The Diva Spices It Up

by Krista Davis

  “I don’t know how you do it. Wesley seems like a nice guy, though.” Still, I was a little surprised that he found Abby’s death to be of such concern that he was up phoning people about it in the middle of the night. That made me suspicious of Wesley. I didn’t care what Mars thought on the subject. People didn’t call a guy in the wee hours of the morning about a woman’s death unless there was a very close connection.

  “The news will identify Abby as working for TV star Tilly and her husband the congressman. It will make me sound like a complete jerk to say this, but the truth is that Tilly’s fame and her husband’s powerful job are what make Abby’s death sensational. If she was just Abby Bergeron who had a boring job and no interesting connections to the rich and powerful, she’d probably get a passing mention or two.”

  “Did you smooth over the e-mail that was released?”

  Mars groaned. “What a mess. I’m not sure we’ll ever know who the culprit was. For now, I’ve hired a security consultant to put up a new firewall on the computers at Wesley’s office. That will make it more difficult to penetrate them.”

  “Assuming it wasn’t simply someone in his office,” I pointed out.

  “True. But if another e-mail is released, then we’ll know where to look for the offender.”

  “Are you going to have him send some fake e-mails as a test?”

  “What a great idea!” Mars finished his coffee and croissant, patted Daisy, and took off. He had work to do.

  Meanwhile, I was wide awake, and it wasn’t even five in the morning yet.

  I took Daisy for an early walk. It was absolutely chilly. Naturally, I couldn’t help wandering in the direction of Abby’s house. I stopped and observed it from across the street. The lights were off. It looked dead and dreary. At that very moment, the gate that led to the back patio opened and a man stepped through. I didn’t recognize him but I wondered what he was doing there before daylight.

  Daisy tugged at her leash. I thought it wise not to follow him in the dark. I coaxed Daisy to turn around. Two blocks later, she pulled at the leash again. This time I let her steer me. I had no particular destination in mind. All I could think of was the man I had seen. What had he wanted at Abby’s house?

  I felt more secure when we were back in our house. I went straight to the den and looked up Abigail Bergeron on my computer. There were a lot of women by that name. It didn’t help that I had never seen her, though it appeared to me that most of them were probably too young to be our Abby Bergeron.

  I rose and locked the kitchen door before pouring myself another mug of tea and looking through the recipes for something to cook.

  It was more than a little bit eerie to know I was reading through the work of a woman who was no longer alive. I had read lots of things written by people who had passed on, but Abby’s handwriting in the margins screamed out to me. I wasn’t usually melodramatic about this kind of thing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this project had been meant to fall into my hands.

  Nonsense! I was letting Abby’s gruesome death get to me. I tried to focus on the recipes, making note of the ingredients I needed. I had everything for Grandma Peggy’s Pumpkin Bundt Cake, and it sounded good.

  I took eggs and butter out of the fridge and placed them on the counter to come to room temperature. Meanwhile I took a shower, trying to aim the stream of water so it wouldn’t hit the spot in the wall that no longer had tiles.

  Half an hour later, I watched my bright red KitchenAid mixer cream the butter and sugar. Following the recipe carefully, I mixed the flour with nutmeg, cinnamon, and a tiny bit of cloves. My kitchen was beginning to smell like fall. I poured the thick batter into a Bundt pan and popped it into the oven to bake.

  Grandma Peggy’s Pumpkin Bundt Cake was one of the recipes that bore the odd code. I knew I should give up on the strange markings. Now that Abby was dead, we would probably never know what she meant.

  Nevertheless, I studied the codes again.

  They meant nothing to me. Just numbers preceded by letters. Each had three letters at the beginning, followed by three or four numbers.

  I chided myself for being obsessed with the notations. If I ever figured them out, they would probably mean something ridiculously unimportant, like whether Abby approved of a recipe.

  The sun was rising by the time I poured a glaze over the pumpkin cake. The scent of the cake had filled my kitchen, and I was itching to try a piece.

  I decided I would wait and reward myself with a slice for breakfast, after I made fall wreaths for my doors.

  Daisy accompanied me to the storage room on the third floor of my house, which was actually a finished attic. Someone, probably Mars’s aunt Faye, had converted it into one lovely bedroom and one mini-bedroom, which despite its size often came in handy and had been very popular with my niece when she was young.

  I opened the door to the storage room, and Mochie leaped inside to sniff the array of storage boxes. I located straw wreath bases and a box of dried and silk flowers. Remembering the lemon wreath on Abby’s door, I wondered if it was too early for miniature pumpkins on a wreath. Huge dried hydrangea blossoms in creamy pink and green and others that had turned light brown looked like good choices for the season. I affixed them to the bases and tied them with a coral—almost pumpkin-colored—ribbon with a velvety texture.

  I coaxed Mochie out of his playroom and carried them downstairs. I hung each of them by the ribbon. The ends draped onto the flowers in the wreaths.

  That done, I cut a large rectangle out of an old plastic tablecloth that I had used outdoors. With the aid of waterproof repair tape, I affixed it to the shower wall where the tiles were missing. I wasn’t sure it would hold up, but it was better than nothing. I sprayed water on it and was pleased that it didn’t peel off.

  I swapped my now-damp clothes for jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a fuzzy vest and headed for the grocery store.

  It was early enough for traffic to be light. There weren’t many people shopping yet, either. I started with Brussels sprouts, bell peppers, and potatoes. I placed some Fuji apples and bananas in my cart. Chicken breasts were on sale and always a favorite of mine, so I added a couple of packages along with a whole chicken and bacon. Suddenly a chill swept over me, and it wasn’t from the cold meat section. I felt as if someone was watching me.

  I turned and saw the man who had pulled the soda can out of the garbage. He smiled at me, placed a steak in the basket he was carrying, and walked away.

  I shivered and kept an eye out for him. Strolling along and trying to focus, I grabbed Parmesan cheese, panko bread crumbs, cornmeal, ketchup, frozen corn, heavy cream, and more pumpkin puree. I thought I had most of the spices I would need. But I added some staples. Eggs, bread, milk, and a box of Daisy’s favorite dog treats.

  I drove home and unpacked my groceries. When I stepped outside to get my mail, Nina emerged from her house and ran across the street. “I love your wreaths! But wait until you see what I’m doing.”

  “Something new?” I asked.

  She smiled. “They should be here today!”

  “Sounds like fun. How would you feel about a slice of Grandma Peggy’s Pumpkin Bundt Cake?”

  “Perfect. I haven’t had any breakfast. I had to get up before the crack of dawn to drive my husband to the airport. He’s off to Los Angeles again.” Nina’s husband was a forensic pathologist who spent more time traveling than he did at home. She didn’t seem to mind, though.

  For the second time that morning, I sat down at my kitchen table with a friend, a cup of tea, and a delicious nosh.

  “Mmm.” Nina swallowed a bite. “Grandma Peggy knew how to bake. This is perfect for fall.”

  I had to agree with her. “The pumpkin makes it so wonderfully moist. I’m going to bring some over to Tilly to be sure the recipe is correct. Want to come with me?”

  “Would I turn down the opportunity to rub elbows with a TV star?”

  “Never.”

  “Any news yet on po
or Abby?” asked Nina.

  “Only that word made it to Wesley in the middle of the night.”

  Nina’s gaze met mine. “I know she worked for them, but who would have called in the middle of the night to tell Wesley that Abby was dead? Wouldn’t a normal person wait until maybe seven in the morning to call?”

  “Thank you! That’s precisely what I thought. Mars seemed to think it was perfectly normal. Exactly who knew and why was it so vital that he had to inform Wesley immediately?”

  “A sinister aura begins to surround Wesley Winthrop.” Nina plucked crumbs off the cake plate. “Do you think he murdered Abby? Or is afraid their affair will be made public?”

  “Could be neither. Politicians are a strange breed. They need to watch their backs all the time. There’s one additional little hiccup. Mars went out with Abby.”

  “Our Mars?”

  “The very same.”

  “You know he didn’t kill her,” said Nina.

  “Of course not. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be a suspect.”

  I cut the remaining cake in thirds and placed one portion in a turquoise-and-white cake carrier with a handle on top. I stored the other two pieces.

  Daisy was roaming underfoot as if she knew we were going somewhere. But Mochie was bored and ambled into the sunroom, probably to watch birds.

  Nina carried the cake as we walked over to Tilly’s house. This time Tilly opened the door wide and invited us inside.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m just sick over Abby’s death. And now I feel terrible about not pursuing the reason she quit working for me.” Tilly led us into the kitchen, which smelled like cinnamon.

  Nina sniffed the air. “What are you cooking? It smells like Sophie’s kitchen.”

  “I was just experimenting with the pumpkin spice latte recipe. Would you do me a favor and try one? I’m not sure I have the recipe exactly right.”

  We readily agreed.

  I handed her the cake I had brought. “What did you think about the mac and cheese? Was it worthy of your cookbook?”

  Tilly pulled three mugs out of a cabinet. “It was better than my usual mac and cheese!”

  Nina watched, and I jotted notes while Tilly assembled the drinks and topped them with whipped cream and a sprinkle of nutmeg. Tilly suggested we sit outside and led the way out the French doors to a charming fenced patio.

  Tilly had a good eye for form and color. She had thrown a blue-and-yellow tablecloth over a round table. An arrangement of fresh yellow and orange sunflowers sat in the middle. Freshly tilled soil in flower beds along the brick fence in the rear featured masses of yellow and purple mums. We settled into comfortable chairs with thick cushions. The high brick fence blocked the breeze, and the fall sun warmed us. Daisy lifted her nose in the air and sniffed something I couldn’t detect.

  “Grandma Peggy’s Pumpkin Bundt Cake was Abby’s favorite recipe in my collection.”

  I could hear the grief in Tilly’s tone. Her bubbly nature was hidden, and her eyes were rimmed in red.

  “What happened?” she whispered. “Why would anyone harm Abby? She was such a sweet, normal sort of person. I don’t mean this in a cruel way, but Abby was so nice that she bordered on dull. She wasn’t into drugs or drinking or anything dangerous, you know? Who would want to kill a woman who writes cookbooks? What could possibly be a more benign profession?”

  “I’m sorry, Tilly,” I said. “She was very kind to an elderly friend of ours. Abby touched a lot of lives. It’s a terrible tragedy.”

  “You spent time with her,” said Nina. “Abby must have told you about herself. She never mentioned anything worrisome? Problems she had? Neighbors or men she dated who were stalking her?”

  I shot Nina a look. Surely she didn’t mean to imply that Mars was following Abby. She may have dated other men, though.

  “Like me,” said Tilly, “she wasn’t from Old Town. We talked about how we didn’t have any relatives close by. That’s always difficult. She and her husband moved here because he worked for the government, some technical job, I don’t recall exactly. She had thought about leaving since nothing was keeping her here anymore, but she seemed fairly happy up until the last day she worked here.”

  Now she had piqued my attention. “Did something unusual happen that day?”

  Chapter 10

  Dear Sophie,

  I love fall spices. They smell great, and they taste even better. But there’s something about pumpkin pie spice that bugs me. I can’t put my finger on it. Is it possible to make my own?

  Sour Puss in Spice, West Virginia

  Dear Sour Puss,

  To make pumpkin pie spice, mix cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves. Go heavy on the cinnamon, then add lesser amounts of the other spices. Maybe you can identify the one you don’t care for and omit it.

  Sophie

  “That’s the odd thing. I’ve been over and over it in my mind, but I can’t think of anything that would have upset her. It was a lively day because the girls were off from school. A teacher’s workday, I think. They were in and out sneaking tastes of the pumpkin cupcakes I was baking. I remember joking about them having a salon day, because they were pulling their hair up into those messy buns that are so popular. If you ask me, it’s easy to look messy, but they were watching videos and trying all kinds of crazy things. Schuyler’s mom, Mia, came over for a while.”

  Tilly stopped speaking for a moment. “You know, she still hasn’t come home. I’m so sad for Schuyler. I think Mia was disappointed that the girls weren’t hanging out at her house on Friday. But she’s one of those hovering helicopter moms. I think that’s why they spend so much time over here. I try to give them room to do their own thing. My days were so structured when I was a teen that I missed out on a lot of silly fun. Moms like Mia don’t understand that.”

  “And what was Abby doing?” I asked.

  “Wesley brought some of his staff over. Mars was here, too. I made them my roasted Parmesan chicken, maple syrup Brussels sprouts, and garlic mashed potatoes for lunch. Abby was very busy watching me and writing down the recipes as I cooked. And she kept flipping through the recipes and making notes. I think she was arranging them in order. Maybe it was too much of a madhouse for her that day with people coming and going? Most days it was just the two of us. Wesley was working, and Briley was at school. I really didn’t give it much thought at the time. It all seemed so normal to me. It was just another day at our house.”

  “That was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

  “Right. As she walked out the door, she said she wouldn’t be able to finish the cookbook but she wished me all the best. I was stunned. She walked away as fast as she could. I never heard from her again. I called her number because I was totally perplexed, but her phone rolled over to voice mail.”

  “What made you think she was upset that day?” I stroked Daisy for being such a patient dog while we talked.

  “She seemed quiet. More withdrawn than usual. Like she was doing her job, but she was thinking about something else. Now that I consider it, she seemed anxious. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal, or I would have asked her if something was wrong.”

  Tilly sniffled. “I’m old enough to know that I can’t blame myself, but now I wonder why I didn’t ask Abby what was troubling her. Maybe I could have helped. If someone was giving her a hard time, she could have stayed in our guest room and we could have protected her.” Tilly placed her hands over her eyes. When she removed them, she shook her head. “There are so many solutions to problems. I’m devastated that we didn’t prevent her death.”

  Was that an unusual reaction, I wondered. Maybe not. We all wanted to save people if we could. “Did you have any reason to think she was in danger?”

  “Heavens, no! If I had, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Abby would be sitting in that chair drinking latte with me and I probably wouldn’t have met you.” Tilly sipped her latte and licked a smidge of cream off the rim before eyeing us. “Mars says that
you two solve murders.”

  Before I could say anything, Nina piped up, “We’re definitely looking into Abby’s death.”

  “I hope you’ll be careful. Her killer must have been a madman. Who stuffs a person into a freezer?” Tilly shivered at the thought.

  She had a point. It was certainly unusual, but perhaps clever from the perspective of the killer. It could have taken six months or longer before anyone opened the freezer and looked inside. I shuddered to imagine that a relative could have found her body while cleaning out her house. That would give me nightmares.

  “It must have been planned, don’t you think?” asked Tilly. Suddenly she gasped and sat up straight. “The phone call! Abby received a phone call that day. Now what was it that she asked? It was somewhat odd. ‘The squirrel has landed?’ I remember teasing her about that because it sounded like a line from a movie. Who asks if the squirrel has landed? That has to be code for something.”

  “Did she tell you who the squirrel was?” I asked.

  “She laughed it off, like it was unimportant.”

  “Be sure to tell the police about that,” I said. “Tilly, was Abby dating anyone?”

  The expression on Tilly’s face was priceless. I guessed she knew about Mars dating Abby but wasn’t sure whether she should say so. “Besides Mars,” I added.

  Tilly fanned herself with her hand. “I’m so relieved that I wasn’t the one who had to tell you about Mars and Abby. That would have been awkward! She didn’t mention anyone else to me. Just her ex-husband and Mars. She was married for a long time.”

  “Did she say why they divorced?” asked Nina.

  “She never came right out and told me the reason, but one day she said to me that we are all products of our pasts and nothing can change that.”

  “You thought she was talking about her husband?” I asked.