Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

He appeared speechless and I felt pleased to have knocked him off his stride a bit. Maybe he’d have to rethink his convictions about my involvement in the murders.

He let out a warm laugh, as though releasing pent-up anxiety. “Are you sure you have enough food?”

“We’ll make do.” I didn’t mention that I was beginning to think a twenty-five-pound turkey was mighty small.

The aroma of roasting turkey filled the air when we walked into the house. I hung Wolf’s bulky leather jacket in the foyer closet and noticed that Vicki swiftly steered Andrew away from Wolf and into the living room with June. Craig scooted along behind them. But Bernie and Mars wasted no time asking Wolf questions about Simon’s murder. They disappeared into the sunroom with him.

I didn’t have the luxury of hanging around to listen. I needed to figure out how to stretch the soup to accommodate fourteen people and I had to fit another place setting on the table.

Natasha joined me in the kitchen, her hands full of moss and shriveled leaves. “Tell me you didn’t invite that detective to join us.”

“You’d prefer to have Wolf standing outside?”

She dumped the organic matter on a dish towel, wiped off her hands, and placed the tips of her fingers against her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “Simon’s murdered, June burns my house down, no place cards, and now this. Why does everything happen to me? You have to ask him to leave, Sophie. I won’t be able to eat a bite knowing that he’s watching us.”

I’d never seen Natasha so unnerved.

She grabbed a glass out of a cabinet, filled it with tap water, drank the whole thing, and held the glass against her forehead.

When she regained her usual poise, she said, “Do not seat me near the detective or June, please. Where is your golden pen?”

If I weren’t an event planner, I probably wouldn’t have owned a pen with gold ink. But I was and I kept one in my event emergency kit in my car and right about now, it was in a police impound lot somewhere. I didn’t bother to explain. “I don’t have one.”

Natasha collected her towel of yard debris and headed for the sunroom. I could hear her ask if anyone had a golden pen.

I had bigger problems at the moment, like stretching the soup.

The pantry yielded just what I needed, though I had no idea how it would taste. I heated the contents of a box of organic roasted red pepper and tomato soup.

Giggling, Mom and June returned from the sunroom.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“He’s so handsome,” said Mom. “He’d turn my head if I weren’t married.”

“Wolf?” He had a certain charm, though I thought he was a bit rugged in comparison to Mars’s polish.

My question brought on more giggles. “We’re talking about the colonel,” Mom said. “He’s attractive but too young for us.”

“But that military bearing,” June gushed.

Mom added, “And a full head of silver hair. You don’t find that often at our age.”

I shooed the swooners out of the kitchen with instructions to coax everyone to the dining room for dinner.

Donning thick oven mitts, I pulled the turkey from the oven and set it on the counter. Juices hissed inside the roaster. Working quickly, I placed the turkey on a grooved cutting board and finished the gravy with the hot pan juices. I dipped a spoon in the gravy to see if I should add salt. Who needed potatoes? It was delicious on its own.

Letting the turkey rest, I ladled creamy homemade pumpkin soup into bowls and poured a generous dollop of vivid red pepper soup in the middle of each. I inserted a knife into the top of each red dot and drew it through the silky pumpkin soup, creating a colorful heart. They looked gorgeous.

Bernie and Wolf helped me carry the soup bowls into the dining room.

I sank into a chair, thankful to finally have everyone present and everything under control. Amid a chorus of “how prettys,” Natasha muttered, “You’re not serving my menu.”

Humphrey sat halfway down the table. He stared at me with such intensity I wondered if he’d noticed that soup had been served. I averted my eyes and ignored him.

Natasha’s face brightened. “You couldn’t get squab. That’s why you’re not serving my soup.” To the collected group she announced proudly, “Because of my recipe there’s a shortage of squab.”

Before I could try my daring mixture of soups, a series of crashes and thumps rumbled through the house and MacArthur barked nonstop.

“MacArthur and Mochie!” I jumped from my chair and rushed to the sunroom with Wolf on my heels. I’d forgotten about Mochie and had no idea how MacArthur would react to him.

Like little angels, Mochie sat between Daisy’s front paws. A frustrated MacArthur barked at Mochie but the brave kitten didn’t budge. With a one-word command, “Quiet!” the colonel silenced MacArthur.

But the odd thumping noises continued.

Hannah nudged me. “Do you know that woman?” She pointed to my neighbor, Francie, who was methodically tipping over my flowerpots and banging a stick against the side of my house.

“I’ll take care of this.” Wolf headed for the door.