The Diva Goes Overboard

I went to a party where they had gone to a lot of trouble to make food boards. They were so unappetizing that I didn’t want to eat anything. How does one avoid that?

What a Mess in Clearwater Florida

Dear What a Mess,

I have seen those boards, too. Place anything shredded, diced, or grated in a bowl with a serving spoon. Don’t use foods that can wander or melt. If you can’t pick up a piece of something with a fork or your fingers, don’t use it on the board. Lastly, use multiple pieces in interesting rows, circles, and patterns. This also helps the board remain attractive as the food is consumed.

Sophie

I had never been quite so heralded as I was when I arrived at home. Three dogs wanted my attention. All of them certain that Nina and I might not return. Mochie yawned as if he thought they were all being silly.

I popped the salmon in the fridge before I let the dogs out. They chased one another and sniffed the yard while I plucked fresh, ripe tomatoes from my garden. I tweaked off some fragrant basil leaves and sprigs of savory rosemary as well.

Thanks to the heat, it didn’t take long for the dogs to be waiting in line at the door to return to air-conditioning. They settled down immediately in the air-conditioned house. I donned an apron, washed my hands, and set to work on our dinner.

I preheated the oven for the salmon, then microwaved the bacon. I thought the dogs would beg for bacon because it smelled so wonderful that I wanted to eat it, but they sprawled on the cold floor and behaved very well.

I diced a red onion and sauteed it, then added fresh corn kernels, diced red and yellow peppers, diced zucchini, and lima beans. While they cooked, I covered a baking sheet with aluminum foil, then cut potatoes into cubes and tossed them with olive oil, paprika, and salt before spreading them onto the baking sheet and popping it into the oven.

Nina arrived first, pulling a cooler on wheels. After greeting the dogs, two of whom were clearly relieved that she was back and hadn’t abandoned them at my place, she opened the cooler to reveal three large pitchers on ice. They contained a beautiful peachy pink liquid. She removed one and closed the top.

“That’s a lot of drinks.”

“Not really. It’s peach bourbon iced tea. Rather mild on the bourbon.”

She accompanied me to the dining room where I set the table with a white tablecloth and Lenox Tuscany china. The intricate design around the edge in gold was stunning and way too formal for our gathering, but I was pleased to have an excuse to use it. While Nina filled water glasses and iced tea glasses, I hurried outside with the dogs and snipped pink and peach zinnias and roses. Back inside, I mixed them in two vases. They looked perfect with the pinkish tea.

I checked the time and set out a cheese board. It only took minutes to place a wedge of Brie, slices of Gouda, crackers, black olives, and some sliced salami on it. The quickest and easiest hors d’oeuvres ever.

I finished just as Mars knocked on the kitchen door and walked in with Bernie right behind him carrying a cake box.

“Is everything all right?” asked Mars.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” I asked.

Nina held out a glass of iced tea to him.

Mars peered in the dining room. “Thanks, Nina. Okay, now I’m really concerned.”

I thought about it and realized that I hadn’t used the dining room since the holidays. “Nothing’s wrong. I just thought we’d be more comfortable in the dining room. Okay, that’s not really true. I have information that needs to be kept confidential.”

He turned and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Sounds intriguing.”

Wolf knocked on the door and held it open for Francie. Everyone chatted amicably as they nibbled goodies from the cheese board. I slid the salmon trays into the ovens. Minutes later, my friends migrated to the dining room and sat down.

I transferred the salmon and veggies to dishes, garnished them with slices of roasted red and yellow peppers, and added a helping of the potatoes. Nina and Bernie carried the plates into the dining room. I filled serving dishes with the rest of the food and brought them to the table in case anyone wanted seconds.

When we were all seated and everyone had started to eat, Wolf asked, “Why do I think we were invited here because of Orson’s death?”

Bernie chuckled. “It does feel a bit as if Hercule Poirot might walk in and point the finger of guilt at one of us.”

The laughter subsided and I told them the story of the untimely and horrible death of a woman we believed to be Orson’s wife. “Sadly, Stella’s birth mother was murdered. The newspaper report indicates that her husband killed her, but Orson told Myra that the murderer was a ruthless man whom he feared. That was why he took Stella and left.”

I retrieved the photographs I had printed out, and stopped talking while they made the rounds through my guests.

“So Orson may or may not have been a murderer,” said Bernie. “How would we ever find out? That happened decades ago.”

Everyone looked at Wolf. He examined the photographs. “I can make some calls. This case probably went cold a long time ago when they couldn’t locate Orson. Still, sometimes something turns up. DNA tests have gotten more sophisticated over the years, too. You don’t need as big a sample anymore. If they saved something from the crime scene, it’s possible that it could be tested.”

“But would that really prove anything?” asked Mars. “After all, if Orson lived in that house, wouldn’t his DNA be all over the place?”

Wolf smiled at him. “That’s certainly what the lawyers would argue.”

“Who is this other child?” asked Francie.

“The article says he took his two daughters. So, presuming that Orson was this Mr. Harris, she must be Stella’s sister.” I bit into a piece of salmon.

“Does she have a sister?” asked Mars.

“Not according to Myra,” said Nina. “The question is, what happened to her?”

I had forgotten that Francie didn’t know about Orson’s corkboard with pictures of young women. I quickly explained that I had thought it was sort of creepy. “But I now think I was wrong. My theory is that Orson was looking for his other daughter.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Mars shot me a skeptical look. “If he took her when he killed his wife, then why wouldn’t he know where she was?”

“Mars has a good point.” Nina poured more of her spiked tea for everyone. “More likely something happened to her, and she died before he met Myra.”

I hated to imagine that because it sent me back to thinking the pictures on the corkboard were something unpleasant. “That could be. If she was still living, I’m hoping it wasn’t Joan,” I said. “To gain a sister and lose her at the same time would be too much to take.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Mars. “Orson may or may not be a killer.”

“At least we don’t have to be afraid of him now,” said Francie.

Bernie winced. “I admit that I have trouble believing that he didn’t stay by his dead wife and call the authorities. Who would run off and leave a loved one like that?”

“Someone who feared for his own life or the lives of his children. There’s no time to be sentimental. Good or bad, you have to make a decision. And sometimes that might mean leaving the dead to save the living.” Mars helped himself to another piece of salmon.

Wolf nodded. “I’ve learned that it’s easy to guess what we might do in a given situation, but when it actually happens, there can be circumstances that change the way we react. If he thought the killer was still in the house, for example.”

“Or if the killer was there and threatened the children,” Nina added.

“In any event,” I summed up, “killer or not, Orson fled the scene of the crime and eventually arrived in Old Town, at which time he only had one child instead of two.”

“Maybe the killer harmed the little girl in some way, and she died,” said Francie. “Or Orson could have left her with someone he trusted, like a sister or an aunt. Maybe that was the real reason that he fled to Florida.”

“And he never went back for her?” That was something I couldn’t understand. “Why would he do that?”

Francie cocked her head. “Things happen. Historically, there were people who couldn’t afford all their children. If relatives didn’t take them in, they landed in orphanages. Maybe the sister didn’t have children of her own and had grown close to this child and they felt it was better for her to stay in Florida.”

“Possible, I suppose,” I grumbled. It blew a big hole in my theory that Orson had been looking for her, unless he had reason to know she had moved to Old Town.

Nina smiled at me. “I don’t want to think Orson killed his wife, somehow ditched one daughter, and was a creepy old man spying on women.”

She had summed it up perfectly. That was exactly what I had been thinking. “Honestly, if that was the truth, then Wanda was lucky he died before he hurt her, too.”

Mars and Wolf helped carry our dinner dishes into the kitchen.

Bernie insisted I stay put and returned with a beautiful chocolate cake. It was only one layer, with a creamy ganache running down the sides. To make it even more sinful, it had been topped with whipped cream and sliced strawberries.

“It’s currently the best-selling summer dessert at the Laughing Hound. Even the people who turn down dessert end up ordering it when they see it.”

Bernie sliced it, and placed the slices on my formal dessert plates, taking care to be sure that everyone received some cream and strawberries.

Mars and Wolf surprised us by bringing in pots of tea and coffee. I didn’t say anything, except thank you, but I thought that Nina and I had trained them well over the years.

We lingered at the table, laughing and enjoying the warmth of dear friends.

They offered to do the dishes before they departed, but I insisted on doing them myself and shooed them out the door.

Wolf gave me a big hug and whispered, “I promise I’ll make some calls about the cold case.”

“Harris,” I reminded him. “That was the name of the man married to the woman in the photos.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

It was unsettlingly quiet after they left. Even Mochie and Daisy seemed at a loss when Muppet and Rosebud went home with Nina.

I took my time hand washing and drying the dishes and the stemware, thinking all the while about Orson.

Myra might have loved him once, but something must have spurred their divorce. She had seemed legitimately shocked when Nina and I turned up Orson’s real identity. She didn’t deny it. But he may well have lied to her. That would certainly fit the profile of a man who had killed his first wife. My heart sank at the thought. Why had they divorced? Was it something worth killing him for? Had it been so combative and hostile that she still wanted him dead?

Karl definitely had a dark side and was two-faced. I couldn’t forget him telling me that I would end up like Orson. He was an ugly man, not in appearance but in spirit. Loads of people had committed murder out of jealousy. And if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that Karl had plenty to be jealous about when it came to Orson.

I liked Stella, which made it more difficult to consider her as a suspect in her father’s death. But as far as I could tell, she didn’t have much of a motive. He’d left her children well cared for and given her two houses. I suspected that Orson’s reason for all the trusts was to keep his money out of Jordan’s hands.

Ah, I had forgotten about Jordan. I would make a point of talking to him tomorrow. It would be interesting to hear what he had to say.