The Diva Spices It Up

Book 13: Domestic Diva Mystery

by Krista Davis

Genres: Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Sophie never considered ghostwriting as a side gig, until former actress and aspiring lifestyle guru, Tilly Stratford, trophy wife of Wesley Winthrope, needs someone to write her celebrity cookbook. Sophie agrees, hoping she'll earn enough bread on this assignment to finish her bathroom renovations. But as it turns out, Sophie isn't the first foodie to get a taste for recipe ghostwriting, and if the marginalia are any indication, this project could be a killer . . .



Wesley claims professional ghostwriter, Abby Bergeron, suddenly abandoned Tilly's cookbook with no warning. But Sophie quickly discovers that Abby may be more ghost than writer now . . . and her disappearance was no accident. So Sophie cracks open a fresh investigation, but sifting the seasoned murderer from this sampling of salty suspects won't be easy. Will Sophie savor another case closed or will the culprit simply melt away?

Release date: April 28, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Cozies

Print pages: 338

Sample

Daisy, my hound mix, sniffed along the bank of the Potomac River following her nose. She wore a halter and a long leash so she could wander in the park. I let her investigate scents that I couldn’t smell and trailed along after her.

A breeze blew off the Potomac. The summer humidity was beginning to abate, and the air already held the promise of brisk days ahead. Sun glinted off the water as it rippled with the wind.

Daisy had stayed with my ex-husband, Mars, for the last four weeks. I had promised her a long walk and a visit to the river as soon as I wrapped up a marathon of events. As a self-employed event planner, I realized that I had scheduled myself non-stop, without so much as a hint of a breather, but when you work for yourself, sometimes you just have to keep going while the opportunity is there.

Mars had thoughtfully brought Daisy to my house earlier in the day. When I arrived home in the afternoon, sweet Daisy had been waiting for me. I had quickly swapped my suit for stretchy jeans and taken her for that long-promised stroll while I wound down.

A shout from the pier alarmed both of us. On this beautiful Sunday afternoon in Old Town Alexandria, Virginia, quite a few people were out walking or fishing. Daisy tugged me in the direction of the pier, and I went willingly, thinking someone might need help.

“I’ve caught something huge!” The man was a stranger to me, into retirement age and well fed. “Must be a catfish. It’s fighting like the dickens! Here, can you hold on to my fishing rod? Good and tight now. That’s my lucky one.”

I took it from his hands and immediately felt the pressure of the fish. The rod bent precariously. I hoped it wouldn’t snap in two. “This is really heavy. Can the fishing line take this much pressure?”

“I sure hope so. He’s a big one. Keep reeling in. I’ll try to snag it with my fishing net. . . .”

He had stopped talking, and I understood why. I didn’t know of any blue fish that came with a handle on top.

He lay down on the pier, and as the object came within reach, he nabbed it with a bony hand.

I kneeled on the rough wood and helped him pull a blue suitcase out of the water.

The man looked at me with rheumy eyes. “I have no idea how to cook this.”

I giggled. “Do you think it’s packed full or just waterlogged?”

“We’re about to find out.” He clicked the latches and opened the top. “Mmm. This is a pretty skirt. But it’s not my size.”

He was very cute. I found myself smiling even though I was wondering why and how a woman’s suitcase had come to be in the Potomac River. “I think we’d better report this to the police.”

He stared at me with obvious confusion. “I don’t think they’ll be interested.”

“Don’t you find it odd that someone’s suitcase is in the river?”

The fellow scratched his head. “Well, now that you mention it, I can’t think of a good reason for it to be there among the fishes.”

I called the Old Town Alexandria police department on my cell phone and told them about the suitcase.

“Ma’am,” said the 911 operator, “is this an emergency?”

I winced. “No.”

“No one is drowning?”

“No. But why would someone lose a suitcase in the river?”

The operator laughed aloud. “Why would there be garbage, motorcycles, or furniture? People are slobs. One lady dumped her husband’s golf clubs in the river to get back at him for seeing another woman.”

Clearly, this was not a priority for them. “Thank you for your time.” I hung up. “I guess it’s yours if you want it.”

The old fellow was peering into the water. “I can’t see anything. Do you think the owner is down there, too?”

I hoped not.

He stood up and held out his hand. “Sam Bamberger.”

“Sophie Winston. Can I help you carry it to your car?”

“Naw. I’m old, but I can still carry a lady’s suitcase. Even if it is drenched.”

I said goodbye to the funny man and headed home, looking forward to a quiet evening.

The next morning, I fed Mochie, my Ocicat, who was supposed to have spots but instead had a fur pattern more like that of his American shorthair ancestors. In various shades from white to cream and dark brown, he had necklaces and bracelets. And on his sides, his coat colors created circles like bullseyes. In lieu of my usual routine, I suited up Daisy in her halter and headed to my favorite coffee specialty shop for a treat.

The barista at the take-out window waved her hand at me, refusing my money.

I squinted at her in confusion. “I’m not sure this is my order. There’s an extra drink and two chocolate croissants here.”

“The gentleman paid for it.”

Gentleman? I groaned inwardly. I hadn’t showered and wore no makeup. I had pulled on elastic waist stretchy jeans and an oversized top, feeling secure in the knowledge that the entire world was busy. It was ten o’clock on Monday morning. Why wasn’t everyone at work?

Trying to hang on to Daisy’s leash without spilling my mocha latte and her Puppy Paw-Tea, I twisted around to see who the barista was talking about.

My ex-husband, Mars, short for Marshall, came to the rescue. “It’s my two favorite girls!”

Daisy made a fuss, wagging her tail and turning in circles at the sight of him. I was more subdued. Even though we had divorced, Mars and I got along well. Neither one of us could bear to give up Daisy, so we had arranged a schedule and she went back and forth, living with both of us. I didn’t have to worry about my appearance. He had seen me without makeup and in far worse clothes before. I relaxed. “Thanks for picking up the tab.”

Mars took Daisy’s leash and led us to an outdoor table. Daisy didn’t know whether to be more excited about Mars or her Puppy Paw-Tea, a dog-safe scoop of ice cream with a bone-shaped cookie on top.

“Are we celebrating something?” asked Mars.

A chilling breeze blew, making me glad I had worn the cozy fleece pullover. I sipped my hot drink. “Four back-to-back medical conventions are over. I worked non-stop for a month. I’m looking forward to a break.”

Mars held out his coffee in a toast and touched it to the latte I held. “A break. How fortuitous.”

Fortuitous? Ugh. What was he up to?

Mars smiled at me. “Soph, I need a big favor.”

I never should have looked into his eyes. They crinkled at the outer edges and always softened any resolve I had to stay out of his business. A political consultant, Mars had been blessed with looks that could compete with his telegenic clients.

“I’m taking a break,” I said very clearly, imagining that he probably needed me to arrange a party for five hundred people in two days.

He ignored my protest. “The wife of one of my clients is writing a cookbook.”

That wasn’t what I had expected. “Cool.”

“Except she’s not really writing it, she’s using a ghostwriter.”

“That’s interesting. Why doesn’t she do it herself?”

“She says all the celebrities use ghostwriters for their cookbooks.”

“Celebrity?” I inquired.

“She’s the wife of a congressman. Tilly Stratford. Her husband, Wesley Winthrop, is my client.”

I’d heard the former TV star had moved to Old Town Alexandria. “No kidding!” Just to be sure we were talking about the same person, I asked, “The one who played the daughter in American Daughter?”

“The very same.”

I chomped into one of the chocolate croissants. The chocolate was still warm and soft inside. The favor Mars needed was becoming clearer. He probably wanted me to arrange a huge party for the debut of the cookbook. I might be an event planner, but most of the time I dealt with conventions and large events.

“But the ghostwriter quit on Friday.” He sipped his drink and then said casually, “I was thinking maybe you’d be interested.”

“In ghostwriting a cookbook? I don’t know the first thing about that.”

“Nothing to it,” he said with way too much confidence for someone whose cooking expertise was limited to grilling meats and mixing cocktails. “And it pays very well.”

“Is she difficult?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Who?”

“Tilly.”

“Not at all. She’s very sweet. You’ll like her. She’s . . . a little intimidated by the congressional scene. She’s out of her element. But you’ll love her.”

“Then why did the ghostwriter quit?”

“We don’t know. She told Tilly she was sorry but she had to quit, and that was it. She walked out, leaving poor Tilly high and dry. No one has been able to reach her since Friday.”

I tilted my head and gave him my best doubtful look. “Mars, that doesn’t make sense. People don’t take a job and quit in the middle of it.”

“Are you kidding me? People do that all the time. One of my clients advertised a job and hired six people. Guess how many showed up on the first day of training.”

It was clearly a trick question. “Three?”

“Zero.” He made a zero with his thumb and forefinger. “Not the best example, but my point is that people don’t always come through with what they promise. I’m told that there has to be a personal connection between the ghostwriter and the chef. I feel a little guilty because I was the one who hooked her up with Abby Bergeron. She came highly recommended. Maybe they just didn’t mesh.”

Daisy finished her Puppy Paw-Tea and then watched us, probably hoping we had another one hidden somewhere.

Mars persisted. “Tilly is a sweetheart, Sophie. She’s so disappointed. It would mean a lot to her if you could help out.”

I slurped the remains of my mocha latte in a most unladylike manner.

Mars wrote something on a napkin and slid it across the table to me.

I took a look and felt my eyes widen. “Is that a dollar sign?”

“I told you it paid well. They’re in a hurry to get it done and are willing to pay extra. The thing is”—he looked at me with his best imitation of Daisy’s puppy eyes—“I know you wouldn’t let them down.”

He didn’t need to shower me with empty flattery. I was torn. The money would be nice, but I had been looking forward to some downtime. “Mars, thanks for thinking of me, but I’d really like to have a little time off. Besides, a cookbook is a huge project. We’d be working on it for a year, and I would need to get back to my real job soon.”

“Ah! But the bulk of it is done.” He leaned toward me. “Tilly is very disappointed. This cookbook is a big deal for her, and”—Mars locked his eyes on mine—“I know I can depend on you. I don’t want some other highly recommended person coming in and making a mess of it or walking away.”

“I’ll think about it.” I scowled at him. “In spite of your assurances that it’s easy, I don’t know what’s involved in ghostwriting a cookbook.”

“There’s nothing to it. You write down recipes. How hard could that be?”

I stood up and collected Daisy’s leash. “I’ll let you know.”

As I walked away, Mars called out to me, “You were my favorite wife!”

I was his only wife. He had lived with our friend Natasha, but she never did manage to get him to walk down the aisle with her.

Fall was my favorite time of year in Old Town. It was way too early for pumpkins, but they already decorated the front stoops of some historic homes. Others had lush wreaths on their doors, featuring dried flowers and giant sunflowers. The leaves on the trees that lined the streets were still green. It was that transitional time between summer and fall. School had started, and weekend beach trips had ended. Warm summery days were still the norm but they were interrupted by chilly days that reminded us fall weather was already on the way.

Traffic had picked up, and people had begun to leave their offices in search of lunch. At an intersection with King Street, Daisy and I waited for the light to change and the line of cars to stop.

A man paused near us. About my age with a neat appearance, he reminded me of my old beau, Alex. His brown hair was neatly trimmed. He wore a blue Oxford cloth button-down shirt with a striped yellow tie. Quintessential Old Town attire for gentlemen. He smiled at me, which made me totally self-conscious. He even reached down to pat Daisy.

But the second the light changed he was off in a hurry, walking across the street in great, confident strides ahead of the crowd. When he reached the sidewalk on the other side, he lifted the end of his tie and placed it in his mouth. In one swift movement, he raised the lid on a public garbage bin, bent over, reached inside, and pulled out a red soft drink can.

I was so stunned that I stopped walking in the middle of the street.

He dropped the top of the garbage can in place, let his tie fall back to his chest, and strode away.

I looked around. No one else seemed to be watching him. Hadn’t anyone else noticed what he just did?

A car honked at us, and we dashed across the street. I couldn’t help myself—I turned right and followed him.

Unfortunately, Natasha intercepted me. “Sophie! Sophie! Where have you been? I went by your house half a dozen times last week, but you weren’t home. You really should let me know if you’re going out of town.”

I watched the man round the corner at Cameron Street and debated whether to run to catch up to him. It was ridiculous, of course. Even if I saw him go into a house or building, it would be meaningless. And then I did something completely out of character.

“Excuse me, Natasha.” I took off after the man with Daisy romping alongside me. I was out of breath by the time I reached the intersection where he had turned. He was gone. I stood there for a moment, scanning the sidewalks. They were nearly empty. I’d have seen him if he hadn’t turned somewhere or entered a building.

I sucked in some deep breaths. Maybe I had lost my perspective. I thought there was something sinister about the suitcase in the river, and now I was chasing a man who had caught my attention. I was being ridiculous.

When I turned back, Natasha still stood where I had left her. She wore an angry expression and had crossed her arms in irritation.

I trudged back. “Sorry.”

“What was that about?”

“I thought I saw someone I knew,” I lied. If I told her about the soda can she would think I had lost my mind.

“I was saying that you should keep me informed if you leave.”

“I have a phone,” I said wryly.

“But this is important. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I wanted to tell you in person.”

I bit back the temptation to be snarky. “What is your wonderful news?”

Natasha looked me over. “What are you wearing? Oh, Sophie! I don’t know what to say. Have you fallen on hard times?”

I laughed. “Natasha, are you going to tell me your good news?”

“I thought we might get a cup of coffee, but if you’re dressed like that . . .”

I paid no attention to what she was saying. I had known Natasha since we were in grade school. The two of us had competed at everything except the beauty pageants that Natasha had treasured. She still maintained the kind of figure that clothes were meant to hang on. No elastic waistbands for her. She wore a black sweater with the sleeves pushed up and a black-and-white plaid skirt. The kind of skirt with a gathered waist that I longed to wear. But unlike Natasha, I was short and not slender. I would look twice as wide as I already was. She finished the outfit with black leather boots. While part of me hated to admit it, she looked chic.

And now she gazed at me, raised her eyebrows, and nodded. “You will, won’t you?”

Oy. Natasha was prone to outlandish ideas. I didn’t dare say yes without knowing to what I was agreeing.

She tilted her head. “I would offer you something to wear, but I don’t think you would fit in my size.”

“Thank you. It’s really not necessary. I’m heading home.” I started to walk in the direction of our houses, and she went with me. “Now, what was it you wanted me to do?”

“Come to my party? I’m worried about you, Sophie. Didn’t you hear a word that I said? I found my sister!”

Now I was the one who was worried. “But you don’t have a sister.” “Okay, so she’s a half sister, but you know how I’ve always loved your little sister, Hannah. Now I’ll have a Hannah of my own!”

I was quite certain that her mother was no longer of childbearing age. And the biggest blow in Natasha’s life was her father’s disappearance when she was only seven years old. Where could a half sister have come from? “Your mom adopted a child?”

“No! I told you. I sent off one of those DNA saliva tests, thinking I might be able to find my dad. And this woman popped up as my half sister. That means my dad is alive! I always knew it. It was like a visceral thing that he was out there somewhere in the world. And get this. She lives right here in Old Town! What are the odds of that? We might have been shopping side by side or eating in the same restaurant at the same time and we never knew it!”

I was stunned. If I hadn’t heard so many stories about killers being tracked down through the DNA of relatives for acts committed decades before, I might not have believed her at all. “Have you met her yet?”

“No. That’s why I’m having the dinner party. I want all my friends to meet her.”

“You didn’t run right out to meet her immediately?”

Natasha stared at me. Not a muscle in her face moved. Had she gotten Botoxed?

“It took me a while to work through the situation. Please don’t mention this to your parents. I don’t want my mother to know yet.”

My parents and her mom still lived in the town where we had grown up. It wasn’t as though they were close friends, but a new half sister was the kind of thing a person might mention in a casual conversation at the supermarket. “No problem. But I think your mom would love to meet her.”

“I’m not so sure. It might be very painful for her.”

Natasha would know. The fact that she even considered her mother’s reaction suggested to me that it had been painful for Natasha. And why wouldn’t it be? It meant her father had left his family without so much as a fare thee well and went off to start another family.

“We talked on the phone. You won’t believe what she asked me.”

I could hardly believe Natasha had found a half sister. I didn’t think anything could top that! “What?”

“She wanted to know where Dad was.”

“He left them, too?”

“I don’t know all the details. I hope she’ll tell us when she meets us. You’re good at prying into other people’s business. You’ll get it out of her.”

I ignored her slight. She was probably right. Among my many faults, I was definitely nosy. “What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”

“Charlene Smith.”

“Doesn’t ring any bells with me. I look forward to meeting her. When is the party?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

“What can I bring?”

Natasha’s expression turned to horror. “Oh, Sophie! Please don’t bring a dish. Everything has to be perfect. This is my night to shine.”

Natasha had a local TV show about all things domestic and a rabid fan base. I couldn’t help wondering if she was being set up somehow. “Did she know who you are?”

“If she did, she didn’t mention it.”

We had reached my house. “I look forward to meeting her, Natasha. I truly do. And I’m super happy for you.”

Natasha smiled at me. “Wear your best outfit, even if it’s last year’s fashion.”

I turned on my heel to stalk away and with total horror realized suddenly that the half sister might be just like Natasha. After all, Natasha’s mom was an interesting woman who worked in a diner, believed in spirits and potions, and was an incurable flirt. What if the annoyingly pompous side of Natasha came from her da. . .