Free Diva 02 _ Diva Takes the Cake, The by Krista Davis Page B

but I couldn’t abandon everyone and run to the B&B. I’d have to go first thing in the morning. Boiling mad at Natasha, I barreled through the gate to the garden, ready to have it out with her. But no sooner had I spotted her than I heard a crackling voice utter, “Well, well, if it isn’t the groom.”

TWELVE

    From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

    Dear Sophie,

    I’m having an open bar at my reception, wines specially chosen for each course at dinner, and champagne with dessert. My uncle can’t drink alcohol, and my mother thinks we should offer punch. I think that’s too childish and old-fashioned. I’d rather he drink a soda from the bar.

    —Enough Beverages in Belvidere

    Dear Enough,

    Your uncle won’t be the only guest avoiding alcohol. Some guests won’t want to drink because they’re driving, some for religious reasons, and don’t forget that a few of your friends might be pregnant. Offer a special alternative, like half lemonade, half iced tea, or a refreshing fruit spritzer. Serve in wineglasses and they’ll be very elegant.

    —Sophie
    I swiveled around to watch Craig.

    He blanched. I’d have said his face froze but he never showed emotion, so it wasn’t really any different.

    The wiry man with a long face and a bad toupee addressed him in a slow, gravelly voice. “Where is my new daughter-in-law?”

    Craig’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is Hannah.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

    Hannah smiled at the little man in genuine pleasure. “You’re Craig’s father? What a wonderful surprise!” She promptly hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come for the wedding.”

    “Ye-e-es.” He pulled the word out but didn’t have any hint of a southern accent. “And look who else came, Craig. Your Uncle Stan.”

    It didn’t escape me that father and son didn’t hug or shake hands. Had he been brought up that way, or was it a remnant of hostility based on whatever drove them apart? At the mention of Uncle Stan’s name, I thought I detected an almost imperceptible change in Craig.

    Uncle Stan towered over Craig’s father. His wavy black hair fell into a precision cut, highlighting aristocratic features. If they were brothers, the only resemblance I could see was the long face. Stan’s dark eyes hinted at Italian ancestry.

    But Stan didn’t hesitate to slap Craig on the back and embrace him. I couldn’t tell if Craig was glad to see them or not.

    Craig’s father laughed unpleasantly, sort of a “heh, heh” donkey bray. “And best of all, look who else came—your cousin Darby.”

    Craig turned quickly and Darby pointed at him. “You didn’t expect to see me, didja?” Punching him in a playful way, she said, “Hello, cuz.”

    Hannah took over, a good thing since Craig seemed to be at a loss. She called Mom and Dad, and I focused on the food.

    The chicken would be ready shortly, as would the ribs. I returned to the kitchen for the potatoes I had put in the oven and platters on which to serve the meats, and found Natasha talking with Mordecai and Wanda in my kitchen.

    “Faye would have liked what you’ve done with your kitchen, Natasha,” said Mordecai.

    Her kitchen? What had Natasha told him? She’d never said one nice word about my kitchen.

    Natasha laid a hand on Mordecai’s arm, which still held little Emmaline. “I’m afraid you’re confused. This isn’t my house. Goodness, no. My kitchen is tastefully refined.”

    Wanda edged toward Mordecai. “You knew Faye? Do you feel it? The spirit in the kitchen?”

    Mordecai leaned away from her. “I am a professor, highly educated and well traveled. I can assure you, madam, that there is no such thing as a spirit.”

    “Mother doesn’t believe in them either, do you, Mother? She likes to joke about them, though.”

    Mordecai snorted. “Such nonsense. Faye held séances, but I refused to take part in that claptrap. I don’t associate with people who believe such