Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The (29 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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As I stared him down, it occurred to me that he rarely showed emotion. He acted sweet and endearing around Hannah, but he must be a great poker player because he never displayed anger or frustration or any negative feelings. No matter how much he wanted to fit in and be accepted by our family, it didn’t account for his amazing self-control. I didn’t trust him and I didn’t like him.
At long last he left, presumably to fetch the muffins. I turned my back in case he was trying to fool me, twisted the top onto the peculiar vial, wrapped it in a napkin, and stuck it in my pocket.
Although I still found an occasional item from the days when Faye had owned the house, it seemed unlikely that the vial could have lain on the floor all these years without being noticed. But what a perfect little poison container. It fit easily in my pocket. No one would have noticed it in the palm of a killer’s hand. Or was I leaping to conclusions?
When Craig returned, I had finished setting the table. I smiled nicely, thanked him for his help, and rushed back to the kitchen so I wouldn’t have to be alone with him. Mom had the French toast under control, so I opened two packages of preservative-free bacon and laid the slices on the griddle. The mouthwatering aroma of crispy bacon would surely rouse Bernie.
I struggled to act normal but I couldn’t help watching Craig. Had he intended to look for something in the dining room? Did the vial belong to him? Did he have a reason to poison Mars?
Ten minutes later, the entire household gathered for brunch in the dining room. But the phone rang before I could take my first bite. I chose not to answer. The machine could pick up and we would all enjoy a peaceful brunch.
The knock on the door a few minutes later was more difficult to ignore. When I opened it, Nina burst in. She hadn’t bothered to wear a coat over her dressing gown.
“You won’t believe this—my monster-in-law saw the colonel being loaded into a hearse last night.”
“Did we hear that right?” Dad asked from the dining room.
It was too late to hide it from June. Nina bustled into the dining room and I followed.
“I’m still in shock,” she said.
I watched June. Would she be able to deal with another blow?
“Good Lord! The man must have had a heart attack last night when his tart visited,” said Mom.
“Or someone killed him.”
“Sophie, why would you even think that?” Mom asked.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit much to be coincidental? We know he was at the stuffing challenge. He spent Thanksgiving Day with us. Whoever killed Otis and Simon must have killed him, too.”
Dad murmured, “I’d rather believe the tart did him in.”
June looked down at her fingers, folding and unfolding her napkin.
Francie lowered her forehead to a quivering hand. “This can’t be happening.”
“The hearse!” I said. “Before I went to bed last night I saw a hearse driving down the street. The tart must have found his body.”
Nina picked up a piece of bacon and chewed on it, “What tart?”
I set a place for Nina while Hannah explained about the tart’s arrival during the night.
“That old codger. Who’da thought it?” Nina helped herself to French toast and apples.
Francie slumped against the back of her chair. “No! It can’t be. It’s not possible.”
“What about MacArthur?” I asked Nina. What had the tart done with him last night when the colonel was taken to the morgue? Had he been left alone in the house? “Francie, do you know how to get into the colonel’s house?”
Francie pursed her lips as she gazed around the table, evidently debating how she should answer. “I’ll go with you.”
We pulled on coats and walked somberly across the street.
The sun shone, the cold air felt clean and crisp, and it was impossible to imagine that the colonel wasn’t with us anymore. We opened the gate to the service alley and rounded the back of the house. Francie lifted a terra-cotta flowerpot and slid a key out from underneath it.
I unlocked the door and found MacArthur waiting eagerly inside. A leash hung on a hook next to the door. The colonel’s collection of walking sticks stood underneath in an umbrella stand. I winced at the sight of his favorite with a bronze bulldog’s head as the handle. The colonel wouldn’t be needing that again.
When I clasped the leash onto MacArthur’s collar, he burst out into his yard as though he was overdue for a morning walk.
Francie locked up and hid the key. “Should . . . should we go in and look around?”
I wrapped an arm around her. “There’s nothing to look for anymore, Francie. I’m sorry.”
We returned to my house, where Francie all but collapsed into her seat at the dining table. While Mom encouraged her to eat something, I took MacArthur into the kitchen and fed the dogs and Mochie a snack.
Nina toddled into the kitchen. “Your mom says to put on another pot of coffee.” She leaned over to pat MacArthur. “This is just terrible. Do you really think it’s connected to the murders? Maybe he, you know, got frisky with the tart and it was too much for him.”
I glanced at the kitchen door to be sure no one would overhear. “Mochie found this in the dining room.” I pulled the napkin from my pocket, dropped the cylindrical vial into a clear plastic bag, and sealed it shut.
Nina frowned as she examined it. “They sold these last year at the Christmas Bazaar. You can put perfume inside. They weren’t cheap but they’re not worth burglarizing a house for.” Her eyes widened. “You think the killer brought the poison in this!”
“It would have been easy to carry in a pocket. I can’t think of any other reason it would be in my dining room.”
Nina held it up to the light. “This must be what the intruder wanted. Either he knew he dropped it on Thanksgiving or he got home that night and realized he’d lost it.”
But why ransack Vicki and Andrew’s house? Unless he thought one of them or Natasha or Mars found it,” I mused. “When he didn’t locate it at their house, he came here.”
“Could any of them know who the killer is and be blackmailing him? Andrew always needs money. Or what if the killer thought the colonel had the little vial, broke into his house, and scared him so badly he had a heart attack last night?”
My phone rang and I answered reluctantly, unwilling to receive any more bad news.
“It’s your husband.” I handed the phone to Nina.
She groaned and said, “Be right there,” before hanging up. “I forgot all about lunch with the monster-in-law before they leave.”
“They?” I asked.
“She’s going home, my husband is off on another business trip, and someone adopted Duke yesterday. I have to hand him over on Monday. Soon I’ll have an empty house.”
Nina left while I brewed more coffee. MacArthur waggled his hind end at me as though he was sure I must have more treats. I fed him another dog biscuit because I felt terrible for him. Of course, Daisy ate another as well, and I gave Mochie a tiny bite of bacon. MacArthur didn’t appear particularly upset about being at my house. Later in the day when he couldn’t go home, he’d probably grow uneasy and miss the colonel.
“Empty house.” Nina’s words echoed in my mind. Her house would be empty, as would the colonel’s. If the killer thought my house would be empty, he might come back to search for the little vial.
Carrying the carafe of coffee, I returned to the gloomy group around my dining-room table. MacArthur, Daisy, and Mochie trotted along, no doubt hoping for more treats. If Francie or June had eaten anything, I couldn’t tell. Even Bernie moved food around his plate without interest.
“Dad,” said Hannah, “did you get a picture of the pink tablecloths that were bunched up in swags with coordinating bows?”
I couldn’t believe Hannah could be so unfeeling. Didn’t she ever think of anything except that ridiculous wedding?
Dad shrugged. “If you told me to take one, I probably did.”
Her voice devoid of enthusiasm, Mom said, “Sophie printed thumbnails last night. They’re in the kitchen.”
Francie jumped up. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” She didn’t bother with her coat and fled out the front door.
Mom wrapped her hand over Dad’s. “June, would you like to walk with us? Fresh air would do us all good before the rain sets in. We can take MacArthur and Daisy and maybe we can light a candle for the colonel at one of the churches.”
Craig leapt at the suggestion. “Excellent. I think I’ll go for a run.”
A little too eagerly, I thought. Running after eating? That didn’t sound right. Unlike the others, I noticed that Craig managed to eat everything on his plate. Ten minutes later, Bernie, Hannah, and I were left to clear the table and store the leftovers. Hannah carried a few dishes to the kitchen but soon settled at the table with the thumb-nail photos.
“How could Dad manage to take only two pictures of Craig?” she whined. “And both are so bad. He’ll have to take a lot of pictures today because I want some to frame.” She bent forward for a closer look. “Soph, do you have a magnifying glass?”
“In the desk in the den, top drawer.”
Hannah returned in less than a minute. She studied the photos and quietly said, “Soph, come here a second.”
Handing me the magnifier, she pointed a blush-pink fingernail at a tiny picture. “See your work space behind Craig? Move all the way over to the right. Anything strike you as odd?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
From
“Ask Natasha”
:
Dear Natasha,
You always look so elegant and pulled together on your show. I bet you even look gorgeous at home. People who drop by always catch me in my bathrobe or with curlers in my hair. How do you do it?
—Grubby in Grundy
Dear Grubby,
Never linger in your bathrobe. Bathe, do your hair and makeup, and dress first thing in the morning, before you do anything else! Even before that first cup of coffee. Hang a mirror in the kitchen and another in the foyer so you can do a quick check before answering the door. I keep lipstick and a brush in a drawer in my foyer. It only takes a second to freshen up before answering the door.
—Natasha
I passed the magnifying glass over the photo and concentrated. It showed my ingredients clustered on my workspace counter and . . . “Is that an arm?”
“Exactly!” crowed Hannah.
The arm appeared to originate in Wendy’s work space behind the curtain that divided our sections. I followed the sweater-clad arm in the other direction and discovered what I thought were tiny fingers on one of my spice jars.
“I’ll enlarge it on the computer. I think we might be able to identify the crumb who swapped the salt for sugar and messed with your thyme.” Hannah picked up Mochie and disappeared into the den.
As Bernie slid the last plate into the dishwasher, he said, “You’ve been very kind to put me up, Soph. But I suppose I should be shoving off soon. I’d like to stay through the contest tomorrow if that’s okay.”
“Are you going back to London?”
“To tell the truth, I thought I’d make some job inquiries around here.”
It was my chance to ask about Mrs. Pulchinski. “To stay closer to your girlfriend?”
He snapped his head up in surprise. “Something like that.”
Had I alarmed him? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about the girlfriend. But did he plan to brazenly move in with the widow so soon after her husband’s death?
“Sophie!” Hannah shouted.
Bernie and I rushed to the den. I didn’t really think anything untoward had happened to Hannah, but after all we’d been through lately, I wasn’t taking any chances.
Hannah was viewing an enlarged photograph on the computer screen. “I zeroed in so it’s a little bit fuzzy, but I think we have a major clue.”
The printer whirred as it churned out a page.
“Look here,” she said, pointing. “The guy is reaching with his left hand and you can see his wedding ring with an etched circular design. Do you recognize the ring?”
I didn’t. “Thanks for trying, Hannah.”
“Don’t give up yet. At least we know it’s a man. Those chunky fingers couldn’t possibly belong to a woman. Craig and I will make a point of checking wedding bands when the contest resumes tomorrow. I can pretend I’m looking at them because I don’t know what I want for our wedding bands.”
Her offer startled me. She was still focused on the wedding but this time, it wasn’t in a selfish me-me-me way.
“Thanks, Hannah.”
She tilted her head. “You do realize I’ve been overdoing the wedding bit to distract Mom and Dad. They’re so worried about you. When Craig showed me the newspaper article about the dead PI, we put it together with your lame explanation about how you found Mochie and realized you were in trouble. I’ve been trying to lighten the mood by bringing up the wedding, which is a much cheerier subject.”

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