Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

Mom patted her arm. “Darling, this is a good time to see how he acts in the face of adversity. He’s an intelligent man. I’m sure he understands that this isn’t typical for us.”

“What’s with the pale sweater, Hannah?” I asked. She’d always preferred fuchsia and periwinkle to soft shades.

“Craig likes me in muted colors.”

I’d done my share of silly things for boyfriends, so I couldn’t fault her for trying to please him. Wondering what could be taking him so long, I stood to look for him. If he was in the ballroom, I didn’t see him. I did, however, see Natasha being escorted by a police officer, probably for her turn at being questioned. I wouldn’t be far behind.

Hannah pasted a smile on her face and sat up straight and I realized Craig must be on his way back.

Obviously pleased with himself, he handed out foam boxes containing French fries and roast beef sandwiches. He dug in his pocket and pulled out packets of ketchup. “Hope I got enough for all of us.”

Hannah and Mom gushed appreciation but I wondered where he’d bought the food. No one else in the ballroom held foam boxes.

A pink flush crept up the sides of his face and culminated in red cheeks reminiscent of someone who’d been out in the cold. He wore a black, long-sleeved polo and jeans, not enough to keep warm outside. I spotted the sleeve of his bomber jacket hanging from the pile of coats we’d left on a chair.

Hannah dug into the French fries. “Yum—they need salt, though. Sophie, do you have any salt in your cooking ingredients?”

Of course I did. I found the salt and offered it to her.

She sprinkled a heavy dose on her fries and took a bite. “Ugh. Are you trying to kill me, too?”

Dad’s face looked like it did when we were kids and didn’t know when to stop pushing his buttons. “Hannah, your sister didn’t kill anyone. You cannot say things like that. I don’t think you understand how serious this situation is for Sophie.”

“It’s always about Sophie. This weekend was supposed to be about me and Craig. Besides, taste this.”

Dad took one of her fries and bit into it. “Sugar.”

I shook out a pinch of salt and tasted it. Definitely sugar.

“Hey, Wendy,” I called, “do me a favor and taste your salt.”

“Oh, my gosh,” she cried, “it’s sugar. Someone was doing everything possible to sabotage the contest.”

Thinking that the saboteur wouldn’t have tampered with his or her own ingredients, I was tempted to demand a check of everyone’s ingredients. But a young police officer arrived to escort me to be questioned.

Not quite sure what would happen, I bent over my father’s shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about me. You go shopping and I’ll meet you at home.”

I hated the fear etched on his face and as I walked away, I heard my mother say, “For heaven’s sake, Paul, they’re just going to ask her questions.”

Detective Kenner met me in the ballroom lobby and took me aside to grill me. Across the room, I could see Wolf questioning Natasha.

Kenner asked me the same questions in different ways. When I stuck to my boring story about finding Simon’s body and picking up the turkey with blood on it, Kenner’s nostrils flared.

I worked at remaining calm as his rage rose. His voice grew louder but I didn’t allow him to intimidate me.

Wolf, busy across the lobby, watched us periodically.

Kenner’s face turned a shade of purple that suggested high-blood-pressure issues. He squinted at me and hovered too close for my comfort. “You may think that you’ve suckered Wolf into believing your lies, but you don’t fool me for a second.”

His face inches from mine, he snapped his fingers and yelled, “Take her to the station.”

SEVEN

From “Ask Natasha” :

Dear Natasha,

My in-laws are arriving in droves and they expect to stay with us. I have to work and don’t have time for all the extra meals and laundry. What to do?

—Crowded in Cranston

Dear Crowded,

Everyone deserves fresh 1,000-count Egyptian cotton sheets and fluffy down pillows. A gracious hostess pampers her guests. Get up a few hours early to make breakfast and clean. The extra effort will be worth it. If you have to be gone during the day, hire a limousine to show them around in style.

—Natasha

Was I being arrested? I looked over at Wolf. He made no effort to help me. The young officer didn’t handcuff me, though, he merely showed me out the side door of the hotel to the backseat of a police cruiser.

When he climbed into the front seat, I asked, “Am I under arrest?”

In a polite southern accent, he said, “Why, no, ma’am. You just need to give your bloody clothes as evidence.”