Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The (20 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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“This is creepy,” said Nina. “It’s like she’s casing the neighborhood for burglary.”
I still couldn’t locate the second person. Where had he gone? Natasha abruptly changed direction and headed back—toward us. I opened the gate and let Daisy out first. If the mysterious stalker prowled nearby, Daisy would surely pick up his scent and growl. Nina followed me through the gate and the two of us met Natasha on the sidewalk in the middle of our block.
She might believe I poisoned Mars, but I had to tell her the truth in case she was in danger. “Natasha,” I whispered, “someone’s following you.”
“Probably a fan. They’re so cute. It happens to me all the time.”
“Do your fans stick to the shadows so they won’t be seen?” I asked.
“Sophie, haven’t you had enough drama? Do you mean to scare me? I can’t imagine why you’d make up such a thing.”
“She’s telling you the truth,” protested Nina.
Natasha pulled her coat tight around her. “Then where is he now? I don’t see anyone out here but you two.”
“Exactly what are you doing here?” Nina didn’t ask, she demanded. “It’s a little cold for an evening walk.”
Natasha released a sigh. “If you must know, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I guess the murders and the attempt on Mars’s life have taken a toll on me. I thought a brisk walk might help me calm down and sleep.”
The news that she was being followed probably didn’t do much to calm her nerves. “Maybe we should walk you back to the hotel,” I said.
Natasha turned on her sweet TV persona. “Don’t you worry your little head about me. I’ll be fine.” With a quick wave of a gloved hand, she strode away in a big hurry.
“Did you buy it?” asked Nina.
“Not a word.”
“Me, either. I’m going to call the police about that other guy. The least they can do is drive through the neighborhood a few times.”
“June is going to visit Mars tomorrow morning. Natasha will be out at an important appointment.”
“We should follow her.”
Exactly what I was thinking. “Eight thirty in the morning early enough?”
“Have coffee ready.”
The bright lights of an oncoming vehicle lit the street. I swiveled around but still didn’t see the person who’d been following Natasha. I could only hope our presence discouraged him and that he wasn’t tailing Natasha now.
We watched as the oncoming car pulled over to the curb and parked and the colonel stepped out and walked around the car to open the passenger door like a gentleman. I felt a weight fall off me when June hopped out, safe and sound.
She waved at us. “Hi, girls.”
The colonel escorted her to the front door of my house. They kept their voices too low for me to make out what they were saying, but there was no mistaking the good-night kiss they shared.
Nina elbowed me like we were little kids spying on a big sister. “Isn’t that sweet?” she whispered. She turned and punched me in the shoulder. “Why didn’t we introduce him to my monster-in-law? She’d have forgotten all about me.”
“Did she figure out that you didn’t cook dinner?”
“Francie distracted her. I don’t think she gave it any thought. Hmm. Do we know any other single men their age?”
Grinning at the thought of matchmaking for her demanding mother-in-law, I said good night and headed home, passing the colonel as he crossed the street to his house. Despite the cold, he was humming.
By the time I reached the kitchen, June was entertaining everyone with tales from her date. “He’s so refined. We ate in an exotic Moroccan restaurant—with our fingers! You should have seen the belly dancer.” She lifted her arms and waved them around as she glided across the floor.
While June changed out of her pretty dress, Hannah helped me put out spiced nuts, nachos, zesty homemade salsa, crackers, and a heavenly soft goat cheese with Italian herbs. I licked a dab that clung to my finger and was tempted to scoop up more of the tangy mixture to lick. Dad mixed a batch of his famous whiskey sours and poured a Scotch for Craig.
We passed the rest of the evening playing cards. Craig lost more often than anyone else and after a while, I suspected that he was losing on purpose. It didn’t matter, but it piqued my curiosity. Did he think he would win us over by losing?
Normally, I’d have stayed up with Hannah, but tonight I went up to bed when June and my parents retired, hoping it didn’t mean age was creeping up on me too fast. Chalking my fatigue up to the murders and the hectic pace of Thanksgiving Day, I gratefully snuggled between my down comforter and my feather bed. Daisy nestled at the foot of the bed and Mochie pawed at me until I lifted the comforter and he could crawl underneath it.
I woke briefly around one o’clock and thought I heard Bernie walking around downstairs but drifted off again quickly.
In the morning, I thought I was the first one up, but I could hear soft murmuring when I reached the bottom of the stairs. June sat by a small fire in the kitchen fireplace, talking again. To Faye, I presumed. I said, “Good morning,” and started breakfast. My presence didn’t seem to bother June. Mochie jumped into her lap and except for the fact that she was talking to a dead person, it made for a sweet scene.
Nina showed for surveillance duty at a quarter past eight. Clad in black jeans, a zip-front black velour top that clung to her curves and black running shoes dotted with rhinestones, she stood at my kitchen counter pouring organic breakfast blend coffee into a stainless-steel travel mug.
As I entered the kitchen she glanced over her shoulder at me and nearly spilled the coffee. “You have to be kidding! Who knew there was a uniform for sleuths?”
I had dressed the same way, except my black sweatshirt hung loosely, disguising any shape beneath, and little gold stars decorated my shoes. “Pour me one of those, too, will you?”
I wrapped leftover croissants in aluminum foil and stuffed them into a canvas tote along with a bag of organic white cheddar cheese puffs.
“Where’s the wedding party?”
“Upstairs, getting dressed. Even Bernie was up early this morning.”
Nina carried the coffee, I carried the snack tote, and we left quickly, before we had to explain our plans to anyone. At the hotel where Mars and Natasha were staying, Nina took a parking ticket and circled slowly through the dim garage in search of Natasha’s robin’s-egg blue Lexus.
“Do you have a signature color?” I asked.
Nina sputtered. “A what?”
“Like Natasha. Everything is robin’s-egg blue. Her Christmas card last year was in shades of green with touches of red but she still managed to get one tiny bit of robin’s-egg blue in the picture. It’s her signature color.”
Nina sniffled as though she were crying. “I wanted robin’s-egg blue but it was taken. I can’t believe it has a name,” she muttered. “I just thought Natasha was obsessed with blue. Hey! We didn’t miss her. There’s her car.”
Sure enough, on the fourth floor of the garage sat the blue Lexus with license plates that read NATASHA. At least she made it easy for us to know we found the correct car.
Nina parked in a nearby spot where we could watch the elevator doors as well as the Lexus. An hour later we’d eaten all the croissants, made a substantial dent in the cheese puffs, and had only sips of coffee left. Surveillance, even with your best buddy, was boring.
“Maybe she walked.” Nina smacked the dashboard. “We should have parked outside.”
Another fifteen minutes went by before the elevator doors opened and Natasha strode out. She wore three-inch heels, a camel turtleneck, and a matching skirt with a persimmon-colored cape draped loosely over her shoulders. She intended to impress someone.
Nina started the engine. “She stills struts like a beauty queen. Just watching her be so perfect makes me itch all over.”
I was afraid Natasha might notice us, but she didn’t pay us any attention at all as she stepped into her car and pulled out of her parking spot.
In the garage Nina hung back a good distance, making me wonder if she’d done this before. But as soon as Natasha passed through the gate at the entrance, Nina hit the gas pedal. She paid for parking in one swift motion as the Lexus turned left. In hot pursuit, Nina swung onto the street, but a khaki-colored, soft-top Jeep pulled out in front of us.
Nina hit the brakes hard. “What’s your hurry, buster? At least his stupid car will block Natasha’s view of us.”
Parade-style, the robin’s-egg blue Lexus, the beige Jeep, and the dark green Jaguar drove slowly through King Street, the heart of Old Town. Tourists strolled along the sidewalks, stopping to gaze in store windows. Brunching diners inside restaurants looked out over passersby.
Including Bernie.
I craned my neck to see better. It was Bernie, for sure.
“Nina.” I grabbed her arm. “Is that who I think it is with Bernie?”
Heedless of the traffic, Nina slammed the brakes and stopped in the middle of the street. “Mrs. Pulchinski. Oh, that can’t be good. How could Bernie know Mrs. Pulchinski?”
Good question. One that produced goose bumps on my arms. How long had they known each other? Did he know Otis, too?
Nina pressed the gas and hurried to catch up to the Jeep. In a few blocks, we would be close to home. “You don’t suppose they’re having an affair?” she asked.
In all the times Bernie visited, he’d never brought a girlfriend. Somehow I imagined him with a more sophisticated type than Mrs. Pulchinski. She wasn’t much older than us, but she wasn’t the type I’d have picked for Bernie. On the other hand, Bernie, in spite of all his international travels, drifted from one job to another and was definitely a beer-and-pretzels kind of guy. Maybe Mrs. Pulchinski was his type.
I didn’t like what I was thinking. But I couldn’t find any other explanation for Bernie and the dead PI’s wife to be having brunch together. Were they romantically involved? Or was their meeting a business transaction related to murder? Could he have killed her husband? But he didn’t have any reason to kill Simon. Maybe the two murders weren’t related.
Not Bernie!
Not Bernie!
Nina winced. “It’s not easy when the suspects are people you know. How could Bernie have possibly met her?” She drew in a sharp breath of air. “Do you think Mrs. Pulchinski was at the stuffing contest? Maybe she killed her husband and Simon.”
Nina was right about one thing: I wanted to think that a stranger like Mrs. Pulchinski committed the murders. It was too upsetting to imagine Natasha or Bernie could have been involved in anything so heinous.
“Will you look at this?” Nina said. “We could have stayed in your kitchen and waited for Natasha to cruise by.”
We drove by our homes but Natasha didn’t stop. At the corner of our block, she took a left. The Jeep zoomed straight ahead.
Nina slowed down the Jag and hung back. “Now that we could use the cover of the Jeep, it’s abandoned us.” We turned and drove at crawling speed to keep Natasha at a distance.
Natasha parked around the corner from our block, prompting Nina to mutter, “What’s she doing?”
Her head down, Natasha concentrated on something inside her car when we drove past and slid into a parking space farther down the block.
Nina drummed the dashboard. “I don’t think she saw us.”
“Wouldn’t matter if she did. We live here. We have every right to happen to be in the neighborhood.”
Nina adjusted the rearview mirror so she could watch Natasha. “She’s getting out.”
I opened the car door and crept out, ready to follow her. I peeked over the roof of the car.
Natasha’s heels clacked along the uneven brick sidewalk. Not the best place for three-inch heels. I’d have twisted my ankle in ten seconds. She walked past the alley that ran along the rear of Nina’s and the colonel’s properties and turned the corner onto our street.
“Do you think she came to spy on us?” asked Nina. “Maybe she’s the Peeping Tom.”
“Not a chance. She’s not wearing burglar chic.”
Nina peeled out of the car and we scuttled up the sidewalk. When we peered around the corner of the Wesleys’ house at the end of our block, Natasha startled us by standing only a few feet away.
“Oh, no!” Nina flung her back against the side wall of the Wesleys’ house. “It can’t be. This is the worst!”
I looked again. Natasha was speaking with a man dressed in Old Town chic for men, khakis and a navy blazer with prominent golden buttons. I was close enough to see a monogram etched on them.
“That’s Blue Henderson,” she hissed.
“Blue? What kind of name is Blue?”
“He’s one of the biggest real estate agents in Old Town. He sold us our house. Don’t you get it? She’s shopping for a house on our block.”
“Don’t screw up your face that way,” I whispered. “Besides, there’s nothing for sale.”
“If Blue Henderson is here, something’s for sale. This can’t be happening. Not on our block. There must be dozens of houses for sale in Alexandria. Why does she have to look here?”
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