Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

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.

“I may have been a bit hasty yesterday when I accused you of killing Simon. Not that you didn’t have the motive or opportunity, but now I understand that things may not be the way they seem and I regret that I may have jumped to conclusions about your involvement regardless of how obvious it may have seemed at the time.”

“Thank you, Natasha.” I wondered what had happened to prompt the odd apology but I took the high road and didn’t ask. It was enough that she’d thought about it and bothered to apologize.

I painted a second tray of homemade bread knots with a cold water wash, sprinkled chunks of kosher salt over them, and slid them into the oven.

Her shoulders relaxed like she’d been dreading her little speech. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. When you reach a certain level of celebrity as I have, it becomes so difficult to know who to trust. Who your friends are. It seems like everyone wants something from me. You’re one of the few people I can reach out to, Soph.”

Uh-oh. Wait until she found out about my anti-Natasha advice column. That would move me out of the trusted friend category and fast.

“I need a favor, Sophie.”

Thanksgiving dinner was one thing, but they were not moving in with me, no matter what. I set the oven timer, picked up the gravy boat, and braced myself.

Her dark eyes full of fear, Natasha said, “The police are going to think that Mars killed Simon. I know you don’t want that any more than I do. We have to help him, Sophie.”