something up.”
Her lips turned inward. She poked her head out and looked up and down the street nervously.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dear Natasha,
My cupcakes look beautiful when I take them out of the oven, but then they deflate! What am I doing wrong?
—Sagging in Flat Lick, Kentucky
Dear Sagging,
Most likely you’re not baking them long enough or your oven is too hot. Most cupcakes bake in 16–18 minutes at 350 degrees. Buy an oven thermometer to check the temperature inside your oven.
—Natasha
Clarissa stepped outside, leaving the door open just a sliver behind her. “This isn’t a good time.” Her eyes narrowed to bitter slits.
“I’ll be quick. Spenser told me that you think we’re having an affair. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, buh-bye.” She wedged inside as though she didn’t want to open the door all the way, and closed it with a snap.
Of all the things in the world she might have said or done, I hadn’t expected that. What happened to the screaming woman? The one who told me she’d fight? I knocked on the door.
She opened it a crack. “What now?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Are we okay, then? You accept that I’m not sleeping with Spenser?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I don’t believe you. It’s all over town.” She closed the door. I could hear her locking it and sliding a chain across to secure it.
Did she think I was going to force my way inside? I stepped away and looked back at the house. This time, she wasn’t peering from any windows. Feeling unsettled again, I walked away, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene at the banquet. Could she be on medication that was causing her to behave erratically? Surely Spenser would have mentioned it or warned me if that was the case. Maybe she had a drinking problem?
What a nuisance. Why hadn’t she believed me? I massaged my forehead as I walked. Poor Spenser. He must have a miserable life. Clarissa had always seemed so friendly. It just went to show that people weren’t always what they seemed on the outside.
The big dinner was scheduled to begin at six with cocktails. Anticipating that something would go wrong, I showered and changed early so I could help Nina. I blew my hair out, popped hot rollers in it, and swung it all up in what I hoped was an elegant French twist. I applied eye makeup that wouldn’t run and did my best to cover up the black eye that had bloomed into a remarkable shiner overnight. There was little hope of covering the red semicircle under my eye, but dabbing the black portions with thick concealer helped enormously. I hated the feeling of plastered makeup, but I had no choice. After I’d covered as much as I could, I studied my closet for an appropriate dress. In the spirit of springtime, I wanted to wear coral, but since Alex would be there, I conceded that black would be more slimming. He might not be divorced yet, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t look my best. He
was
very enticing. With a sigh and a millionth resolution to take off some weight—
after I ate my way through the cupcake dinner, of course
—I selected a long, sleeveless black dress with a sweetheart neckline that skimmed my figure without hugging any of the bulgy parts. I dug through a drawer in search of a necklace someone had given me. An artistic rendering of a dog paw print pave’d with rhinestones that hung on a gold chain. If this wasn’t the right event for it, there would never be one. Finding earrings that could stand up to the necklace proved to be a challenge. I settled on large rhinestone clips from the fifties that had belonged to my grandmother. The cascading marquise-cut stones weren’t really my style, but they were pretty, and I figured that anything goes at a black-tie Cupcakes and Pupcakes feast. The earrings kicked up my black dress a notch, and I thought they looked rather chic now that 1950s clothes were back in style.
I slid my feet into comfortable black flats in case
Her lips turned inward. She poked her head out and looked up and down the street nervously.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dear Natasha,
My cupcakes look beautiful when I take them out of the oven, but then they deflate! What am I doing wrong?
—Sagging in Flat Lick, Kentucky
Dear Sagging,
Most likely you’re not baking them long enough or your oven is too hot. Most cupcakes bake in 16–18 minutes at 350 degrees. Buy an oven thermometer to check the temperature inside your oven.
—Natasha
Clarissa stepped outside, leaving the door open just a sliver behind her. “This isn’t a good time.” Her eyes narrowed to bitter slits.
“I’ll be quick. Spenser told me that you think we’re having an affair. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, buh-bye.” She wedged inside as though she didn’t want to open the door all the way, and closed it with a snap.
Of all the things in the world she might have said or done, I hadn’t expected that. What happened to the screaming woman? The one who told me she’d fight? I knocked on the door.
She opened it a crack. “What now?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Are we okay, then? You accept that I’m not sleeping with Spenser?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I don’t believe you. It’s all over town.” She closed the door. I could hear her locking it and sliding a chain across to secure it.
Did she think I was going to force my way inside? I stepped away and looked back at the house. This time, she wasn’t peering from any windows. Feeling unsettled again, I walked away, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene at the banquet. Could she be on medication that was causing her to behave erratically? Surely Spenser would have mentioned it or warned me if that was the case. Maybe she had a drinking problem?
What a nuisance. Why hadn’t she believed me? I massaged my forehead as I walked. Poor Spenser. He must have a miserable life. Clarissa had always seemed so friendly. It just went to show that people weren’t always what they seemed on the outside.
The big dinner was scheduled to begin at six with cocktails. Anticipating that something would go wrong, I showered and changed early so I could help Nina. I blew my hair out, popped hot rollers in it, and swung it all up in what I hoped was an elegant French twist. I applied eye makeup that wouldn’t run and did my best to cover up the black eye that had bloomed into a remarkable shiner overnight. There was little hope of covering the red semicircle under my eye, but dabbing the black portions with thick concealer helped enormously. I hated the feeling of plastered makeup, but I had no choice. After I’d covered as much as I could, I studied my closet for an appropriate dress. In the spirit of springtime, I wanted to wear coral, but since Alex would be there, I conceded that black would be more slimming. He might not be divorced yet, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t look my best. He
was
very enticing. With a sigh and a millionth resolution to take off some weight—
after I ate my way through the cupcake dinner, of course
—I selected a long, sleeveless black dress with a sweetheart neckline that skimmed my figure without hugging any of the bulgy parts. I dug through a drawer in search of a necklace someone had given me. An artistic rendering of a dog paw print pave’d with rhinestones that hung on a gold chain. If this wasn’t the right event for it, there would never be one. Finding earrings that could stand up to the necklace proved to be a challenge. I settled on large rhinestone clips from the fifties that had belonged to my grandmother. The cascading marquise-cut stones weren’t really my style, but they were pretty, and I figured that anything goes at a black-tie Cupcakes and Pupcakes feast. The earrings kicked up my black dress a notch, and I thought they looked rather chic now that 1950s clothes were back in style.
I slid my feet into comfortable black flats in case
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