Chapter 1
Dear Sophie,
My wife’s uncle brought an antique lamp back from Europe and gave it to us as a gift. My wife thinks it’s beautiful and expensive. But when I plugged it in, it sparked and shocked me. Do you think my in-laws did that on purpose?
Wary Husband in Shockeysville, Virginia
Dear Wary Husband,
European lights have long had a different voltage from US lamps. Your lamp probably also has a different size bulb fitting. You should rewire the lamp and change the bulb sockets before using it.
Sophie
Nina Reid Norwood shuffled out of Dulles International Airport barefooted. It was night, but the bright airport lights shone on her hobbling toward me. I was waiting for her in the passenger pickup lane and jumped out of my car at the sight of her. She dragged a suitcase and a carry-on as if she no longer had the strength or will to set them straight so they would roll. Her mascara and eyeliner had smeared under her eyes, giving my pretty friend a hollow, sickly appearance.
“What happened to you?” I picked up her suitcase and slung her carry-on bag over my shoulder.
She gave me a pathetic sideways look. “Not the best trip.”
I opened the car door for her, something I wouldn’t normally have done. But she looked so downtrodden! I closed the door and opened the back hatch to stash her bags.
A few of our friends had been on the same trip. I spied some of them coming out of the building. They all looked tired, but they were all wearing their shoes.
Everything safely closed, I pulled the car into the slow parade leaving the airport.
Nina leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “If I don’t get a divorce now, I never will.”
Her husband, a forensic pathologist, had suggested she accompany him to a medical convention in Portugal. She had blathered about it enthusiastically before the trip, eager to vacation with him in the sun. “Did you have a spat?”
“I didn’t see him long enough to argue! I’m not sure I can ever forgive him for dragging me to Portugal.”
“Not your favorite place?”
Her eyes still closed, she said, “Lovely people. Beautiful country. Delicious food. Honestly, Sophie, he abandoned me. If I had known I would ride endlessly on a bus with Dulci Chapman and Lark Bickford, I would have planned a vacation with you instead.”
“I’m flattered. But Dulci and Lark are nice.”
“Not exactly the life of the party. The last couple of days I wandered around by myself. I don’t think I’m the type for guided bus tours. I find them . . . tiresome and monotonous. I don’t like being shuffled about like a steer to market. On the bus. Off the bus. You have twenty minutes to eat. Please use the restroom now because we will be riding in the bus for the next fifty-three hours without stopping.”
I giggled a little. “It’s supposed to make sightseeing easier for us.”
“I think I’m more the Audrey Hepburn–on-a-red-scooter type. You know, like in Roman Holiday.”
“What happened to your shoes?” I turned the car onto our street.
“The customs people were awful. Just awful! But wait! They didn’t snag your present.” She took two green mugs out of her carry-on baggage.
“Majolica!” I exclaimed. “I love them.”
We stepped out of the car. I carried her bags up the stairs to her house while she unlocked the door and turned on the lights. When I walked into her foyer, she was actually hugging the newel post on her stairs. “I’ve missed you, home. Tomorrow, I will pick up a sweet dog or cat to foster and return to my regular existence, which, while somewhat boring, won’t be nearly as awful as my trip.”
Nina gazed at me. “What did I miss?”
“Not a thing.”
“In three weeks? Nothing happened?”
“The Do-It-Yourself Festival starts tomorrow morning.”
Nina lifted her upper lip in a sneer. “Not my thing.”
“Aw, come on. You love decorating your house.”
“Correction. I love paying people to decorate my house.”
That was definitely true. “Wash your feet and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Soph. Thanks for picking me up.” I heard her lock the bolt behind me.
Frankly, I was glad my best friend and across-the-street neighbor was back. Life wasn’t nearly as much fun without her. I moved the car to my garage, placed the mugs on a shelf in the kitchen, put a halter on my hound mix, Daisy, and took her for a walk.
Old Town Alexandria, Virginia, dated back to the 1700s. Once a busy port on the Potomac River across from Washington, DC, Old Town had become an elegant and cozy neighborhood. Historic Federal-style houses lined the streets, and some still had flickering gas lanterns by their front doors.
Daisy and I strolled along the brick sidewalk, heading for a street that would be closed off at midnight for the next week so the vendors would have plenty of room to set up booths and demonstrate how to do-it-yourself.
I had my own event planning company and usually worked for large organizations, but I had taken on the Old Town DIY Festival for fun and a change of pace. So far everything had fallen in place. The NO PARKING signs had gone up and I trusted the few remaining cars would be moved by midnight. Barriers had been erected to keep traffic out, but there was still room for the stragglers to move their vehicles elsewhere.
Lights twinkled in the buildings and houses as we walked. If the weather held up, the weeklong event should be a success. It was that transitional time between late spring and early summer. People opened their windows to let in the fresh air and cleaned the winter grime off their porches to enjoy them before the humidity set in. Flowers bloomed profusely. Lavish purple wisteria blossoms hung on porches and fences, and outdoor dining had recommenced.
We turned back and approached Lark Bickford’s house. I assumed she had been on the same flight as Nina. Until the death of her husband a few years ago, Lark had been one of Old Town’s busiest socialites. Invitations to her dinner parties were coveted, even sought after. In true Southern style, Lark pulled out all the sterling hollowware, fine china, and sparkling cut crystal. She entertained effortlessly and elegantly.
As I watched, a light went out upstairs. She was probably exhausted and dealing with jet lag. It would take a day or two for Nina and Lark to get back on schedule.
* * *
The sun had just begun to show its rays at five forty-five on Monday morning, and I dressed in jeans that stretched in every direction. They were soft but not clingy. I would be perfectly comfortable but no one else would realize they were fake jeans with the give of spandex. A crisp white blouse with the collar turned up just a little bit added the professional look I wanted. I added a string of pearls because they went with everything, gold earrings, and a light blazer that I could discard if the weather turned hot. If I had worn heels, the outfit might have even been chic. But I knew better than that. I needed sneakers for all the walking I would do.
My Ocicat, Mochie, watched me from the bed. Purebred, he was supposed to have spots like an ocelot but instead had fur that looked like bull’s-eyes on his sides, necklaces around his throat, and bracelets on his front legs. His buddy Daisy sat on the floor nearby.
“What do you think?” I asked.
Daisy wagged her tail but Mochie said, “Mrrr,” and jumped off the bed. I suspected that translated into, “Where’s my breakfast?”
After spooning tuna into his bowl, I suited up Daisy in her halter and crossbody leash, jammed my wallet and phone into a small crossbody bag so my hands would be free, and collected my clipboard with all the relevant information for the festival. The two of us set off toward the center of town as the sun rose.
People were already unloading their goods and setting up tables. The day before we had arranged a large tent on Market Square for demonstrations of everything from refinishing furniture to quilting and wreath-making. There would be a new demonstration every hour starting at nine. Not only did it give people the opportunity to learn, but each of the vendors had a chance to show off the clever things they had available for sale.
I stopped at the sidewalk window of Bean Time for a tall mocha latte, a croissant, and a Puppucini for Daisy. We sat at an outdoor table and took a few minutes to enjoy the peaceful morning while we had breakfast. The sky was a bold blue without a cloud in sight. The air was crisp, and people went about their business refreshed after the weekend break.
I tossed our trash and we ambled down the street that had been closed.
In front of Lark’s house, Frank and Paisley Eames were setting up a canopy tent with walls that could be rolled up and down. Six little boys ran around them in circles, dodging back and forth, and tormenting one another. Their parents didn’t appear to hear their screams.
Lark’s daughter, Paisley, looked much like her mother. She had the same short, naturally curly peanut-brown hair and the same square face. Lark smiled more than her daughter, but then, she wasn’t usually surrounded by six boys.
I glanced over at Lark’s house, expecting to see her at the door watching her grandchildren. The front steps led directly from the sidewalk to the door. With no porch or yard, Lark had made the best of it, with a rectangular window box that overflowed with pink and white petunias, ivy, and yellow dahlias. An urn on the other side of the front door featured the same greenery and happy seasonal color.
An ear-splitting wail from one of the Eames boys drew everyone’s attention. He sat on the street and blood leached from his skinned knees. A bigger brother stood over him with a guilty and horrified look on his face.
Paisley dropped her side of the tent, which drew a moan from Frank. Slim and dark-haired, he was only a few inches taller than my five feet.
“Thomas Eames, that’s enough,” Paisley said, pointing to her mother’s house. “You go inside the gate and stay in Grandma’s side yard where I can see you until your dad comes to get you.”
“Pais!” Frank shouted. “If we don’t get this done in five minutes you won’t have a tent today.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she snarled.
“Oscar will be fine. Do you think your mom has some rope or bungee cords or something?”
“Oh sure,” she grumbled as she grabbed one of the tent poles so the whole thing wouldn’t collapse, “there’s no such thing as germs and bacteria.” In a louder voice she said, “If Oscar has to go to the hospital because of an infection, then you’re taking him.”
“Fine!” he yelled back.
Two boys who couldn’t have been older than five wrapped their arms around Paisley’s legs. She must have been used to it because I would have fallen for sure.
“Where is your mother?” she shouted to Frank.
He shrugged. “She’ll get here. It wouldn’t hurt your mother to come out here and help us, you know.”
“Sophie?” Paisley called. “Would you mind knocking on my mom’s door for me? I can’t let go of this pole. I didn’t want to wake her this early, but now I guess I have to.”
“No problem.” I walked to the front door of Lark’s house and raised a doorknocker in the shape of a sweet bird. I rapped it three times, but no one answered the door.