The Diva Runs Out of Thyme

by Davis, Krista

  “Did you know Simon Greer?”

  Bernie leaned back on the sofa and casually crossed a leg over his knee. “I never met the man.”

  I lingered in the doorway, guilt banging at my conscience.

  “Did you see him when he was dead?”

  “That’s rather ghoulish, isn’t it?”

  “Let me make this easy for you. Were you ever in the Washington Room?”

  “I presume that’s the place Simon set up camp? No, I had no reason to hunt him down.”

  “Even after he was dead?”

  “What are you suggesting? That I mutilated his corpse? Tampered with evidence?”

  Wolf’s back was to me. I wished I could see his expression.

  He said, “The key card to your hotel room was found in the Washington Room.”

  Bernie scratched the back of his neck. “Is this some absurd American method of prompting a confession? Because it’s not working.”

  Good move, Bernie. Aggravate the man with the handcuffs. I waved my hands at Bernie and shook my head in dismay.

  Wolf didn’t miss the twisted grin on Bernie’s face or the fact that his eyes focused on me.

  Without turning, Wolf said, “I’d appreciate some privacy, Sophie.”

  Appropriately chastened, I slunk into the hallway.

  My conscience worked overtime. Wolf clearly did not want me to listen. But if I remained completely quiet, I could hear from the hallway and he wouldn’t know about it. I should do the right thing and return to the kitchen. Or I could dust the pictures hanging in the hallway . . .

  “Where is everybody?”

  Mars! I scurried to the kitchen before he gave away my location.

  Wearing black gloves and a leather bomber jacket that resembled Craig’s, he roughhoused with Daisy.

  “Very snazzy. New duds?”

  He peeled off the gloves. “Everything we own reeks of smoke. I had no idea that smoke alone could do so much damage.”

  Mochie zoomed into the kitchen and flew onto the table, where he watched Mars. Mars tossed the new jacket over a chair, stroked Mochie, and turned his attention to the kitchen counter. “Is this the cranberry cake I like so much?”

  I could take a hint. I cut a piece for him and poured coffee into two mugs. He didn’t bother to sit down. He retrieved a fork and ate while standing. “Is Bernie here? I want to borrow his rental.”

  “Wolf is questioning him in the sunroom.”

  “About what?”

  “Where he was, what he did, and why the key card to his hotel room was found in the conference room where Simon was killed.”

  Mars set his coffee down. “They’re desperate. When they question someone from England who didn’t even know the victims, they’re reaching.”

  I hoped Mars was right. I hated to think that Bernie could be involved somehow. Between England, Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Miami, his world, like Simon’s, was much larger than mine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that he’d hired Otis and come here for a specific reason.

  Mars checked his watch. “I can’t hang around here long. Have you seen his car keys?”

  “You can’t just steal his car.”

  “It’s not stealing between Bernie and me.” Mars spied the jacket Bernie left in the kitchen. He took a long swig of coffee, picked up the jacket, and felt the pockets. “Aha!”

  “What’s wrong with your car?”

  “Nothing.” He fumbled in his pants pocket and tossed his keys onto the counter. “In case Bernie needs to go anywhere.” He reached for the last bite of cake.

  I snatched it away and held it as a bribe. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t need that last bite, you know.”

  “Of course you don’t.” I cut another tiny slice and added it to the plate. I waved it under his nose but pulled it back when he reached for it.

  “Okay, but no sharing this with Wolf. I didn’t know that Nat hired Otis until you told me. She shares almost everything with me, but she skipped that, which worries me. There’s only one other thing that she won’t tell me. I tease her about it all the time, but it didn’t matter until now. Once a week she turns off her cell phone and disappears for a few hours.”

  I handed him the plate with cake on it.

  He ate a piece before continuing. “It never bothered me before. Everybody needs some private time, right? But now that she’s being stalked, I’m afraid she’s gotten herself into a mess and doesn’t know how to handle it. That has to be the reason she hired a private investigator. It all fits together with the not sleeping and the lack of appetite.”

  I was glad he told me but didn’t quite understand. “What’s that got to do with Bernie’s car?”

  “I’m going to follow her. Maybe I can identify her stalker. If nothing else, I’ll know where she goes every week. I need Bernie’s rental so no one will realize it’s me—at least not right away.”

  Wolf’s voice filtered to us from the hallway.

  “Gotta go.” Mars snarfed the rest of his cake. “Not a word to Wolf.” He grabbed his jacket and gloves. “Oh, and if Andrew comes in here looking for me, you don’t know where I am.” He rushed out into the cold without bothering to bundle up.

  The door clicked shut seconds before Wolf walked into the kitchen.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked.

  I wanted to interpret his question as flirtatious but his demeanor was definitely angry cop. “Nina told you . . .”

  “Never mind what Nina said. I want to know if you’re dating anyone.”

  “No.” Did he mean Humphrey? I thought he’d misconstrued Humphrey’s words on Thanksgiving when he walked in on us in the kitchen. “Humphrey appears to be suffering from delusions stemming from a childhood crush, but it’s nothing.”

  Wolf raised his chin. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss him. Anyone else? What about Bernie?”

  What did he mean about dismissing Humphrey? “Bernie is an old friend. He was Mars’s best man at our wedding.”

  Wolf stared into the fireplace, deep in thought. “That’s right. Can’t forget about Mars. What did you do after the stuffing contest?”

  Clearly, romantic thoughts had not been the source of his questions about my love life. “You should know. I was driven down to the police station to relinquish my clothes.”

  “And after that?”

  “You were here Thanksgiving Day. Maybe you didn’t notice all the food? I was home all night cooking and baking.”

  “You didn’t go out for dinner, to get take-out, make a quick grocery run?”

  His line of questioning annoyed me, mostly because I didn’t understand what he was getting at. “You have my car, remember?”

  He loosened his tie. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  “I’d like to know why you’re asking these odd questions.”

  “Thanks for your time.” He headed for the front door and let himself out.

  So much for Mom’s theory that he was sweet on me. And then it hit me. He was trying to figure out who might have buried the turkey in Natasha’s yard. It could have been me or someone who liked me enough to do an important favor for me. After all, as far as I knew, I was the only one who remembered seeing the bloody turkey trophy. He thought I’d planted it.

  The kitchen door opened behind me and Andrew stuck his head in. “Where’s Mars?”

  I didn’t have to lie. “I don’t know.”

  “His car’s outside, he must be here somewhere.”

  “He left the car here, but I don’t know where he went.”

  “Shoot!” Andrew came in and shut the door. “How about Mom? Is she here?”

  “She’s entertaining the colonel in the living room.”

  “I think I’ll join them.”

  I placed my hand against his chest to stop him. “There might be a little romance brewing. You wouldn’t want to spoil that.”

  “At her age? You’re kidding me, right?”

 
“How about a piece of cake?” Maybe that would distract him.

  “Sure.” He plopped into a fireside chair. “Did Vicki tell you I’m going to become a private investigator? Yeah. I’ve been watching Wolf, it’s not that hard. Andrew Winston, detective. Sounds pretty cool. I’ve been following Mars. He doesn’t know, so don’t tell him. You know, to protect him in case the killer goes after him again.”

  I handed him a plate of cake and said, “Definitely cool.” Mars obviously knew that Andrew was tailing him. I couldn’t help wondering what Vicki really thought about Andrew’s latest career plan.

  “I’m way ahead of the game. I’ve got this murder all figured out, well almost, and Wolf is still working on it. And he has people helping him.”

  Pouring his coffee could wait. I perched on the other chair, anxious to hear Andrew’s theory. “Spill it.”

  “It’s elementary, my dear Watson. The killer talked Francie into making that scene outside so everyone would leave the table and he could poison Mars’s soup. But, you ask, why would he want to kill Mars? He didn’t. He meant to kill me because I knew too much.”

  I had a feeling Andrew intended to drag out his story for his own amusement so I rose and fetched his coffee after all.

  “You know how they say the killer always revisits the scene of the crime? On Thanksgiving morning I went over to the hotel looking for Mom. She’d left Natasha’s house in a snit the night before and all. But in my new profession as a private detective, I stopped to check out the Washington Room where Simon was killed. There was yellow tape up but that never applies to those of us in the profession. And who did I see there? Craig, surreptitiously looking for something.”

  I hadn’t expected to hear Craig named as a suspect. I thought for sure Andrew would point a finger at Natasha. “Have you told Wolf?”

  He beamed with pride. “Give away my secrets? No way. I’ll reveal the killer when I’m ready. I’m so good at this. I can’t believe it’s taken me this many years to figure out that detective work is what I was meant to do.”

  “Are you absolutely sure it was Craig?”

  “Not a doubt in my mind. He wore running shoes and a big sweatshirt from Georgetown U.”

  That cinched it for me. Craig left here to run and clearly ran over to the hotel for some reason. But there were major holes in Andrew’s theory. “Why did Craig kill Simon?”

  “Because . . .” Andrew raised his index finger. “. . . I haven’t figured out that part yet.”

  A major omission. “If Craig meant to kill you, and Mars was never a target, then why are you following Mars?”

  “In case I’m wrong.”

  Sounded like he had as much confidence in his theory as I did. Still, Craig’s behavior disturbed me. He washed the clothes he wore when Simon was killed and he went back to the scene of the crime the next morning.

  Andrew sipped coffee so deep in thought that he paid no attention to the tinny ringing in his pocket.

  “Andrew.” I tapped his knee. “Isn’t that your cell phone?”

  “Oh!” He flipped it open. “Hi, dear.” He jumped up and placed his plate and mug on the counter. “Stay there but outside.” Panic registered in his voice. “I’ll be home in a jiffy.”

  He snapped the phone shut. “Vicki went out for groceries and when she came home, the house had been ransacked!”

  TWENTY-TWO

  From “Ask Natasha” :

  Dear Natasha,

  My mother insists that a host should always provide a toothbrush for each overnight guest. Do I leave them in the bathroom in the package unopened? On their pillows? It all sounds sort of dime-store tacky. Should I provide toothpaste, too?

  —Hopeless Hostess in Harrisonburg

  Dear Hopeless Hostess,

  A luxurious bathroom basket should await each of your guests. I roll fingertip towels and washcloths of long-staple Egyptian cotton and place them in the basket along with one new and unopened battery-operated toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. Gentlemen receive a tiny bottle of aftershave and ladies get perfume. Don’t forget a loofah and a personal bottle of scented shower gel. In the summer, it’s extremely thoughtful to add powder. I always include a magnolia-scented soy candle and a carved soap, both in my signature color of robin’s-egg blue, for guests to take home.

  —Natasha

  “Wait,” I said. “I’ll come with you.” Vicki could probably use someone to lean on.

  I dashed to the den, poked my head in, and whispered to my parents, “Give my Ford’s Theatre ticket to June. I’ll fill you in later.” Without waiting for a response, I rushed to the front door to catch a ride with Andrew.

  When we arrived at their house, Vicki sat on the stoop, the collar of her fleece jacket turned up against the wind. Andrew parked in haste and ran up the walk to the town house before I’d managed to remove my seat belt. By the time I reached them, Andrew held Vicki in a bear hug.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  Andrew released her and Vicki placed a hand on her chest. “My heart’s still pounding, otherwise I’m fine. How lucky that they’d left by the time I came home. At least I think they had. The cops are in there now and I imagine we’d have heard if they discovered anyone in the house.”

  I followed them inside. The lovely dining and living rooms were a mess. Sofa cushions lay on the floor. Drawers hung open and shards of a lamp spread across the hardwood floor.

  “Mrs. Winston?”

  I turned out of habit, but Wolf meant Vicki.

  “Can you tell if anything is missing?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t been upstairs yet.”

  “When we’re through fingerprinting, I’d like you to do a thorough inventory.”

  “I assume your presence means you think this is related to the murders in some way,” I said.

  Wolf pulled a pen from his breast pocket. “These days I respond to anything involving a Winston.”

  He’d been so curt today that I wondered what was up. Had I done something to offend him? When we’d first met, he’d been sweet with Mochie. What happened to change his demeanor? I wished he would open up and tell me what he’d learned.

  “Do you realize that Natasha and Mars are also staying here?” I asked.

  The news startled Wolf. “Anyone else living here?”

  While Vicki answered Wolf, Andrew pulled me aside and whispered, “Do you think it could have been Craig?”

  “Sorry, but he’s touring museums with Hannah. I think she’d notice if he left her.”

  Andrew snapped his fingers. “I may have to rethink my theory.”

  No one had closed the front door, and when I turned around, Natasha stood in the doorway, her large eyes taking in the situation. Vicki spotted her and rushed to Natasha’s side to explain. Panic registered on Natasha’s face and she bolted for the stairs, but Wolf blocked her.

  “Not yet. When the officers are finished, I’d appreciate knowing if anything is missing.”

  Natasha backed away from him as though he’d threatened her.

  Wordlessly, she tugged me outside. “Every time I think nothing could possibly get worse in my life, some horrible thing like this happens.”

  Her shoulders slumped and I felt sorry for her. I was going through similar troubles, but at least I hadn’t lost my home and no one was stalking me.

  “They’re going to use this opportunity to search our stuff, you know. No warrant needed.” She groaned.

  I patted her shoulder and wondered what kind of stuff she had that worried her.

  “Sophie, you have to help me. This situation with June is becoming serious and Mars closes his eyes to it. He refuses to see that she’s confused and needs help.”

  Her statement caught me off guard. Considering the magnitude of Natasha’s other problems, I expected her to forget about June. In any event, I wasn’t going to let Natasha talk Mars into moving June to a nursing home.

  “She’s behaved normally at my house.” Most people didn’t talk with
the ghosts of their siblings, but I hoped Mom was right about that. Maybe a lot of people did it in private.

  Natasha squared her shoulders and placed her fists on her hips. “I stopped by Nordstrom to buy new clothes, since the smoke from June’s fire rendered everything unwearable, and I found her in the teen section buying clothes completely inappropriate for a woman her age.”