The Diva Cooks a Goose Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOU R

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  RECIPES & COOKING TIPS

  PRAISE FOR

  The Diva Paints the Town

  “[Davis] handles this tricky tale with aplomb ... and the three animals are endlessly amusing. Davis includes several recipes, and although the novel takes place during a Virginia winter, the strawberry daiquiris will have you pretending it’s summer.”—Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “Davis plates up another delectable whodunit, complete with recipes. Indeed, her novels are every bit as good as Diane Mott Davidson’s Goldy Schulz mysteries.”—Shine

  The Diva Takes the Cake

  “Mistaken identities, half truths, buried secrets, missing jewelry, wedding jitters, and family squabbles are whipped into a sweet froth ... A fun little bonbon of a book.”

  —ReviewingTheEvidence.com

  “Sure to thrill cozy fans ... Ms. Davis has written an engaging heroine.”—Fresh Fiction

  “The Diva Takes the Cake does just that—takes the cake.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “Davis has devised a delightful romp, with engaging characters and a nicely crafted setting in which to place them. The author sets just the right tone to match her diva’s perfect centerpieces, tablescapes, and lighting effects.”

  —Shine

  The Diva Runs Out of Thyme

  “A mouthwatering mix of murder, mirth, and mayhem, nicely spiced by new author Krista Davis.”

  —Mary Jane Maffini, author of Closet Confidential

  “[A] tricky whodunit laced with delectable food ... [and] stuffed with suspects—and a reminder that nobody’s Thanksgiving is perfect.”—Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “[A] fun romp into the world of food, murder, and mayhem.”

  —Armchair Interviews

  “Filled with humor, delicious recipes, and holiday decorating tips ... [A] must-read to prepare for the holiday season.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “As much comedy as mystery ... A series worth watching.”

  —Mysterious Reviews

  “An entertaining mystery novel with charming characters. The plot of the mystery is well drawn out ... Davis is an excellent mystery author.”—MyShelf.com

  “Delivers a plethora of useful household tips and mouthwatering recipes immersed with a keep-you-guessing plot filled with suspicious-acting characters, and twists and turns around every corner. Davis’s smart writing style and engaging characters are sure to garner fans anxious to read future books in the series.”—AuthorsDen.com

  “The beginning of a good culinary cozy series.”

  —Gumshoe Review

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Krista Davis

  THE DIVA RUNS OUT OF THYME

  THE DIVA TAKES THE CAKE

  THE DIVA PAINTS THE TOWN

  THE DIVA COOKS A GOOSE

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  THE DIVA COOKS A GOOSE

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / December 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Cristina Ryplansky.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-44585-3

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group

  (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For my beloved Tante Ingrid,

  who loved Christmas as much as I do

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Kathy O’Brien, who confirmed the dangers of the method of death in this book. As always, I owe thanks to Avery Aames and Janet Bolin, for their friendship, and for critiquing with love and humor. I am also always indebted to my first readers, Marianne Ryplansky and Betsy Strickland, who keep me on track, as well as Amy Wheeler and Susan Erba for unflagging moral support. I am also grateful to Laura Alden, Peg Cochran, Kaye George, and Marilyn Levinson, who are always there with astute insights and clever ideas to spark my imagination.

  Thanks also to my new agent, Jessica Faust, for her enthusiasm and energy, and to my wonderful editor, Sandy Harding, who is always a joy. The very talented Teresa Fasolino has created another warm and wonderful cover for this book and has even given us a glimpse of Faye!

>   A special note of appreciation to Verena Rose, whose gorgeous Ragdoll kittens, officially named Edgar and Agatha, and nicknamed Jasper and Alice, star in this book. What a pleasure to write about Verena’s beautiful babies.

  Merry Christmas from the Bauer Family

  Paul

  Inga

  Sophie

  George and family

  Hannah

  Christmas Greetings from the George Bauer Family

  George

  Laci

  Jen

  Happy Holidays from the Thorpe Family

  Tom

  Tyler

  Dasher

  Merry Yuletide from the Chadwicks

  Forrest

  Ginger

  Emma

  Edward

  Happy Christmas from the Lane Family

  Phil

  Marnie

  Laci and family

  Shawna

  Season’s Greetings from the Scarboroughs

  Bonnie

  Beau

  Best Wishes for a Joyous Holiday from Natasha and Mars

  ONE

  From “THE GOOD LIFE” :

  Dear Sophie,

  I nearly canceled Christmas last year when my children found their presents. My husband thinks we should hide them in the trunk of the car, but I think that’s a hassle. Where can we hide gifts from our snoopy kids?

  —Frazzled Mom in Santa Claus, Arizona

  Dear Frazzled Mom,

  Car theft is rampant during the holidays, so don’t leave gifts in the car! Hiding them in almost plain sight is best. Consider the laundry basket with piles of blankets on top. Another great choice is unused luggage in a storage closet.

  —Sophie

  If it hadn’t been for my brother, George, standing in the middle of the street waving his arms like a maniac, his block would have looked like a Christmas Eve picture from a movie. Strands of Christmas lights sparkled in trees, wound around porches, and traced roof lines. Light snow had begun to dance in the air, teasing that children might rise to a blanket of white on Christmas morning. But the harsh blue of a police car strobe light zapped an eerie glow over the crowd of people milling on lawns and in the street.

  “Pull over there.” Detective Wolf Fleishman, who sat next to me in my car, pointed to the right. “Next to the Grinch snow globe.”

  The Grinch would have been hard to miss. Bigger than the people on the lawn, he bobbled inside a clear plastic orb, grinning evilly and lit from below to show off fake swirling snow. The home owners hadn’t stopped there, though. Eight huge reindeer pulled Santa across the roof of the house, and a train set, big enough for a toddler to ride on, chugged on tracks through the front yard.

  My sister, Hannah, leaned forward in the backseat. “Thank goodness Mom and Dad are all right. I see them on George’s front porch. When he called, I was afraid one of them had an attack or something.”

  Hannah jumped from my car while it was still moving. Normally I would have yelled at her, but I understood her anxiety. Our parents and brother, George, and his family, including his mother-in-law, had spent the evening at my house in Old Town, Alexandria, enjoying our Christmas Eve tradition of feasting on goose. After they left, Wolf, Hannah, and I were cleaning up the kitchen around ten thirty, when George’s cryptic call came. He insisted we bring Wolf to his house immediately, then hung up. Hannah had tried to call George back during the forty-five-minute drive from Alexandria to Chantilly, but he wasn’t answering his phone.

  Once we arrived, Wolf had barely stepped out of my car when George began to gesture like a crazed person and sprang into a frenzied explanation. George’s daughter, Jen, launched herself at my car door declaring, “Christmas is over!”

  I opened the door, stepped out, and smoothed her hair. “Don’t say that, sweetie.” But I had a terrible suspicion that she might be right, given the unhappy faces I saw on her neighbors. Not to mention that it didn’t take much to spoil Christmas for a twelve-year-old. Even one like Jen, who never failed to remind us that she would be a very sophisticated and grown-up thirteen on her next birthday, still ten months away.

  Moving fast so I wouldn’t miss anything, I scooted around the front of the car in time to hear George say, “I think everyone in the neighborhood should open their houses to the cops. The thief won’t agree and then we’ll know who it is.”

  “Thief? What happened?” I asked.

  “Some crumb stole our Christmas gifts. Right out from under our trees. The thief hit the whole neighborhood. We’ve been wiped out.” He’d barely finished speaking when a raven-haired woman, a neighbor, I presumed, clutched his arm and actually batted her eyelashes at him.

  George’s big frustration in life was that he’d only grown to be medium height. That, coupled with a sweet baby face, made him feel he didn’t have what it took to be a tough guy and intimidate people, but women flocked to him like hummingbirds to a red flower.

  “How could that happen?” I asked.

  George used his free hand to give the woman a reassuring pat on her shoulder but cast an impatient look at me. “Apparently he did it during the community party earlier today. People were either away visiting relatives, or at the party. That’s why I think it was an inside job. The thief had to know that everyone would be over at the community center. Someone in our neighborhood is a rat. He even raided closets and found most of the”—George stopped his tirade and looked around at the kids—“S-A-N-T-A gifts and stole them!”

  Wolf nodded in the direction of a couple of Fairfax County cops. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “I told you Christmas was over,” said Jen sadly.

  Mustering a hopeful voice and trying not to sound like my mother, I said, “There’s more to Christmas than just presents.” In spite of my efforts, my voice faded with lack of conviction. Presents are a huge deal when you’re twelve.

  “That’s what Grandma said. I made her a Christmas ornament that’s all sparkly and now some creep has it.”

  Her little mouth turned down at the corners and I couldn’t help hugging her. “We’ll have a fun Christmas anyway.”

  “Sophie! Sophie!” The woman’s voice was all too familiar. Wearing an elegant faux shearling vest and matching hat, she strode toward us. Natasha.

  Natasha and I had grown up together in Berrysville, Virginia, where we had competed at everything, except the beauty pageants she adored. Raven-haired, and svelte in a way I could never be, Natasha had cultivated a loyal and enthusiastic following through her local TV show about all things domestic. And since she had hooked up with my ex-husband, Mars, and bought a house at the end of my block in Old Town, Alexandria, Natasha had become a fixture in my life.

  “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t the nicest reaction, but I did wonder what brought her to my brother’s neighborhood.

  “One of the residents, Tom Thorpe, asked me to decorate the community center. He’s one of Mars’s political clients.”

  We hadn’t been married for some time, but since Mars was a political consultant, most of his clients were well known. Tom Thorpe didn’t ring any bells for me. “I don’t think I’ve heard of Thorpe.”

  She lowered her voice. “It’s not public knowledge yet but Tom’s going to be running for office. He’s also one of my biggest fans, so when he asked me to decorate, I couldn’t say no. Did you see the square? It’s absolutely fabulous.”

  As it happened, I had seen it when the children rehearsed their holiday pageant the day before. In fact, Hannah and I had pondered why someone, apparently Natasha, had chosen life-size pink peacocks with white wreaths on their necks and giant turquoise magnolia flowers as a theme. I imagined the net lighting on the trees and the candlelight parade of the children into the clubhouse to see Santa had been charming, but I had missed the actual production since I had a goose to roast. While the rest of my family watched Jen in the pageant, I cooked our Christmas Eve feast and had it waiting for them.

  “Can you believe this?” Natasha as
ked, indicating the crowd. “We went out to dinner, and when we got back, the cops were here.”

  A shrill voice cut through the gentle murmuring. Jen perked up at the sound. “That’s our neighbor, Mrs. Chadwick. If anyone can find the missing presents, she can. Everybody is afraid of her.”

  “Your neighbor?”

  Jen nodded, grabbed my hand, and pulled me over for a clearer view of Ginger confronting the Fairfax County cops.

  I’d met Ginger Chadwick a few times but didn’t know her well. She’d struck me as a nervous type, and seemed particularly skilled at complaining. “There was a brand-new, and very fancy, computer under our tree. Do you know what those things cost?”

  “You got me the new Mac I wanted?” Ginger’s son, Edward, asked with glee. Almost as tall as his father, seventeen-year-old Edward still had that gangly look—thin as his mother, but with long legs and arms. The glow of the Grinch globe cast light on his strawberry blond hair, which fell into a mussed shock on his forehead, as though he hadn’t bothered to comb it all day.

  The police officer, whose name tag said Sergeant McGregor, looked tired. Wolf, who loved good food and sported a slightly rounded girth, seemed far more imposing. Fair-haired McGregor might have been the one in a uniform, but next to Wolf, he seemed slender and boyish, even though I guessed him to be about forty. He opened his mouth, but he only managed a weak, “Ma’am ...” before Ginger started in on him again.