The Diva Runs Out Of Thyme Part 22

"Maybe she spotted you and drove there on purpose to throw you off," suggested Dad.

"Or maybe she works at the soup kitchen every week when she disappears. But why keep it a secret?" Mars gazed at us like we had answers.

"She's looking for her father," Mom said quietly. "You were so young, Sophie, I don't think you understood the impact on Natasha. She was only seven when he left. Her mother couldn't afford the mortgage on their pretty house over on Elm Street and she couldn't sell it without his signature. The bank foreclosed and her mother filed for bankruptcy. I'm certain Natasha felt it was her fault he abandoned them; children so often do."

"But that happened over thirty years ago," I protested.

"Don't you understand? His leaving was the driving force in her life. That's why she strives, to this day, to be so perfect. It's also the reason she always competed with you."

"Oh, please." My mom, the shrink.

"You weren't compet.i.tive by nature, but you had everything she didn't. A dad and siblings and a nice house. And you gave her a run for her money. You were both good at the same things. You didn't mean to but you made her reach a little higher, work a little harder, and when she kept one-upping you, it turned out you had a compet.i.tive streak in you after all."

"That explains a lot," Mars teased, "but I'm with Sophie. Hard to believe she's still searching for him after all these years. And why would she think she'd find him at a soup kitchen? He could be a multimillionaire."

"I imagine her mother painted a fairly dim picture of him," said Mom. "She was probably brought up to believe that he was a ne'er-do-well."

"Why do you think he left?" asked Mars.

"Berrysville is a small town, You can imagine the rampant gossip. Some people thought he had another life somewhere else. Others think he died and no one knew who he was. I think he felt too much pressure."

"I'd have run away from that pushy woman, too." Dad made a face like he'd sucked on a lemon. "Natasha's mother wouldn't be easy to live with."

The phone rang, interrupting our conversation. I scurried to answer it.

The coordinator of the Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown asked if I could partic.i.p.ate in the contest on Monday. Simon's TV network decided to go forward with it after all. I checked my work schedule to be sure I could fit it in. I a.s.sured her I would be there and hoped the others would be able to compete as well. Before hanging up, she said, "And as a precaution, we're providing all the ingredients this time. All you have to do is show up and make stuffing."

Mars was leaving when I returned. Mom closed the door behind him and said, "Why can't we ever manage to get him over here at the same time as Wolf?"

"Surely you don't think Mars is the killer?" I asked.

"Goodness, no. But I want to shake up Mars a little bit. He would have to be pheromonally challenged not to feel the attraction Wolf has for you."

Not anymore. "Mom, Wolf is watching me because I'm a murder suspect."

"Think what you like. Wolf looks at you like you're an ice cream sundae with extra chocolate on top."

I shot my dad a pleading look. "Didn't you hear the way Mars talked about Natasha? We're not getting back together, Mom."

"She's right, Inga. Mars is very concerned about Natasha."

The corners of Mom's mouth pulled back in disapproval. "In that case, you'd better start dressing s.e.xier for that Wolf of yours. And it wouldn't hurt you to use eyeliner and brighter lipstick."

Before indulging myself in a long bath, I hit the den to catch up on my column. Questions poured in from readers. Coswell wrote me suggesting I set up a website to handle some of the overflow. The response to my column delighted me. Excited as I was about the prospect of a web page, it would have to wait a couple of days until my family went home.

I put the column out of my mind as I left the den. I needed to think about the murders. The killer had to be stopped before another one of us fell victim to him. Wolf was probably a great detective, but I knew everyone so much better than he did. I had to be overlooking something, some tiny clue to the ident.i.ty of the killer. As though she knew what I had in mind, Daisy trotted upstairs. Mochie followed us.

I ran water in the tub and poured in vanilla-scented bubble bath. Mochie perched on the edge, fascinated by the growing foam that disappeared when he touched it. While the tub filled, I undressed and tossed a bathrobe on the vanity in case someone returned unexpectedly. I sank into the warm water and focused on the murders.

I figured I could eliminate my parents, sister, and June from my list of suspects. Wolf and Humphrey also seemed unlikely candidates. Wolf might have killed his wife but so far I hadn't heard about a connection between him and the victims. Humphrey seemed too wan to undertake a murder spree. He could have hired Otis to trail me and he could have killed Simon after he asked me out, but I was neither vain enough nor stupid enough to believe anyone, even smitten Humphrey, would take such drastic action on my account. I was no femme fatale.

Bernie didn't appear to have a motive, unless he was involved with Mrs. Pulchinski somehow. Since he'd been living abroad, he came in low on my list of suspects. But the timing of Bernie's visit seemed a bit more than coincidental and I still couldn't shake the image of him in the restaurant with Mrs. Pulchinski. Nor could I dismiss the fact that he'd been at Natasha's house the night of the fire and present when Simon died.

The colonel, on the other hand, had both the motivation and the opportunity to kill Simon. I hadn't connected him to Otis yet, but he'd been very interested in Otis's death at Thanksgiving dinner. And Francie had been the one who reported a Peeping Tom. Could the two of them be in cahoots?

Mars and Andrew both hated Simon. Both had been present in the hotel when Simon was murdered. Either of them might have known or worked with Otis. Mars had warned me about Simon on the day he was murdered. Had Mars hired Otis to follow me? That didn't make sense. The Mars I knew could become furious, but he ranted and paced. He would never kill anyone. Would he clean up after his brother if Andrew committed murder? He might. And while I couldn't see Vicki being irrational enough to kill Simon because of the way he'd treated Andrew, I supposed that was a possibility.

And that brought me to Natasha. She hired Otis for something and met privately with Simon. She was p.r.o.ne to drama but she'd displayed uncharacteristic nervousness on Thanksgiving, especially when she discovered Wolf would be joining us. Had she lost her tight self-control and let Simon have it? Either she killed Simon or she knew something.

Had I omitted anyone? Craig. The outsider. The one least likely to have a connection to any of us. Yet he spied and eavesdropped, and even more suspicious, he returned to the scene of the crime. Hannah would be furious if she knew what I thought of Craig.

My relaxing bath had been anything but. The killer and the person who tried to poison Mars was clearly one of us. I closed my eyes and tried to unwind, but Daisy alarmed me by barking and running down the stairs. For a moment I thought Bernie might have come home, but Daisy stopped barking and I decided she'd probably heard Francie knocking around the backyard again.

When the phone rang, I lay in the bath and debated whether or not to answer. My indecision lasted longer than the caller's patience and the ringing ceased.

And began again. I still didn't bother to get up. But when it rang a third time, I feared the worst, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped a towel around me. The phone stopped ringing before I could answer. I was on the verge of checking the caller ID when it jangled again and I finally picked it up.

Nina's voice said, "There's someone in your house. Get out now."

TWENTY-THREE.

From "THE GOOD LIFE": Dear Sophie,

I've inherited a collection of copper pots and pans from my aunt-in-law who is downsizing. They're gorgeous, but I never use them because I hate cleaning the copper. She'll be offended if I give them away. Any suggestions?

-Copper-phobic in Coeburn

Dear Copper-phobic,

If you decide to use them, make it easy on yourself by keeping a salt shaker and a vinegar cruet by your sink. Shake on a hefty dose of salt, add a splash of vinegar and the tarnish will clean up as if by magic.

If you still don't want to cook in them, hang them over your cooktop or display them on a baker's rack as a beautiful decoration.

-Sophie

Terror gripped me unlike any I'd ever known. I was on the second floor. I couldn't leave the house without walking down the stairs. Where was he? Had Nina called the police? Had the intruder hurt Daisy?

Clutching my towel, I padded softly to the stairs and listened. I heard a chair sc.r.a.pe across the floor. I tiptoed down the stairs, trying to remember where they squeaked. At the landing in the foyer, relief flooded over me. Daisy wagged her tail, panting and perfectly fine. I picked up Mochie and peered around the entrance to the dining room.

Panic hit me full force. The intruder, dressed in baggy gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt, was pawing through the silverware drawer. Seeing the intruder scared me silly. He could have all the silverware he wanted as long as he didn't hurt any of us.

Moving stealthily, I crossed behind the opening to the dining room, toward the front door, and safety. A floorboard creaked under my bare foot and the intruder turned around. He wore a Paula Deen mask and Paula's friendly smile took on the sinister appearance of a fake clown smile. I screamed and lunged for the door. My fingers trembled and I fumbled with the lock. Seconds pa.s.sed like an eternity but I swung the door open, called Daisy, and ran onto the front lawn.

Police sirens pierced the quiet night. My wet skin p.r.i.c.kled in the freezing winter air. Two squad cars pulled up and blocked the street as Nina ran to me with a fuzzy bathrobe and a huge blanket. She held Mochie while I gratefully donned the bathrobe and dropped the wet towel to stand on. At least it was an improvement over the freezing brick of the sidewalk.

Two police officers rushed into the house. Wolf arrived minutes later. His face grim, he stopped to ask me what happened. "I don't like this," he grumbled. "Not one bit."

"Do you think it could be the same person who broke into Vicki and Andrew's house earlier?" I asked.

"I don't think it's a coincidence."

When the house had been searched, Wolf and Nina ushered me into the kitchen to warm up. My teeth chattered, partly from the cold but mostly from sheer terror. One of the uniformed officers called us into the sunroom where the door to the backyard stood ajar.

"I presume you didn't leave the door open," said Wolf. "Any sign of forced entry?" He stepped around the door to examine the exterior and the lock.

The uniformed cop said, "Either it was unlocked or her intruder picked it."

Wolf scrutinized me from head to toe. Even though I wore the robe Nina brought me, I felt exposed and vulnerable. I'd pinned up my hair haphazardly for my bath and my feet were bare.

He shut the door and studied the sunroom, still not saying a word. I followed his gaze. Nothing had changed since he sat here earlier with Bernie. I hadn't even taken the tray into the kitchen yet or removed their coffee mugs to be washed.

"How big was the intruder?" he asked.

I felt foolish. All I could see in my mind were the baggy sweats and the mask. "I don't know. I was a little panicked."

Wolf walked out of the sunroom, down the hall, and up the stairs to the second floor. Nina and I followed.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asked.

I pointed to the open door.

Wolf paused in the doorway, taking in the unfortunate green-and-black tile I longed to rip out. He crouched to examine my wet footprints on the tiny squares of green tile Faye had installed decades ago. When he rose, he dipped his hand in my bathwater. Only then did it dawn on me that he didn't believe my story.

"Do you really think that I'd have made this up and run out into the freezing night wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel?"

"I don't know what to think about you anymore."

"I can't believe I told Sophie she should go out with you," Nina said. "She's not fabricating anything, I saw him. She has a witness." Nina jabbed her forefinger toward her throat. "So there."

Wolf folded his arms across his chest and I wondered if he realized how intimidating he looked when he did that.

"Where exactly was he when you saw him?"

Nina threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. "He was crossing through the kitchen. I was walking the dog, outside on the sidewalk, and I saw him through the bay window of Sophie's kitchen. That precise enough for you?"

"That wasn't even a good stab at lying," said Wolf. "You don't have a dog."

Nina's cheeks flamed. "I'm fostering one. You can ask Karen down at the shelter."

I thought I saw a flicker of a grin on Wolf's face, but he suppressed it quickly.

"Don't worry, I will."

I patted Nina's arm. "He thinks I'm the killer. He thinks Bernie's the killer. He probably even thinks Mars is the killer. It's a good thing you didn't join us for Thanksgiving dinner or he'd think you were the killer."

Wolf showed no emotion in spite of my deliberate barb. "You're so right. Mars hasn't been excluded."

"But why not?" This was ridiculous. "Surely you don't think he poisoned himself?"

"Desperate people have been known to take desperate measures. What better way to throw suspicion off himself? Everyone would feel sorry for him and a.s.sume that he couldn't be the culprit."

"Sophie! Sophie!"

A man's despairing call echoed up the stairs.

"Who's that?" asked Nina.

I shrugged and the three of us hurried to the landing to peer down.

In the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs, Humphrey tangled ineptly with one of the uniformed officers. "Unhand me, you heathen!"

"Wolf, tell him to let Humphrey go." I charged down the steps with Wolf and Nina behind me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.