Chapter 3
Dear Natasha,
I was invited to a pop-up dinner, which I understand is similar to an underground dinner. Except I was expected to bring a dish and my own chair! I thought chefs were supposed to cook fabulous dinners at these things.
Confused in Beer Bottle Crossing, Idaho
Dear Confused,
What you are describing has long been known as a picnic. Read the details carefully next time to be sure you understand what the pop-up includes.
Natasha
I wasn’t surprised. Kelsey Haberman had caught the attention of most of the men. Her dress in shades of blue hugged her curves, and the neckline plunged so wide and deep that I held my breath in anticipation of an imminent wardrobe malfunction.
I’d never spoken to her, but I had seen her at events.
“There’s always one,” muttered Francie. “When I was young, showing your knees was enough to mark you as a tramp. That skirt’s so short she might as well have worn a bikini. Can you imagine having that woman as your stepmother?”
The word stepmother gave me pause. “Is that Gavin Haberman?” I whispered in reference to the teen. I took a closer look. He had grown like crazy since I’d seen him last.
Francie nodded. “Poor kid. His parents’ divorce turned his life upside down. I see him at the library sometimes, waiting for his mom to get off work.”
When Alex excused himself to speak to someone, Trula Dixon sidled up to me and elbowed me gently. “You’ve solved a lot of murders, Sophie. What’s the best way to get rid of a strumpet without getting caught?”
I knew she was joking so I smiled, but that kind of talk was dangerous. “You don’t mean that, Trula.”
“Don’t be so sure. Half the women in attendance would like to remove that little coquette from our circles.” A chunky silver bracelet slid along her tanned arm when Trula patted her short bob. “Her hair isn’t even frizzing in the heat. Of course, we’d all be cooler if we were showing as much flesh as she is.” She tilted her head. “On the other hand, that dress must be one hundred percent spandex to hug her that tight. Oof. Cotton and silk are the only ways to go when it’s this hot.”
Trula’s husband Parker, a thin bespeckled man, was among Kelsey’s admirers. Parker hailed from money. I guessed he might have been a bit of a nerd when he was Gavin’s age, but that had probably paid off. He was a founding partner in the law firm of Dixon, Haberman, and Jenkins. He was lean, but his golf shirt and gray shorts revealed an unathletic physique without well-defined muscles in his arms and legs. He sat on several boards, including that of the local library.
I didn’t think Trula had anything to worry about, but then, Cindy Haberman probably hadn’t been concerned when Kelsey entered the scene, either. I did note, though, that not a single woman was chatting with Kelsey. Not even those her age. “We’ll be sitting down to eat soon,” I said. “I guess the trick is to find a seat far away from her.”
“If Kelsey keels over, I guarantee a wife will be the villain,” muttered Trula.
We showed our tickets to a man at the gate. He gestured for us to enter.
The sheer size of the garden was amazing, especially for Old Town, where lots tended to the small size. The current occupant, one Gilmer Garrett, was a gardening aficionado. Well into his eighties, he still toiled in his beloved garden every day.
“Are those grilled dates wrapped in bacon? Do you think they’re stuffed with something?” Trula hurried toward a waiter who served the delicacies from a tray.
Flat slate stones formed a rectangular walkway that had been lined with dining tables. The lawn in the middle had been mowed as perfectly as a golf course. Beyond the walkway, a tall fence peeked through conifers, bushes, and aged trees. Purple hollyhocks, pink foxglove, golden sunflowers, brilliant red cardinal flowers, and masses of zinnias in reds, pinks, and yellows lined the outer edge of the walkway.
Unlike the modest front, the rear of the house boasted modern glass walls that looked out on the stunning garden. Happily, the house also featured a chef’s kitchen. Doors were open on the detached guesthouse. A discreet sign directed people to use the restroom there.
Gilmer had been thrilled with the idea of entertaining as long as someone else did all of the work. He didn’t get much company anymore, which meant he had few opportunities to share his beautiful garden. His Realtor had been delighted by the opportunity to show off the house to the well-heeled locals who would no doubt be in attendance.
It had been a win-win situation. I had arranged for a backup location in case the house sold before the day of the dinner, but luck had been with us. My involvement had been limited to finding the site. For once I was a guest, just like the rest of my friends.
A pretty waitress in her twenties presented a tray of olives to Francie and me. A tiny bit of orange on one end of each black olive had been carefully crafted to look like a flower. Francie and I each eagerly plucked one off the tray to sample. Not knowing exactly what it was, I bit into it with the slightest hesitation. The olive had been stuffed with smoked salmon in a tangy cream. The flower peeking out at the end was thinly sliced smoked salmon. It was delicious.
Francie paused to catch up with a friend, and I walked over to Gavin.
“Gavin, you’re so grown up that I didn’t recognize you.”
“Hi, Mrs. Winston. Mom says I’m finally getting a big growth spurt. How’s Daisy?”
“She’s doing great. She misses seeing you, though.”
“I’d like to get a dog, but we’re renting a place now and the lease doesn’t permit dogs.”
“You’re welcome to come by and take Daisy for a walk anytime you like.”
“Thanks.” An odd expression came over his face. “Uh, excuse me. Nice talking to you.” He hurried off.
Just then, Hollis ambled up to me and handed me a small white cooler. “It’s all in here.”
I let out a nervous breath at the sight of him, glad to see him still alive. “Do you feel sick?”
“Naw. I’m relieved I can eat dinner tonight without worrying about it. If I’m right, it’s being done very slowly. Death by a thousand little drops.”
“Hollis, you need to go to the police. This is nothing to joke about.”
“I have my reasons, Sophie.” He handed me the cooler. “Now remember, not a word to anyone. You know how quickly it would get around.”
I had agreed to do this. Nevertheless, I scowled at him. “If anything turns up and you don’t report it, then I’m going to do it myself.”
Hollis grinned at me. “Fair enough.”
I felt a little bit better about it. In a way, I did understand where he was coming from. Being married to someone twenty years his junior had to be somewhat stressful. I hoped the samples would turn up clean and ease his mind.
Hollis shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the women around here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at Kelsey. Only men will talk to her.”
I was slightly amused by his interpretation of Kelsey’s admirers.
“She told me she feels like Rudolph.”
“The reindeer or Valentino?” I asked.
“The reindeer. You know, he wasn’t allowed to play reindeer games. She feels like she’s not accepted by the wives of my friends.”
“I’m sure they’ll grow to like her as they get to know her better.”
“If they ever give her a chance. Excuse me, Sophie.”
I watched as Hollis headed toward Parker.
Humphrey and I spotted each other at the same time. We walked along the garden path to meet.
“Sophie! Feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Same here.” I handed him the cooler. “Thanks for doing this.”
“No problem.” He squinted at me. “Sophie, please tell me that you’re not the one being”—he gazed around and whispered—“poisoned.”
“Definitely not.”
Humphrey opened the cooler. “Oh good, it’s on ice. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stash it in my car before we start to eat.”
“Of course! Hurry back.” I made my way to the bar, where three drink combinations were being served. Francie opted for red wine sangria with peaches and berries. I chose mango iced tea.
Our friend Bernie Frei, manager of the hottest restaurant in town, joined us and selected an Italian spritz. “We’ve started serving these at The Laughing Hound. Apparently, they’re all the rage in cocktails.”
Bernie’s English accent made him sound like an authority no matter what he said. The best man at my wedding, Bernie had traveled the world and surprised us all when he settled in Old Town. His sandy hair always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his nose had a kink in it from being punched, probably more than once. No one had expected him to turn a restaurant into a gold mine for the absentee owner, but it turned out he had a knack for the business.
As the three of us clinked our glasses in a toast, a door flew open in the back of the house. Someone shouted, “Out! Out, out, out!”
Two men wearing chef’s jackets had grasped a woman by her arms and were propelling her out the door. Behind them, a third man in a chef’s jacket waved a wicked-looking chef’s knife in the air.