The Diva Spices It Up (A Domestic Diva Mystery #13) - Krista Davis Page 0,2
out, leaving poor Tilly high and dry. No one has been able to reach her since Friday.”
I tilted my head and gave him my best doubtful look. “Mars, that doesn’t make sense. People don’t take a job and quit in the middle of it.”
“Are you kidding me? People do that all the time. One of my clients advertised a job and hired six people. Guess how many showed up on the first day of training.”
It was clearly a trick question. “Three?”
“Zero.” He made a zero with his thumb and forefinger. “Not the best example, but my point is that people don’t always come through with what they promise. I’m told that there has to be a personal connection between the ghostwriter and the chef. I feel a little guilty because I was the one who hooked her up with Abby Bergeron. She came highly recommended. Maybe they just didn’t mesh.”
Daisy finished her Puppy Paw-Tea and then watched us, probably hoping we had another one hidden somewhere.
Mars persisted. “Tilly is a sweetheart, Sophie. She’s so disappointed. It would mean a lot to her if you could help out.”
I slurped the remains of my mocha latte in a most unladylike manner.
Mars wrote something on a napkin and slid it across the table to me.
I took a look and felt my eyes widen. “Is that a dollar sign?”
“I told you it paid well. They’re in a hurry to get it done and are willing to pay extra. The thing is”—he looked at me with his best imitation of Daisy’s puppy eyes—“I know you wouldn’t let them down.”
He didn’t need to shower me with empty flattery. I was torn. The money would be nice, but I had been looking forward to some downtime. “Mars, thanks for thinking of me, but I’d really like to have a little time off. Besides, a cookbook is a huge project. We’d be working on it for a year, and I would need to get back to my real job soon.”
“Ah! But the bulk of it is done.” He leaned toward me. “Tilly is very disappointed. This cookbook is a big deal for her, and”—Mars locked his eyes on mine—“I know I can depend on you. I don’t want some other highly recommended person coming in and making a mess of it or walking away.”
“I’ll think about it.” I scowled at him. “In spite of your assurances that it’s easy, I don’t know what’s involved in ghostwriting a cookbook.”
“There’s nothing to it. You write down recipes. How hard could that be?”
I stood up and collected Daisy’s leash. “I’ll let you know.”
As I walked away, Mars called out to me, “You were my favorite wife!”
I was his only wife. He had lived with our friend Natasha, but she never did manage to get him to walk down the aisle with her.
Fall was my favorite time of year in Old Town. It was way too early for pumpkins, but they already decorated the front stoops of some historic homes. Others had lush wreaths on their doors, featuring dried flowers and giant sunflowers. The leaves on the trees that lined the streets were still green. It was that transitional time between summer and fall. School had started, and weekend beach trips had ended. Warm summery days were still the norm but they were interrupted by chilly days that reminded us fall weather was already on the way.
Traffic had picked up, and people had begun to leave their offices in search of lunch. At an intersection with King Street, Daisy and I waited for the light to change and the line of cars to stop.
A man paused near us. About my age with a neat appearance, he reminded me of my old beau, Alex. His brown hair was neatly trimmed. He wore a blue Oxford cloth button-down shirt with a striped yellow tie. Quintessential Old Town attire for gentlemen. He smiled at me, which made me totally self-conscious. He even reached down to pat Daisy.
But the second the light changed he was off in a hurry, walking across the street in great, confident strides ahead of the crowd. When he reached the sidewalk on the other side, he lifted the end of his tie and placed it in his mouth. In one swift movement, he raised the lid on a public garbage bin, bent over, reached inside, and pulled out a red soft drink can.
I was so stunned that I stopped walking in the middle of the street.