Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

“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.”

The organizer rubbed her temples. “All the stuffing will be judged without names or other identification. I know your recipes but Simon doesn’t. Is that satisfactory?”

Everyone except Natasha nodded.

She smiled sweetly at the organizer and said, “You are aware that the contest is misnamed. Stuffing goes into something, like a bird. Dressing is baked separately.”

Emma whined, “Who cares about that? No one stuffs a bird anymore. Stuffing and dressing are interchangeable these days. What’s crucial is that Sophie breaks her date like Natasha said she should.”

“Fine.” I practically spat it. Even though I’d meant to do it anyway, it was irritating to have to do it on Natasha’s demand. I could feel the fire burning in my face. Where did that devil Simon go?

Clyde, who’d been by Simon’s side earlier, walked through the lobby. I jogged up to him and asked if he knew where his boss was.

Clyde assessed me with amusement. Did he think I intended to fawn over his boss like countless other women?

“They gave him a conference room so he could work during the contest. The George Washington Room, right down the hall.”

It figured that a big shot like Simon wouldn’t want to mingle with the rest of us all day. I made a quick pit stop in the ladies’ room to catch my breath and regain my composure. Holding a wet paper towel against my flaming face I wondered why he had put me in this position.

I stormed down the hall to face Simon, rapped on the door, but didn’t wait for permission to enter.

“Simon!” I charged into an empty room.

Almost empty.

SIX

From Natasha Online :

Salt isn’t one size fits all anymore. Today’s home kitchen should contain at least five different kinds of salt. Kosher for brining, coarse grinder salt for the salt mill, fine French sea salt for cooking, marvelous fleur de sel for salt shakers, and sel gris, also known as gray salt, my personal favorite.

Simon was sprawled on the floor facedown. Blood seeped from the back of his head onto the carpet.

A scream caught in my throat as the implications sank in. I ran toward him to help him, stopped abruptly, and backed up, scanning the room. Whoever injured him was gone. I darted at him again, knelt next to him, and felt his neck for a pulse.

There was none—but my own blood hammered in my head.

The door behind me opened and I shrieked, anticipating a bat-wielding killer.

Natasha’s willowy shape filled the doorway. “Sophie. What have you done?”

I leapt to my feet. “I found him this way. He . . . he’s dead.”

Natasha pointed a well-manicured finger at me. “You killed him?” She swallowed hard and edged toward Simon’s corpse. “You have to remain calm. I’m sure it must have been an accident. Don’t worry. I’ll stand by you. So will Mars.”

“I didn’t kill him!”

The muscles in Natasha’s neck looked like taut rubber bands. She backed toward the door—fast. “I’m going to get Mars. He’ll know what to do. You stay here and try to be calm.” As she reached behind her for the handle, the door burst open.

Clyde stopped dead just inside the room. “What happened?” His normally calm demeanor dissolved. He dove at his boss and felt for a pulse. Natasha fled into the hallway. I could hear her shouting for Mars. I watched Clyde’s face, hoping he’d find some sign of life that had eluded me. He rolled Simon onto his back and started CPR.

I felt my pockets for my cell phone. Rats. I’d left it in my work station. Running out of the room, I caught up to Natasha in the hallway.

“Do you have your cell? Call nine-one-one.”

With her face as frozen as if she’d just had a BOTOX treatment, she stared at me for long seconds. “Yes, of course.”

I ran back to the conference room to see if I could help.

The room was filling with hotel employees and contest participants. Mars and his brother wedged in, as did my dad. So many people were crowding into the room, I couldn’t see Simon. Finally I managed to break through the crowd and cross the small space around Simon.