Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The (18 page)

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Authors: Krista Davis

Tags: #Murder, #Winston; Sophie (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Dwellings

BOOK: Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The
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I assumed that Bernie possessed a high tolerance for quirky ladies, since his mother had married seven or eight times. So it came as no surprise when he made a show of kissing her hand.
“Oh, you are a love! Single? Have you met my grand-daughter? She’s never been married—no baggage, if you know what I mean. I’m going to be helping her decorate the dining room.”
If Bedelia had acted that way toward Mars or Humphrey, I would have to come to the rescue. But Bernie took it all in stride and didn’t even blush.
“My, but everything looks so different now. That’s what twenty years will do.” She pulled her head back in surprise and flicked a hand in the air toward the bookcases. “I don’t remember that monstrosity at all.”
“You knew Mordecai and his wife.” It was more of a question than a statement, although I knew the answer.
“Our husbands taught in the same department. As faculty wives, we were often thrown together.” She studied Mordecai’s built-in bookcases. “I didn’t care for Jean, though. Never understood why people made such a fuss about that woman.”
“She won the Guild Award two years in a row,” I pointed out.
“Stole it. Just like it was stolen from my Iris last night. I adore Teddy, and if Iris couldn’t win, then he would be my next choice, but honestly, now—did you think Teddy’s glass house was better than Iris’s sumptuous dining room? In my book there wasn’t any comparison.”
“Nana? Where did you go?” Iris popped in and took her grandmother’s arm. “You won’t believe this. Nolan’s painters are here. Apparently he can’t be bothered with anything so mundane as painting. And get this”—she nudged me—“they snickered about how he leaves the store to see his honey every day at noon—and I don’t think they meant Camille. Anyway, Nolan is doing the living room in a completely hideous Caribbean turquoise that I cannot work with in an adjoining room. It’s garish. Simply the worst possible taste. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. So I’ve trumped Natasha’s plans and arranged for us to do the master bedroom. Posey will froth at the mouth when she finds out she’s now going to be stuck with the dining room, but at least our room will have a shot at getting me the Guild Award.”
They left to have a look at their new assignment, and I could hear them gabbing as they walked upstairs.
“What a pistol!” laughed Bernie. “C’mon, I’ll buy you lunch, and we can pick up painting supplies while we’re out.”
We were almost through the front door when I heard Natasha’s trill. “Sophie! Sophie!” I recognized the fake sweetness and was tempted to run.
Under his breath, Bernie muttered, “She wants something.”
Before we could flee, Natasha descended upon us. “Soph, sweetie, we have a problem.” She smiled her phony beauty pageant smile, and I knew whatever she planned to say meant trouble for me.
“No.” I said it firmly.
“No, what?”
“No to whatever you cooked up. You’ve already stuck me with the most cluttered room in the house. I’m not switching rooms now that we’ve gotten rid of the garbage.”
She clapped a hand to her chest like she was appalled by the thought. “Would I do something like that?”
Yes
. I stared her down.
“Adam Swensen called. The auction people came by this morning, and they’ve told him they’re not interested in anything but a few pieces of the better furniture and those gaudy andirons. Oddly enough, the same pieces Nolan offered to buy. Anyway, it looks like we’ll have to have a yard sale.”
I knew where this was going. “Oh no. That is
really
not my problem.” I turned to leave. “C’mon, Bernie.”
“I offered to take care of it,” Natasha said behind me, “but for reasons I cannot fathom, Adam insists you do it.”
My shoulders sagged. Adam probably didn’t have a clue how much work a yard sale involved.
“He’ll pay you,” Natasha trilled.
Bernie nudged me. “We’ll enlist the help of the entire neighborhood. Francie and Mars and Nina. Maybe the fortune hunters will pitch in, too. I . . . well, I think we ought to do it for old Mordecai.”
“When did you become such a do-gooder?” I quipped.
“It’s for the dog, Sophie. Emmaline gets the money.” That was low, but Natasha knew which button to push to make me reconsider.
I shook my head. “Bernie, I have no idea when the cops will release the Rooms and Blooms exhibits. I’ll be tied up with that any day now. And it’s February, for heaven’s sake. It will probably rain—or snow! This isn’t yard sale weather.”
With my luck, the police would release the exhibit hall on the day of the yard sale, and a snowstorm would hit. “Call Adam back, Natasha, and tell him it’s not yard sale season. I’ll try to find a company that will take Mordecai’s possessions to sell. But the decorators have to carry everything to the porch. I’m not doing all the heavy lifting. And you,” I said clearly, so she wouldn’t misunderstand, “are responsible for making sure it’s all out here so it can be picked up.”
Her eyes almost sparkled. But I still felt terrible. Bernie’s generosity reminded me what a lousy neighbor I’d been to Mordecai. It was time I stepped up to the plate and did the neighborly thing.
Bernie chatted amiably on the way to pick up sandwiches. But I still suffered from bad friend syndrome. I’d known Bernie for years. In fact, he’d been the best man at my wedding. But I knew so little about him. From what I gathered, he’d lived on a number of grand English estates as his mother churned through husbands. I’d always thought him a bit irresponsible and too carefree. His yellowish hair always appeared tousled, giving him a boyish look, and there was little doubt in my mind that the kink in his nose meant it had been broken once, if not twice. Yet he ran one of the most popular restaurants in Old Town for an absentee owner. And I’d had no idea that he could carve wood.
We stopped by Bernie’s restaurant for sandwiches. He disappeared to the kitchen for two smoked turkey, Boursin, and mixed greens sandwiches on round cracked wheat rolls. I settled into a cushy armchair and made some phone calls to auction houses that regularly sold box lots from estates.
From my vantage point, I could see the host’s desk at the entrance to the restaurant, and the first person to walk in was none other than Detective Kenner. He spoke to the seating host, who pointed in my direction. Kenner’s head swiveled toward me, and I realized that Wolf had been dead-on. Kenner was watching us. I lifted my right hand and wiggled my fingers in greeting with a smile that I couldn’t hold back.
I had to guess Kenner found himself in an uncomfortable position. If he waited outside, he wouldn’t know who I met in the restaurant. If he came in and sat down in the bar area, it would be obvious that he was watching me. I tried not to show my glee.
He glared at me, spun on his heel, and left so fast that he bumped into Camille. I thought he muttered an apology, but she seemed a bit miffed. She paused at the host’s desk, patted her hair into place, and smiled when Adam Swensen, Mordecai’s attorney, came through the door. They disappeared from my line of sight when the host showed them to a table.
I was almost sorry to see Bernie return with our food. His restaurant appeared to be a good place to observe people. I spotted Kenner waiting outside as soon as we left the restaurant. He must have been sorely disappointed by my boring behavior.
As we strolled back to Mordecai’s, Bernie nodded toward the window of a kitchen store. Ted and Mike were examining an upscale kitchen display of cream-colored cabinets with a honey glaze and loads of glass doors. The island in the middle featured country baskets on shelves underneath the counter. It contrasted with the other cabinets and stood out by virtue of its forest green color.
I’d walked by the place a hundred times but hadn’t paid much attention. Glancing up at the sign, I realized that it wasn’t Finkel Kitchen and Bath. Mike rapped on the window and motioned us inside.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Very nice European styling. Reminds me of a kitchen in an English manor. Needs different handles, though.” Bernie trotted off and returned in a moment, carrying a burnished bronze handle that he held up to a cabinet. It would make the entire setup look like it had been in a house for ages.
“Good eye,” said Mike. “We can get this for a song. They’re switching out their display, and if we feature a sign with their name saying where the cabinets can be bought, they’ll knock off even more. Best of all, we wouldn’t have to special order it. They’ll deliver it as soon as we’re ready. All we have to do is make it fit the existing space.”
I’d seen Natasha’s ultramodern kitchen and knew it wasn’t her style. Carefully, I asked, “Is this what Natasha had in mind?”
Ted guffawed. “Natasha lives in a dream world. If she wants a kitchen fast, she doesn’t have a lot of choices.”
“Have you seen her sketch?” Mike held it out to me and pinched his nose as though it smelled bad.
An island appeared to float in the middle of the kitchen, and the stark cabinets along the walls hung midair with a two-foot space underneath them. Reminiscent of Nolan’s bedroom at Rooms and Blooms, I thought. Must be the latest trend.
“It’s like a spaceship kitchen. A little too stark for me.” Mike rubbed his beard. “She thinks all the cabinets should be stainless steel and she wants copper countertops. Do you know what copper costs?”
I preferred a warmer kitchen myself. I lowered my voice so the owner wouldn’t hear me. “Have you heard from Kurt? I thought you might go there for cabinets.”
“Ted insisted on going to Kurt’s store. Against my better judgment, I should add,” said Mike. “There’s a handwritten sign that says ‘Closed Due to Illness.’ ”
EIGHTEEN
From “THE GOOD LIFE” : SOPHIE’S PAINTING TIP
The new latex paints are much easier to use than oil-based paints. If you’re painting indoors, look for a semi-gloss latex paint because they’re washable. Flat paints don’t clean up as well once they’re on the walls. Use oil-based paints for painting outdoor items exposed to weather because they will hold up better under tough conditions.
For best coverage, paint walls in an X or zigzag pattern.
“Illness?” Did that mean Kurt had turned up? I had to know. But I couldn’t very well call Earl Finkel to ask if her husband was alive. Maybe I could talk Natasha into calling.
Bernie and I left Ted and Mike to work out details with the owner of the kitchen store, and we headed for the paint store.
I’d expected to return to Mordecai’s with color swatches, but Bernie and I both pointed directly to a shade called Tuscan Umber. Warmer than beige, but not quite gold, it contained just enough orange-red to seem like the afternoon sun shone on it. The paint store owner agreed to deliver it, and soon we were on our way back.
As we approached the house, I could see that Natasha had been busy aggravating designers. Like Empress of the World, she stood on the porch and directed everyone who carried out a load of Mordecai’s belongings. I couldn’t help wondering if the secret bequest had landed in a box and rested somewhere on the porch.
Bernie and I paused on the steps. “Makes me want to go home and pitch everything I don’t need into the dustbin,” said Bernie.
I shuddered at the thought of strangers emptying my drawers and going through my closets. It didn’t bother some people, though. A few nosy neighbors were already rummaging through the boxes on the porch.
“Scavengers. Every last one of them.” Francie came up behind us. “They’re not doing that to me when I go,” she muttered. As we scooted by Natasha and walked inside, Francie growled, “So don’t hold your breath. You’re not getting your mitts on my stuff.”
Unfortunately, Bedelia happened to be in the foyer, and she immediately cackled, “No one would want any of your dime-store treasures.”
“What are you doing here?” demanded Francie.
Bedelia lifted her chin as though she thought she was lording something over Francie. “I’m assisting Iris in redecorating the master bedroom. I would have won the Design Guild Award, you know, if Jean hadn’t cheated me out of it.”
Francie sputtered, “That was more than twenty years ago. Get over it already.” She shot me a pleading look and I said, “Okay, fine. You’re officially on team Sophie.”
Francie flashed a beat-that grin at Bedelia.
While Bernie and I ate lunch, Francie puttered around the house, no doubt annoying Bedelia. The paint arrived exactly as Mars hauled a ladder into the family room.
Mars and Bernie took down the curtains, full of decades of dust, while Francie and I searched for old sheets to cover the beautiful oversized desk.
Natasha sent us to the third floor, where she’d discovered a trunk full of old linens.
As we neared the top of the stairs, Francie sniffed. “Stinks like old house up here.”
I thought I heard footsteps. “
Shh
.”
We quietly snuck along the hallway to the bedroom on the right and discovered Nolan trying to slide his bequest key into the trunk lock. Francie sneezed, giving away our presence.

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