The Diva Runs Out Of Thyme Part 16

Rats, he didn't take my bait. "So what began as a vacation might become a permanent residence?"

Bernie poured himself a gla.s.s of orange juice. "Yeah, maybe."

I tried a different tack. "How's your mom?" She traveled a lot. Maybe he'd visited her in Miami.

"Met some bloke she likes and went to Hong Kong. Last I heard they were in Shanghai on business. She's likely to ring me any day now about another wedding. What's for dinner?"

If he wouldn't talk about Miami, I would have to be more obvious. "Miami Vice Rice and Pork Tenderloins."

"You Americans have odd names for food. I stopped over in Miami on my way here. Lovely to catch some sun this time of year but I don't recall seeing Miami Vice Rice on a menu."

The kitchen door opened and Dad walked in. "It's cold enough to snow!" He rubbed his hands briskly.

"Where are the others?" I asked.

He contorted his face in mock pain. "I begged them to drop me off. They had to see one more store."

Dad's coat landed on top of the jackets. The chair would topple soon. I swooped them up and hung them all in the foyer closet.

When I returned to the kitchen, Dad had settled into a chair. Mochie and Daisy demanded his attention but while he stroked them, he addressed Bernie.

"He's a nice enough guy." Dad didn't sound convinced when he said it. "Very polite. But I've never known another man to be so interested in his wedding."

"Craig?" I asked.

"Who else? I could understand if he planned the honeymoon, but over lunch today, the three of them discussed bows for the backs of chairs for forty-five minutes. I timed them." Dad stretched out his legs and leaned his head back against the chair. "The wedding is seven months away. I'm not sure I'll last that long if they keep this up."

"He's not macho enough for you?" asked Bernie.

Dad winced. "That wouldn't bother me. It's more like he's a chameleon. Like he says what he thinks we want to hear. I've spent a couple of days around him now and except for the fact that he's a doctor and he likes big droopy bows on the backs of chairs, I don't know anything about the man. I don't know if his parents are living or if he has siblings or what kind of car he drives or which sports he follows."

"Maybe he's trying hard to adapt, to please you," said Bernie. "It can be difficult to join a family."

I placed a lid on the pot with the cherries and let them simmer. "I know what Dad means. I think he's creepy. He's been spying on me since he arrived. I keep turning around and finding him there, listening, like he's gathering information."

"Spying?" Bernie chuckled. "That's the height of future in-law paranoia. Why would he do that?"

I was about to betray my sister, but I only had her welfare at heart. "Did you know they met through the internet?"

Dad's face went ashen. "Hannah told us they met at a party." He sprang from his chair. "Mind if I use your computer?" He didn't wait for an answer. Bernie and I trailed behind him into the den.

After a few swift keystrokes, Dad sighed with relief. "Here he is. Craig Monroe Beacham, MD. Internist . . . not much information . . . valid medical license in West Virginia. Hasn't been sued, went to medical school on the West Coast and did an interns.h.i.+p in South Dakota. Nothing sinister."

I slumped back on the sofa. So much for that. I would do my best to be happy for Hannah. On her third try, she'd found a relations.h.i.+p the rest of us dreamed of. The kind of relations.h.i.+p some of us, like Francie, still chased.

"Dad, when you talked with the colonel yesterday, did he say anything about Simon?"

"The subject didn't come up. Mostly he told me about his efforts to bring medical care to underprivileged Africans."

Bernie sprawled on the other end of the couch. "What gives, Soph?"

"Apparently the colonel happened to be at the hotel when Simon was murdered."

The keyboard clicked as Dad's fingers flew across it. "This is impressive stuff. The colonel's received awards for his work. There are pages and pages about him." The clicking of keys commenced again. "Okay, now I've got something. Uh-oh. Remember the girl who lost her leg on that show Don't You Dare? Lots of allegations blaming the crew."

"That's reprehensible. Imagine being so sloppy that someone would lose a limb," said Bernie.

"It gets worse. The girl who lost her leg is the colonel's granddaughter."

EIGHTEEN.

From "Ask Natasha" : Dear Natasha, In spite of my admonishments, my rowdy teenage son is always coming home with blood on his clothes. I've tried all kinds of commercial products, but the stains are usually dried and set by the time he comes home and nothing seems to work. What do you recommend?

-b.l.o.o.d.y in Blue Ridge

Dear b.l.o.o.d.y,

The conventional wisdom is to soak the stain with salt. However, I take a cue from the professionals. Not the professional launderers, the professionals who get blood on their clothes at work-firefighters and police officers. Hydrogen peroxide works best. However, with any stain treatment, always test an inconspicuous area first to be sure the color doesn't bleed.

-Natasha

"So the good colonel might not be such a splendid chap after all," mused Bernie.

"Could he have killed Simon to avenge his granddaughter?" I asked.

Dad swung toward us in the desk chair. "If I thought someone rigged something to injure Jen, it might put me over the brink. That kind of thing can blur the lines of right and wrong and tamper with our natural inhibitions."

"Could he be the one who tried to poison Mars?" I asked, sitting up straight, alarmed at the thought.

"Andrew came up with the idea for the TV show." Bernie kicked off his shoes and removed his socks. "Perhaps the colonel meant to poison Andrew. That would have given him revenge against both of them."

Dad tented his hands and tapped his forefingers together. "He didn't say a word about being at the stuffing compet.i.tion. Remember? At Thanksgiving when we all discussed the murder. Not a word."

"And being former military, one would suppose he has some training in how to kill. He'd have known where to lodge the blow that ended Simon's life. Did anyone else get the impression that the colonel was rather surprised by Francie's knowledge about poison?" asked Bernie.

"June!" I jumped up. "He took her out to dinner."

"Do you know where they went?" asked Dad.

"I haven't a clue." Why hadn't I asked? "What if he poisons June? Mars survived because he's young and strong, but June . . ."

Dad motioned for me to sit. "We're getting carried away. The colonel has no reason to harm June. Besides, it would be stupid of him to hurt her on the heels of poisoning Mars. We don't know that he killed Simon; we only know that he hid the fact that he was in the hotel when Simon was murdered."

"Your dad's right, Sophie. All three of us were there, but that doesn't mean one of us bashed old Simon over the head."

"Does June have a cell phone?" asked Dad.

"Don't think so. She borrowed mine the other day," said Bernie.

"Then there's nothing we can do. I think it's time we told your mom everything, Sophie." Dad put the computer to sleep.

I didn't want to start a fight between them but I thought I'd better be honest. "She already knows all about Otis and everything, Dad."

His face lit up. "That's my Inga. Plugging along like everything is fine."

Bernie nudged me. "Mind if I do some laundry, luv?"

"Help yourself. Washer and dryer are in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

He hoisted the duffle bag and added the socks he'd taken off. "Daisy, Mochie? Coming to keep me company?"

As if they understood the exotic scents of a bas.e.m.e.nt adventure awaited, they shot out the door ahead of him.

Dad and I rose and he wrapped his arms around me. "June will be fine, kiddo."

"I'll feel better when June is home, safe and healthy."

We walked slowly through the sunroom to the hallway.

"The cherries!" I'd forgotten all about them.

I rushed to the kitchen to check on them and heard the front door bang open. Thankfully, the cherries survived and their sauce had thickened nicely. I removed them from the burner and poked my head in the foyer.

The three wedding enthusiasts shed their coats.

Hannah handed hers to Craig and pulled off her gloves. "I'm so glad to be home. It's freezing out there."

I greeted everyone and returned to the kitchen to preheat the oven. Mom followed me, collapsed into one of the fireside chairs, and put her feet up on a stool. "I can't take another step. Honey, Mars called earlier while you were out. He asked June to come to the hotel tomorrow morning for a visit and then he's taking her shopping. Natasha has an important appointment and she'll be out. I think Mars is afraid for Natasha and June to be in the same room since things aren't so great between them what with the fire and Mars's poisoning. Neither trusts the other."

I couldn't blame him for trying to keep them apart.

Mom smoothed the pleats in her skirt. "Poor Natasha. When I think what that girl has been through in her life. She never seems to catch a break. It must be awful to be a murder suspect."

"It is," I said drily, whisking a spoon through the onions softening in the b.u.t.ter. Had she forgotten that her own daughter was a suspect? I spooned a generous tablespoon of sage on top of the cooking onions. The comforting scent of sage bloomed as soon as the herb hit the pan.

Mom leaned sideways to peer into the foyer. "Did Craig and Hannah go upstairs?"

"I think so." I checked the time and placed the tenderloins in the oven.

"What did you find out from the PI's widow?"

I added rice and broth to the translucent onions, popped the lid on top, and filled her in on Natasha's payment to Otis, the discovery of poisonous mushrooms in my backyard, the colonel's granddaughter, and June's date.

Mom clapped a hand over her mouth. "Lost her leg? That poor child. And now June is out with him. Too bad she didn't know about the granddaughter, she could have gotten the scoop. We'll make that her job tomorrow afternoon. She can invite the colonel for coffee and pump him for information."

"a.s.suming he doesn't kill her tonight."

"Nonsense. Any man clever enough to leave the hotel without being questioned by the police isn't going to blow it by poisoning his dinner date. That would be far too obvious."

The bas.e.m.e.nt door, located in the tiny pa.s.sage that connected the family room to the kitchen, swung open. Bernie emerged along with Daisy and Mochie. "Sophie, are you still doing Mars's laundry?"

An odd question. "Of course not."

"There were men's clothes in the dryer. I folded them and set them on the table down there."

"Did you do laundry?" I asked Mom.

"I've toured every bridal boutique in the greater Was.h.i.+ngton area. Who had time for laundry?"

I checked on the rice and the pork before venturing into the bas.e.m.e.nt to see the mysterious clothes. I didn't have to look through them to know to whom they belonged. The day of the stuffing compet.i.tion Craig had worn the black polo s.h.i.+rt on the top of the pile. What was he trying to wash away?

Daisy's heavy paws pounding behind me, I ran up the stairs to the kitchen. Craig couldn't be involved in the murders. He hadn't been in town when Otis was killed.

"Mom," I panted, "when you picked up Craig at the airport, did he come from the pa.s.sengers-only area?"

"Dad and I waited in the car so we wouldn't have to park. Hannah prearranged to meet him in baggage claim."

Dad walked in and sat in the other fireside chair. "What's this?"

Mom frowned at me. "What are you saying, Sophie? That Craig didn't fly in from out of town?"

"Is it possible?" I asked. "Could he be involved in the murders? I dismissed him as a possibility because his connection was too remote. He barely knows us. How could he arrange it?"

"He was also with Hannah the entire time at the stuffing contest," said Mom.

"I saw him in the gent's washroom," said Dad. "He obviously escaped from her for a few minutes."