The Diva Serves High Tea Read online

  “Did you recognize this guy?” asked Wong.

  “I never saw his face.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Not a word. What do you think he wanted?”

  “When the paramedics are through, you can have a look around to see if anything is missing.”

  The siren wailed once, very close, probably on our street. I left Natasha with Wong, picked up a pillow in the hallway and tossed it onto the guest bed, then made myself useful by running down the stairs and opening the door to let the emergency medical technicians enter. While they trekked upstairs, I walked through the main floor of the house to see if anything appeared out of place.

  Natasha’s house was always immaculate. A local TV star with a show on all things domestic, she was constantly changing her décor, yet I was surprised to find her formal living room awash in burnt orange. She must think that would be the next trendy color. The furniture featured clean contemporary lines, though some pieces fell into the unusual category for me, like the two chocolate-brown wingback chairs with one wing flying off higher than the other. Nevertheless, the room appeared neat and undisturbed, with very few knickknacks.

  Natasha’s kitchen always reminded me of a restaurant kitchen. Gray cabinets lined the walls. Her stainless steel countertops were undoubtedly practical but somewhat cold. That night, for the first time, I realized that it felt like a room built of concrete. But I wasn’t there to study her decorating, I just wanted to know if anything was missing. I opened a tall cabinet and recognized her everyday china—white in the middle with a wide graphite band—and matching mugs. There was no point in opening more cabinets because I wouldn’t have known what should have been in them anyway.

  I could hear people clomping down the stairs and quickly returned to the foyer with Daisy.

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  “Are you Sophie?” asked a middle-aged paramedic with a bald head.

  “Yes.”

  “Darlin’, you have my sympathy. Your friend is stubborn and doesn’t know what’s good for her.”

  That wasn’t news to me.

  “We told her to go to the emergency room but she’s having none of it. Keep an eye on her tonight and call us at the first sign of a headache or unusual behavior.”

  “Like what?” That covered a lot of territory that might be the norm for Natasha.

  “Slurring words. Inability to speak. Numbness. We’ll be back if you need us.”

  Wong chatted with them briefly before closing the door behind them.

  “Are they gone?” Natasha peered down the stairs.

  Wong groaned softly. “Yes.”

  “And you searched the whole house? No one is hiding?”

  Wong’s eyes met mine. “Natasha, what would a thief want here?”

  “All our things! We have some important paintings and sculptures. My jewelry. Maybe they think we keep cash in the house.”

  I looked around for the important artwork. I spied a few wildly abstract paintings and bits of modern sculpture. Maybe they were worth a lot. I had no idea.

  “So you think this was an ordinary burglary?” I asked Wong.

  Natasha gasped. “Mars is away. Maybe the burglar knew that and thought the house would be empty.” She shuddered and rubbed her upper arms. “You don’t mind staying with me the rest of the night, do you, Sophie?”

  “Of course not.” It had to be four in the morning. There wasn’t much night left anyway.

  Wong looked straight at me with a sly grin. “You and Daisy can curl up down here with the important paintings.”

  Natasha blanched. “Not Daisy. She sheds!”

  “There’s no better deterrent than a good watchdog.”

  Daisy wagged her tail and nuzzled Wong’s hand as if she understood what Wong had said. Wong massaged Daisy’s ear.

  Although Natasha was beautiful without her warrior paint, she seemed younger to me, and almost helpless. “You can stay with me until Mars comes home.”

  “Thank you, Sophie. All I need is a room with nothing but a bed and a chair. A room that has been renovated, where no dogs or cats have ever been.”

  Oh sure. I had lots of rooms like that. “You can have your pick of the guest rooms.” I didn’t bother mentioning that none of them fit her criteria. Daisy and my cat, Mochie, had the run of the house.

  I waited while Natasha walked through the rooms with Wong. It didn’t take very long. “Anything missing?” I asked on their return.

  Wong shook her head. “Could have been something small, or even a piece of paper that won’t be noticed for a while.”

  “Piece of paper?” asked Natasha.

  “Sure. Stock certificates or bonds. Or maybe even a file about one of Mars’s clients.”

  As a political consultant, Mars ran in some fancy circles. I had trouble imagining that he possessed anything that would implicate a client of wrongdoing, but I guessed it could be possible.

  Natasha’s eyes grew large. “I bet that’s it! I never thought his job was dangerous, but politicians will do anything to reveal the transgressions of their opponents and ruin their chances. Sophie, I’ll pack a few things I need. Wong, do you mind waiting? I feel safer knowing you’re here.” Natasha ran up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

  Wong grinned. “That’s the nicest thing she has ever said to me.”

  “If someone wanted dirt on one of Mars’s clients, wouldn’t they have burglarized the client’s house?”

  “Probably. I just find it hard to believe that anyone broke in for one of these charming paintings. This one would give me nightmares. I’d have to cover it just to sleep.” She studied a framed piece of dripping colors, a distorted face that resembled a skull, and, beside it, what I thought was supposed to depict a pig snout.

  She had a point.

  Natasha heaved a giant suitcase down the stairs. “I’ve been after Mars to install an elevator,” she panted, “but you know how he loathes change.”

  Having been married to Mars, I didn’t think he minded change. He probably came across that way to Natasha, though, who was on a constant hunt for the next decorating trend. In minutes, Natasha had locked the doors, and we were on our way to my house, her huge suitcase rolling along the sidewalk, making little clickity sounds.

  “Don’t you love fall?” asked Wong. “They say cooler weather is about to roll in. I can’t wait. I’ve had it with the humidity.”

  “I was almost killed,” Natasha whined. “How can you talk about the weather? I’m seeing people lurking in every shadow.”

  Under the streetlight, I could see the look of regret on Wong’s face. “You’re in good company, Natasha,” I said. “No one would dare attack you in front of Wong.”

  Wong flashed me a grateful smile.

  I unlocked my door and pointed up the stairs. “Take your pick of bedrooms.”

  Natasha lugged her suitcase up one step and stopped. “Are any of them haunted?”

  Was she kidding? “No one has ever complained of seeing ghosts in any of them, Natasha.” Of course, Mars’s mom, my former mother-in-law, was prone to conversing with her deceased sister in my kitchen. I didn’t mention that, though.

  Natasha appeared to accept my assurances and pulled the suitcase up the stairs one step at a time.

  “Do you have a few minutes for a cup of a tea?” I asked Wong.

  “Sure. I’m not done with Natasha yet anyway.” Wong followed me into the kitchen.

  I pulled English bone china teacups out of a cabinet and put the kettle on, while Wong settled at my kitchen table and made notes on a pad.

  I’d found the vintage cups at a little store in Occoquan. A blue and white band reminiscent of a trellis ran around the top edge of the cups with trailing pink roses beneath it.

  Leftover peach pie seemed just the ticket for an early morn
ing snack. I was cutting slices when someone pounded on the kitchen door.

  Wong jumped to her feet. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “Not at this hour. Maybe Nina saw the lights on.” My best friend and across-the-street neighbor, Nina Reid Norwood, had been known to come over in the middle of the night.

  I flicked on the outdoor lights and the first thing I saw through the window in the door was an ax with a spear on the end of it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dear Sophie,

  When I told my British mother-in-law that I was having a high tea party for her birthday, she asked why we were having it mid-afternoon. Huh? I thought that’s when the English took their tea.

  —Hopelessly Clueless in High Point, North Carolina

  Dear Hopelessly Clueless,

  What we Americans think of as high tea is actually called afternoon tea in England. High tea is an evening meal when the servants have the day off or working folks come home and don’t have time to prepare a big fancy roast with all the accompanying side dishes for dinner.

  —Sophie

  I gasped and jumped back. But the face peering in was very familiar.

  “It’s only Bernie.” Wong opened the door. “Are you launching an attack on hordes of marauders?”

  Bernie stepped inside, carrying a vicious weapon mounted on a long pole. “It’s a halberd,” he said in his delicious English accent. “My mum found it somewhere and shipped it to me. She claims it’s the real thing, an ancient antique, but if you ask me, the condition is too good. I think it’s just a reproduction. Until tonight, I never realized that I don’t keep any weapons in my house.”

  “And you felt the need to bring the halberd to my house in the middle of the night because . . . ?”

  Bernie looked around. “Natasha called Mars in hysterics. He thought I should check on you two and sleep over. Stand guard if you will.”

  Bernie had been the best man at my wedding to Mars. The two of them were dear friends who went way back. While the rest of us had gotten jobs and settled down, Bernie had traveled the world, popping in for a visit now and then. A few years back, he decided to stay in Old Town and took on the job of restaurant manager for an absentee owner. None of us had ever expected Bernie, with his perpetually tousled blond hair and the kink in his nose where it had been broken, to propel the business into one of the top restaurants in Old Town.

  “The intruder is long gone,” Wong said.

  “So there was one. Mars thought Natasha might have been pulling some kind of stunt to drag him home.”

  “Tea?” I asked.

  “Lovely. Have you got decaf?”

  Wong snorted. “I thought you were supposed to stay awake to protect Natasha.”

  Bernie set the halberd in a corner, ax end down. “Where is Natasha? What happened?”

  Wong filled him in while I poured boiling water over tea bags. Regular-strength English Breakfast for Wong and me, and decaf versions for Bernie and Natasha. She certainly didn’t need to be more agitated. I set dessert plates containing slices of the pie on the table, along with forks and spoons, napkins, a crystal bowl of whipped cream, a glass creamer and sugar bowl, and a bowl of lemon wedges.

  Natasha finally returned, her face made up as though she was ready for the day.

  “Bernie!” She smiled at him like she did her fans. “How sweet of you to come.”

  Bernie was not a fan of Natasha’s. The sad truth was that they tolerated each other for Mars’s sake. Bernie didn’t let Natasha boss him around, nor did he treat her like a star, neither of which endeared him to her.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  She rubbed the back of her hip. “Bruised. He did a number on me.” She accepted a cup of tea from me and frowned at Wong. “How can you eat pie when I’ve been attacked? Shouldn’t you be at my house dusting for fingerprints?”

  I gave Wong a lot of credit. She dabbed her lips with a napkin and spoke without ire. “Have a seat, Natasha. Tell me again what he looked like.”

  “Honestly, have you no short term memory?” Natasha sighed with impatience. “Tall, very tall. The lights were off in the house, so I didn’t see his face. I just know that he was very large and wearing a hood.”

  “Boots or sneakers?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Gloves?”

  Natasha stared at her. A moment passed. Two. “Sophie, you saw him. Was he wearing gloves?”

  I thought back. “I didn’t get a feel for his size, but then, I was looking down from above.” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried hard to see him in my mind. It was useless. “I don’t know about gloves.” I knew what Wong was getting at, though. “You don’t think you’ll find fingerprints?”

  “Doesn’t sound like a neighborhood kid sneaking in. If I had taken the trouble to dress in black and wear a hood, I don’t think I would have overlooked gloves.”

  Natasha appeared outraged. “You’re not going to check for fingerprints?”

  “Put your eyes back in your head, Natasha. I never said that. I’m waiting for the forensic crew. They should be here anytime now. But I don’t want you to get your hopes up.” Wong rose. “Thanks for the pie and tea, Sophie. I don’t often get a nice break like this in the middle of the night.”

  I walked her to the front door.

  In a low voice, Wong asked, “Do you know if Natasha has any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt her?”

  “No. She aggravates a lot of people but she also has rabid fans who love her. Are you saying you don’t think this was just someone looking for money or valuables? You think somebody went there intending to hurt Natasha?”

  “Rabid fans, eh? I’m not saying anything, Sophie. Just gotta cover all the bases. And I’ve known Natasha long enough to think she could have made someone very angry. Angry enough to want to . . .”

  “Do her in?” That was far worse than I thought.

  “I doubt he’ll be back tonight. Still, I’m glad Bernie is staying over. There’s safety in numbers. Let me know if you need me, you hear?”

  I nodded and watched her walk away into the night. Mochie, my sweet Ocicat with an M on his forehead, who should have had spotted fur but had the swirls of his American shorthair ancestors instead, rubbed around my ankles. I picked him up, reassured by his purring, and closed the door.

  It took Natasha an hour to calm down. Not that I could blame her. An intruder in the house felt like a huge violation. I’d been through that myself. Not to mention being assaulted! I couldn’t even imagine the fear and crazy thoughts swirling through her head. Bernie took my cue. We changed the subject and talked about lighter matters to take her mind off what had happened.

  Eventually, Natasha went upstairs to bed, and Bernie claimed the sofa bed in the tiny family room off the kitchen, insisting he would be more likely to hear someone who was trying to get inside if he slept downstairs.

  When I finally slipped into my bed again, the sky was beginning to lighten with the break of day.

  When I woke, Natasha was sitting on the edge of my bed, talking at me. Sunshine streamed through my bedroom window. I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on what Natasha was saying.

  “You will be there at three o’clock this afternoon, or I will make sure that you never work in this town again.”

  Why was she upset? Why was she threatening me? I sat up and finally spied the phone she held to her ear. Oh thank goodness, she wasn’t screaming at me. I was sorely tempted to pull the covers up over my head and hope she would go away.

  “Don’t you dare hang up on me!” Her voice grew so shrill that Daisy howled.

  Natasha gasped and jabbed a finger at her phone. She gripped my shoulder and shook me. “Sophie! Why are you an event planner? I always thought your job was a joke. How hard can it be to plan a party? But it’s a nightmare. People are simply impossible.”
<
br />   I had a feeling I did not want to know what had happened. Maybe if I didn’t ask, she wouldn’t drag me into her problem. “Tea,” I muttered. “I need tea.”

  “There will be plenty of tea at the high tea auction this afternoon. I need help now! The musicians just bailed.”

  I knew about the Tea, Brie, and Skeleton Key event and had even purchased a ticket to attend the fund-raiser for children’s literacy.

  “Have you paid them?”

  My landline rang before she had a chance to respond to my question.

  I could hear Bernie’s voice downstairs. He must have answered the phone. It was time to get up. Deciding to shower later, I threw on pedal pushers and a sleeveless green cotton shirt while Natasha fussed about inconsiderate people who made promises they couldn’t deliver.

  When I emerged from my bedroom, Bernie was on his way up the stairs. He held the phone out to me and made a funny face that I couldn’t interpret. “It’s Francie.”

  “Hi, Francie,” I said into the phone as I walked down the stairs.

  But the voice that spoke back to me wasn’t Francie’s. Mars said, “I need to talk to you. Can you come over right now?”

  “Okay.” I chose my words carefully. “Where are you?”

  “At my house. Meet me in the alley at the garage.”

  “All right. Good talking to you . . . Francie.”

  The scent of cinnamon wafted to me. It was difficult to pass up whatever Bernie was fixing for breakfast, but something dire must be happening for Bernie and Mars to be acting sneaky. If there was one thing that didn’t interest Natasha in the slightest, it was Daisy. I grabbed her leash, latched it to her collar, and said, “Back in a few.”