolan but didn’t succeed in killing him. That means Mike, Ted, or I will be the next victim.”
I slid the leg of lamb into the refrigerator, thinking there must be something in the water that was causing everyone to be so paranoid. “Oh, that! Before his death, Mordecai and I had a long talk about murdering everyone invited to his bequest party.” I felt guilty for being sarcastic when I turned around and saw the frightened expression on her face. “Posey! I didn’t know anything about the bequests or that you five were Mordecai’s students once.”
“Are you sure Mordecai is dead?”
“That’s my understanding.”
“Did you see his corpse with your own eyes?”
“Why would I? I didn’t even know Mordecai very well. All of you knew him much better than I did.”
“Why would he bring us together and kill us one by one? Why would he strike that kind of terror in us? Either he’s alive, or he contracted with someone to kill us on his death.”
“I think that’s unlikely. Isn’t it possible that Kurt’s death and Nolan’s mugging had nothing to do with Mordecai?”
She winced. “Please, Sophie. You seem like a nice person. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”
“I don’t know anything,” I insisted. “Maybe you can tell me something. Why the five of you? And why would you even imagine that Mordecai would want to harm you?”
Posey sagged into one of the chairs by the fireplace. “I always thought Mordecai liked us. Maybe he came to hate us because of the cottage we built.” Posey rubbed her face with both hands. “We got so much publicity. It was tiny, of course, but we left it in stages so people could see how it was constructed. One wall didn’t have any plaster on it, so the straw showed. I painted my first trompe l’oeil wall there, and Mordecai’s wife, Jean, helped me enormously. I learned so much from her. TV crews came to interview us while we worked, but the attention we got was nothing compared to Mordecai. He was the envy of his entire department. We thought we were golden—the toast of the town. What a great item on our résumés.”
Posey stopped talking and stared at her hands. “And then it all came tumbling down.”
“You mean the cottage collapsed?”
“Not exactly. Mordecai and his wife invited us and a bunch of people from his department to their home for a party to celebrate. And that was when someone set the straw on fire.” Posey held a palm to her forehead and closed her eyes as she spoke.
“Ted said that straw bales don’t burn well.”
“They don’t. But loose straw burns like crazy. Somebody kicked straw loose from the wall that wasn’t plastered and set it ablaze. We were at the party when we learned that the cottage was burning. Thank goodness no one died. It was in the parking lot of a community center not too far from here. I’ll never forget walking down there. We could see black smoke in the air from Mordecai’s place. There were a few injuries, though, and the school was sued. That was the last time I ever saw or spoke to Mordecai.”
“He didn’t come to class anymore?”
“Classes were nearly over. He had a grad student finish up for him, and then we graduated and went our separate ways.” Posey groaned. “Maybe Mordecai didn’t believe it was sabotage. Maybe he blamed us for being inept and now, in some sick twist, he’s taking revenge.”
I sat down in the other chair and faced her. “Now listen to me, Posey. If Mordecai were alive, I hardly think we’d be selling all his possessions and redecorating his house. And the house wouldn’t be up for sale. Besides, as far as I can tell, the paintings are your bequest. Surely he wouldn’t have arranged for you to receive his prized artwork unless he really was dead.”
She ran nervous hands through her dark burgundy hair, and it stuck up in odd spikes. “I would feel better if I knew someone who had seen him dead.” She gasped. “I don’t believe I said that! Don’t misunderstand, it’s not that I wish Mordecai ill, but who throws a bequest party? What kind of demented mind thinks so much about death that he would set up clues and keys? That kind of person might just fake his death to have the last laugh on all the rest of us.”
“Why would he wait this long? If he harbored that kind of resentment, why didn’t he kill all of you years ago?” Posey still appeared uneasy. “Why don’t you talk to Humphrey? Maybe he can put your mind at ease.”
“Humphrey? Who’s that?”
“You met him at Rooms and Blooms and at Mordecai’s house. He’s a mortician, and he probably saw Mordecai’s body.”
“Or he was paid to play along.” Posey stood up, her face haggard and old. “Two down, three to go. If I only understood why.” She opened the door to leave and looked back at me. “I don’t even know who to be afraid of.”
The door never closed behind her. Francie and Nina appeared, hauling Nina’s entire menagerie into my kitchen.
“For a person who doesn’t even have a pet, you’ve managed to collect a zoo,” I said.
“I thought we’d put Hank in the sunroom. Emmaline can run around, she won’t be underfoot, but don’t let her out. She’s a digger. The ground is like a slab of ice and she almost managed to dig a hole under my back fence. Mom Cat probably wants some peace and quiet. Can I put her in the little bedroom on the third floor?” asked Nina.
“She needs a name,” protested Francie. “You can’t just keep calling her Mom Cat.”
Their voices faded as they trooped up the stairs to settle the cats. I took butter and eggs from the fridge to let them come to room temperature, preheated the oven, and then launched into a frenzy, pawing through recipe boxes for my Grand Marnier pound cake recipe.
I found it, and before long, butter creamed with sugar in my KitchenAid mixer. I was pouring the glossy batter into a pan when Francie returned.
“What’s for dinner?”
I reminded her about trying to set Humphrey up with Beth.
“Wish you’d set me up with somebody.”
I slid the batter into the warm oven. “Why, Francie . . . you’re welcome to invite a guest if you like.”
“Thanks, but John Wayne is dead, just like all the other men my age.”
“There must be someone.” Thinking of Nina and Kurt, I said, “What about old boyfriends?”
“That’s the right word for them—they’d be older than dirt by now. Aw, nobody’s interested in an ancient artifact like me.”
I would set her up with someone if I knew a gentleman her age.
Nina must have overheard Francie, because she had a sly look on her face when she returned to the kitchen. “Put yourself in my hands, Francie. I’ll match you up.”
“I don’t know why the two of you bother to play match-maker.” Francie pointed at Nina. “Your husband is on the love boat on the other side of the world with a woman who has the hots for him.” She swung toward me. “And you have Wolf right under your nose, and you still can’t manage to be a couple.” Francie laughed at us. “Not exactly adept at love yourselves. What can I bring to dinner, Sophie?”
I didn’t want her to go to any trouble, but I knew she wanted to make a contribution. “Do you still have those napkin rings with hearts cut out? How about lending me those?”
“You got it.” She let herself out the kitchen door but returned in a flash. “Quick, something’s up at Mordecai’s house.”
Nina and I joined Francie outside. Traffic had come to a standstill, and people crowded the sidewalk. We dashed between news vans. I spotted Mike on the sidewalk and asked what was going on.
With sad eyes, he said, “They’ve found something else. There’s a mound of dirt in the basement—with a human skeleton in it. Looks like good ole Mordecai murdered someone.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
From “Ask Natasha” :
Dear Natasha,
I love your show and want to paint all my walls robin’s egg blue. My husband thinks we should paint each room a different color. How do we resolve this?
—Singing the Blues in Coral Hills
Dear Singing the Blues,
I like the tranquil feel of one color throughout a house, too. But should hubby prevail, you must insist on a whole house color palette, limited to three complementary colors, to keep your home harmonious. Be sure to consider how adjacent rooms look when viewed through doorways. You wouldn’t want the colors to clash!
—Natasha
Even though I’d seen the mound in the basement and suspected there might be a body buried there, I’d been so focused on Kurt that it never occurred to me that Mordecai might be a killer. Someone had buried that body, and if it really was a skeleton, then Mordecai was the most likely person to have done it. Posey’s questions about whether Mordecai might still be alive pummeled me. I’d been so quick to dismiss her idea as nonsense, but if he killed once, he might do it again. Was he a deranged old man, as Nolan had suggested? Even worse, what if he really had brought together his former students, intending to knock them off one by one? I shook my head, as though I could clear away such bizarre notions. Mordecai was dead.
“Do they know who it is?” asked Nina.
“They had to bring in a special forensic team,” said Mike. “The second body has been there so long it’s just bones. They’re digging it up now.”
Nina blurted, “So those stories about a corpse in his house are true after all.”
“Hogwash!” Francie frowned at us. “It’ll turn out to be the bones of a pig or something. Mordecai wasn’t a killer. He didn’t have it in him to kill anyone.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Mike. “I really liked the old guy. I’d hate to think he had a dark side.”
I hurried home since the pound cake was still baking in the oven. But while I set my banquet size dining table with a cheerful red tablecloth adorned with white hearts on the border, and added white earthenware plates, I couldn’t help fearing the worst.
Something had prompted Mordecai to retreat from the world and become a recluse. Francie blamed his frame of mind on the fact that his wife, Jean, had run off with Iris’s grandfather. But if the body in Mordecai’s basement was really human, then it seemed rather likely that it might be Jean.
The buzzer on the stove went off, interrupting my thoughts. I pulled the pound cake from the oven, poked holes in the top, and drizzled a Grand Marnier sugar syrup over it. I set it on a rack to cool, and turned the heat to 425 degrees for the lamb.
Emmaline pranced at my feet. I suspected that she wanted a piece of cake, but I hooked a leash on her and took her out back instead.
She behaved well on the leash, rather remarkable for a dog who’d been carried around most of her life. I crouched to snap an errant twig, and she reached up to lick my cheek. How could a person have killed his wife, yet doted on a dog the way Mordecai had? It didn’t make sense.
As we approached the door, Hank screamed, “Kurt, Kurt!” Now that Kurt was officially dead, Nina would have to teach him more words. Cute words, so someone would adopt him.
I selected unmatched candlesticks of varying heights and arranged them in the center of the table with red and white candles.
Checking the time, I returned to the kitchen, sprinkled my favorite lamb seasoning, a mixture of oregano, cumin, pepper, paprika, and rosemary, over the meat and slid it into the oven.
Witheverything wellinhand, I dashedupstairs to shower and change. When I stepped from the shower, Emmaline and Mochie accompanied me to peruse my closet. Natasha would look gorgeous, as always, and make me feel dowdy. On the other hand, I didn’t want Beth to feel underdressed. The blustery weather we’d been having made me want to snuggle up in something soft and warm.
In the end, I opted for casual twill slacks with an elastic waistline that wouldn’t cut into me all evening, and a lilac sweater set with just a hint of bugle beads for a touch of bling. I peered from my bedroom window. Nina and Francie still waited on the sidewalk outside of Mordecai’s home.
I knew that Francie and Mordecai’s wife, Jean, had been friends twenty or more years ago. It must be torture for her to imagine Jean might have been murdered by Mordecai. It would tear me up to imagine such a horrible fate for Nina.
Back in the kitchen, I washed tiny red potatoes and placed them in a pot of salted water to boil. I chopped crisp parsley, slid it into a large mixing bowl, and added kosher salt and a generous knob of butter. When the potatoes were done, I would toss them in the bowl and their heat would coat them with lovely buttered parsley.
I took a minute to sprinkle the cake liberally with more of the Grand Marnier syrup.
Hank, safely confined to his cage in the sunroom, alerted me to Bernie’s arrival by screeching “Kurt!”
Bernie rapped on the door out of politeness, but opened it himself and held it for Nina, Francie, and Francie’s dog, Duke, who shot off to romp with Emmaline. Francie handed me the cute napkin rings.
Bernie carried a dish that he stashed in the refrigerator. “Mango oyster ceviche as an appetizer for the lovebirds.” He winked at me. “I like to serve it in martini glasses, if that’s okay with you.”
While I cooked, he retrieved the glasses and Nina checked on the kittens. She returned with Hank, who appeared perfectly content to ride on her shoulder. Mochie, on the other hand, was a little bit too enthralled at seeing a bird on the loose in his own house, and his gaze never wavered.
I took a moment to slide the napkin rings over pristine white napkins, and the table came together nicely—and almost had a Valentine theme to please Natasha.
