The Diva Digs Up the Dirt

by Krista Davis

  After preparing my waffle, I patted Mona’s shoulder and wished I could do or say something to comfort her. I sat down at the table between Nina and Mona. “Did they find anything else at Wolf’s yesterday?”

  “No. They’re going to dig more today. It’s so tedious.” Mona sipped her coffee. “I think I’m too old to stand around and watch. But I’m going over there as soon as I’m done here. Thank you so much for this lovely breakfast. I haven’t eaten a bite since they found the bloody knife.”

  I stopped eating. It was that kind of thing that bugged me about her. The discoloration could just as easily be rust. “So what brought you here?” To my bedroom! I stopped short of saying it. “What did you want in my closet?”

  Mona had the decency to blush. “Clues. You didn’t have anything of Anne’s that I could see. Did Wolf tell you anything more?” Mona asked.

  Did she really think I would tell her if he had? “I’m sorry, Mona. You probably know much more than I do. And I have nothing that belonged to your daughter!”

  She patted my hand. “I believe you, sweetheart. It’s just… Well, I don’t think he would have buried her in their yard. True, if I had murdered someone, I would think the most logical place to hide the body would be in my own private yard, where no one would see me doing it, and where I would know no one else would dig.” Her mouth twitched into a grin. “You sort of blew that for him.”

  “But since Anne’s”—I stopped short of saying killer and rephrased my point, after all, this was her mother—“purse was buried there, wouldn’t the person have also buried her there?”

  Mona finished her waffle. “That was wonderful, thank you. You can say his name, you know—Wolf. Since Wolf buried her purse there, wouldn’t Wolf have also hidden her body there? No. Wolf is a cop. He would have buried things in different locations to throw everyone off.”

  She was testing my patience with her insistence that Wolf had killed Anne. “Mona, isn’t it possible that someone else killed her? Like her lover?”

  Mona gasped and clutched the white beads around her neck. “There was no lover! If there had been, Wolf would have been the first to point it out to throw suspicion on someone else.” A gurgle rose through her throat and she hacked. “Unless he killed her because of the lover!” She wrung her hands. “Where did you hear about this? Did Wolf admit it to you? I knew you had information.”

  My little attempt at eliciting information from her backfired on me big time. How would I get out of this? As calmly and casually as I possibly could, I said, “Wolf insists there was never another man in Anne’s life.”

  Nina’s head swiveled toward me, her eyes huge. She must have figured out that I had spoken to Wolf after we left his house yesterday. Thankfully, she didn’t spill the beans to Mona.

  Mona fixed me with a squinty stare. “Then why did you mention it?”

  “To see if Wolf was lying to me.” Ohhhh! Why did I say that? It sounded like I didn’t trust him, which wasn’t what I meant at all.

  Placing her hand over mine, she asked, “Where is Wolf?”

  I leaned toward her, like I was going to confide something. “I don’t know.”

  “You can tell me,” she whispered. “I’m only trying to protect you from the same fate as my Anne.”

  “I still don’t know.”

  Her lips pursed, and she stared at Nina. “I suppose you don’t know, either?”

  “Don’t have the first clue,” said Nina.

  Mona placed her hands on the table and rose from her chair, stiff and slow. “You’re a nice girl, Sophie, I’m glad that Wolf hasn’t murdered you—yet. Don’t fight me, darling. We’re stronger when we work together.”

  I saw her to the front door and watched as she toddled away. I had no allegiance to her, and I was still boiling mad that she had putzed around my house while I slept, yet I couldn’t help feeling just sick for her. If I were in her position, I would probably be every bit as frantic. Who knew what strange things I might do for the tiniest lead if I were in her shoes?

  When I returned to the kitchen, Nina asked, “What was she doing here? And why didn’t you tell me you saw Wolf?”

  “I haven’t had a chance. Mona was in my closet when I woke up! She said Natasha let her in.”

  “Don’t underestimate Mona.”

  I was pouring myself a mug of coffee when Natasha opened the door and flounced into my kitchen. She wore a large robin’s-egg-blue hat with netting over her face that she lifted.

  “What are you doing?” She seized the coffeepot. “That’s not for you!”

  “Let’s see… my house, my kitchen, my coffee.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s for Troy.”

  I held out my hand. “I would like my keys back, please.”

  She pulled them from a ruffled pocket in her blue and white toile apron and readily gave them to me.

  It was too easy. “You have copies, don’t you?”

  “Mars likes to have a set on hand.” She must have noticed my expression of disbelief. “To collect Daisy.”

  “Mars isn’t the one who let a stranger in my house this morning while I was asleep.”

  She gasped. “That’s horrible. Who would do a thing like that?”

  Nina burst into laughter.

  “Apparently you would,” I said.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Did you, or did you not, allow a little old lady to enter my home this morning?”

  “Mona. Of course, but she’s not a stranger. She’s family.”

  That was news to me. “You’re related to Mona?”

  “Sometimes you’re so dense, Sophie. She said she was Wolf’s mother-in-law and a friend of yours. She was looking for Wolf and wanted to know if he was here. I was busy with Troy, so I told her to go ahead and look for Wolf.”

  So that was it. Mona thought Wolf was taking refuge in my house and wanted to see for herself. How convenient for her that Natasha had simply let her in. That didn’t explain her presence in my closet, unless she told the truth about snooping for Anne’s belongings. Did she think I was hiding Anne in there?

  “You just accepted what she said? She could have been anyone.”

  Natasha flipped her hand at me like I was an annoying mosquito. “Are you saying she’s not Wolf’s mother-in-law?”

  Oh brother. Now Natasha had caught me. Not my best day. Nevertheless, it wasn’t unreasonable of me to be put out with her. “You had no idea who that woman was. She could have stolen things or stabbed me while I slept.”

  “Everything turned out fine. You have such a penchant for drama.”

  Nina sat back, clutching her coffee mug in both hands. “So what exactly is that you’re wearing, Natasha?”

  “Aren’t they darling? I just had to get them on camera so the people at the network could see what I can do with merchandising. I was up all night working on them. Isn’t this the most stunning gardening hat you’ve ever seen? It’s big, to keep the sun off your eyes and shoulders, and it has this netting in case the bugs are being annoying. I have another one to wear tomorrow with little packets of seeds on it. The apron will be for sale, too. I’m thinking of calling the line ‘Natasha’s Garden Couture.’”

  Nina and I stared at her. I didn’t think she was joking.

  “Too many people dress like you, Sophie,” she added. “An old T-shirt and shorts or, heaven forbid, sweats, which are simply ghastly. There’s no reason we can’t be beautiful when we garden.”

  She’d said two words that resonated with me—the network. “That’s what this is all about? You think when the people at the network see you, they’ll give you the national show you’ve always wanted? That’s why you set up this whole backyard garage business with Troy?” I knew she had an ulterior motive!

  “Why are you upset? You do need a garage. If I happen to come to the attention of a network executive in the process, then it’s all good.”

  “So I’m right. That’s why you lied to Troy and
said I was a little old lady!”

  “I would never call you that, Sophie. But you are short and you’re not getting any younger.”

  Nina checked her watch. “We need to get going to check on the cat, Soph. If it’s in the trap, I don’t want it to overheat.”

  I dashed up the stairs to change, smirking over the fact that I didn’t have a ruffly, sequined cat-catching outfit and would have to wear skorts and a top that would surely horrify Natasha.

  A sleeveless white V-neck seemed crisp and cool for the blistering day ahead. I paired it with navy-blue skorts and white thong sandals. Sweeping my hair up off my neck in a modified French twist to stay cool, I pinned it with a big clip and then added navy and white enameled earrings. I passed on necklaces and bracelets, since I wasn’t sure what cat chasing might entail.

  Nina drove this time.

  When we stepped out of the car at Roscoe’s house, Nina paused and searched the windows. “I don’t see Mrs. Danvers. Bet she sees us, though.”

  We walked around the side of the house.

  “Psst.” Nina nudged me. “What did I tell you? Mrs. Danvers is watching us.”

  She floated from room to room like an apparition, peering out windows and keeping track of us. I shuddered. “Why is she so creepy?”

  In the backyard, Mars and Roscoe strolled along under the arcing limbs of trees at the rear of the property. The heat hadn’t set in yet, but the sun had shone long enough to do away with the dew. Mars waved at us, but Roscoe appeared to be deep in thought.

  “Is it my imagination or does the manure smell worse today?” asked Nina.

  The stench impressed me as worse than it was the day of the party. It appeared that at least some of the mulch had been spread, but the odor was still extremely powerful.

  I scanned the yard for any sign of the calico cat. “I don’t see the cat. Maybe she’s in the trap!”

  We walked toward the pond, passing the host of summery white daisies with huge heads. Once again, I admired the bed of delphiniums on my way. But today, some of them had been bent back and broken. Had Violet chased the cat through them?

  Beyond the bed was one of the sprawling piles of mulch that waited to be spread. Someone had worked with it recently. The mulch on the top and right side was darker and appeared somewhat moister, as if recently uncovered. My gaze drifted down to the plants that had been destroyed. At the very bottom of the pile of mulch, a hand reached out toward the flowers.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dear Sophie,

  My husband and I would like to buy a garden bench. The faux wood and wrought-iron ones are much more expensive than the wooden benches. Are they worth the money, or do they all rot?

  —In It for the Long Haul in Onion Creek, Texas

  Dear In It for the Long Haul,

  Wood benches require repeated painting with an outdoor paint, but they can last for years. Wrought-iron benches also require maintenance, since they can rust. They’re very durable, though. If you want a long-lasting bench that doesn’t need much maintenance, buy a concrete garden bench.

  —Sophie

  I screamed and jumped back. A chill ran through me before it dawned on me that it might be a gag.

  “What is it?” Nina searched the grass around us in a panic. “Is it the cat? Was it poisoned?

  My scream caught the attention of Mars and Roscoe.

  Mars called across the lawn. “Are you all right? Is it a snake?”

  He knew my weaknesses. I loved the outdoors but didn’t deal well with snakes, and my former husband knew that. I shook my head and stepped around the bed of delphiniums to see better. My hands quivered.

  “Damaged flowers?” asked Nina—just before screaming like a victim in a horror movie. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  Nina’s scream brought Mars running. Roscoe lumbered behind him, unable to keep up.

  I leaned over for a closer look, my heart pounding.

  “It’s plastic, right? Please tell me it’s fake!” Nina grasped Mars’s arm.

  Another wave of chills rippled through me. They could do amazing things with plastic, but the hand was definitely real. I stood up straight and tried to speak calmly. “Better call 911.”

  Roscoe joined us, pale and gasping for breath. “Call 911? Something bite you?”

  Mars pointed toward the hand.

  I felt as queasy as Roscoe appeared. It seemed only minutes ago that I’d felt comfortable in the morning air, but I’d broken into a sweat, and the sun had begun to bake us.

  “Bottom of the mulch pile, Roscoe,” said Mars.

  Roscoe leaned forward, swaying a bit. His eyes widened when he spotted the hand. “Audie! Where’s Audie? I haven’t seen him today!”

  I took one look at his drawn face and said, “I think you’d better sit down.” I returned, skirting the flower bed to avoid contaminating a crime scene. Mars grasped one of Roscoe’s arms, and even though the sight of the hand had zapped my strength, I grabbed the other. We helped him to a cast-iron bench in the shade by the delphiniums.

  Mrs. Danvers must have been watching because she came running, her long black skirt whipping around her legs. “What have you done to him?”

  Mars slid his iPhone out of a pocket and called 911.

  Mrs. Danvers looked at him in horror. “He doesn’t need an ambulance!”

  When Mars spoke into the phone and said he thought we had found a body, Mrs. Danvers howled and slung the back of her wrist against his phone, knocking it out of Mars’s hand. It flew through the air over the flower bed and landed next to the hand, as though the hand were reaching for it.

  Mars and I exchanged a look. “I’m not going back there to get it,” he said.

  “You couldn’t pay me enough to retrieve it,” said Nina.

  “The rescue people can retrieve it,” I said. “That way we won’t disturb the evidence.”

  “What is wrong with you people? Roscoe isn’t dead, and he doesn’t need an ambulance. You!” Mrs. Danvers pointed at Mars. “Go get the wheelbarrow from the garden shed and bring it here.” Muttering to Roscoe, she added, “Nobody has any brains anymore. Did you forget to take your medicine again? There’s nothing wrong with you except heat exhaustion. What were you thinking coming out here to walk around? Mad dogs and Englishmen, but you’re neither.”

  Mars dutifully brought the wheelbarrow, sweat beading on his forehead from jogging.

  Mrs. Danvers ripped it away from him and positioned it near Roscoe, who raised one hand and waved it weakly. “Stop fussing over me, Violet. Is it Audie? Can you tell?”

  “Hush, you old fool.”

  There was no way we could swing him into the wheelbarrow. “I don’t think—”

  “That’s the trouble these days. Nobody thinks. You lift his right arm, and you”—she pointed at Mars again—“you lift from the left. Cat woman!” She wiggled a gnarly hand at Nina. “You hold the wheelbarrow steady.”

  This was going to be a nightmare. With any luck at all, we would succeed in simply lowering Roscoe to the grass. I said a little prayer that we wouldn’t drop or hurt him.

  Mrs. Danvers walked to the rear of the wheelbarrow.

  “Violet, tell me,” begged Roscoe in a breathy voice. “Is it Audie under the mulch?”

  She paused and turned her dark eyes toward the base of the mulch pile. She flinched with the slightest flicker of shock. She glanced at me, then at Mars, as though assessing whether we had noticed the hand. In a voice so calm that it sounded fake, she said, “On the count of three.”

  I did my best to get a good grip on Roscoe. There was no doubt he needed to be moved into the house, and he certainly wasn’t in any shape to walk back on his own. The guest house looked to be as far away as the main house.

  But on the count of one, he passed out and fell forward. I didn’t think we could hold his weight, and I was right. Mars and I lowered him to the ground.

  Mrs. Danvers fell to her knees and leaned over Roscoe, stroking his chee
ks. “No! No! Don’t you die on me, you old goat!”

  Fortunately, the siren of an ambulance drew near. Leaving Mars and Nina with Roscoe and Mrs. Danvers, I ran for the house. I felt certain Mrs. Danvers wouldn’t approve of me letting myself in and dashing through the cool house to the front door, but it was too hot and too far to run around the side of the house.

  The ambulance arrived at the same time as Roscoe’s wife, Mindy. I motioned to them all to follow me. When we reached the terrace, they spotted Roscoe and took off, leaving me behind. Mindy ran across the grass in high heels, calling “Roscoe! Roscoe, darling!”

  The doorbell rang. Assuming that no one else was in the house, I returned to the front door and opened it, only to find Detective Kenner.

  “You have to be kidding me,” he said. “Isn’t it enough that you found the incriminating evidence in the murder of Wolf’s wife? Don’t tell me there’s another murder.”

  “I don’t know that there is.” Actually, I was fairly sure. No one would intentionally crawl under mulch. Was that even possible? “Follow me. The emergency medical technicians are here for Roscoe, who collapsed in the heat. But there’s a hand sticking out from under the mulch pile.” I led him through the yard.

  Mars and Kenner nodded at each other.

  “Where is it, Sophie?” asked Kenner. “I don’t see it.”

  “Who are you?” demanded Mrs. Danvers.

  Kenner flashed his police badge.

  “We don’t need the police.” She stood rigidly, as though she thought she could stop him by simply appearing forbidding.

  I scooted around the gurney the rescue squad had set up for Roscoe. “It’s right th—” Where had it gone? “It was about here. Mars saw it, too. So did Mrs. Danv…”—I swallowed the rest of the name—“Violet.”

  She circled around Roscoe, muttering. She was only in the way of the rescue squad. Had she covered the hand so the rescue squad wouldn’t notice?