Diva Wraps It Up, The (11 page)

In the middle of the night, Mochie jumped on top of my chest, waking me. He leaped to the edge of the bed, alert and listening.

“It’s okay. It’s just Patty,” I assured him. I turned over and closed my eyes.

But there was no mistaking the creaking of my ancient stairs, or the loud
click
of the latch when she unlocked the front door.

I slid from my bed and peered out the window.

Dear Sophie,

We’re on a very tight budget this year. How can I make my old holiday decorations look fresh on a shoestring?

Miserly Mom in Peartree, Tennessee

Dear Miserly Mom,

Use inexpensive pushpins adorned with pearls, sequins, and charms to dress up pillar candles. Fill everyday items like vases and glass bowls with simple round ornaments of the same color and they’ll bring a whole new look to your décor. Cut evergreens that grow in your yard, and arrange them with your cherished decorations.

Sophie

Dressed in black, Patty scurried along the sidewalk. It wasn’t long before she blended into the shroud of darkness.

I wanted to imagine that she had a good reason to be out and about when everyone slept. Maybe she left the house for a smoke? That would be considerate of her since I didn’t smoke. But why was she awake at all? Maybe she couldn’t sleep from all the stress?

I crawled back into bed, but sat up wondering what was going on. Maybe she needed something and hadn’t wanted to wake me. Or—there weren’t many good reasons for hustling around in the middle of the night.

Patty didn’t return shortly like I hoped she might. I finally drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, after a shower, I pulled on a cashmere sweater with a V-neck in a deep wine red. Black trousers, gold hoop earrings, and a bold necklace of twisted garnet beads completed the outfit.

I made coffee and fed Mochie shredded chicken in sauce for breakfast. Patty hadn’t risen yet, so I snagged a pineapple square to tide me over until breakfast. An hour later Patty still wasn’t stirring.

I preheated the oven, figuring that muffins would be good any time she rose. I hauled out two bowls. In one I placed flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, heady cinnamon, nutmeg, and a pinch of cloves. I whisked the eggs in the other bowl then added rich melted butter and tart cranberries. Folding the ingredients with a spoonula, I combined them, careful not to overmix. I spooned the batter into muffin tins lined with cupcake papers and slid them into the oven.

In the meantime, I fried an egg for myself. If Patty wanted eggs, I would be happy to make some for her. In a tiny pot, I melted butter and set it aside. I mixed cinnamon with sugar in a small bowl and set it next to the butter. When the muffins were done, I dipped the top of each into the butter and rolled it in the cinnamon sugar. The sugar on top of the muffins glistened like crystals. I arranged them on a cake stand that had been hand-painted with green polka dots around the edge and three red Christmas stockings on the top.

A quick call to Nina confirmed that we were still on for lunch with Liza at Bernie’s restaurant, The Laughing Hound. Determined to check on Edith, I left a note for Patty, in case she woke while I was out, slung on a warm jacket, and walked over to Horace and Edith’s house. It looked exactly as it had the day before.

I lifted the handle of the huge knocker and banged it three times. If Edith was home, she would certainly hear it. No one opened the door this time. I leaned to the right and the left to peek inside, but sheer drapes prevented me from seeing anything.

Just in case she had fallen, I walked around to the garden behind the house and knocked on a back door. I didn’t hear anything. If Edith was there, she didn’t moan or cry out. What appeared to be a kitchen window looked out over the garden. I would need a ladder to see into the house, though. On the other side, a much larger window offered hope. A white pergola with bare wisteria vines looping through it formed an outdoor room. I stepped on the limestone floor. Cupping my hands around my eyes and leaning against the window, I peered inside.

An oriental rug, red on the interior with a blue border, dominated the dining room. A colonial-style brass chandelier hung over a large walnut table on massive pedestal legs. The walls had been painted a soft golden hue. Nothing seemed amiss.

I walked through the garden and looked back at the house. No one peered out the windows. Nothing moved. I let myself out the back gate, into the alley. Hadn’t the housekeeper said Edith left a key over the back door? I stopped to consider whether I should let myself in.

If Edith weren’t prone to fits of screaming fury, I might. But I suspected she was a very private person, and I felt the need to respect that.

Elvin walked around the side of his camper. “Oh! Hi. I didn’t expect to see anyone back here in the alley. I’m Elvin Babineaux, Baxter’s brother.” He held out a fleshy hand to shake.

I introduced myself. “I saw you up on the roof helping Baxter decorate.”

His face flushed when he laughed. “I love this neighborhood competition. If you ask me, there’s no such thing as too many Christmas lights. Is your house done yet?”

“I think Mars and Bernie might finish up tonight or tomorrow. Have you seen Luis this morning?”

“He’s fine. He ran by here a few times this morning. Looks like nothing happened to him. Baxter and I are going to give him a hand later on today.”

I waved good-bye and walked past Natasha and Mars’s garage.

When I strolled by the front of the Babineaux house, I saw Baxter draping lights on the bushes. “Baxter, have you heard anything about Horace or Edith?” I asked.

Baxter untangled a string of lights. “Horace is coming along very slowly. You know doctors, they don’t tell you much. And Edith acts as though my interest in Horace is offensive. She, uh”—he released such a deep breath that I thought he deflated a little—“she fired me.”

“Why?” I was shocked.

“We . . . The employees still can’t get into the office. It’s a nightmare. I told her what I thought, and she didn’t care to hear it. She seems to think she’s in charge.”

“Why would she lock them out? Surely she understands that business must continue?”

“Because she’s an old crab. I’ve talked about it with some of the other employees. She’s asserting her dominance because she can. Like an old alpha horse trying to make it known that she’s still in control.”

“Is she a Realtor?”

“Only technically. I’d be surprised if she ever worked a day in her life. She certainly isn’t actively involved in selling real estate.”

I asked if he had Horace’s home phone number.

“He’s still laid up in the hospital.”

“I thought I should check on Edith.”

Baxter roared with laughter. “I had no idea you were so humorous. That’s a good one.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Oh?” He pulled a cell phone from his wallet, looked up the number, and read it to me.

“Thanks.”

“Uh, Sophie? Have you seen Gwen today?”

“Can’t say that I have. Did you lose her?” I teased.

“She didn’t come home last night. I pretended she was upstairs because I didn’t want the kids to worry.” He focused on the lights, but his fingers didn’t work at untangling them. “I . . . Did she ever say anything about another man?”

Oh no. Poor Baxter. “I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person. I don’t think that’s the kind of thing she would have confided in me. We aren’t that close. If you’re talking about the Christmas letter, I think the reference to her affair was a joke.”

He nodded his head very slowly, like he was deep in thought.

I said good-bye but suspected he didn’t hear me. I hustled home to write the number down before I forgot it.

When I opened the door, it didn’t sound like Patty had risen yet. Mochie was the only one padding around the house. He accompanied me to my study, where I called Edith. An answering machine picked up. I worked at my desk until I heard the shower running upstairs.

Patty stumbled into the kitchen in a hurry. “Goodness! I haven’t slept this late since before I had Bethany.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m a little groggy. Oh! Coffee. Thank you.”

She helped herself to a muffin and checked the time. “I’m going to be late picking her up. I hope you don’t mind if I eat on the run.” She collected her coat and purse and rushed out the door.

Maybe she would tell me about her midnight escapade later. Or maybe not. I cleaned up the kitchen and prepared to leave for lunch. I pulled on a black winter coat, wrapped a long red and white scarf around my neck, and slung my handbag over my shoulder.

Walking in Old Town was always fun because of the fascinating architecture and the colonial atmosphere. But at Christmas, everyone dressed their houses for the season, making even a simple walk a special occasion. A few flakes of snow drifted in the air.

I admired the wreaths on doors and windows, loaded with pinecones and berries and bright ribbons. I marveled at some of the pineapples, wondering how they stayed in place. Topiaries had been transformed with greenery, fruit, birds, and Christmas ornaments of every description. Bernie had gone all out on The Laughing Hound, too. Boughs of pine sparkled with twinkling white lights. He’d even hung mistletoe over the entrance.

The hostess showed me to the garden room that reminded me of an English conservatory because of all the windows. Through the glass ceiling, I could see huge snowflakes floating gently outside. Enormous Christmas wreaths of multicolored glass balls hung on the windows. Colorful lights in the wreaths twinkled merrily. A tree so large that it very nearly hit the high ceiling added to the festive décor.

Nina and Liza had just taken their seats when I walked in.

“How’s Luis?” I asked.

Liza almost glowered when she said, “As though nothing ever happened. He got up early, went for a run, and by the time I dragged my lazy bones out of bed, he had made breakfast, dressed for work, and was reading the paper.”

“That’s great. I’m so relieved that it wasn’t serious.” I unfolded the napkin and placed it in my lap.

The waitress arrived to run through the daily specials. I ordered immediately, practically drooling at the thought of crab-stuffed ravioli with a fresh lobster sauce.

When the waitress left, Liza glanced around. “But get this. When Luis was out running he saw Baxter, who said Gwen didn’t come home last night!”

Nina’s forehead wrinkled. “Because of her argument with Natasha at the cookie swap? That’s nuts.”

I felt a little guilty about gossiping, but I said, “Baxter asked me if Gwen could be having an affair.”

Nina groaned and swiped a hand through the air. “I knew that letter would be trouble. Who says that, even in jest? First she scared all the wives, and now it’s only natural that Baxter would think she’s seeing someone. She put the idea in his head.”

“It’s odd that she didn’t come home,” said Liza, wiggling her eyebrows. “Poor Baxter. Do you think she left him for good?”

I didn’t like gossiping, but this might be my chance to find out more about that suspicious ladder. “You and Luis know Gwen and Baxter pretty well, don’t you, Liza?”

“You’d think so after reading her Christmas letter, wouldn’t you? Can I tell you how many people have asked me about our trip to Paris? That Gwen is a pip! We went to Paris,
Virginia
! It’s a sleepy little town with one very good restaurant in an inn. And Kenny G?” She laughed aloud. “He was our waiter! Kenny Graham! Can you believe how she twisted that story? Technically it’s all true, it’s just not what anyone thinks when they read it.”

Nina sputtered, “Baxter and Gwen didn’t go to France?”

“No! And did you notice the lie about their mountain cabin? She wants people to think they bought it. It’s a rental. They didn’t even stay there. Luis took that picture the day we went to
Paris
.”

“So you’re not close?” asked Nina.

“We’ve done a few things together,” said Liza, “but we’re not nearly the bosom buddies she implied in her letter. I know her like a person knows a neighbor. I’ll say this, though, she has to be the center of attention all the time. People say I’m dramatic”—she touched the base of her throat—“but Gwen is consumed with herself.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Luis says that’s called histrionic personality disorder.”

“That’s so sad.” I sipped my tea. “The Babineauxs have so much to be proud of anyway. Why would Gwen feel the need to exaggerate like that? Or is there trouble brewing underneath?” I didn’t say it but wanted to blurt out,
Would she have sawed the rung on her husband’s ladder?

“Baxter seems quite fond of Gwen. I usually think of a trophy wife as younger than the first one. Gwen certainly isn’t young, but she’s flashy and works at being seductive. Patty seems more timid, like a little mouse.” Liza had them pegged. “They’re totally different types.”

“Does Luis think Gwen has this disorder thing for real?” asked Nina.

Liza flipped her palms up dramatically. “You’re married to a doctor. I’m sure he’s just like Luis. He hates it when I repeat his on-the-fly diagnoses. I told him all about Edith Scroggins, but he wouldn’t even venture a guess at
her
problem!”

The waitress delivered our lunches. Although Nina’s truffle burger appeared juicy, and the scent of bacon in Liza’s Tagliatelle Carbonara made me take note to try it sometime, my square ravioli with chunks of crab in a salmon-colored sauce was by far the most alluring. Heavenly! The sauce accompanied the crab perfectly without overwhelming it.