The Diva Serves High Tea

by Krista Davis

  “My Robert and Natasha?” Velma whispered as if she found it incredulous.

  “Velma! Did you really have your eye on your own brother-in-law?” asked Nina.

  “It happens. I’m a little older than he is but we’ve known each other for a long time. He’s got to be fifteen years older than Natasha. What would he want with her?”

  The other three of us laughed aloud. We started for Velma’s home, still giggling about it all. In spite of my own laughter, my heart broke a little for Mars. Even though he had wanted to leave Natasha, he would be crushed that she had been seeing someone else while they were still a couple.

  Dried leaves crunched underfoot on the brick sidewalks as we walked. Orange pumpkins and crook-necked yellow gourds decorated stoops. Bright yellow and burgundy mums sat in baskets, and a few eager Halloween aficionados had already draped ghosts and bats on their stoops. I planned to hang my skull wreath on my front door as soon as I got home.

  We passed a green front door decorated with the word BOO.

  Velma shook her head and tried to peer into the adjoining bay window. “What is it with Halloween? Seems like everyone starts the season in September these days.”

  Nina shot me a bewildered glance. “Uh, Velma, most folks don’t appreciate people looking in their windows.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dear Natasha,

  My grandmother very thoughtfully gave me her Franciscan Cameo Pink china. I’m just sick over breaking a plate. It was discontinued before I was born! I’ve been searching eBay with no luck. Any suggestions?

  —Klutzy Kate in Cameo, California

  Dear Klutzy Kate,

  Try Replacements.com. They specialize in finding discontinued patterns and will even help you identify a pattern.

  —Natasha

  “It’s okay, darlin’, this is Callie’s place. It’s the tiniest little thing but she decorated it quite nicely,” Velma said.

  “She doesn’t usually close the drapes like that, though.” Francie’s mouth puckered. “Can you see anything?”

  Nina and I exchanged a look. What did they think they were doing?

  “There’s a teensy crack between the curtains. I think the kitchen light might be on, and I see boxes stacked up.”

  “Now you stop that!” I said. “Callie is at The Parlour, working. There’s nothing to see.”

  “I don’t think she went on a date last night,” Velma said. “She would have told us about it.”

  “Peering in her window isn’t going to help,” Nina pointed out.

  Poor Callie probably didn’t even realize that Francie and Velma thought they had adopted her.

  “Maybe we can see more from my place.” Velma shuffled across the street with Francie. Nina and I followed.

  Velma unlocked a cream-colored front door. A cone-shaped gray metal container held fresh sunflowers, assorted greenery, wheat stalks, orange berries on stalks, and two tiny sugar pumpkins.

  “Are those real?” I asked.

  “Everything except for the berries. I’m mighty proud of that arrangement.”

  She opened the door and hurried up the stairs, with Francie right behind her.

  “Are we supposed to follow them?” asked Nina.

  I shrugged, taking in Velma’s cozy living room. White trim accented warm beige walls. Two windows overlooked the street. An old grandfather clock ticked quietly in the corner. A brocade sofa in shades of blue faced the fireplace, along with wingback chairs in a blue and beige pattern. An Oriental rug covered part of the gleaming hardwood floors. Oil paintings hung around the room in ornate frames. A huge collection of teapots covered the built-in shelves next to the fireplace. On the other side, mysteries fairly spilled from the shelves.

  It bordered on formal, yet drew me in with comfort. I could imagine Velma there with a cup of tea, wrapped up in a throw and reading quietly.

  We set the baskets of books on the floor.

  “Well, I’m going up there,” Nina said. “What’s with them and that Callie person anyway? It’s like they’re obsessed.”

  I followed Nina up the stairs and along a hallway into a bedroom. Wallpaper covered the walls from the chair rail up to the ceiling. A print of leafy green vines crisscrossed a white background and in each resulting diamond was a lush peony in shades of pink. Tall windows that reached to the ceiling lined the wall that faced the street. Gauzy white curtains hung on them. Two plush armchairs had been turned around to face the windows. A table between them held a lamp.

  Velma and Francie perched in the chairs and peered through binoculars.

  “I knew we should have bought that telescope,” said Velma.

  Francie groaned. “It wouldn’t help you see through Callie’s curtains.”

  I cleared my throat so they would know we were there. They didn’t even turn around. “Francie! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Velma’s windows overlook Callie’s apartment and Robert’s house. It’s the best seat in town.”

  “For spying?”

  “Oh, honey,” Velma said without moving the binoculars, “we’re not spying. We’re like a neighborhood watch keeping an eye on people. I don’t believe Robert is home yet. Maybe customers are keeping him busy at his store.”

  She must not have noticed him sitting with Natasha’s mother at The Parlour. Given the current situation and what was beginning to appear to be an unhealthy obsession, I didn’t think I should mention that little fact. “What should we do?” I mouthed to Nina.

  She hunched her shoulders and held up her hands.

  I didn’t have a clue, either. Were they Peeping Toms? Could they be considered stalkers? Could they get into trouble? I would have to ask Alex—if we were still speaking.

  “I guess we’ll go. Velma, we’ll leave your books downstairs. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks for carrying them.”

  We left them at their post. On the way down the stairs, Nina said, “If they can’t see anything, why are they still sitting there?”

  “I have no idea. They didn’t just turn the chairs around, either. We would have heard them being moved. I have a feeling this has been going on for a while. I’m worried that they could get into trouble for being Peeping Toms or something.” We reached the living room. “Do you think we should have a talk with them?”

  “Seems a little weird to scold them.”

  “I know what you mean. There’s something uncomfortable about correcting sweet old ladies. Besides, they’re not dumb. They know better than to do that.” I placed my hand on the doorknob. “On the other hand, we have done our fair share of tailing people.”

  “That was totally different. We were trying to uncover murderers. Like the time we waited in a parking garage to follow Natasha.”

  “Do you remember how boring that was? Nothing happened for the longest time. We ate our way though all the snacks we brought with us. I thought she would never appear.”

  “I guess they’re not hurting anyone. But they sure are nosy!”

  We let ourselves out, and I pulled the door shut. “One of these days that will be us spying on the neighbors because we have nothing else to do.”

  Darkness was settling on Old Town much earlier, marking the end of summer. My evening strolls with Daisy were now by streetlight. A change in the atmosphere had taken place, too. Business suits had replaced sundresses and shorts, and everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, even at nine o’clock at night.

  Daisy pounced on leaves as they skittered along the sidewalk. I was busy admiring the colonial houses dressed up for fall with wreaths and pumpkins. We slowed at Robert Johnson Antiques so I could admire the items in the show window. Robert had an eye for quality. A sparkling chandelier hung over a Hepplewhite-style sideboard. A painting of a cottage, probably in England, was propped up on an easel next to it. A collection
of tempting blue and white dishes, teacups, and vases graced the top of the sideboard. No wonder Natasha couldn’t resist buying at Robert’s store.

  Across the street, the windows at The Parlour were dim as though Martha had left a small light or two on when they closed for the day. A motion caught my eye. Nothing more than a shadow, really. My radar of suspicion rose. Dodging traffic, Daisy and I crossed the street. Trying not to be too obvious, I looked in a window. Someone was definitely inside.

  “Spying?”

  I jumped and whipped around. “Mars! You scared me.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I saw someone inside The Parlour.”

  “Oh no!” He clapped his hands to the sides of his face like the kid in Home Alone. “Imagine someone being inside. It could be the cleaning crew, or a baker, or the owner!”

  I pretended to slug his arm.

  Mars laughed at me and knelt to pat Daisy. “Where are my two girls off to?”

  “Just taking our evening walk.”

  “Mind if I come along?”

  “We would be honored, kind sir.”

  We ambled for a few minutes without speaking, passing historic houses, their windows aglow in the night.

  “It’s nice to just stroll in Old Town,” Mars said. “Lately it seems like I’ve always been on the run.”

  “Have you settled into Bernie’s okay?”

  “That house is huge. It’s really a mansion, Sophie. I think we could go for days without seeing or hearing each other.”

  “No regrets yet?”

  “About Natasha? I wouldn’t confess this to just anyone, but I had forgotten how peaceful life can be when someone isn’t pitching a fuss or having a crisis every single minute. Last night I left my shoes in Bernie’s den when I went to bed.”

  “So?”

  “It was like a miracle. They were still there in the morning. Natasha would have hidden them to clean up and teach me a lesson.”

  “Come on, Mars. She can’t be that bad.”

  “Maybe I’m too much of a slob for someone like her.”

  We turned a corner and a woman flew toward us. Mars shielded me with his arm.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dear Sophie,

  I can finally afford to buy some really fine china but I’m confused. Do I want porcelain or bone china? What’s the difference?

  —Setting the Table in Tabler, Oklahoma

  Dear Setting the Table,

  Porcelain and bone china are both considered fine china. Each has its strengths and flaws. Bone china is thinner and more delicate but may break more easily. Porcelain is thicker, but more brittle and therefore more prone to chipping.

  —Sophie

  “Sophie! Thank heaven it’s you.” Callie breathed hard, with her mouth open. “Do you see him?”

  She held on to me like I was a life raft, but she looked back in the direction she had come.

  We walked her beneath the streetlamp. “Callie, this is my ex-husband, Mars.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Mars. “Is someone bothering you?”

  She bobbed her head. “Following me. I thought I was imagining things but when I turned the corner he lunged at me.”

  She was still grasping my arm. The sleeve of her light cotton jacket was torn. “Did he do this?”

  Callie released her grip and felt the open flap. “I guess so. I just ran as fast as I could. I’ve never been so scared.”

  “Do you know who it was?” I asked.

  She paused for a second, for a beat too long. “No. I don’t.”

  Mars pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Wong had better know about this.”

  “No! No police. Please.”

  Mars threw me a doubtful look. “Somebody broke into my house and attacked my girlfriend last night. It could be the same person. You have to report it. It might prevent this person from hurting someone else.”

  Callie appeared to be thinking about it. “I’d really prefer to go home. Would you walk with me? It’s not far from here, just a few blocks.”

  “What’s your name? Callie?”

  “Callie Evans.”

  Right in front of her, Mars called 911 and reported the incident.

  We waited for an officer. I found myself straining to peer into the darkness around us. “What did he look like?”

  “I didn’t see much,” Callie said. “You know the feeling that someone is watching you? I started glancing back but didn’t really see anyone. But I had the creeps, so I walked faster. And when I turned the corner, somebody grabbed me from behind, and I ran.”

  A young cop arrived. She asked Callie to step away with her.

  While they were talking, I asked Mars, “Do you think some whacko is running around and jumping women?”

  “I think you won’t be walking Daisy alone at night anymore until they catch this guy.”

  No problem. I certainly didn’t want to be his next victim.

  The officer finished with Callie and promised to see her safely home. Mars and I hurried back to my house. We didn’t talk much. I suspected he was keeping an eye out for the guy, just like I was.

  When we entered the kitchen, Mars said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll bunk in the den tonight. I don’t like you being alone.”

  The sad truth was that I welcomed his presence.

  We spent the rest of the evening by the fire. Even though I saw Mars now and then, there was a lot to catch up on, especially regarding his work. Probably because of the assailant on the loose, neither of us wanted to drink liquor. We settled on hot chocolate. It seemed like old times having him around the house.

  I rose at seven to a gloriously blue sky. I threw on a bathrobe and tiptoed down the stairs so I wouldn’t wake Mars. The old wood of my stairs creaked as usual but if he heard it, he didn’t budge. I put on the kettle for tea and fed Mochie chicken in pumpkin sauce. He ate heartily, signaling his approval.

  Daisy whined at the front door and a moment later, someone banged the knocker. I had a hunch that the person who was attacking women probably didn’t bother knocking, but I peered out the peephole anyway as a precaution. Natasha stood outside, looking impatient.

  I swung the door open. “Good morning.”

  “I would like to see my mother, please.” Natasha brushed by me.

  She was already on the staircase when I said, “Wanda’s not here.”

  Natasha’s eyes reduced to mere slits. “I’m not that stupid. Where else would she go? Of course she’s here.”

  I didn’t bother to argue. I could hear Natasha’s heels clacking on the hardwood floors upstairs as she searched the bedrooms. I poured myself a bracing mug of Newman’s Own organic black tea and stirred in sugar and milk. Daisy reached a paw in my direction, not touching my leg, but letting me know she wanted a treat.

  “Okay, but only one. And then we’re going for a walk. As soon as Natasha leaves.” I fed Daisy a cookie in the shape of a bunny.

  I could hear Natasha coming down the stairs. The sounds of her heels on the floor had slowed considerably. She dragged into the kitchen and burst into tears.

  “What’s wrong with me, Sophie? Mars left me and now even my own mother has abandoned me.”

  Tempting as it was to mention that she had claimed she left Mars, not the other way around, I resisted going in that direction. There was no need to depress her even more. She was going through a rough time. I poured her a mug of tea and ushered her into the living room, away from the den where Mars slept. “You’re too hard on yourself, Natasha. And you hold everyone else to the same high standard. People are flawed. We’re not perfect.”

  She sipped the tea. “I can see why you would think that. I mean, look at you. That bathrobe is just sad.” She frowned at me. “Your living room is dated, and you refuse to hear me when I tell you th
e portrait over the fireplace in your kitchen is tasteless. I keep offering to help you redecorate but you always turn me down.”

  I smiled at her mention of the painting of Mars’s Aunt Faye. She had left the house to Mars and me, and I had bought him out in our divorce. Faye had loved her home, and I liked her portrait in my kitchen, even if it did slide to an awkward angle once in a while—mostly when Natasha was in the house. Mars’s mother thought she could talk to her deceased sister in my kitchen and a psychic had confirmed Faye’s presence, but then the psychic also got some major things wrong. Maybe it was just a draft that shifted the portrait.

  I was a little bit insulted by what Natasha had said. Who wouldn’t be? I rubbed my hand across my forehead. “Think about what you just said, Natasha. Isn’t the world a better and more interesting place because we all like different things?”

  “Oh, Sophie! It’s just pathetic that people have no taste. I have no idea why anyone takes decorating tips from you.”

  I was about to spew a retort when it occurred to me that I could say the same about her. “We like different things, Natasha. There’s no right or wrong.”

  She tilted her head and patted my arm. “You keep telling yourself that, Sophie.”

  I clearly hadn’t convinced her.

  “Have you seen Mars?” she asked. “How’s he taking our breakup? He won’t know how to tie his shoes without me.”

  I couldn’t tell her he seemed to be pretty happy. Thankfully, she didn’t wait for an answer.

  “He never loved me, Sophie. I should have realized that much sooner. I had a long talk with Robert about him. For the first time, I’m seeing everything so clearly. Robert is quite brilliant, and he’s deeply intellectual in a way that Mars will never be.”

  At her mention of Robert, I feared I might know where her mother had spent the night. I wasn’t about to tell her and give her the opportunity to make a scene, though. “Does Robert know Mars?”

  “I don’t think so. But he pointed out to me that when someone loves you, he supports you in the things you want to do. The things that are important to you. I’m not talking about going to the theater or an art gallery. I mean the big things. Mars always pooh-poohed my business efforts. He didn’t believe in my line of gardening attire, he made fun of my tools for women, and he worked against my efforts to open a chocolate shop. I can’t think of one thing he ever backed me on.”