“No. She was really nice to me. I don’t think my dad ever met her. What do you think happened to her?”
“I wish I knew. Did she ever say anything to you about being scared of someone or worried about something?”
“No. She was always cheerful. The last time I saw her, she helped me put my hair up in a messy bun and said I looked very grown-up.”
Chapter 22
Dear Sophie,
Some of my friends are into dinner parties. It seems like they all received gorgeous china as wedding gifts and they bring it all out. I need to reciprocate, but my dishes are mismatched and I can’t afford to buy an entire set of fancy china for a dozen people. What do I do?
Hopelessly Mismatched in Dish, Texas
Dear Hopelessly Mismatched,
You’re in luck. It’s trendy to mix and match dishes. All you need is a set of one dozen plain white plates. You can get a good deal on them at some of the big box stores, restaurant supply shops, or even at yard sales. I get some of my best buys at yard sales! Now all your mismatched salad, soup, and dessert dishes will look intentional.
Sophie
By ten o’clock on Friday morning, I had walked and fed Daisy. I popped open a can of chicken with cheese for Mochie. I could see bits of yellow, so maybe there really was cheese in it. He settled by his bowl and ate with gusto.
Anticipating warmer weather, I wore a simple white shirt with khaki trousers. I grabbed my bag and headed for Tilly’s house.
Television vans still clustered in front of Tilly’s home. I wondered what they expected. Did they think Wesley would come outside and make some kind of incriminating statement?
A handful of reporters jostled around me as I made my way to the front door.
Tilly let me in. “It is so hard for me not to yell at them! I thought the paparazzi were bad when I was a kid, but they’ve got nothing on these people.”
On our way to the kitchen, we walked by the living room where Wesley, Jericho, and another man appeared to be meeting.
In the kitchen, Tilly said, “I guess this is the last recipe. I have to say that a week ago I was in despair and never imagined we would be able to catch up and complete this on time.”
“I’m glad I could help. What are we cooking today?”
“I thought I’d make my famous garlic mashed potatoes with meatloaf for lunch. That should improve Wesley’s mood.”
I tried to sound casual. “Is he upset about Mia’s death?”
“That, too. Someone has been hacking into his computer and releasing information. And he’s not the only one. It’s a dire situation. He’s reached the point where he’s afraid to put anything in an e-mail.”
Tilly got to work, and in minutes I was measuring and jotting down notes.
When the meatloaf was in the oven, I helped Tilly set the table in the dining room. She used teal Lenox French Perle Groove dishes against a brown tablecloth. Even though it was only lunch, she fussed about a centerpiece and left the dining room in search of one she liked better while I added the flatware, napkins, and aqua glasses that matched the dishes.
The dining room was located next to the living room. I felt certain the gentlemen could see me through the French doors, but that didn’t prevent them from continuing their lively conversation.
“Look,” said Wesley, “I feel terrible about it. He’s a nice guy, and he’s good at what he does. He never steered me wrong.”
“I don’t know what you’re so worried about. It all happened before the Internet. It’s highly unlikely that anyone will find out.” It was Jericho’s voice.
I glanced over at them, trying to keep my head bowed so it wouldn’t appear that I could hear their discussion.
“We have to locate Abby. Once she shows up, no one will be digging around anymore.” Wesley sounded angry.
“How do you suggest we do that?” Jericho asked in a voice tinged with sarcasm.
“I still feel lousy about this.” Wesley sat on the sofa, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together.
I realized suddenly that they might not know I was in the dining room. It appeared that the angle of the doors blocked their view of most of the room. I could hear them just fine, but I couldn’t see them unless I moved very close to the table.
“You had to do it. He would have taken you down. This way when he’s investigated, you remain in the clear and he takes the fall. You’re the good guy because you got rid of him as soon as you realized there could be a problem.”
I backed up against the wall. At that moment, I knew they were going to blame Mars for whatever had happened at Abby’s house that fateful night.
Chapter 23
Dear Sophie,
I am the worst at arranging flowers. My family teases me about my centerpieces. I never know what to do to dress up the table. Do you have any easy suggestions?
Hopeless Flower Arranger in Centreville, Virginia
Dear Hopeless Flower Arranger,
Here’s one of my favorite quick fixes. Buy a couple of small but beautiful blooming potted plants at a nursery. Wrap the containers in foil. Pop them into a pretty soup tureen or basket. They’ll fill it up, and people will rave about how lovely they are.
Sophie
They were throwing him under the bus, sacrificing him to protect Wesley from something. But what? I wasn’t clairvoyant, but everything fit together. Wesley’s way out of this mess was to place blame on someone else, and Mars was his target. Could he have arranged for Mars to meet Abby? Had Wesley and Abby known each other before Mars worked for Wesley? Just how long had this scheme been in progress?
I probably would have been thrown out, too, if Tilly hadn’t been so desperate to finish the cookbook. I bolted from the dining room before they could realize I was there.
Tilly sallied forth through the kitchen carrying a tray that contained three smallish pumpkins. She had used them as vases and bunched golden mums in each of them. It was delightful. Casual enough for lunch and elegant in its simplicity.
Lest anyone was paying attention, I made sure I spoke from the kitchen as she placed it on the table. “You should make some centerpieces for the book. You have a knack for putting together tablescapes.”
“Do you really think so? A photographer will be coming next week to photograph me for the cover. Maybe we should take it in here. What do you think?”
Wesley opened the French doors to the dining room.
“You have a beautiful dining room,” I said. “Why not?”
“Why not what?” asked Wesley.
Tilly launched into an excited recitation of our conversation, demanding opinions from Jericho and the third man about the best background for the cookbook cover.
It was somewhat amusing, because I had a hunch none of the three men had ever bought a cookbook.
Wesley followed Tilly into the kitchen. “It smells wonderful in here. How’s the cookbook coming, Sophie?”
“We’re getting close to wrapping it up.” I packed up my notes and discreetly bowed out for the day.
Tilly was in her element, fussing with the presentation of the meal on platters. “See you tomorrow,” she sang.