Read Online Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The by Krista Davis - Free Book Online

agree with Mom. I was a tidy suitcase packer, but I’d never seen anything like this. It appeared that he’d packed outfits together. A yellow polo shirt folded over navy shorts on the right. On the left, a white sweatshirt folded over exercise shorts, and a pair of white socks peeked out.

    “If you touch it, he’ll know. You’ll never get it back the way he has it.”

    Mom was right. Holding my fingers as straight as possible, I felt around the edges of the suitcase but found nothing. I pressed against the clothing and perceived lumps, but they could have been anything from a blow-dryer to shampoo or shoes.

    “Inga? Sophie?” Dad’s voice called from a distance.

    “I bet he’s back. Close the suitcase, Sophie. I’ll stall him as long as I can.” Mom hurried out while I slammed the suitcase shut and locked it.

    I could hear voices downstairs. As fast as possible, I slipped the key into the tuxedo pocket where I’d found it and zipped up the garment bag.

    And then I stared, for what seemed an eternity, at the closet door. Had it been open? Closed? Partially open? Rats. I had to start noticing details. No time to waver. I shut it. A man who packed such a neat suitcase would surely close the door.

    The suitcase! I’d forgotten to stand it up near the rocker. Even though I tiptoed, it seemed like I hit every squeaky floorboard. Sweat broke out on my upper lip. I righted the suitcase and shoved it near the rocking chair.

    I leaped around the bed and out the door. Panting, I edged toward the top of the stairs so I could see who had arrived.

    Old friends of my parents and distant relatives crowded my foyer. With a huge sigh of relief, I joined them and saved Jen from a woman who couldn’t stop pinching her cheek. Claiming I needed Jen’s assistance, I steered her into the kitchen. I could hear Mom and Dad starting to give a tour of my house.

    Meanwhile, Jen helped me toss fresh shrimp, still in the shells, into a boiling mixture of water, vinegar, and Old Bay Seasoning to steam. The spicy aroma reminded me of summertime at the beach.

    The shrimp turned bright pink, making me sorry that Natasha wasn’t there to see a pink food being served. I transferred them to a colander and shook it to get rid of the excess water. Jen poured our favorite shrimp cocktail sauce into a bowl and set it in the middle of a larger bowl of ice. Working fast, we piled the steaming shrimp on top of the ice in a decorative pattern. By the time the tour came through the kitchen, the shrimp were on the table, along with a crab dip I’d made in advance, a pesto torte, marinated mozzarella, and a sliced loaf of rosemary bread.

    Midafternoon seemed a bit early for cocktails, and after the long drive, everyone preferred the raspberry iced tea I’d made the day before. Talk turned to the murder, and I thought I’d better remove my impressionable niece. “Jen,” I said to the munchkin who held a shrimp in each hand, “would you mind helping me set up the dining room and the tables outside?”

    She helped me carry linens, round bowls of crackled glass, and rustic curved hurricanes with white pillar candles to the backyard. In minutes, cheerful pink gingham tablecloths transformed the utilitarian tables.

    While Jen played with Daisy, I cut lush rose and white peonies, their heads so full that three filled a bowl. Next I snipped stargazer lilies. Hannah loved the fragrant flowers so much that she’d planned her wedding around them. We’d based the cherry and pink colors of the wedding on their vivid pink centers, and I had planted them by the dozens for this day. For contrast, I added a few vibrant purple-blue delphiniums and solid white lilies as well. After I added clusters of tiny pink roses, my tall tin French market buckets spilled with blooms and I headed for the potting shed.

    Located in a back corner of my yard, the little square building looked like it came straight from Williamsburg. Mars and his friend Bernie had