Read Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The Online

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

Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The (10 page)

BOOK: Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The

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Back inside, I pulled out one of Faye’s ultra-long tablecloths of woven green, amber, and pumpkin plaid. When we inherited her sizable collections of china patterns and silver, I wondered what we would do with it all. Now I was thrilled to have a dozen matching place settings to use.

I felt certain Natasha had planned to use fancy-schmancy china and was almost sure that was the reason I chose sage-green earthenware plates and soup bowls. I added inexpensive wine and water glasses that I had bought because I loved the iridescent amber glass of the goblets. I bunched berries in three-inch vases and arranged them in clusters down the center of the table, mixing in colorful ceramic candlesticks.

Stepping back, I appraised the table. Festive and not at all stuffy. Perfect.

Mom peeked in the doorway. “It looks lovely, dear, but you need to add one more place setting.”

I did the math again in my head. “No, it’s an even dozen.”

Mom gave me that look I knew from my childhood when she had a secret.

“Mom!” She didn’t know anyone up here besides my brother, and he and his family were out of town. “Who did you invite?”

The doorbell rang. Perfect timing for Mom to avoid my question.

My stomach flip-flopped. I’d been dreading the moment Natasha and Mars would arrive.

Mom flicked a piece of fuzz off my shoulder. “Couldn’t you have worn something that showed a little cleavage?”

What could she possibly be thinking? I didn’t have time to contemplate it. I sucked in a deep breath of air, pasted a smile on my face, and answered the door.

Complete chaos ensued. Dad returned with Daisy, who shot into the house. Mars arrived with Natasha at the same time that the colonel and MacArthur strode up the walk followed by Craig.

They paired off quickly. MacArthur, the bulldog, romped with his old buddy, Daisy. Dad and the colonel commandeered the den.

Natasha, wearing her smiling TV hostess face, handed me a wreath of sugar pumpkins. A votive candle rested in each hollowed-out pumpkin.

“You didn’t have to bring anything.” I examined it closely. She’d made little holes for the light to shine through. “When could you possibly have had the time to make this?”

“It didn’t take long. I borrowed a few things from the hotel maintenance department. Thanksgiving’s a slow time for them. They didn’t mind.” She held out her arms and cried, “Hannah!”

With barely restrained southern graciousness, she fussed over my sister. “I haven’t seen you in years. Just as pretty as ever. You know I always said if I could have a little sister, I’d want her to be just like you.”

Hannah introduced Natasha to Craig, which brought on a fresh torrent from Natasha. “Only seven months until the wedding? That’s not much time. You have to tell me everything you’re planning.”

Little did Natasha know that a recitation of the details could last right up to the wedding day.

Hannah wore a buff-colored sweater set and tiny pearl earrings, a major change from her usual hot-pink clothes and bold jewelry. More of Craig’s influence? Her blonde tresses bouncing from their hot curler treatment, Hannah ushered Natasha and Craig into the sunroom.

Mom suggested sending Mars and June into the living room for the private time June had wanted with her son but I stopped her and handed her the pumpkin wreath. “I’d like a word with Mars, if you don’t mind. Would you find room for this on the buffet?”

She raised an eyebrow at me but acquiesced, grinning. “I’ll help your dad serve cocktails.”

Mars tilted his head. “Natasha said you’d try something like this, but I insisted we were past that. Sophie, hon, seeing you yesterday rekindled some feelings, but I’m not ready to leave Nat.”

“You flatter yourself. I need to talk to you about June.”

“Oh, no, not you, too. Nat thinks it’s time for Mom to move to a home for the elderly.”

“I don’t want that, but I am worried.”

He followed me to the kitchen entry. I held out my hand to stop him from going in.

We could hear June saying, “That couldn’t be helped. But don’t you see, this is an opportunity to get Sophie and Mars back together again.”

Mars muttered, “Aw, Mom.” He walked into the kitchen and looked around. In a kind voice he asked, “Who are you talking to?”

She didn’t drop a stitch of her knitting when she said, “Your aunt Faye.”

Mars’s eyes couldn’t have opened wider if he had actually seen Faye’s ghost. He kneeled beside her. “Mom,” he said in the most gentle tone I’d ever heard him use, “Faye has been dead for several years.”

June kept knitting. “You didn’t think she’d leave this house, did you?”

“You think Aunt Faye’s ghost is haunting this house?” Mars gripped the edge of the chair, looked up at me, and winced as he waited for her answer.

“Haunt doesn’t seem right. That has spooky implications. I feel her spirit here.”

Relief flooded Mars’s face. “So you don’t really hear Faye talking.”

“Oh, no! I hear her very well. It’s lovely having a visit with her again.”

Mars bowed his head, no doubt to hide a worried expression. “Sophie and I don’t hear Faye.”

“Maybe you’re not listening.”

Mars rose and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Mom, you need to face reality. Faye is dead and Sophie and I are divorced. I’m with Natasha now.”

“I know that. I’m not daft.”

I tried, too. “June, it’s lovely that you’d like to see us reunite but that’s not going to happen.”

June’s knitting needles stopped and she turned her attention to Mars. “Not married to Natasha yet, are you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You see?” She grinned. “There’s always hope.”

Mars suggested they retire to the living room to talk but on his way out of the kitchen, he pulled me aside. “Do you think Mom’s losing it?”

“She seems okay otherwise.”

“Let’s not mention this to Natasha. She’ll have Mom institutionalized by next week if she finds out Mom thinks she’s talking to Faye. Especially now that Mom burned down half of her house.”

“Are you sure your mom started the fire?”

“Nat’s certain.”

Their private time didn’t last long. Mars’s younger brother, Andrew, arrived with Vicki.

“Thank you so much for including us today,” said Vicki. “We were at Natasha’s last night when the fire broke out. It was awful. And we didn’t have alternative plans. I had visions of us eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Thanksgiving.”

I was shutting the door when a timid knock came from the other side. A slight man with fine hair so blond it verged on white said, “Hello, Sophie.”

TEN

From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

Dear Sophie,

When my sister-in-law hosts family holidays, she gets up at four in the morning to bake bread. I work long days and with three kids, I need my sleep and don’t have time to bake when it’s my turn to host family gatherings. I hate it when my sister-in-law turns her nose up at my store-bought bread. What to do?

—Snoozing in Saltville

Dear Snoozing,

You need your sleep. Don’t feel guilty about it. I make rolls or knots about a week ahead of time and I let my bread machine do the hard work. Even the busiest mom can find a few minutes to dump ingredients into a bread machine. Put it on “manual” and it will take the bread all the way through the first rise. Then take the dough out and shape it into rolls or cute knots. The kids can help with that. Place the rolls or knots on an ungreased cookie sheet. Cover with a clean kitchen towel and let rise (out of drafts) until they double in size. Remove the towel and cover the still raw dough with plastic wrap. Slide the entire wrapped tray into the freezer. If you need the tray or more space in the freezer, you can put them in a plastic freezer bag once they’re frozen. When you need them, preheat the oven to 350 degrees, spritz the tops with water, and sprinkle a little salt on them before sliding the tray into the oven. They’ll taste every bit as fresh as your sister-in-law’s. But you won’t be as tired as she is.

—Sophie

The man at the door seemed vaguely familiar. “May I help you?”

“You don’t remember me? But I remember you.” He bent toward me and spoke confidentially, “I cheered for you when you won the school hopscotch championship over Natasha.”

Feeling stupid, I searched his face. He was talking about something that happened in fourth grade. Or was it fifth? Who was this guy?

Mom’s voice sang over my shoulder, “Humphrey! I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the house.”

Humphrey? That name went out of fashion before I was born. But I had known one Humphrey. I took a second look at him as he handed me a bottle of sherry.

“Humphrey Brown?”

“You do remember me.”

I nodded. The truth was I hadn’t thought about him in years. Evidently Mom invited Humphrey as her surprise guest.

The oven timer dinged and I left her to deal with him.

In the kitchen, Bernie peeked inside the oven. “Is this ready to come out?”

I put on oven mitts and was pulling Mom’s sweet potato and marshmallow dish out of the oven when Vicki found me. “I don’t mean to interfere, but Hannah and Mars are about to start a world war over medical insurance costs.”

Swell. Mars loved to argue and he didn’t always know when to let it go. “Bernie?”

“On my way, luv.” Somehow in the bustle of guests arriving, he’d managed to dress and looked almost respectable except for the moppish hair.

“Oh! A kitten.” Vicki stroked Mochie’s head. “I always wanted a cat but my brother was allergic and so is Andrew. I seem destined to live life without a kitty.”

She sighed and ambled toward me. Idly, she tore a corner off a bread knot and nibbled at it like a mouse. No wonder her trousers hung on her so beautifully. I’d have slathered the bread with butter.

I placed crispy golden cheese puffs on a glass serving platter and should have rushed them into the living room, but I was thrilled to have a minute alone with Vicki so I could pump her for information. “So what was the problem between Andrew and Simon?” I asked, pretending to be casual.

She swallowed a piece of the bread. “You remember—the television show.”

“What show?”

Her face reflected surprise. “About, oh, my gosh, about the time you and Mars split up. You’ve heard of
Don’t You Dare
?”

“That moronic TV show where people take ridiculous risks to win a million dollars?”

“That’s the one. It was Andrew’s idea. But he needed a TV producer with big bucks to back it. He went to Simon, who turned him down.”

“But the show’s still on.”

“Simon stole the idea. It’s been a huge success, well, except for that sad case where the girl lost her leg. If it hadn’t been for that horrible accident, she would have won. My brother always says fate is a fickle mistress. She lost her leg, that cocky guy won a million dollars, and Andrew didn’t get anything out of it. Not a cent.”

Natasha barged into the kitchen and stopped abruptly. “I thought you redid this kitchen.”

“We did.”

“I wish you had called me, I’d have been happy to help. You should have seen the gorgeous kitchen in my country home.” Her voice squeaked and broke. “Of course that’s gone now.” She fanned herself as if willing the tears away and then flicked her hand toward the stone wall. “You should have eliminated this, for instance. Kitchens should never contain rough stone or brick; they’re impossible to clean.”

Faye’s picture swung to a slant but Natasha didn’t notice.

Good thing she didn’t know how old the stone was or that it had traveled here in the bottom of an ancient ship. I was about to point out that I didn’t cook on the stone wall but choked back my words, determined not to start an argument.

“I feel terrible for imposing on you. The fire was a nightmare. We had guests when it started. You can’t imagine the horror of watching your home burn.” Her tone rose to a shrill pitch again. “And then we had to check into a hotel in the middle of the night.”

Vicki walked past me and whispered, “I can’t hear about this one more time.”

I handed her the platter of cheese puffs. “Would you mind taking these in to the guests?” She took the platter and strode into the foyer.

“I’m glad no one was hurt.” I offered a box of tissues to Natasha. She drove me batty sometimes but this wasn’t a drama-queen act. Just thinking about the fire sent chills up my spine. I couldn’t imagine how traumatized she must feel.

Natasha stared out the bay window and massaged her hands around a tissue in a nervous manner. “Sophie, I need to apologize.”

She had my full attention. I couldn’t recall Natasha ever having apologized for anything before.

BOOK: Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The

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