The Diva Runs Out Of Thyme Part 10

The soft clinking of silverware halted as we all froze.

Her question hung in the air, taunting me. If there were a connection, the killer had made a serious error. Wolf's field of hundreds of suspects at the stuffing contest would have been narrowed down dramatically.

Craig broke the awkward silence. "It's not a preposterous question. Mars's brother certainly doesn't make a secret of his feelings about Simon. And I understand Simon and Mars hated each other as well. Mars's whole family is suspect if you ask me."

"If the murders are related, then I guess Mars is off the hook for Simon's murder." Hannah speared a piece of turkey with her fork. "I mean, he wouldn't have poisoned himself. It must be one of the others. It can't be Natasha, so that leaves June, Andrew, and Vicki. Oh! And that Bernie fellow."

I watched Wolf. He was no dummy. He hadn't said a word but he observed the rest of us.

"My money's on Natasha." If she'd been younger, the brittleness of Francie's voice would have been chalked up to cheerleading. But at her age, it sounded grumpy and as though she'd had one Scotch too many. "Andrew isn't smart enough to do the dirty deed and deflect suspicion by being open about his disdain for the man. And June wouldn't poison her own son."

The colonel fed MacArthur a piece of turkey under the table. "Well, Detective? Do you have a suspect?"

Dad promptly knocked over his winegla.s.s. I rushed to his aid and sopped up the wine with napkins. While I dabbed at the carpet, Wolf's cell phone rang.

He excused himself from the table but returned within seconds. His jaw had tightened. "I apologize for my abrupt departure but there's been a development in Simon's murder." His gaze shot to Francie. "They've found the suspected murder weapon."

TWELVE.

From "Ask Natasha" : Dear Natasha, Last year I spent hours on Thanksgiving Day polis.h.i.+ng the silver. By Christmas it was tarnished again. Isn't there a shortcut to cleaning silver?

-Tarnished in Tappahannock

Dear Tarnished,

I clean my sterling once a week. Use a soft cloth to rub it with a good-quality commercial silver cleaner. If you keep up with it by polis.h.i.+ng it every week, it won't be such a ch.o.r.e and will always be ready for use.

-Natasha Francie slapped the table. "I knew it!"

"That can't be. There must be some mistake." Mom dabbed her mouth with a napkin. She had always liked Natasha.

"Mars!" I jumped out of my chair, nearly knocking it over. What if Natasha was the one who had tried to harm Mars? "She's with him in the hospital."

Wolf held up his hands. "I've got him covered. An officer is keeping an eye on him."

That was a relief. I hated that Wolf had to leave, though. He hadn't had much of a Thanksgiving. I loaded a plate with sliced turkey and a couple of rolls. "Give me a second, Wolf."

I hurried to the kitchen, found the mayo, and fixed turkey sandwiches, plopping a generous spoonful of cranberry sauce on each. In a rush, I folded waxed paper into small envelopes and slid the sandwiches inside so they wouldn't drip.

I wrapped the whole package in foil and handed it to him in the foyer, saying, "I guess I'm off the hook now?"

"Takes more than a couple of sandwiches to bribe me."

"You know what I mean. Now that the murder weapon was found at Natasha's, doesn't that mean I'm in the clear?"

He hefted the sandwiches in his hand. "I can't clear anybody yet, Sophie. Not a single one of you."

He opened the door and I watched him walk away. I'd hoped the matter would be resolved and that I might get to know Wolf a little better. But he'd just confirmed my worst fear. He thought the killer was one of us.

Could Natasha really have bashed Simon over the head with the turkey trophy? She'd certainly had the opportunity, but I couldn't think of a reason. Did she imagine she was protecting Mars? That didn't make sense. But if she didn't kill Simon, why would she bury the trophy in her yard?

"I'm glad he had to go. You should have seen the difference in everyone once he left."

I whipped around to find Humphrey holding the gravy boat. "Who? Wolf?"

"The second he was gone we all relaxed and started chatting. I volunteered to bring more gravy-just to get a moment alone with you." In the kitchen, I took the gravy boat from Humphrey and refilled it, wondering the whole time what kind of white lie I could concoct to diminish his interest. He stood so close to me that I could feel his breath on my neck.

"I could hardly believe my good fortune when I saw you yesterday. You look just the way you did in high school. Natasha was popular but she always looked straight through me, like I wasn't there. Nothing has changed, you know. She barely spoke to me today. You always smiled when we pa.s.sed in the hall. And once you gave me your seat at lunch."

High school? We were in our mid-forties. Humphrey was stuck in a serious time warp. I handed him the gravy boat and lied. "You misunderstood Natasha. You know how it is, the prettiest girl never has a date. She's terribly shy."

"Really? I never would have guessed it. I'll have to make it up to her. Maybe at the stuffing contest. They will resume it, won't they?"

I had no idea, but if Humphrey was going to chase Natasha, I hoped they would hold the compet.i.tion. I grinned at the thought of it.

Humphrey had just pa.s.sed through the doorway. I grabbed the beige wool of his sweater. "Wait a minute. Where did you see me yesterday?"

"At the Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown."

I released his sleeve. He winked at me and walked to the dining room. I could hear my father asking Humphrey for gravy. In a fog, I crossed the foyer to the arched opening of the dining room and observed him. How long had he been watching me? Could Humphrey be the Peeping Tom? Would he have hired a private investigator to track me down?

"Sit and eat, Sophie." Mom waved me in. "Everything is delicious."

"And no one else has keeled over yet," added Hannah.

Craig snickered but he didn't hesitate to stuff his mouth with sweet potatoes.

I perched on my chair and sipped ice water. Halfway down the table, Humphrey ate daintily. Could someone so wan and meek be a killer?

"Humphrey," I said in as casual a tone as I could muster, "did you know Simon personally?"

"Good heavens, no. I don't meet celebrities until they're about to meet their Maker." Everyone else found his joke much funnier than I did. I felt tension leave my shoulders, though. He had no motive. I sat back, relaxed, and realized my remaining guests were enjoying themselves. Side dishes cluttered the table and conversation flowed. I helped myself to turkey and too many cranberries, one of my Thanksgiving favorites.

The colonel b.u.t.tered a bread knot. "Don't worry about Mars, dear. That reaction he had is nothing compared to the trouble he's in over Simon's murder. Bad luck that Mars was so public about his disdain for Simon after that reporter went through the congressman's trash."

Craig stopped eating. "Mars Winston! No wonder that name sounded so familiar. I remember that. He accused Simon of promoting his personal political agenda through his media outlets. That was a huge scandal."

Dad helped himself to more stuffing. "Mars is too intelligent to kill someone after a public falling-out."

"Natasha isn't." The dry comment came from Francie.

The colonel sipped his wine. "I'm most fascinated by this murder of a private investigator. The police have reason to think there's a connection. Wouldn't surprise me. Simon was known for his ruthless business tactics."

"This is so exciting. It's just like one of those whodunit dinner games." Hannah gasped. "Could we do something like that at the wedding?"

I couldn't help myself, it was too obvious and I had to say it. "You want someone to be murdered at your wedding? What a lovely memory."

"Not for real. You know, a mock murder."

Had Hannah always been this crazed? Was there a disease called Wedding Euphoria that prevented brides from seeing anything else?

Fortunately, Mom changed the subject to MacArthur and we made it all the way through dessert without another mention of murder.

After dinner everyone pitched in to clear the table. If my mother hadn't been present, I'd have left the mess in the kitchen and joined my guests in the living room. But one of Mom's cardinal rules was that the cook didn't rest until the kitchen was spotless. She would bug me unmercifully if she thought there were still dirty dishes in the sink.

Mom must have worked some motherly guilt on Hannah, who flounced into the kitchen. "I'll load the dishwasher, but I'm not scrubbing anything. It would ruin my manicure."

Heaven forbid that should happen. While Hannah started cleaning up, I called Natasha's cell phone number. No answer. I tried Vicki's number next. Also no answer. I was dialing Andrew's number when Humphrey strolled into the kitchen.

He smiled as though all was right with his world. "I'm supposed to ask you to put on some decaf coffee. Francie and the colonel would like brandies, your father would prefer a port wine, and Craig wants whatever Hannah is having."

I nodded at him. "As soon as I get through to someone about Mars. None of them are answering their cell phones. I hope that's not a bad sign."

"They've probably been told to turn off their phones. They interfere with hospital equipment."

I hung up. "How do you know that?"

He flipped a milky white hand open, palm up, like he was surprised by my question. "I pick up bodies from hospitals every day."

I sank into a fireside chair. His words reminded me that Mars might be victim number three.

Humphrey fell to his knees like he was proposing. "You're still in love with Mars."

I wasn't, of course, but I was more than willing to let him think so. "Humphrey," I said . . .

Hannah chose that exact moment to burst out laughing. "Why does everyone think that? She's so over Mars. Do you think she'd have invited Natasha and Mars to dinner if she was still in love with him?"

Thank you, Hannah. I shot her an exasperated look.

Her eyes widened. "That's why you're so familiar. You're that kid who used to ride his bike back and forth in front of our house after school. Gosh, I didn't recognize you at first, but I felt like I knew you from somewhere."

Humphrey appeared flattered. "Let me give you a hand with those." He pulled on dishwas.h.i.+ng gloves and began to scrub. "To be honest, I never thought anyone noticed me. I just confessed my childhood crush on your sister. Imagine my surprise to learn she feels the same way."

Why did he keep saying that? Surely I hadn't given him the wrong impression. I had to let him down nicely, but how?

Biting her upper lip to keep from laughing, Hannah turned slowly to look at me. "Imagine that!"

I rose. "I'm going to get the wine." Maybe if I left them alone, Humphrey would fall in love with Hannah instead.

The den, where Bernie had set up camp, had two entrances-one to the living room and one to the sunroom. I pushed open the door from the sunroom and the dogs forged ahead of me, trailed by little Mochie.

Bernie had left his clothes scattered about. His suitcase lay open on the floor next to an enormous duffle bag that had seen better days.

I pulled port and brandy from the liquor cabinet. My arms full, I turned in time to see MacArthur digging in Bernie's suitcase. I hissed at him but the bulldog kept after his quarry.

As I set down the bottles, MacArthur took off running with something sticking out of his mouth. Daisy and Mochie chased after him into the sunroom. Intending to cut them off by going the other way, I opened the door to the living room, where the rest of my guests chatted.

The clacking of dog toenails on the hardwood floors grew louder. MacArthur, still carrying something in his mouth, raced into the living room with Mochie riding on his back and Daisy in hot pursuit.

The colonel managed to catch the frantic MacArthur, and I hurried over to remove Mochie from the poor dog's back. Mochie jumped off before I got there. He leapt onto an empty chair and groomed his front paws as though they smelled offensively of dog.

MacArthur displayed no signs of injury but I noted that he remained close to the colonel. The delicious treat that had started the wild chase turned out to be a Toblerone chocolate bar.

I took it into the kitchen where Humphrey and Hannah worked side by side and threw it into a trash bin that none of the animals could reach.

Worried that Bernie might have more than one chocolate bar in his suitcase, I returned to the den. On my knees, I pushed back the items MacArthur had dislodged. When I flipped the suitcase shut, a newspaper article flapped halfway out. I opened the top enough to pull the paper loose and couldn't help noticing that it was about Simon. It was a short segment from the Miami Herald Food Section about the Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown and Simon's involvement.

I'd a.s.sumed that Bernie had come to Virginia straight from England, but there wasn't any real reason for my a.s.sumption. Still it disturbed me a little bit to think Bernie had known about the contest in advance and had bothered to keep the article. I stood up, irritated with myself for imagining that it meant anything. Bernie knew he was coming to town, saw the article, and ripped it out. Nothing sinister about that.

I collected the port and brandy and took them to the dining room where I kept the Waterford stemware Mars and I had received as wedding gifts. After serving everyone, I hustled to the kitchen to put on decaf organic Colombian coffee.

Hannah and Humphrey chuckled about something as though they were old buddies. But I had to give them credit, the kitchen counters sparkled and only a few items remained to be cleaned. Humphrey had even washed and dried the dreaded roaster and roasting rack.

At my request, he handed me a Rosenthal coffeepot that I kept in a high cabinet because I rarely had an opportunity to use it. I rinsed it out and poured in the hot coffee. In a matching bowl, I plopped a generous helping of whipped cream for those who felt they hadn't been sufficiently indulged. The coordinating creamer, ironically filled with nonfat milk, and the sugar bowl went on a tray with them. Humphrey carried it all into the living room.

Hannah snagged my arm. "He's very funny. Not much to look at, but you should think about going out with him. He's crazy about you."

If we'd been little, I'd have pulled her pigtail for saying such a thing. "You have to help me discourage him, Hannah. I'm not interested."

She picked up half the cups and saucers and headed for the door. "Don't be so hasty. I don't see anyone else lining up outside."

I followed her with the rest of the cups and saucers. Dad poked at a crackling fire in the living room fireplace. MacArthur, Daisy, and Mochie stretched out in front of it, but MacArthur kept an uneasy eye on Mochie.

I poured coffee for everyone and had just taken a seat when we heard the kitchen door bang open. Bernie and June appeared in the living room doorway, bundled up in winter coats.

"Where's the turkey?" asked Bernie. "I'm starved."

He helped June with her coat and led her to a seat. She grasped the arm of the chair and lowered herself unsteadily.

Something was terribly wrong.

Mom stirred sugar into coffee and held it out to her. "You need some sugar, June. Haven't you eaten anything since you left?"

I couldn't believe no one had asked the obvious. I blurted, "How's Mars?"