Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The (19 page)

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Authors: Krista Davis

Tags: #Murder, #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Murder - Investigation, #Investigation, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Cooks, #Large Type Books, #Cookery, #Crime, #Entertaining, #Thanksgiving Day

BOOK: Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The

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“Your dad’s right, Sophie. All three of us were there, but that doesn’t mean one of us bashed old Simon over the head.”

“Does June have a cell phone?” asked Dad.

“Don’t think so. She borrowed mine the other day,” said Bernie.

“Then there’s nothing we can do. I think it’s time we told your mom everything, Sophie.” Dad put the computer to sleep.

I didn’t want to start a fight between them but I thought I’d better be honest. “She already knows all about Otis and everything, Dad.”

His face lit up. “That’s my Inga. Plugging along like everything is fine.”

Bernie nudged me. “Mind if I do some laundry, luv?”

“Help yourself. Washer and dryer are in the basement.”

He hoisted the duffle bag and added the socks he’d taken off. “Daisy, Mochie? Coming to keep me company?”

As if they understood the exotic scents of a basement adventure awaited, they shot out the door ahead of him.

Dad and I rose and he wrapped his arms around me. “June will be fine, kiddo.”

“I’ll feel better when June is home, safe and healthy.”

We walked slowly through the sunroom to the hallway.

“The cherries!” I’d forgotten all about them.

I rushed to the kitchen to check on them and heard the front door bang open. Thankfully, the cherries survived and their sauce had thickened nicely. I removed them from the burner and poked my head in the foyer.

The three wedding enthusiasts shed their coats.

Hannah handed hers to Craig and pulled off her gloves. “I’m so glad to be home. It’s freezing out there.”

I greeted everyone and returned to the kitchen to preheat the oven. Mom followed me, collapsed into one of the fireside chairs, and put her feet up on a stool. “I can’t take another step. Honey, Mars called earlier while you were out. He asked June to come to the hotel tomorrow morning for a visit and then he’s taking her shopping. Natasha has an important appointment and she’ll be out. I think Mars is afraid for Natasha and June to be in the same room since things aren’t so great between them what with the fire and Mars’s poisoning. Neither trusts the other.”

I couldn’t blame him for trying to keep them apart.

Mom smoothed the pleats in her skirt. “Poor Natasha. When I think what that girl has been through in her life. She never seems to catch a break. It must be awful to be a murder suspect.”

“It is,” I said drily, whisking a spoon through the onions softening in the butter. Had she forgotten that her own daughter was a suspect? I spooned a generous tablespoon of sage on top of the cooking onions. The comforting scent of sage bloomed as soon as the herb hit the pan.

Mom leaned sideways to peer into the foyer. “Did Craig and Hannah go upstairs?”

“I think so.” I checked the time and placed the tenderloins in the oven.

“What did you find out from the PI’s widow?”

I added rice and broth to the translucent onions, popped the lid on top, and filled her in on Natasha’s payment to Otis, the discovery of poisonous mushrooms in my backyard, the colonel’s granddaughter, and June’s date.

Mom clapped a hand over her mouth. “Lost her leg? That poor child. And now June is out with him. Too bad she didn’t know about the granddaughter, she could have gotten the scoop. We’ll make that her job tomorrow afternoon. She can invite the colonel for coffee and pump him for information.”

“Assuming he doesn’t kill her tonight.”

“Nonsense. Any man clever enough to leave the hotel without being questioned by the police isn’t going to blow it by poisoning his dinner date. That would be far too obvious.”

The basement door, located in the tiny passage that connected the family room to the kitchen, swung open. Bernie emerged along with Daisy and Mochie. “Sophie, are you still doing Mars’s laundry?”

An odd question. “Of course not.”

“There were men’s clothes in the dryer. I folded them and set them on the table down there.”

“Did you do laundry?” I asked Mom.

“I’ve toured every bridal boutique in the greater Washington area. Who had time for laundry?”

I checked on the rice and the pork before venturing into the basement to see the mysterious clothes. I didn’t have to look through them to know to whom they belonged. The day of the stuffing competition Craig had worn the black polo shirt on the top of the pile. What was he trying to wash away?

Daisy’s heavy paws pounding behind me, I ran up the stairs to the kitchen. Craig couldn’t be involved in the murders. He hadn’t been in town when Otis was killed.

“Mom,” I panted, “when you picked up Craig at the airport, did he come from the passengers-only area?”

“Dad and I waited in the car so we wouldn’t have to park. Hannah prearranged to meet him in baggage claim.”

Dad walked in and sat in the other fireside chair. “What’s this?”

Mom frowned at me. “What are you saying, Sophie? That Craig didn’t fly in from out of town?”

“Is it possible?” I asked. “Could he be involved in the murders? I dismissed him as a possibility because his connection was too remote. He barely knows us. How could he arrange it?”

“He was also with Hannah the entire time at the stuffing contest,” said Mom.

“I saw him in the gent’s washroom,” said Dad. “He obviously escaped from her for a few minutes.”

“And he managed to leave the hotel to bring back the French fries,” I added.

“Sophie, you’re talking nonsense. Hannah has been so upset with you. You’re not very good at hiding your dislike of him. He’s going to be family; you might as well accept him.” Mom shot me a displeased look.

My eyes met Dad’s but before I could say anything, Hannah and Craig joined us.

Mom deftly changed the subject to Daisy and Mochie and how well they’d adapted to each other.

While Dad opened a bottle of white wine, I set the table in the kitchen. Hannah would be happy to see the French country tablecloth and napkins she’d given me for my birthday. They coordinated perfectly with the amber and red jars of votive candles I placed in the middle of the table.

The others chatted amiably while I finished cooking and kept a wary eye on Craig. A doctor would know how to remove blood from his clothes and would certainly be smart enough to wash them right away.

I tossed crisp salad with the simple vinaigrette and divided it among salad plates. On top of the greens I arranged a few red onion rings in a circle. I sliced a juicy blood orange into thin wheels and centered one on each plate over the onions. Even Natasha would have admired the colorful combination.

I cut the hot tenderloins into rounds half an inch thick and placed them, overlapping one another, on the middle of an oval serving platter. A bouquet of onion and sage floated from the rice when I removed the lid. I fluffed the savory rice around the edge of the platter and spooned cherry sauce over the meat. The remaining sauce went into a bowl, to which I added a ladle.

The wind howled outside but the fire crackled, the kitchen smelled like rosemary, and the candles provided a soft glow for our cozy winter dinner. We devoured the remaining pecan pies and decadently fudgy brownies for dessert and used the last of the whipped cream to top steaming Kahlúa-laced coffee.

When we lingered at the table sipping our rich decaf coffee, Bernie vanished to the foyer and returned bundled in a loden green overcoat. “I’m going out for a bit. Have you got a spare key, Sophie? I don’t want to wake anyone when I come back.”

I handed him the key that used to belong to Mars. “Are you going to look for June?”

“I thought it might be a good idea.”

He let himself out through the front door. From the kitchen window over the sink, I watched him saunter away and saw Nina walking a dog across the street. Pulling on a down jacket, I whistled for Daisy. Her leash securely attached, we trotted over to Nina.

I slowed as we approached since I didn’t want to alarm the other dog. Not that I needed to worry. The golden retriever wagged his tail and pulled at his leash, eager to greet Daisy.

Nina laughed when he dragged her toward us. “Daisy, meet Duke.”

Daisy held her head high, in reserved hound fashion, when Duke snuffled her jowls, but the golden’s enthusiasm soon won Daisy over and her tail wagged, too.

“I’m fostering him because no one has adopted him yet. Must be because he’s a mature dog and not a puppy. I can’t bear to think what could happen to him if he doesn’t find a home,” said Nina. “He has lovely manners. Know anyone who would adore him and have the time to give him the attention he deserves?”

I promised to think about it.

We strolled under the streetlights, the night bitter enough to discourage most casual walkers. Anyone out tonight had a good reason for it.

“Duke and I just walked Francie home. She’s a gas. I think my monster-in-law was horrified by her,” said Nina with glee.

“Did she calm down about the colonel?”

“Not at all. That man is going to pay for not being interested in her.”

I told Nina about the colonel’s granddaughter. “You don’t think . . . Francie couldn’t be the killer.”

Nina’s laugh echoed down the empty street. “Are we talking about the same wiry little woman who lives next door to you? She couldn’t throw a man in a Dumpster.”

“She could if she had help.”

“You mean that story about following the colonel might be a bunch of baloney that she made up for our benefit?”

“What if they operated as a team and that’s why she went ballistic over his dinner date with June?”

“She loves him so much that she agreed to help him kill Simon to avenge his granddaughter? Why would he poison Mars? Or kill Otis?” Nina sounded doubtful.

No matter whom I considered, it always came back to the same thing. Lots of people held grudges against Simon, but when Otis and Mars were factored in, nothing made sense.

Nina gripped my sleeve. “Quick!” She opened the gate to the colonel’s service alley.

The dogs ran in, eager to sniff MacArthur’s territory. Nina and I followed.

She closed the gate behind us and we peered over the top.

A figure in a dark coat ambled up our street.

“Not Francie again,” I groaned.

“I don’t think so. Not this time.”

Apparently my unbridled suspiciousness was infectious. Even Nina had begun to overreact.

“It’s not illegal to stroll. I think you’re losing . . .” I stopped mid-sentence. The person on the other side of the street had slowed to study the houses. Not uncommon in Old Town, except in frigid weather. An icy finger ran down my spine when he observed my house. The light in the kitchen glowed, backlighting my parents and Hannah as they sat at the table in front of the bay window.

“I have to warn them.” I reached for the gate latch.

Nina held her arm out to stop me. “There’s a second person.”

The one observing my family made no effort to hide. But another figure darted along the sidewalk among shadows where the streetlights didn’t reach. I suspected Francie immediately. But a quick look at her house revealed someone passing behind closed curtains. This time Francie was in the clear.

The person watching my house turned toward us, ostensibly to observe Nina’s house. Nina and I gasped at the same time.

NINETEEN

From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

Dear Sophie,

My boyfriend says there’s nothing that compares with sleeping on a feather bed. Is that a mattress filled with feathers? Or is he confused and sleeping on a comforter?

—Featherless in Ferrum

Dear Featherless,

A feather bed is similar to a down comforter, but you sleep on top of a feather bed. It goes over the top of your mattress. Some people put them under their fitted sheets but I use mine on top because I like the way it fluffs up around me. Either way, be sure to place it inside a duvet cover that can be removed to be washed. I have to agree with your boyfriend—there’s nothing quite like snuggling into a lofty feather bed on a cold night.

When you shop for one, be sure you don’t feel any nasty quills that could jut out. It should be lightweight but never thin. Ideally, it should loft up like a cloud.

—Sophie

The brisk wind blew her hair back, leaving no doubt about her identity. The streetlight illuminated Natasha’s face.

“Where’s the other guy?” whispered Nina.

I’d lost track of him, too. “We should tell her she’s being followed.”

“What if it’s Mars?”

I hesitated. What if Mars thought she was the killer? What if he suspected her of having an affair? “What if it’s not Mars?”

Natasha ambled to the end of the block and stopped again.