The Diva Runs Out Of Thyme Part 18

We pa.s.sed 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.

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 sweats.h.i.+rt 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sersby.

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 b.u.mps 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!

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 s.p.a.ce 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 b.u.t.tons. 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?"

Nina had to be wrong. Maybe Natasha and Blue b.u.mped into one another and were just being friendly. I peeked around the corner again. Blue led Natasha up the front stairs of the Wesleys' house and opened the front door for her.

"Have you been inside?" I asked Nina.

She looked miserable when she said, "Double lot, gorgeous old gardens, stunning moldings everywhere."

In other words, Natasha would love it. And ruin the historic charm by renovating with modern Italian appliances.

Natasha and Mars living under my nose-not exactly what I had hoped for. I turned around and scanned the next block. Weren't any houses for sale over there?

A flicker caught my eye and, with a jolt, I realized someone clad in burglar black lurked in the deep shadow of a bas.e.m.e.nt entrance on the next block over.

I tried not to stare as I murmured to Nina, "Check the bas.e.m.e.nt apartment next door. Could that be the guy who followed her yesterday?"

"It's sure not Francie." Nina fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone. "I'm calling Wolf. I think the cops blew me off last night when I reported her stalker."

We strolled casually in the direction of Nina's house and ducked through her service gate. While she left a message for Wolf, I searched the street for the man we'd seen. He hadn't followed us. Except for the rustling of dried leaves in the breeze, nothing stirred.

"Why aren't the cops available when we need them?" Nina snapped her phone shut. "Follow me, we'll cut through the alley." We jogged through Nina's backyard and burst out her rear gate onto the alley.

His back to us, the stalker was leaning against the Wesleys' rear fence. It was the perfect place to attack an unsuspecting Natasha when she walked to her car. She wouldn't have noticed him until it was too late.

TWENTY.

From "THE GOOD LIFE": Dear Sophie,

Other people who get married receive too many toasters or blenders. For some strange reason, I now have seven crystal vinegar decanters. Believe me, I don't use that much vinegar. What else can they be used for?

-Vinegary in Vinton

Dear Vinegary,

I adore those little decanters or cruets because they're so useful and elegant. You can use them to serve cream with coffee as well as for various liquors to add to warm drinks. Barbecue sauce in crystal adds a cla.s.sy punch to your table. And if a family member has dietary restrictions, serving his special sauce in a crystal decanter makes it much more tasty.

-Sophie

The stalker turned, his hood s.h.i.+elding all but the smallest slice of his nose from view. He saw us and bolted.

We tore after him, raced through the alley, and came to a full stop where it met the sidewalk.

I didn't see him anywhere. Not even a flash of black disappearing around a bend or into a garden.

Nina rasped, "There!" She pointed at him lurking behind a tree and he took off again.

We chased after him. He rounded the corner to the next street and we kept going.

Our running had become a fast stagger by the time we reached the corner and saw him step into a Jeep and speed away, his tires squealing. The Jeep looked suspiciously like the vehicle we'd followed through Old Town earlier.

"Did you see his face?" asked Nina between gasping breaths.

"No. Did you get the license plate?" I huffed.

"Me? I was busy watching Natasha so we wouldn't lose her. You were the pa.s.senger, did you get it?"

"I was thinking about Bernie."

My breath came hard and heavy as we trudged back. I hadn't run like that since I was a kid. No wonder my pants were too tight.

As we neared Natasha's car, she strode around the corner, her cape billowing in the breeze. She extracted a purse from the cape, and continued walking, head down with one hand in the purse, no doubt hunting for her car keys.

She looked up when she reached us, surprise evident on her face. "Have you been running? Girls, you have to work up to that kind of exertion. The two of you can hardly breathe. And really . . . dressing alike? How odd."

I didn't mince words. "Natasha, you're definitely being stalked."