Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

“Sophie, you’re talking nonsense. Hannah has been so upset with you. You’re not very good at hiding your dislike of him. He’s going to be family; you might as well accept him.” Mom shot me a displeased look.

My eyes met Dad’s but before I could say anything, Hannah and Craig joined us.

Mom deftly changed the subject to Daisy and Mochie and how well they’d adapted to each other.

While Dad opened a bottle of white wine, I set the table in the kitchen. Hannah would be happy to see the French country tablecloth and napkins she’d given me for my birthday. They coordinated perfectly with the amber and red jars of votive candles I placed in the middle of the table.

The others chatted amiably while I finished cooking and kept a wary eye on Craig. A doctor would know how to remove blood from his clothes and would certainly be smart enough to wash them right away.

I tossed crisp salad with the simple vinaigrette and divided it among salad plates. On top of the greens I arranged a few red onion rings in a circle. I sliced a juicy blood orange into thin wheels and centered one on each plate over the onions. Even Natasha would have admired the colorful combination.

I cut the hot tenderloins into rounds half an inch thick and placed them, overlapping one another, on the middle of an oval serving platter. A bouquet of onion and sage floated from the rice when I removed the lid. I fluffed the savory rice around the edge of the platter and spooned cherry sauce over the meat. The remaining sauce went into a bowl, to which I added a ladle.

The wind howled outside but the fire crackled, the kitchen smelled like rosemary, and the candles provided a soft glow for our cozy winter dinner. We devoured the remaining pecan pies and decadently fudgy brownies for dessert and used the last of the whipped cream to top steaming Kahlúa-laced coffee.

When we lingered at the table sipping our rich decaf coffee, Bernie vanished to the foyer and returned bundled in a loden green overcoat. “I’m going out for a bit. Have you got a spare key, Sophie? I don’t want to wake anyone when I come back.”

I handed him the key that used to belong to Mars. “Are you going to look for June?”

“I thought it might be a good idea.”

He let himself out through the front door. From the kitchen window over the sink, I watched him saunter away and saw Nina walking a dog across the street. Pulling on a down jacket, I whistled for Daisy. Her leash securely attached, we trotted over to Nina.

I slowed as we approached since I didn’t want to alarm the other dog. Not that I needed to worry. The golden retriever wagged his tail and pulled at his leash, eager to greet Daisy.

Nina laughed when he dragged her toward us. “Daisy, meet Duke.”

Daisy held her head high, in reserved hound fashion, when Duke snuffled her jowls, but the golden’s enthusiasm soon won Daisy over and her tail wagged, too.

“I’m fostering him because no one has adopted him yet. Must be because he’s a mature dog and not a puppy. I can’t bear to think what could happen to him if he doesn’t find a home,” said Nina. “He has lovely manners. Know anyone who would adore him and have the time to give him the attention he deserves?”

I promised to think about it.

We strolled under the streetlights, the night bitter enough to discourage most casual walkers. Anyone out tonight had a good reason for it.

“Duke and I just walked Francie home. She’s a gas. I think my monster-in-law was horrified by her,” said Nina with glee.

“Did she calm down about the colonel?”

“Not at all. That man is going to pay for not being interested in her.”

I told Nina about the colonel’s granddaughter. “You don’t think . . . Francie couldn’t be the killer.”

Nina’s laugh echoed down the empty street. “Are we talking about the same wiry little woman who lives next door to you? She couldn’t throw a man in a Dumpster.”

“She could if she had help.”

“You mean that story about following the colonel might be a bunch of baloney that she made up for our benefit?”

“What if they operated as a team and that’s why she went ballistic over his dinner date with June?”

“She loves him so much that she agreed to help him kill Simon to avenge his granddaughter? Why would he poison Mars? Or kill Otis?” Nina sounded doubtful.

No matter whom I considered, it always came back to the same thing. Lots of people held grudges against Simon, but when Otis and Mars were factored in, nothing made sense.

Nina gripped my sleeve. “Quick!” She opened the gate to the colonel’s service alley.

The dogs ran in, eager to sniff MacArthur’s territory. Nina and I followed.

She closed the gate behind us and we peered over the top.

A figure in a dark coat ambled up our street.

“Not Francie again,” I groaned.

“I don’t think so. Not this time.”

Apparently my unbridled suspiciousness was infectious. Even Nina had begun to overreact.