The Diva Sweetens the Pie

by Krista Davis

  It was useless and I knew it. He couldn’t hear what I was saying.

  Nevertheless, I opened my laptop and jabbered about my upcoming schedule. “I landed the Convention of Neu-roimmunology. And a couple of weeks after that, I have the World Conference of Corporate Brokers. There’s not much coming up that involves lawyers.”

  After a bit I just held his hand and watched him, wondering what was going on in his brain.

  A nurse came in, smiled at me, and checked his IV. She left without a word. Maybe being there by myself in the middle of the night was the key to not getting kicked out.

  Every fifteen minutes or so, I talked with him again. I tried to mention the names of his friends and told him about Natasha’s stunt with the Boston cream pie.

  At one in the morning, I finally went home, hoping against hope that he had known I was there.

  Mochie, Daisy, and I went up to bed, and I fell dead asleep.

  * * *

  At five in the morning Daisy nudged me and whimpered.

  “Not now, Daisy.” I opened one eye to look at her.

  Daisy’s ears perked up. I heard it, too. The tiniest tapping sound. “Where’s that coming from?” I whispered.

  Chapter 30

  Dear Natasha,

  My bottom crusts always come out soggy. What am I doing wrong?

  Swimmer in Big Water, Utah

  Dear Swimmer,

  You can try dusting the bottom pastry with a little bit of flour, blind baking it, pricking the dough, baking in a dark-bottomed pie plate, or sprinkling nuts or a small amount of bread crumbs in the bottom.

  Natasha

  Daisy padded down the stairs and headed straight to the sunroom door. I followed her in the predawn darkness and could see someone standing outside, tapping lightly on my door. I flicked on the outdoor light, squinting at the brightness.

  “Natasha?”

  The second I unlocked the door, she bolted inside. “Turn that light off. He’ll see me!”

  I hit the switch and walked her to the living room, where we were less likely to be seen by someone outside. I turned on a small light on a side table.

  “Natasha, it’s the middle of the night. What are you talking about?”

  “This is all your fault.”

  She was right, of course. Alex’s condition might well be my fault, but she didn’t have to rub it in. “I agree.”

  “At least you realize it. You ruined everything! If it weren’t for you, everything would be different.”

  “Okay, okay. I already feel terrible about it,” I said.

  “You do?” she asked, surprise in her voice.

  “Of course. I didn’t want this to happen. I’m horrified.”

  “Sophie!” she cooed. “I’ve never seen you like this. Thank you. But what do I do now? And by the way, it’s not the middle of the night. I waited until morning. I haven’t slept since the bake-off.”

  She looked completely fine to me. Her makeup had been applied perfectly. Not a hair strayed. She wore a white dress cinched at the waist with a wide belt made of a tan fiber. I wished I looked that good when I didn’t sleep. “The bake-off? Is that what you’re talking about?”

  “Of course. What did you think?”

  I was half asleep. Otherwise I would have realized that she wasn’t worried about Alex.

  “You should wear more makeup, Sophie. I’m a mess underneath it. It took concealer, base, and powder to hide the dark rings under my eyes.”

  I squinted at her. Maybe that was the truth. There were very faint blue crescents just under her lower eyelashes.

  “I’m glad you recognize that you single-handedly ruined my chances to be a star,” she blathered.

  “Actually, I was talking about something else.”

  “Sophie! I hate to admit that I read your advice column, but I do. You told that woman not to bake a pie but to bake a cake. You said she couldn’t compete with her pie expert mother-in-law. That’s why I baked the Boston cream pie! It was your idea.”

  I kept my tone level. “That woman wasn’t in a contest. You should have done what Peter told you to do, Natasha.”

  “I certainly will never follow your advice again. Remember how Peter Presley told me there was room on earth for another star?”

  I was tired. “Yes, very touching.”

  “He picked me out of the crowd at the pie festival. Oh, Sophie,” she wailed. “He saw me and made room for another star on earth.”

  It took a minute for her meaning to compute. “You think Peter murdered Patsy Lee so he could make you a star?”

  “Now you’ve got the picture!”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “It all fits, Sophie. Peter is broke. When Patsy Lee divorced him, she hired a different manager. Peter made her successful and then she kicked him to the gutter with her expensive high-heeled shoes. He needed a replacement for her. He knew how to make a star, but Patsy Lee had to be gone first. Don’t you see? Now he has to get rid of me.”

  “You embarrassed him, Natasha.” It wasn’t the time for a lecture on how she ruined her chances all on her own, so I bit my tongue about that. “But I don’t think he’ll murder you.” I wondered if I should share what Bernie, Mars, Nina, and I had discussed about Peter. Maybe not. Natasha was already agitated.

  “You’re so naïve! Listen to me, Sophie. He’s going to kill me next.”

  I yawned, which surely gave her the wrong impression, but it was early in the morning, and I hadn’t gotten much sleep.

  “Sophie!” she screeched.

  “Fine. Why would he want to kill you?”

  Natasha reached into her pocket and pulled out a clear plastic vial with a white powder in it.

  Chapter 31

  Dear Sophie,

  My mother-in-law insists that pie dough cannot be made in a food processor. I think food processors would be perfect for pie dough. Who’s right?

  Crossing My Fingers in Bacons, Delaware

  Dear Crossing My Fingers,

  You definitely can make pie dough in a food processor. Just remember to pulse, not let it run!

  Sophie

  Idrew in a sharp breath and was suddenly wide-awake. “Where did you find that?”

  “In the limo.”

  “Put it down on the coffee table. I’ll be right back.” I rushed to the kitchen. I couldn’t find a paper bag, so I grabbed a birthday gift bag covered with a colorful fireworks print, grabbed my phone, and dashed back.

  I stared at the little vial for a moment. How could I get it into the bag without touching it or smearing fingerprints? I gazed around and spotted long matches for lighting the fire in the fireplace. I snagged one and used it to roll the vial into the bag.

  Relieved that it was secure, I said, “You may have found the very thing the police need.” I skipped mentioning that she could have spared Alex if she had brought it to Wolf’s attention right away. “Of course, I’m sure other people rode in that limo. But if it has Peter’s fingerprints on it, and if it contains caffeine powder, this might just be the key to putting Peter away.”

  “So you do agree with me?”

  “I still don’t think you would have been his next victim, but he may have murdered Patsy Lee, and this little vial is the key to establishing that.”

  I picked up the phone and called Wolf’s number.

  “It’s a little early to be calling people, Sophie,” cautioned Natasha.

  I stared at her in wonder about how her brain worked. “It’s not too early to wake me, though?”

  “It was an emergency, and I waited until a quarter of five before I came over here.”

  Wolf’s phone rolled over to voice mail. He was probably asleep. “Wolf, this is Sophie. Please come to my house as soon as you possibly can. I think we may have the key to Patsy’s death.”

  Natasha smiled at me. “Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee?”

  I chuckled all the way to the kitchen.

  Natasha must have felt safer
because she didn’t complain when I turned on the kitchen lights. Dawn was breaking in the sky and that probably helped, too. If someone happened to be hanging around outside, it would be much harder to hide.

  I turned on the kettle and ground coffee beans while Natasha paced the kitchen.

  She looked over my shoulder when I spooned fresh grounds into the French press. “Did you add charcoal?”

  “I’m so sorry, but I happen to be out,” I said sarcastically.

  “I suppose we’ll have to make do. I would run over to my place to get some, but I think I’ll hang around here until I know that Wolf has Peter in custody.”

  “What did Peter say to you after the show?”

  “Not a word! Everyone who tried my Boston cream pie raved about it. But Peter snubbed me!”

  “I’m sorry your dreams of stardom didn’t work out.”

  “It’s just as well, I suppose.” Natasha stretched as she poked around the kitchen. “I wouldn’t have wanted to work for a killer, anyway. I shudder to think what might have happened if I had gone off with him to New York and other cities, all the while thinking he was a great guy. He could have murdered me and left my body somewhere!”

  “Would you prefer an omelet or French toast with strawberries for breakfast?”

  Natasha paused in front of the bay window. “French toast. What’s taking Wolf so long? Oh, good! Mars is on his way over here. Did you call him?”

  I hadn’t. I opened the kitchen door to let him in. “Good morning.”

  “You’ll never believe this. The police arrested Willa this morning.”

  Chapter 32

  Dear Sophie,

  I used to watch my meemaw make pies in her country kitchen. She did it so fast! She barely even rolled out the dough. How did she do that?

  Meemaw’s Girl in Lick Skillet, Virginia

  Dear Meemaw’s Girl,

  Your meemaw was doing it correctly. The less you handle the dough, the better it will be. Don’t keep rolling it. Use a few firm moves to roll it out. If you overwork the dough, it will become tough.

  Sophie

  “Willa?” I cried. “Are you sure?”

  “Bernie is over at the police station, trying to bail her out.” He stopped petting Daisy and looked at me in an oversized T-shirt and Natasha in her lovely dress. “What’s going on here?”

  “I’m running upstairs to shower and change clothes. Natasha, you tell him what you found. Neither of you touch the vial.”

  Daisy stayed with the two of them while I ran up the stairs, took a very quick shower, and slid into a periwinkle blue dress and white sandals.

  When I walked downstairs, Mars was holding the birthday bag and looking inside it.

  “Can you believe it?” I asked.

  Mars looked over at me. “What I can’t believe is that Peter didn’t get rid of the caffeine powder. Why would anyone run the risk of being caught with it? I’d have flushed the powder down the toilet, washed the container to remove any remnants and fingerprints, and ditched that thing in a Dumpster behind a busy restaurant. Or the river. They’d never find it in the river.”

  “Mars,” said Natasha. “You’re scaring me. How long have you had these kinds of thoughts?”

  Mars winked at me. “Since I moved in with you.”

  For a moment Natasha appeared stunned. “I hate it when you tease me.”

  “So why did they arrest Willa?” I poured coffee into Blue Denmark breakfast cups for each of us and brought them to the table with sugar and cream.

  “I have no idea,” said Mars. “Willa called Bernie, but he didn’t wait for details. He hightailed it over there.”

  “How interesting that she didn’t call Peter . . . ,” I mused as I fed Mochie and Daisy.

  “I told you,” said Natasha. “Peter’s broke. He couldn’t bail her out. Besides, Willa doesn’t have what it takes to be a star. She’s kind of frumpy. She doesn’t have style like Patsy Lee and me.”

  I beat some eggs with cinnamon and the tiniest pinch of nutmeg, and heated the flat top griddle on my stove. While we talked, I quickly washed and sliced plump red strawberries, and sprinkled sugar over them so they would release their delicious juices into a sweet sauce.

  Happily, I had challah on hand, my favorite bread for making French toast. I cut it into thick slices and dipped them in the eggs long enough for them to soak up the eggs and the spices. The griddle sizzled when I placed the bread on it.

  I noted that Mars had taken a seat at my banquette as far away from Natasha as possible.

  “Do you miss my cooking?” asked Natasha.

  Mars was a remarkably confident person, but at that moment it was obvious that he didn’t know what to say. “Sure,” he blurted.

  That was kind of him. When they were living together, he had dropped by my house more than once hoping for a meal.

  We ate our French toast with the fresh strawberries and a splash of maple syrup, except for Natasha, who declined the French toast and picked at the strawberries.

  Meanwhile we speculated about the arrest of Willa.

  “At the pie festival,” I said, “Willa returned to the tables of professional pies asking if she left her coffee there. I didn’t think much of it at the time. But if she’s the one who poisoned Patsy Lee, that would have been a good ruse for claiming someone took her coffee.”

  “That’s wicked!” exclaimed Natasha. “But then, why did Peter have the poison?”

  Mars flicked a glance at me. “Maybe they were in cahoots.”

  Our speculation ended half an hour later when Bernie arrived with a distraught Willa. Tears stained her face. She wore jeans with a short-sleeved T-shirt and sneakers. But she looked like she’d been through a terrible experience.

  Willa scooted into the banquette and said, “Bernie thought you wouldn’t mind if we came here. Would you like me to leave?”

  “Of course not.” I worried about Wolf dropping by, though. I poured coffee for both of them and put more bread on the griddle.

  “What happened?” asked Mars.

  “That cop, the one they call Wolf, came to my condo late last night. He read me my rights and took me down to the police station.”

  Just hearing her talk about it gave me shivers.

  “At the food festival I lost my cup of coffee.” Willa gasped and pointed at me. “Sophie! You’re my witness. I told you I was looking for it.”

  Bernie turned hopeful eyes to me.

  “That’s absolutely true.”

  “When you say cup, do you mean one of those imprinted paper cups like they have at Moos and Brews?” asked Mars.

  “Exactly. I never did find it. I figured someone picked it up by mistake or threw it out. There were so many people there! Wolf said they tested Patsy Lee’s coffee cup for poison and then they checked for fingerprints.” Willa’s voice broke. “They claim my fingerprints are on the cup.”

  Chapter 33

  Dear Sophie,

  Can I freeze pie dough?

  Busy Mom in Kid Valley, Washington

  Dear Busy Mom,

  Pie dough freezes very well. Wrap it tightly in wax paper and store in a freezer bag.

  Sophie

  Natasha looked over at me, her eyes wide.

  Oh, boy. We had a merger of clues here. I delivered the French toast to Willa and Bernie, who reached over to Willa and patted her on the shoulder.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he assured her. “Won’t we, Sophie?”

  “Absolutely.” But at that moment I saw Wolf’s car pull up outside. I froze. Willa had just been interrogated by him. He was the last person she wanted to see.

  I didn’t have many choices, and I had to act fast.

  “Natasha, could you help me with that bush outside?” I asked.

  “What bush?”

  “I’ll help you,” offered Mars.

  Ohhh! This was not going as I had hoped. I grabbed the HAPPY BIRTHDAY bag and tried not to rush to the door. Forcing myself to walk calmly, I h
eaded to the foyer, flung the front door open, and stepped outside, with Mars right behind me.

  “Wolf!” I whispered.

  Mars and I met him at the sidewalk, and I handed him the bag.

  “It’s not my birthday,” said Wolf.

  “It was all I could find. It contains a vial of white powder that Natasha found in Peter’s limo.”

  Wolf peered in the bag. “From what I heard, Peter dumped her at the pie bake-off. How come she’s only telling us about this now?”

  “You’d have to ask her. Where is she? Mars, could you ask her to come out here, please?”

  He trotted toward the house.

  “Wolf,” I said in a low voice. “I know you found Willa’s fingerprints—”

  “How could you possibly know that already?”

  “As it happens, Willa is sitting at my kitchen table.”

  “Oh. That explains a few things.”

  “What you need to know is that I saw Willa and Peter in a romantic embrace and kiss right after the attack on Alex. I’m worried that they might have been in this together.”

  “Yet you invited her to breakfast?”

  “Bernie showed up with her! What was I supposed to do?”

  A grin spread across his lips. “Only you, Sophie. This could only happen to you.”

  “Have you heard anything about Alex’s condition?”

  “Nothing I would want to tell you.”

  “No!”

  “I don’t think he’s any worse. But they’re keeping him in the medically induced coma for now. He needs to stay still.”

  “Do you think it was Peter or Willa?” I asked.

  Wolf blinked in surprise. “Why would you think one of them attacked Alex?”

  The thing was that I didn’t really have a good reason to think it might be Peter or Willa who had wreaked havoc on Alex and his office. My theory that I had inadvertently instigated the attack on Alex evaporated if Peter and Willa murdered Patsy Lee. “Have you checked his client list?” I asked. “Don’t you think it’s one of his clients, or a person on the other side of a lawsuit?”