“The house looks beautiful,” I said. It did, even if she had painted the dining and living room walls charcoal. It was in vogue and provided a good backdrop for her ultramodern furniture. From the inside of the house, there wasn’t so much as a hint that it was a historic building.
“Thank you. I’m about to change the paint. I led the way with gray and charcoal. I have a feeling it’s time to move to a new color palette. What do you think of 1970s orange?”
I was honest. “I tend to prefer lighter colors for walls, like a salmon maybe.”
“Mmm, yes. You’ve never followed the chic trends, have you?” She led me down the stairs and out to her patio. “I believe you know everyone. I’ll just put this tart away.”
Vintage-style pear-shaped lights glowed golden on strings that crisscrossed in the air over Natasha’s brick patio. A long table had been spread with a beige cloth, and a matching white and beige runner stretched from one end to the other. Votive lights serpentined the length of the table with generous sprigs of rosemary winding between them. White napkins were rolled up and tied with natural twine. She had written our names on place cards that were framed in the same twine.
I spied Mars and Nina speaking with a man who had his back to me. When I walked over to join them, he turned toward me.
He was the guy I had seen removing a soda can from the garbage. The spy.
Chapter 13
Dear Sophie,
A group of my friends has begun throwing elaborate dinner parties. I can cook well enough to get by, but last night I was faced with no less than three forks! How do I know which one to use?
Embarrassed in Forks of Salmon, California
Dear Embarrassed,
Work your way from the outside in. The first course will probably be an appetizer. That will be the smallest fork on the far left. Relax and enjoy the dinner. If you’re confused, watch your hostess and follow her example.
Sophie
I hoped I didn’t show my shock.
“You’re the one who followed me,” he said.
I could feel my face flushing. “Who are you?”
“If you don’t know me, why did you follow me?” he asked.
“Because I was curious. Your turn. Who are you?”
“Benton Bergeron.”
I was pretty sure my mouth dropped open. I snapped it shut and swallowed hard. “Bergeron? Like Abby Bergeron?” I asked.
“Exactly like that.” He smiled at me. “Abby is my exwife.”
Nina giggled. “Mars is Sophie’s ex-husband. Am I the only one who can hold onto a spouse around here?”
“That’s because your husband is always traveling,” quipped Mars.
“I’ve seen you around town,” said Benton.
If I hadn’t observed that two-second maneuver with a soda in the trash, I might have liked him. He had blue eyes, a square jaw, and remarkably symmetrical features. In a way, he was quite plain because none of his features were extraordinary. No distinctive nose or cleft chin. He didn’t have Mars’s adorable factor, but he could have played a leading role in a romantic movie. Still, I was leery of him.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” I lied. I was a little bit ashamed that my next thought was whether I could get some information about Abby from him. “I wish I’d had a chance to meet Abby.”
Benton took a deep breath. “Is that the weirdest thing? I was certain she was dead. I can’t tell you how I dreaded going to identify her. And then to find out it wasn’t her? Now I don’t know what to think. It would be completely out of character for her to kill anyone, yet they found that woman in her freezer.”
“Did she have any issues that could have caused her to act irrationally?” asked Mars.
Well put, Mars. Nicely worded without accusing her of anything.
“No. Abby would never have harmed anyone. When pushed to her limit, Abby was the type to walk away.”
“So she probably ran away and is in hiding somewhere?” asked Nina.
“All I can imagine is that she went to stay with her sister. But I called her, and she says Abby isn’t there.”
Oh! That was intriguing. I wondered if it was true. I would lie for my sister if she was running from an ex-husband. “Abby didn’t say anything to you about being afraid or needing to get away?”
“You know how it is with ex-spouses. You don’t always tell them everything that’s going on in your life,” said Benton.
Especially if one of them is a spy, I thought.
Benton continued. “Mars might know more about Abby’s plans than me. The police have questioned me twice now, but I honestly don’t know what happened.”
Ouch! He was throwing Mars under the bus already. The only plus for Mars was that Wolf knew him well. Of course, Wolf would never let that interfere with an investigation, but it probably helped to some degree.
Larry Fiedler called me over. A local anesthesiologist, he had lost his wife the year before and was just beginning to get out and socialize again.
As I joined him and Helbert Sullivan, it dawned on me that Natasha had only invited eligible men to her dinner party. Helbert, a tall and scrawny man with deep-set eyes, ran an investment company. His wife had left him, but the local scuttlebutt had it that Helbert had shrewdly insisted on a prenuptial agreement that protected his vast holdings.
“Have you met Natasha’s half sister yet?” asked Larry in a whisper.
“No. I know nothing about her. Why are we whispering?” I asked.
“She should have been here by now.” Helbert checked the Breitling watch on his wrist.
“Maybe she chickened out,” said Larry. “Natasha has very high standards. I would hate to be related to her. Honestly, she intimidates me! Did you see the array of silverware on the table? Which fork do I use?”
I never would have expected it of him. “Start on the outside and work your way in. But you might have a point about Natasha. If the half sister caught Natasha’s TV show, she might have gotten cold feet. It’s hard enough to meet a sibling for the first time without that person being a local celebrity.”
Natasha tinkled a little crystal bell and called, “Dinner is served.”
I happened to be close to the table, and when I turned around, I caught Mars with his place card in his hand. He deftly swapped it with another one.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“She had me sitting opposite her at the end of the table, like we’re married or still an item. I want to be supportive, but I’m not playing that game.”
I hoped Natasha wouldn’t make a scene.
“Sophie,” she trilled. “Could you give me a hand?”
I walked up the outdoor stairs and joined her in the kitchen. Natasha had installed a gray and silver kitchen long before it was popular. It was sleek, but cold as ice. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I have everything under control except for Charlene. Where could she be?”
“Did you check your phone?”
“Only a million times.”
“Maybe she lost her nerve. It’s a pretty big deal to meet your sister for the first time!”
“What if she’s just rude and inconsiderate?”