Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

“Then there’s nothing we can do. I think it’s time we told your mom everything, Sophie.” Dad put the computer to sleep.

I didn’t want to start a fight between them but I thought I’d better be honest. “She already knows all about Otis and everything, Dad.”

His face lit up. “That’s my Inga. Plugging along like everything is fine.”

Bernie nudged me. “Mind if I do some laundry, luv?”

“Help yourself. Washer and dryer are in the basement.”

He hoisted the duffle bag and added the socks he’d taken off. “Daisy, Mochie? Coming to keep me company?”

As if they understood the exotic scents of a basement adventure awaited, they shot out the door ahead of him.

Dad and I rose and he wrapped his arms around me. “June will be fine, kiddo.”

“I’ll feel better when June is home, safe and healthy.”

We walked slowly through the sunroom to the hallway.

“The cherries!” I’d forgotten all about them.

I rushed to the kitchen to check on them and heard the front door bang open. Thankfully, the cherries survived and their sauce had thickened nicely. I removed them from the burner and poked my head in the foyer.

The three wedding enthusiasts shed their coats.

Hannah handed hers to Craig and pulled off her gloves. “I’m so glad to be home. It’s freezing out there.”

I greeted everyone and returned to the kitchen to preheat the oven. Mom followed me, collapsed into one of the fireside chairs, and put her feet up on a stool. “I can’t take another step. Honey, Mars called earlier while you were out. He asked June to come to the hotel tomorrow morning for a visit and then he’s taking her shopping. Natasha has an important appointment and she’ll be out. I think Mars is afraid for Natasha and June to be in the same room since things aren’t so great between them what with the fire and Mars’s poisoning. Neither trusts the other.”

I couldn’t blame him for trying to keep them apart.

Mom smoothed the pleats in her skirt. “Poor Natasha. When I think what that girl has been through in her life. She never seems to catch a break. It must be awful to be a murder suspect.”

“It is,” I said drily, whisking a spoon through the onions softening in the butter. Had she forgotten that her own daughter was a suspect? I spooned a generous tablespoon of sage on top of the cooking onions. The comforting scent of sage bloomed as soon as the herb hit the pan.

Mom leaned sideways to peer into the foyer. “Did Craig and Hannah go upstairs?”

“I think so.” I checked the time and placed the tenderloins in the oven.

“What did you find out from the PI’s widow?”

I added rice and broth to the translucent onions, popped the lid on top, and filled her in on Natasha’s payment to Otis, the discovery of poisonous mushrooms in my backyard, the colonel’s granddaughter, and June’s date.

Mom clapped a hand over her mouth. “Lost her leg? That poor child. And now June is out with him. Too bad she didn’t know about the granddaughter, she could have gotten the scoop. We’ll make that her job tomorrow afternoon. She can invite the colonel for coffee and pump him for information.”

“Assuming he doesn’t kill her tonight.”

“Nonsense. Any man clever enough to leave the hotel without being questioned by the police isn’t going to blow it by poisoning his dinner date. That would be far too obvious.”

The basement door, located in the tiny passage that connected the family room to the kitchen, swung open. Bernie emerged along with Daisy and Mochie. “Sophie, are you still doing Mars’s laundry?”

An odd question. “Of course not.”

“There were men’s clothes in the dryer. I folded them and set them on the table down there.”

“Did you do laundry?” I asked Mom.

“I’ve toured every bridal boutique in the greater Washington area. Who had time for laundry?”

I checked on the rice and the pork before venturing into the basement to see the mysterious clothes. I didn’t have to look through them to know to whom they belonged. The day of the stuffing competition Craig had worn the black polo shirt on the top of the pile. What was he trying to wash away?

Daisy’s heavy paws pounding behind me, I ran up the stairs to the kitchen. Craig couldn’t be involved in the murders. He hadn’t been in town when Otis was killed.

“Mom,” I panted, “when you picked up Craig at the airport, did he come from the passengers-only area?”

“Dad and I waited in the car so we wouldn’t have to park. Hannah prearranged to meet him in baggage claim.”

Dad walked in and sat in the other fireside chair. “What’s this?”

Mom frowned at me. “What are you saying, Sophie? That Craig didn’t fly in from out of town?”

“Is it possible?” I asked. “Could he be involved in the murders? I dismissed him as a possibility because his connection was too remote. He barely knows us. How could he arrange it?”

“He was also with Hannah the entire time at the stuffing contest,” said Mom.

“I saw him in the gent’s washroom,” said Dad. “He obviously escaped from her for a few minutes.”

“And he managed to leave the hotel to bring back the French fries,” I added.