The Diva Runs Out Of Thyme Part 3

At six o'clock, I put on a pot of coffee, poured organic orange juice, and set the table for breakfast. The heavenly scent of baking bread soon filled the kitchen.

I had to put Otis out of my mind. I hadn't done anything wrong. If I let his murder get to me, I wouldn't be able to focus on the compet.i.tion today.

Since no one was up yet, I took advantage of the quiet to draft Thanksgiving Day advice for "The Good Life." Satisfied with my scribbles, I e-mailed the column to Mr. Coswell.

The ancient hardwood floors upstairs creaked and I heard water running. I made a quick list of things I needed to do after the contest in preparation for Thanksgiving. I should have baked the pies and made the stuffing yesterday, but a dead man got in the way. I'd have to catch up tonight.

Keeping an eye on Nina's house, I rinsed serving dishes that I would need for Thanksgiving but hadn't been used since last year. With my car, Nike on Wheels, impounded by the police, I needed a ride to the contest. The hotel where it was being held was walking distance from my house but I had too many ingredients to carry. Nina had planned to go anyway, so I didn't think I'd be imposing on her if I asked for a ride. That way, Hannah or my parents would be free to come to the contest late or leave early if they wanted.

When Nina stepped out to fetch the morning paper, I dashed across the street, spilled the entire story about Otis, and asked if she would mind giving me a lift to the contest.

At eight o'clock, Nina's low-slung Jaguar purred in front of my house. Almost before I buckled my seat belt, Nina started in on me. "Sophie, sugar, first thing you do is throw Natasha off her stride. I bet you a latte and a chocolate croissant that she says something ugly to you while you're cookin'. You better be ready to laugh in her face."

I took a deep breath and released it. Nina was right. I needed to be prepared to let Natasha's barbs float past me.

"You go right in there and say somethin' that'll get her goat."

That wasn't my style. "I'm not playing dirty. Besides, the results will hinge on whose stuffing is best."

"Honey, I wasn't the college tennis champ for four years without knowing a thing or two about psyching out the compet.i.tion. Trust me on this."

Nina pulled her Jaguar up to the entrance of a fancy hotel on North Fairfax Street. My pulse quickened with antic.i.p.ation.

The Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown began in the summer with a staggering two hundred contestants. They were whittled down to one hundred amateur cooks, like me, who prepared our stuffings for a panel of judges. My Crusty Country Bread, Bacon, and Herb Stuffing had made the final three. Then the sponsors invited three local celebrities to compete in the finals, Natasha among them.

The contest was the brainstorm of media mogul Simon Greer, a self-confessed stuffing addict. Never one to overlook an opportunity to make money, his TV crew was already set up and filming when we entered the ballroom.

Each contestant was provided a small works.p.a.ce equipped with a stovetop and two ovens. The bellman in tow with my boxes, I pa.s.sed Emma Moosbacher and Wendy Schultz, the other two amateurs. Emma entered Chesapeake Cornbread Stuffing, and Wendy was a serious contender with her Cranberry Mushroom Wild Rice Stuffing.

The bellman led me to the works.p.a.ce between Natasha and Wendy.

Natasha posed in front of her work counter, smiling and signing autographs. Her ebony hair gleamed under the harsh lights, every strand flowing perfectly onto her shoulders. Although she wore a simple robin's-egg blue s.h.i.+rt tucked into matching trousers, they draped on her like they would on a model. She still maintained the beauty queen figure of her youth. Just seeing her made my own s.h.i.+rt and khakis feel tighter.

I tipped the bellman and unpacked my boxes, cl.u.s.tering ingredients on my work counter. I couldn't help noticing that while I'd brought my ingredients in cardboard boxes rescued from the grocery store, Natasha's items rested on her counter in baskets beautifully decorated with harvest ribbons and turkeys constructed of pine cones.

"Sophie!" Natasha elegantly picked her way past her fans to give me a hug. "Who'd have thought you would make it to the finals? The two gals from Berrysville all grown up and competing again."

Fans cl.u.s.tered behind her, waiting patiently for autographs. Fans who aspired to the perfection she represented and served up to them each day on her show. No one could meet the expectations she created.

She waved vigorously at someone. "Mars will be here; I hope that won't be too emotional for you." She clutched her hands to her chest. "Oh, poor Sophie. The holidays are always so difficult when you're alone, aren't they?"

Two parents, my sister, and her fiance didn't qualify as being alone in my book. "I'm not exactly alone."

"You have a boyfriend? How wonderful. What a relief to know that love handles don't deter all men. You're an inspiration to us all."

Was Natasha trying to psyche me out exactly as Nina predicted? I recalled Nina's advice and tried to serve Natasha a little of her own medicine. "I see you're making Oyster Stuffing. Mars detests oysters and mussels, you know."

For one long second, I thought I had her. But she came back fast. "Not the way I make it."

She turned quickly and resumed her pose in front of her counter. I couldn't help gloating a little bit. Obviously, she didn't know about Mars's aversion to oysters.

Simon Greer ambled toward us, a sly grin on his face. A crowd gathered behind him.

Wendy, the amateur contender on my other side, ran her fingers through her short, curly hair, and mock whispered, "He's so gorgeous. Wish he were the prize."

Simon wasn't tall but he cut an imposing figure anyway. Sharply creased khaki trousers and a cashmere hunter-green sweater showed off a well-toned physique. Wavy hair in a controlled tumble only emphasized his boyish charm. No wonder women fawned over him. He had looks and gobs of money. Every step seemed to ooze the confidence of wealth. He prided himself on being a self-made man, though Nina, who kept up with celebrity doings, told me his wealth originated with early cell phone technology deals that had since been made illegal. He parlayed those millions into a national cable network and a magazine publis.h.i.+ng empire.

I'd met him in pa.s.sing at some of the bigger charity events I'd handled but this was the first time I could ever remember seeing Simon without a tuxedo. And today the women drooling over him were a little older and chubbier than the usual line of gold diggers that trailed him.

He kissed Natasha on the cheek and thanked her for partic.i.p.ating. She flushed despite her flawless makeup. Clearly used to publicity, he put his arm around Natasha and offered a practiced grin for photographs.

A chestnut-haired man slightly taller than Simon, fit but not brawny, moved with him. At first I thought he might be a friend of Simon's but he appeared to be scanning the people around Simon. He wore a bored Secret Service agent expression. A bodyguard? If so, he didn't seem to sense any urgency.

Natasha was still talking to Simon when he broke away and swung easily into my work s.p.a.ce.

I held out my hand but he ignored it and leaned in to kiss me. If I hadn't turned my head fast, he'd have planted one right on my lips.

Up close, tiny laugh crinkles around his eyes made him even more enchanting. Loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, "So good to see you again. Good luck today, Sophie." And then he lowered his voice. "I have tickets to The Nutcracker at the Kennedy Center for Sat.u.r.day. My driver, Clyde, will pick you up at seven."

Did he just ask me out? His bored shadow gave me a curt nod so I a.s.sumed he must be Clyde.

Simon winked at me and strode away to welcome Wendy.

She drifted over to me when he moved on. "I can't believe that just happened. I couldn't be more excited if he'd asked me for a date. It's . . . it's like going out with a movie star, only better."

"Better?"

"Are you kidding? Do you know what he's worth? I'd dump my sweet, fat old Marvin any day for Simon." She paused, waved, and called out, "Hi, honey!"

A portly guy sitting in the front row of spectator chairs waved back.

Maybe she had a point, but the whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth. It wasn't an invitation, it was . . . a command. As though he a.s.sumed I'd love to go with him. Was he so used to women agreeing that he didn't bother asking?

Wendy watched me with a dreamy expression. "What I wouldn't give to have Simon Greer interested in me."

Stupid Simon. He was a judge. What had he done? Didn't he realize the position he put me in by asking me out? He couldn't wait a few hours until after they announced the winner?

Natasha rushed over, the color drained from her face. "Did I hear that right?" She reprimanded me like an angry schoolteacher. "I never expected this from you. Sleeping with a judge to win? It can't be easy for you to continually be an also-ran, but, Sophie, this is practically prost.i.tution. What will your new boyfriend think?" She emitted a small gasping sound like something terrible had occurred to her. "Simon's your new beau. You've rigged the contest!"

FIVE.

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For one brief moment I considered bowing out, but I didn't want to give Natasha the satisfaction. I'd have to find Simon and set him straight. Holding my chin high to show I had nothing to be ashamed of, I faced Natasha. "If you're so sure you're going to win, then why are you concerned about Simon and me?"

Her lower lip pulled into a bitter line. "It's not fair to the other contestants."

She was right about that. It wouldn't be fair to anyone. But I'd set things right before the compet.i.tion started.

"Sophie! Sophie!" Hannah rushed at us, wearing an uncharacteristically subdued baby-blue turtleneck. Mom and Craig followed close behind and Dad stood back to snap pictures on his fancy digital camera.

"Is it true?" Hannah said. "Simon asked you out?"

News traveled fast in the ballroom. "Where did you hear that?"

"Everyone's buzzing about it. I can't believe it. My sister's going to be rich. Filthy rich!"

Great. The first date I'd had since my divorce could have been with a rich and charming guy and I was going to ruin it all by telling him I couldn't go.

Mom beamed. "I knew you wouldn't be wearing flannel pajamas for long. That cute cop from yesterday is here, too. I believe he's sweet on you."

Wolf? Here? I'd zeroed in on him because he looked like the kind of guy who liked food, but I didn't imagine he'd be interested in the stuffing contest.

Mars's sister-in-law, Vicki, joined us and I could hear her husband, Andrew, talking too loudly nearby. Although Andrew looked a good deal like Mars, he'd never found contentment in any of his business undertakings. He drifted from idea to job to disaster on a regular basis. Thankfully, the svelte, very together Vicki sustained them by being one of Was.h.i.+ngton's most-sought-after marriage counselors. She exuded self-confidence in a way I never could.

Vicki gave me a big hug. "What's this I hear? A new man in your life?"

Hannah practically swooned. "Simon Greer asked her out. Can you believe it?"

"Simon! Aren't you the lucky one."

I excused myself to look for the rascal but could hear my mother asking Vicki, "Exactly how much is this Simon worth?"

I plowed through the crowd searching for him but found Mars's mother, June, instead. She waylaid me with a hug and kisses. I'd always enjoyed June and was genuinely pleased to see her. Mars's entire family was present. Which made me wonder why Natasha's mother hadn't made the trip to cheer her daughter on. Or maybe she was there and I simply hadn't seen her yet. With a twinkle in her lively eyes, June said, "I have to sit over by Natasha, but I'll be cheering for you."

I was parched from all the chatting. Besides, I needed a fortifying cup of coffee to face Simon. I stopped by the refreshment table and was filling a cup with steaming coffee that smelled like hazelnuts when an arm curled around my shoulders. My ex-husband, Mars, short for Marshall. I'd known he would be there and steeled myself for a little shock of awkwardness that didn't come. Seeing him again was like eating a bowl of lobster bisque. Warm, cozy, familiar, even a little exciting, but I didn't want more. We would always be friends but I realized with joy at that moment that I truly had moved on.

Mars's magnetic personality earned him the nickname Teflon Mars among friends. No matter how dire his actions, everything slid off of him. A handy attribute for a political advisor.

He kissed my cheek. "Good luck, Soph. Don't tell Nat but your country bread stuffing was always my favorite."

"Gnat? You call her Gnat, like a bug?"

He shook hands with someone and we moved away from the coffee setup. "Yeah, she hates it. So undignified."

He jammed his hands into his pockets, a gesture I knew well. Something was wrong.

"I hear Simon is taking you out."

This was my lucky day. I couldn't resist a chance to tweak Mars a little bit. "The ballet."

"Steer clear of him, Soph. You'll end up getting hurt."

"Why, Mars," I said in my best imitation of Scarlett O'Hara, "I do believe you might be a tad jealous."

I'd always liked Mars's eyes. They twinkled with humor like his mother's. He stared at me with those kind eyes.

"He's trouble. On the outside Simon comes across as a great guy, but he's crafty and conniving beneath that facade. Trust me on this, Soph. Don't get involved with him. He's ruthless. He didn't get to be rich by being nice."

I didn't resist the grin that came to my lips. "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore."

The loudspeakers crackled and a woman's voice announced, "All contestants report to the check-in desk immediately."

I should have skipped the coffee and found Simon. With a quick wave to Mars I made a beeline to the desk in the ballroom foyer.

Enormous arrangements of orange and gold mums flanked the desk. The contestants cl.u.s.tered together and Wendy shrieked, "It's sabotage. Someone's cheating!"

Her lips drawn so tightly they almost disappeared, Natasha focused on the contest coordinator. "I hate to see her go but I have to agree. It's simply not right for a contestant to have a relations.h.i.+p with a judge."

They were talking about me. "Hey! I was looking for Simon to tell him off. We don't have a relations.h.i.+p of any kind."

The contest coordinator blinked slowly. "Simon? What's he got to do with thyme?"

Wendy shoved a small herb bottle under my nose. "My thyme. It's gone. Someone has been tampering with my ingredients."

Each contestant searched the faces of the others-except Natasha, who held her chin high and acted as though she were above the fray.

"I brought extra. You're welcome to have some of my thyme," I offered.

Tears welled in Wendy's eyes. "Thank you so much."

I hated to leave Natasha there to bring up the subject of Simon again but I had no choice. I sprinted through the ballroom doors and toward my work station as fast as the crowd would allow. Leaning over the work counter, I s.n.a.t.c.hed my bottle of dried thyme and hustled back to the lobby.

Wendy grabbed it and unscrewed the top. "I can't thank you enough . . ." She shook some out and sniffed it. "What's the big idea? This isn't thyme. It's"-she dabbed the tip of her finger into it and tasted it-"cilantro."

I seized the bottle from her, smelled it, and tried some. "It is dried cilantro." The saboteur had erred in a big way. Cilantro might be a popular herb but it wasn't one of my personal favorites. I didn't keep it on hand in my kitchen so there was no way I'd goofed and brought cilantro instead of thyme.

The contest organizer grumbled. "I'll get thyme from the hotel kitchen. Everyone will use the same thing, even those of you who have thyme."

Natasha groaned. "Hotel restaurant herbs. You know they're not fresh. My stuffing depends on the quality of the herbs."

"If you brought your own fresh herbs, then you may use them. If you brought dried herbs, you must use what I give you. That's my ruling."

"What about the contestant who is dating Simon?" asked Emma.

"I am not dating him." My voice was a bit louder than I meant it to be. I sucked in air and willed myself to speak in a calm tone. "I have never dated Simon. Never had lunch with him, never had a phone conversation. To be sure this is fair to all of you, I was on my way to find him and tell him that I will not go to the ballet with him. Is that okay with everyone?"

"He'll still be biased," said Wendy. "Maybe he should withdraw from judging."

Natasha acted horrified. "It's his contest! We can't ask him to bow out of his own contest."

Local celebrity chef Pierre LaPlumme focused on the ceiling and muttered in a French accent, "Zees is why I don't work wiz zee amateurs."