The Diva Says Cheesecake!

My new husband is hosting an extremely important business dinner. I’m having it catered, of course, but they don’t seem to know what pairs well with the exquisite cheesecake that will be served for dessert. They recommend sweet wines! Can you please help me?

The New Wife in Sweetwater, Tennessee

Dear The New Wife,

Sherry and other after-dinner wines are conventionally served with cheesecake. If you would prefer a sweet wine with a hint of tartness, then a Riesling would go well. In my opinion, the best drink of all to go with cheesecake is champagne.

I screamed. I hadn’t meant to. It was a reflex. I could hear hurried footsteps upstairs and Nina calling out, “Sophie? Where are you?”

My focus was on the hand. Trying to avoid the glass and liquid on the floor, I stepped carefully toward the hand and found Tate. He lay on his abdomen. Shards of glass gleamed around his head and had scattered on the floor in a very light amber liquid. His hair appeared wet and sticky. Not daring to kneel on the glass, I squatted next to him. “Tate? Tate?” There was no response, and I reached out to feel for a pulse. His arm was cold and stiff. There wasn’t a chance of a pulse, yet I tried anyway. I was fairly certain that rigor mortis had set in, which meant he’d been dead for at least two hours, if not more.

Footsteps clattered on the stairs. “Sophie?” Nina called out.

“Back here.”

Bobbie Sue screamed and launched herself at Tate. “No! Tate! Tate, can you hear me?”

She would cut herself on the broken glass. I stepped toward her, but it was too late to stop her. Besides, I knew a little glass wouldn’t keep me away from someone I loved.

Nina nudged me and pointed upward. A space that had probably accommodated two large bottles was empty on the top row of the wine rack. A step stool had fallen nearby.

I pulled out my phone and was somewhat surprised that I was able to call 911 from the basement.

“Alexandria Police Department,” said a man’s voice. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

I stepped away, mindful of the glass. “It’s Tate Bodoin. He’s . . . dead.”

I told him where we were and that it would probably be easiest if everyone parked in the alley behind the restaurant. While I spoke, I walked up the stairs, opened the back door, and found a doorstop to hold it open.

Dawn was breaking. As alleys went, this one was fairly pretty. In spite of the darkness, I could make out large leafy trees lining both sides. The tall brick fence that ran along the opposite side had, no doubt, been built to provide privacy for the homes that backed up to the alley. It was a beautiful morning with a clear sky and birds chirping happily in the trees. I could hardly believe that Tate was dead.

I sat down on a step for a moment and picked bits of glass from my sandals so they wouldn’t be driven in deeper as I walked. Only then did I realize that I was shaking. Not just my hands, my entire body quivered. A shard immediately pricked my finger, and a dot of bright red blood sprang to the surface. Bobbie Sue would need towels and hydrogen peroxide.

I rose and returned to the kitchen, where I located paper towels and a first aid kit. Carrying them, I returned to the cellar, where Bobbie Sue still clung to Tate’s lifeless body, sobbing. As I’d anticipated, tiny beads of blood dotted her pretty face.

“Bobbie Sue,” I said gently. “I think you’re bleeding. Can you stand up?”

“Nooo,” she wailed.

Tires crunched and the purring of an engine reached us. I ran up the stairs to meet the emergency medical technicians and led them into the cellar.

“Ma’am,” said an EMT to Bobbie Sue. “We need you to stand up so we can help this gentleman.”

Bobbie Sue didn’t move.

He gently placed his hands on her upper arms. “Ma’am, I need you to stand up now.”

He helped her to her feet, and I saw the faces of his coworkers as they got a look at her. “Is she injured, too?” asked one of them.

Blood was smeared on her forehead and left cheek. I wasn’t sure if it belonged to Tate or to Bobbie Sue. She held her hands out, her fingers bent stiff, like hawk talons. Blood dripped from them. “Tate,” she whispered.

The EMT asked, “What’s her name?”

“Bobbie Sue Bodoin,” said Nina.

His face brightened. “The Queen of Cheesecake?”

Nina nodded, and he steered Bobbie Sue toward the door. She stumbled along as though her brain had disconnected.

One of the remaining EMTs asked Nina and me questions about Tate. Beyond his name, we weren’t much help. We didn’t know anything about his medical history.

We were sent upstairs, out of their way. I couldn’t blame them. With all those boxes stashed in the cellar, there wasn’t much room for people, not to mention that it could be a murder scene and we were trampling all over it. Nina and I headed for the dining room, where Bobbie Sue was being treated by an EMT.

I was relieved to see Wolf Fleishman of the Alexandria police force arrive. Always competent and usually reasonable, he was often a calming influence when people had to deal with the worst thing they had ever experienced—the murder of a loved one.

He gave Nina and me a quick nod before disappearing into the cellar.

The EMT finished with Bobbie Sue. Her hands were bandaged and her face had been wiped clean of blood, although a few small cuts from the glass were obvious. Rivers of tears stained her face. She appeared to be in shock. She hadn’t uttered a single word. She stared straight forward as though she didn’t know any of us were there.

“Her vital signs are okay,” said the EMT. “I’ll be downstairs. Give me a shout if you need me.”

I picked up her bandaged hand and held it gently in mine. “Do you want me to call anyone?”

Her eyes finally broke their fixed stare. She shook her head slowly and sobbed softly. “Jo is at her friend’s house and Spencer is at home. They’re probably not even up yet. What time is it?”

“Seven thirty,” said Nina.

Bobbie Sue jumped out of her chair. “Employees will start arriving in half an hour!”

Nina spoke softly. “We’ll send them home. I suspect the restaurant will be closed for a couple of days.”

Bobbie Sue relaxed. “Yes, of course. Of course. I’m sure Tate’s assistant, Marsha, could handle it but I couldn’t. Closing is the right thing to do.” She sat down. Numbly she muttered, “How could this have happened? Do you think he slipped?”

“Looks that way,” Nina said softly.

At that moment, we heard a scream from the kitchen, followed by a loud thump.