Diva Wraps It Up, The (8 page)

Dear Natasha,

My siblings make a lot more money than I do. Every Christmas they give my parents pricey electronics and antiques. I can’t begin to compete. What’s a fabulous gift that doesn’t cost much?

Broke in Humbug, Arizona

Dear Broke,

Bake a gingerbread house that looks like your parents’ home. Draw a sketch to guide you, bake the walls, and decorate with candy and white icing. You’ll steal the show.

Natasha

His back to me, the man leaned against the wall of Mars and Natasha’s garage. It had been decorated to look like a gingerbread house. Jonah and Twiggy must have done it, because it was far too cute and traditional for Natasha. The two-story building housed the garage, an incredibly opulent crafting workshop for Natasha, and, on top, the apartment that Jonah and Twiggy had rented.

Lights ran across the top of the roof. Icicle lights dripped along the gutters. More white lights lined the corners of the structure and the windows. Red and white candy canes stood on each side of the back door. Lighted mock hard candies dotted the sides of the house. It was darling.

Unfortunately, the bright lights illuminated Sugar with her hand on the chest of someone who looked all too much like Jonah. My heart plummeted for Twiggy. I didn’t know Sugar. Maybe she was the sweetest woman on earth, but anyone with a figure like that who was so willing to show it off was a man magnet.

Jonah’s head bent forward. Sugar looked up at him coyly. They were deep in conversation about something. The shadows probably hid me somewhat. I didn’t think they noticed me at all.

I strolled on quickly. It was none of my business. But it pained me to know what might be in store for Twiggy.

It was still early enough to bake cookies for Gwen’s cookie swap extravaganza as I had planned. I had been experimenting with a chocolate gingersnap cookie that I thought would fit the bill. Normally I would drizzle the tops with chocolate, but that could take some drying time. I decided to bake them anyway and see how it went. If I had enough time, I would add the drizzle.

I turned on an old Christmas CD, tossed a log in the fireplace to get it going again, and preheated the ovens. Eggs, butter, flour, baking powder, salt, chocolate chips, a bottle of homemade vanilla, and ginger went on the island, ready to be used.

But before I began, I phoned Wong. She answered her phone right away. It must have been a slow night for the police in Old Town. I told her about Edith’s visit.

“She agreed to talk to me? Are you sure?” asked Wong.

“Absolutely.”

Wong snorted. “She’s going to expect a Chinese cop. This should be interesting.”

I had done everything I could for Edith. I measured butter and sugar and my Christmas red KitchenAid mixer went into overtime. The recipe was simple enough. Creaming butter and sugar was a cookie basic. I rolled the dough into balls and placed them on a tray covered with parchment paper. In minutes the first baking sheets slid into my ovens. Only one hundred twenty-six more to go.

I mixed ingredients for the next batch, thinking about Edith and Horace. I found it unfathomable that someone as kind as Horace would play pranks on his wife to scare her. As far as I knew, Edith lived a fairly solitary life. Why would anyone want to make her think she was losing her mind?

I shook my head, removed the baked cookies, and placed more trays in the ovens. That was preposterous. Most likely, Edith was just getting forgetful. Maybe the painters moved the mirror last summer when they painted. Maybe the little statuette broke, and Horace threw it out. There were a million perfectly reasonable explanations.

Then why did it worry me? I used a specially thin cookie spatula to lift baked cookies off the parchment paper and place them on racks to cool. The cookies only baked for twelve minutes. With fifteen cookies on each baking sheet, the whole process was going much faster than I had expected.

I stopped cold. Surely Edith hadn’t planned all this. Could she have weakened the balcony in the hope that her husband would fall? Could she have made up the story about her medicine being on the wrong shelf as a cover for sneaking extra blood thinner into his food?

Scratching my forehead, I sat down in the chair next to the fire. It was almost too clever. Edith could easily move anything around and pretend to be afraid. Why would she have chosen to speak to me today? Was I part of her plan to create an alibi? The timer went off again. I removed the baked cookies and slid another batch into the oven.

Suddenly, I was extremely glad that I had called Wong. Something strange was happening with the Scrogginses. I just didn’t know which one might be trying to get rid of the other one.

The scents of vanilla and ginger wafted through the air from the cooling cookies. I prepared two more trays for the oven and considered making myself a drink.

Mochie lifted his head and focused on the kitchen door as though he expected someone to arrive.

Wong and Nina showed up less than a minute later. Frigid night air blew through the kitchen when they bolted inside.

“When did it get so cold?” asked Nina.

“I was just getting ready to make some hot cider.”

Wong sniffed and surveyed my production line. “Ginger? Wow, but that’s a lot of cookies.”

“I’m almost done. They’re for a cookie swap. I just need to drizzle chocolate over them to make them pretty. I don’t suppose you two would like to taste them to be sure they’re edible?”

Nina and Wong each grabbed a cookie before removing their coats.

Nina groaned with satisfaction. “Umm. Perfect for a cold night. And it’s so Christmasy in here already.” She slung their coats on the banquette, picked up Mochie, and nestled into a fireside chair with him on her lap.

Wong drummed her fingertips on the island. “That Mrs. Scroggins is a piece of work.”

I poured melted chocolate into an icing bag with a small round frosting tip and let the chocolate fall onto the cookies in a zigzag pattern. “Did you ever get a search warrant for Horace’s office and have a look at the balcony?”

Wong smiled, her round cheeks puffing up. “Wasn’t necessary. I sent the building inspector around to have a look. I just happened to be there on the sidewalk when he arrived.” She flipped her hand casually.

Nina and I giggled at her planned coincidence.

“The railing had rotted through. Even I could see that it hadn’t been tampered with.”

“And I was so sure that wicked Mrs. Scroggins was trying to do her sweet husband in. Did you tell Wong about Brown-Eyed Girl?” asked Nina.

I glared at Nina for a moment, frustrated that she’d so readily revealed Horace’s private letter. On the other hand, given what Edith had told me, Wong probably should know. I suspected she could keep a secret better than blabbermouth Nina.

While Nina told Wong all about Brown-Eyed Girl, I poured apple cider into a pot to heat and tossed in two sticks of cinnamon, juicy orange slices, a pinch of cloves, and a teeny bit of nutmeg.

Wong appeared incredulous. “That’s so sweet. And so sad. I can’t believe he kept the letter all those years.”

I added chocolate to the last tray of cookies. When I was finished, I turned in a circle, looking for any I might have missed. There wasn’t a square inch of countertop that wasn’t covered with cookies. No wonder Wong had been impressed.

I poured the cider into footed glass mugs and garnished them with orange slices. After handing them to my friends, I sat down and relaxed. “So what did Edith say?”

Wong tilted her head. “You know I can’t talk about that.” She grinned at Nina. “But I wouldn’t stop
you
from telling Nina about it.”

Good grief. I filled Nina in as fast as I could.

“She came here?” asked Nina. “Was she nice?”

“Stiff. But for once, she wasn’t horribly hostile.”

Wong’s lip twitched upward.

“Can you tell us anything about what she said?” I asked.

“Did you notice her eye color?”

I thought a moment. “She was wearing a veil—but you wouldn’t mention it unless they were brown!”

Nina’s forehead wrinkled. “I need a real drink. She rose, displacing Mochie, who yawned before the fire. Nina doctored her cider with bourbon and butterscotch schnapps. “Anyone else?” she asked.

Wong declined. “I’m on duty.”

“Maybe a little bit of the schnapps,” I said.

Nina complied. “This is boggling my mind. What you’re saying, Wong, without actually telling us, is that you think Edith Scroggins is Brown-Eyed Girl. But then why would he say Edith should never know?”

Wong cocked her head again. “Can you imagine what it must be like to be married to her? It’s a mystery to me that they’re married at all, but I can imagine that she responds to any display of affection with criticism or hatefulness.”

Nina curled her fingers around her mug of cider. She shook her head in disagreement. “Nope. I’m not buying it. She couldn’t have been a wonderful, warm—scratch that,
normal
—person in her youth and a colossal crab now. People don’t change that drastically. Horace has a long-lost honey somewhere.”

I wasn’t sure what Wong could or would say about Edith, and I wanted to respect her position as a cop, but I asked anyway, “What do you think about the things that are moving around in Edith’s house?”

Wong sipped her cider while she considered. “It’s troubling. I’ll keep an eye on her place and pass the word along.”

“I think she’s doing it to get attention.” Nina eyed another cookie. “Why would she come to your house? Because she’s alone. There’s no one at home to yell at. You saw the commotion she made at Rocking Horse Toys today. She craves attention, and apparently she’ll do anything to get it.”

“I love that place. It’s the best toy store anywhere. Makes me wish I were a kid again.” Wong sucked in a deep breath. “You’re being mighty deep tonight, Nina. Maybe you’re onto something.”

“Do they socialize with anyone?” I asked. “Someone who might know more about Edith? Horace always came to parties and events by himself. I rarely saw her with him.”

Wong asked, “When does Francie get home from visiting the Greenes? I bet she knows the scoop.”

My neighbor Francie had lived on our block longer than anyone else. “She’s due home soon.”

Wong snagged a couple more cookies and got back to patrolling the neighborhood. Nina headed home, and I finally hit the sack, leaving the cookies out so the chocolate would harden enough for me to package them.

Mochie jumped on top of my bed and curled up. The battery-operated candle in my bedroom window glowed as I snuggled under the down comforter.

I drifted off to sleep, thinking about brown-eyed girls, Edith, and poor Twiggy. This wasn’t turning out to be a happy holiday at all.

The cold air left a frosty glaze of snow on the ground during the night. Snow flurries blew outside when I rose in the morning. I made a mug of steaming tea and indulged in a three-cheese omelet. Mochie turned down canned turkey and chicken. He communicated his displeasure by lifting his dish and letting it drop with a
bang
until I finally got it right with canned salmon.

I packaged my chocolate gingersnaps in red boxes with snowflakes around the sides. I tied each one with a white satin ribbon, adding a recipe card and a glittering white snowflake that could be hung on a tree. When all thirteen boxes stood on my dining room table, ready to go, I took a second mug of tea into my office. Mochie settled on my desk and groomed himself while I got some work done in my pajamas.

Even though I applied myself, Edith Scroggins weighed on my mind. At noon, the sun returned and the icy glaze on the sidewalks had disappeared. Dressed in soft, stretchy jeans, boots, and a dark green turtleneck that was too warm to wear indoors, I walked to the Scrogginses’ house.

Their home was decked out with a surprising amount of Christmas décor for a house belonging to someone as unhappy and disagreeable as Edith. I wondered if Edith appreciated Horace’s happy touches. I knocked a lion’s head door knocker nine inches wide that gleamed in the sunshine. Someone kept it very well polished. The detail on the lion’s face was astounding.

I heard footsteps on the other side of the door, but no one opened it. “Mrs. Scroggins?” I called.

Dear Sophie,

I have been invited to a cookie swap. I would love to attend, just to get together with friends and relax from the holiday craziness for a couple of hours. But when will I find the time to bake all those cookies?

Busy Mom in Candlestick, Georgia

Dear Busy Mom,

The dough in many cookie recipes needs to be refrigerated before it can be rolled out or sliced and baked. Choose cookies that do not need to be frosted. Make all the dough one night. Package it in waxed paper and store in the fridge. Bake the cookies when you have a free evening, or over a couple of days when you have a little time. If you have children, they might be willing to help you put the cookies into containers in exchange for a cookie snack.

Sophie

The door swung open to reveal a woman with a pleasant face, and—good heavens—brown eyes! She smiled at me. “I’m sorry, dear. Mrs. Scroggins is out. I’m Mabel Akins, the housekeeper. May I tell her who called?”

“I’m Sophie Winston. I just wanted to check on her.”

The woman’s eyes widened in shock. “Check on Edith? That’s a first. This is a day just full of surprises. Come in out of the cold, sweetheart. Mrs. Scroggins wasn’t here when I arrived this morning. That was a first, too.”

“You have a key?” I inquired casually.

“Shh. Now, don’t you tell her, but Horace gave me a key years ago. I carry it with me even though I know she leaves the key to the back door over the ledge. But Mrs. Scroggins has always been here to greet me at the side door. Never let me out of her sight—until today.”

“I think the cat might be out of the bag when she comes home and finds the house clean.”

She laughed. “I suppose so. I reckon she’s over at the hospital checking on Horace.”

I doubted that but kept my suspicion to myself. “Have you heard anything about his condition?”

“They say he’s having a rough time of it. I can’t imagine a more terrible thing to happen to such a good man. Falling is bad enough, but landing on his own dagger! It breaks my heart to think of it.”

“Have you worked for them long?” She seemed willing to gab. I felt a little guilty taking advantage of her, but I knew so little about Edith.

“I cleaned this house for Mrs. Scroggins’s parents, and when they passed, I kept right on cleaning for Horace and Mrs. Scroggins. Goodness, it’s at least twenty years or more now. Fine people, her parents were. It’s a shame Edith turned out so . . . oh my. You must be a friend to come around checking on her. I didn’t mean to say anything unkind.”

“It’s all right. I know she’s crabby and unfriendly.”

“You said it!” She leaned toward me. “That’s why I didn’t open the door right away. In all the years I’ve been cleaning for her, no one has ever knocked on the door! Not even to bring a package. When you knocked, I was afraid it might be her, testing me in some way.”

I took a stab. “Has she been acting unusual lately?”

She gasped. “How did you know? Meaner than a snake is what she’s been. She’s colder than ice anyway and prone to yelling, but lately, she’s been intolerable! Accusing me of all kinds of things. Honestly”—she swirled her finger in the air near her ear—“I think the old biddy is losing it. I’m closer to Horace’s age, so heaven knows what I’ll be like at her age, but she’s started accusing me of moving things. And stealing my own bonus!”

“Horace’s age?”

“You didn’t know? She’s ten years older than Horace.”

“The mirror in the hall . . . ?”

“She told you about that? I didn’t think she talked to anyone.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, darlin’, it does me good to know that she has one friend in the world. Now, that mirror, I’ll admit, that was awful strange. One day it was on one side of the hall and the next day it was on the other. I don’t clean but once a week—it’s not necessary more often as it’s just the two of them—but I did a double take when I went to dust it and it was on the other side. She says she didn’t move it.”

“Did you talk to Horace about it?”

She pulled her chin back. “He said to humor her. What does that mean? I didn’t need to humor her, because I agreed with her. Somebody moved that mirror!”

“Do you think it could have been Mrs. Scroggins?”

She blinked at me. “Then why would she complain about it?”

“Because she’s confused?”

“Oh, that’s sad. You could be right. Maybe that’s why Horace suggested I humor her. It fits in with her misplacing things.” She heaved a sigh. “Poor Mrs. Scroggins, losing her mind and going bonkers. I hope you won’t mind if I don’t tell her that you stopped by. Maybe you could call her later? I don’t want to set her off. In fact, I believe I’ll leave early so she won’t know I’ve been here. No point in upsetting the poor dear. Goodness me. I’ve spent all these years disliking her, but then something like this happens”—she snapped her fingers—“and all I feel is pity for her.”

I thanked Mabel and assured her I would call Edith later. They kept their house warm, and I felt like I would bake in my heavy sweater. It was a relief to step out into the cold air again. I wondered, though, what had prompted Edith to leave the house unattended when she knew Mabel was coming. Maybe Edith really was confused.

I probably shouldn’t have, but out of curiosity, I cut through the walkway that led past the house and into the back garden. Even though winter had ravaged the garden, it offered a private respite. Beautiful bushes and old trees stood stark against the fence, their bare branches reaching out like comforting arms around the expansive garden. Boxwoods lined redbrick walkways and a small herb garden had been put to bed for the season. Only the markers with herb names remained. Totally symmetrical, another patch of the same size and shape lay asleep on the other side. A fountain stood in the middle, surrounded by a circle of the red bricks that led like spokes on a wheel to the north, south, east, and west. I imagined that it must be even more impressive from the upstairs windows. Where had the statuette of the boy been? I walked through the garden to the back gate and let myself out into the alley.

The old VW camper that had horrified Gwen was parked outside their gate on the other side of the alley. I turned left and walked by Mars and Natasha’s gingerbread garage. I paused for a minute where I’d seen Sugar and Jonah the night before. My cell phone rang, startling me.

“What are you wearing on your date?”

I recognized Nina’s voice. “I don’t know. Probably something black.”

“I have your dress and there’s a woman eyeing it. She looks like she wants to grab it out of my arms. They only have one. Get thee to Sweet Belle right now.”

“Nina, that’s thoughtful of you, but—”

She spoke to someone else. “I’m trying this on.” Into the phone, she hissed, “Hurry!”

The store was only a few blocks away. I stopped by my house, grabbed my wallet, and walked over, knowing full well that I wouldn’t buy it. It was Christmas, for heaven’s sake. I needed to buy gifts for other people, not shop for myself.

The second I opened the door to the shop, I knew I was wrong. Nina had me pegged. She held out the hanger so I could see the entire 1960s-style dress. Blue velvet on top, the color of the fabric grew darker in the tapered bodice until it ended up midnight velvet in a flared skirt. Silver sparkles clustered around the scoop neck and grew more sparse as they descended toward the bottom of the dress. It reminded me of a twilight sky with stars.

Nina handed it to me and smiled a bit too condescendingly at a woman who looked on with annoyance. I gathered she was the one with her eye on the dress.

Happily, it zipped up with no problem. The skirt flattered my figure by fooling the eye and making my waist look smaller. It was exactly right for the formal bar association dinner that I planned to attend with Alex.

When I paid for it, the owner of the store said, “It just came in this morning as a sample from a young new designer. All the employees have been gushing over it. There’s something so feminine about it.”

“Where were you?” asked Nina.

“I went over to check on Edith Scroggins.”

The shop owner’s head snapped up. “Is something wrong with her? I know Horace is in the hospital. I hope she’s not sick, too.”

What? Someone who actually liked Edith? “Are you a friend of Edith’s?” I inquired.

“Not exactly. She’s a very good customer. Won’t buy anything that’s on sale.
There’s
a quirk every boutique owner loves! We always serve her a glass of champagne and bring out the classic clothes we know she likes. She won’t paw through racks like the rest of us do, and she has exquisite taste. She’d like this dress. I hope she’s okay?”

I didn’t feel that I should go into details. “She wasn’t home. Probably at the hospital.”

Nina’s eyebrows shot up, giving my lie away. I grabbed the hanging bag that contained the dress and propelled her out the door before she could say anything. Somehow I felt it would be wrong to spread word of Mrs. Scroggins’s problems all over town.

“She finally went to the hospital to see Horace?”

“I don’t know that. It just seemed a reasonable thing to say.” We walked toward our block. “I did speak to her housekeeper, though. The mirror really was moved. But after talking with her, I’m inclined to think that poor Edith is suffering from a failing memory. That seems sort of consistent with Edith making such a big fuss about using a coupon yesterday at Rocking Horse Toys, yet she won’t buy anything on sale at the boutique. She’s confused.”

Nina’s lips puckered. “Or she does what gets her the most attention.”

“What?” Maybe Nina was right. That would explain her erratic behavior, too. “Funny. Most people try to be super-friendly to get attention.”

Nina snorted. “The squeaky wheel. Everyone always makes a big fuss over the people who complain the most. Haven’t you ever noticed that? If you’re nice about a problem, they’re grateful. If you’re mean about it, they give you stuff for free and try harder to make you happy.”

“How do you know that? Do you make scenes when I’m not around?”

“Just observation of human behavior. I should have been a shrink. People are so fascinating! Mars and Natasha, for instance. Wouldn’t you think she would do anything to keep Mars at home? Instead, she drove him back to you, and you very generously embraced what he wanted to do to your house—almost like you’re still married. I don’t think Natasha thought that one through. Seems pretty foolish to me.”

Mars stood on a ladder hanging lights around my front windows. Daisy sniffed the bushes underneath. I gauged my response carefully. “Maybe Natasha is comfortable with the friendship between Mars and me.”

Nina laughed so loud that Mars turned to look at us. “Then she’s a dolt of the highest order. See you at the cookie swap.”

Nina’s reaction made me feel guilty again. I crossed the street thinking I had no reason to feel that way. The fact that Mars and I had shared a kiss a couple of years ago in a moment of enormous stress meant nothing. It had never happened again.

Daisy ran to me for dog hugs. She wiggled from one end to the other. “Only a few more days before you come back here to stay with me,” I whispered. She must have understood, because she licked the side of my face.

I said hi to Mars. Daisy followed me into the house. Mochie must have been watching Mars from the living room. He dashed in to see us, stopped, stretched, and then pretended he wasn’t really that interested but finally wound around our legs.

I hung the dress in the hall closet so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Daisy and Mochie followed me into the kitchen where Mochie head-butted me, prompting me to give him a few dried salmon kitty treats. Daisy waited patiently. She sat next to the counter where I kept the dog cookie jar and raised her paw without my asking. I shook it and handed her a large carrot and bacon cookie in the shape of a dog bone.

They raced up the stairs with me when I carried the new dress upstairs to my walk-in closet.

At four o’clock I donned a red and white Christmas sweater my mother had knitted. White on the shoulders and red in the body, she had sewn on iridescent white beads that made it perfect for the holidays. With a pair of winter white slacks, I thought I looked festive but not overdressed for a holiday cookie swap party. A pair of silver earrings were all the jewelry I needed.

The
tack
,
tack
,
tack
of Mars’s staple gun hammered outside my window. I didn’t mind leaving that annoying sound. Poor Daisy would have to stay inside with Mochie and listen to Mars work on the roof. Daisy and Mochie followed me downstairs.

I took the bags packed with cookies, along with the throw I had washed for Baxter, apologized to Daisy and Mochie for leaving them in the house with that racket going on overhead, and hustled out the door. Light snowflakes blew, and I debated wearing a coat. Gwen’s house wasn’t far, though.

The same
tack
,
tack
,
tack
resounded across the street at Liza’s house. Luis appeared to be setting up a rooftop nativity scene.

I shivered in the cold wind, crossed the street, and looked back at my house.

Mars had deviated from his plan considerably. A plump Santa Claus had one leg in my chimney. Bernie clambered around, apparently fastening a sleigh on the roof. I hoped they would be okay. It was a long way down.

I hurried toward Gwen’s house, relieved to see that no one pounded on her roof. It was bad enough that the sound of staple guns reverberated through the neighborhood. Gwen’s front door bore an oversized wreath of greens covered with shiny pink and orange balls. A wide orange bow bordered with gold dominated the top. I rang the bell, and Gwen opened the door as if she had been waiting on the other side.

“Sophie!” She leaned toward me and kissed the air over each of my shoulders.

It took me exactly one second to realize that she had a pink and orange Christmas theme going. She wore an orange Christmas sweater that looked to be hand-knitted. A vivid pink border ran along the V-neck and the sleeves. A row of lime green Christmas trees lined the bottom and matched the color of her leggings. She twirled around. “I made it myself.”