by Krista Davis
The Diva Cooks Up a Storm
Krista Davis
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Recipes
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Krista Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018932864
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1468-8
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: June 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1470-1
eISBN-10: 1-4967-1470-9
First Kensington Electronic Edition: June 2018
To Amy Norwood Wheeler
with love and gratitude
Acknowledgments
It’s such a pleasure to be back in Old Town with Sophie and the gang in this book. Huge thanks to my agent, Jessica Faust, and my editor, Wendy McCurdy, for keeping the divas alive. And special thanks to all the readers who love the divas and asked when the next book would be out. I hope you’ll enjoy it.
As always, a lot of research went into this book. If I have anything wrong, it’s my own fault entirely. The Revolutionary War spy John Dixon really did exist and is said to haunt a house in Old Town. They say he was so upset about the revolution that he was exceptionally unfriendly to a visitor from England who toured the house he haunts. I have, however, taken great liberties with his family tree. That part is pure fiction, as is the young widow who hosted dinner parties for spies. While there are records of women passing communications, her character is entirely fictional.
While there are several libraries in Alexandria, Virginia, and at least one in Old Town, the library in this book is entirely fictional and a figment of my imagination. It has no connection whatsoever to an actual library anywhere.
My friend Amy Norwood Wheeler was a huge help to me in the writing of this book, and I will be eternally grateful. Those of you who notice the connection to Nina Reid Norwood’s name will understand that I cannot omit thanks to Elizabeth Nina Strickland and Susan Reid Smith Erba as well.
And I thank my writing friends Ginger Bolton, Allison Brook, Peg Cochran, Kaye George, Daryl Wood Gerber, and Janet Koch, who are always there with support and encouragement, just a quick e-mail away.
Cast of Characters
Old Town Residents
Hollis Haberman
Kelsey Haberman, Hollis’s wife
Gavin Haberman, Hollis’s son
Cindy Haberman, Hollis’s ex-wife, Gavin’s mother
Angus Bogdanoff
Madison Jenkins (husband Gage)
Trula Dixon
Parker Dixon
Dr. Jay Charles
Sophie’s Friends
Francie Vanderhoosen
Nina Reid Norwood
Bernie Frei
Humphrey Brown
Lavinia Brown, Humphrey’s mother
Mars Winston
Alex German
Natasha
Chapter 1
Dear Sophie,
I met a very cute guy recently. We went out once and now he has invited me to an “underground dinner.” He doesn’t know where it will be, what will be served, or who else will be there. This sounds very suspicious. I don’t want to end up under the ground! Is this a real thing?
Trepidatious in Lick Fork, Virginia
Dear Trepidatious,
Underground dinners, also known as pop-up dinners, are all the rage right now. An undisclosed but well-known chef prepares a surprise menu in a location that isn’t revealed until the last minute. Tickets are typically bought well in advance. Underground dinners are a lot of fun, but you’ll have to decide whether this is what the new boy friend actually has in mind.
Sophie
At ten in the morning on the first day of my summer vacation, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the tranquility of my neighborhood in Old Town Alexandria. My hound mix, Daisy, had been sniffing around my backyard while I enjoyed a mug of coffee.
Daisy barked once and ran for the front gate. Dogs have far better hearing than humans, so I trusted her inclination about the direction of the trouble and followed right behind her.
A man ran toward us on the sidewalk, his gait awkward and ungainly. He waved his hands madly around his head and continued screaming.
By that time, my neighbors Nina Reid Norwood and Francie Vanderhoosen had emerged from their homes.
At first blush, the man appeared to be deranged. But as he neared, his dilemma became readily apparent. Angry bees buzzed around him and more followed.
I seized his hand. “Quick. Into the house!”
Daisy snapped at the bees as we ran. Nina and Francie brought up the rear. We rushed into my kitchen and quickly closed the door behind us.
A few bees made it inside. Nina and Francie grabbed sections of the newspaper and swatted at them while Daisy continued to chase and snap at them.
Meanwhile, I sat the man down. Thirtyish, I guessed. His green T-shirt bore the hound face logo of The Laughing Hound, a local restaurant. His jeans were dusty, as though he’d been doing lawn work in them. He was having trouble breathing. Red welts had already formed on his face.
“Do you have a bee allergy?” I asked.
“Doh. Gihzzy.” He opened his mouth for some deep breaths. There was no mistaking the swelling of his tongue.
I grabbed the phone, dialed 911, and handed it to Nina while I wet a kitchen towel with cold water. I had no idea whether that was the right thing to do, but I held it against his face.
Francie seized the beautiful pink begonia from my bay window, pulled it out of the pot, and scooped up dirt in her hands. “Scoot over, Sophie.”
She packed the dirt against his face. One of his eyes was swelling shut.
“Will you look at that?” asked Nina. “Bees are still buzzing around your kitchen door.”
Some of the bees outside were even hitting the glass window in the door as though they were angry that they couldn’t come inside.
Moments later, the reassuring wail of an ambulance soothed my nerves. Allergic or not, this guy needed medical attention. I ran to the front door and opened it. In moments, the ambulance had parked, and emergency medical technicians walked inside calm as a serene lake.
An EMT asked the man, “What’s your name, sir?”
“Anguh Guhanhoh.�
� His speech was so garbled that none of us could understand it.
“You ladies know him?”
The three of us looked at one another and shook our heads.
“He came running down the street with bees buzzing all around him,” I explained.
The EMT felt the man’s pockets for a wallet and extracted it while another EMT asked what was on his face.
Francie beamed when she said, “Dirt. It’s an old home remedy. Soothes the stings.”
The EMT shook his head in obvious disbelief.
The one with the wallet said, “I don’t see any allergy alerts in here. You’re Angus Bogdanoff?”
The man nodded.
“Got any allergies?”
“Doh.” He shook his head.
They administered a shot of epinephrine, put him on a stretcher, and wheeled him out to the ambulance. We trailed along, feeling helpless. We couldn’t even notify anyone for the poor guy.
When the ambulance departed, Nina, Francie, and I returned to my kitchen. I took lemonade and iced tea out of the fridge to make Arnold Palmers.
“I’d suggest sitting in the garden,” said Francie, “but we probably ought to let any lingering bees dissipate.”
“Not to mention that it’s already getting warm,” Nina fanned herself with both hands. “I swear this is the hottest summer I can remember. I try to stay indoors until six in the evening. Thank heaven the underground dinner tonight doesn’t start earlier. They’d have people fainting all over the place.”
“Everyone is too pampered these days. We didn’t have air-conditioning when I was growing up.” Francie sipped her Arnold Palmer. “I remember my daddy sitting outside to read at ten o’clock at night because it was too stuffy in the house. And no one had air-conditioning in their cars, either. We kids sat in the back with the windows rolled down and hung our heads out like dogs. Mom and Dad made ice cream with an old crank machine and cream. Can you imagine? It had fat it in! Best ice cream ever. It was such fun running around the neighborhood, catching fireflies in the dark. Now that’s how summer ought to be.”
Nina shot her a sideways glance. “I bet you wouldn’t go without air-conditioning today.”
She’d caught Francie, who laughed. “I bet I could weather it better than you.”
I suspected that might be the case. A true outdoorsy Southerner, Francie had reached the age where she said what she thought, even if it might sting. She made no effort to tame her dyed-yellow hair that looked as brittle as straw, or to hide the wrinkles she had earned from years of gardening and bird-watching in all kinds of weather.
“What do you know about bees, Francie?” I asked. “Why would they chase Angus like that?”
“Bees can be ornery little buggers. They’re focused on protecting the hive and the queen. My guess is that Angus accidentally stumbled onto a hive and disturbed it. I’ve heard they’ll chase a person up to half a mile.”
Nina shuddered. “I love honey, but bees scare me.”
I was perusing the fridge for a snack when someone knocked on the front door. Daisy accompanied me to open it.
Hollis Haberman, who lived on the next block, stood on my stoop. A respected criminal attorney in his fifties, Hollis liked to eat and had long ago given up any sort of exercise. His face was flushed from the heat and the short walk to my house.
“Hollis! Come on in out of the sun. Could I offer you an Arnold Palmer?”
“That would hit the spot. Sorry to disturb you, but my yard man vanished, and I’m told he was seen headed this way acting kind of strange.”
I closed the door behind him. “Angus was working for you? Come into the kitchen. Nina and Francie are here. It was the strangest thing. Angus was being chased by bees. You’d better be careful in your yard.”
Hollis touched my arm ever so gently. “Could I have a private word with you out here first?”
“Sure.” I frowned at him. “What’s up?”
Hollis’s belly heaved when he took a deep breath. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you know of a way to test food at home to be sure nobody poisoned it?”
Chapter 2
Dear Sophie,
My husband, who likes to pull my leg, says there’s such a thing as a zombie bee. He claims they fly around at night! I always thought I was safe from bees at night.
Spooked in Beebeetown, Iowa
Dear Spooked,
Alas, while the name “zombie bee” sounds humorous, the situation is not. A parasitic fly injects eggs into the bee. The baby flies feed off the bee, killing it. If you see a “zombie bee” at night, he’ll probably be lurching around near death.
Sophie
My first thought was of Hollis’s new and much younger wife. “Hollis! If you suspect someone is poisoning you, then you need to talk to the police.”
His lips bunched together. “I’m not quite ready to do that. What if I’m wrong? I’d like to keep this on the q.t.”
I understood the problem. It would destroy his marriage. The Haberman divorce had been the talk of the town. Rumor had it that Hollis’s lawyer buddies had chewed up his wife Cindy’s lawyers like a wood chipper, leaving her with a tiny pile of shredded mulch. As an event planner, I had seen Cindy frequently at local society affairs in the past. Sadly, the divorce had put an end to her life on the party circuit. The new wife, Kelsey, a woman barely touching thirty with long blond hair, too much eye makeup, and a knockout figure, had replaced Cindy.
Hollis hadn’t been married to Kelsey very long. “You think Kelsey is trying to poison you?”
“I did not say that.” Hollis’s face was purple.
Poor guy. He probably suspected her of poisoning him but wasn’t ready to admit it. “My friend Humphrey Brown is a mortician with a lot of connections. I can check with him.”
“I would be very grateful, Sophie. I don’t mean to push you on this, but obviously, the sooner the better.”
“In the meantime, I believe I’d only eat takeout.”
“Sophie, please don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. No mentioning my name, okay? That’s why I came to you. I know I can trust you to keep this under your hat.”
I took a deep breath. “Hollis, I still think you should speak to a cop. I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”
Hollis smiled at me. “I appreciate that. Now, how about that Arnold Palmer? I’m parched. Think the hospital would give me an update on Angus?”
He accompanied me into the kitchen. “Good morning, ladies. I hear you helped rescue poor Angus.”
After a brief exchange, he asked us to which hospital the ambulance had taken Angus and called from my kitchen phone.
The three of us listened shamelessly while I poured him a cold drink.
The hospital confirmed that Angus was being treated there, but had no information regarding his condition. Hollis hung up. “Those aggravating HIPAA laws. Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll enjoy your hospitality for a few minutes, then head over to the hospital to see him.”
“Does he have any family to notify?” asked Nina.
“Not that I know of. I believe he’s single. Nice young fellow.” Hollis took a seat on the banquette with Francie and Nina.
I handed him an Arnold Palmer. “Will we be seeing you at the underground dinner tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” He eyed me. “Have you got the inside scoop? Know what they’ll be serving?”
“I don’t know anything more than you do.”
“Don’t believe her!” cautioned Nina. “I sent them to Sophie when they couldn’t find a location. But do you think she would tell me where it was going to be? She kept that secret for six months. I couldn’t get it out of her.”
“That’s one of the things we all admire about Sophie. She knows how to keep a secret.” Hollis winked at me.
I felt a little sick. Hollis’s secret wasn’t the kind I liked to know. I excused myself for a moment and hustled back to my tiny home office to phone Humphrey.
I punched i
n his number. Humphrey Brown had had a crush on me when we were children. At the time, I had been too self-absorbed in my own childhood insecurities to even notice him. Pale with white-blond hair, Humphrey was bone thin. He didn’t frequent a gym or work out. In fact, he reminded me of the old advertisements about ninety-pound-weaklings who had sand kicked in their faces. Oddly enough, we had become fast friends as adults.
When he answered the phone, I said, “Hi, Humphrey! A couple years back, I think you helped us test some food that had been poisoned. Could I impose on you to do that again?”
“Who died?”
“No one.”
“I worry about you, Sophie.”
“It’s not for me.”
“How do you get mixed up in things like this?” asked Humphrey.
“I’m just doing a favor for a friend.”
There was a short silence. “Bring a sample on ice to the underground dinner tonight, and I’ll get my buddy to check it out. I’ll need to know what he’s supposed to look for.”
“Okay.” He couldn’t test for every poison in the world. I understood that. “Thanks, Humphrey! I’ll see you tonight.”
When I returned to the kitchen, Hollis was saying good-bye to Francie and Nina. I saw him to the front door and whispered, “Bring food samples to the dinner tonight. They should be on ice. And I’ll need a list of suspected poisons.”
Hollis frowned at me. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“There isn’t a universal test for poisons. They need to know what to look for. What do you have around the house? Rodent poison? Antifreeze? There are probably poisonous plants in your yard.”
“Like what?” He frowned at me.
“Hollyhocks, yew, foxglove . . .”
Hollis drew a deep breath. “This isn’t going to be as easy as I had hoped. See you tonight, Sophie.”
When I returned to the kitchen, Nina and Francie were arguing about the weather. Nina and I were scheduled to leave for North Carolina early the next day for sun and fun at the beach, but a hurricane was tracking over open sea just off the east coast of Florida.
