Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

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 internship 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 relationship the rest of us dreamed of. The kind of relationship 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?

—Bloody in Blue Ridge

Dear Bloody,

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 competition. 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.