Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

Nina peeled out of the car and we scuttled up the sidewalk. When we peered around the corner of the Wesleys’ house at the end of our block, Natasha startled us by standing only a few feet away.

“Oh, no!” Nina flung her back against the side wall of the Wesleys’ house. “It can’t be. This is the worst!”

I looked again. Natasha was speaking with a man dressed in Old Town chic for men, khakis and a navy blazer with prominent golden buttons. I was close enough to see a monogram etched on them.

“That’s Blue Henderson,” she hissed.

“Blue? What kind of name is Blue?”

“He’s one of the biggest real estate agents in Old Town. He sold us our house. Don’t you get it? She’s shopping for a house on our block.”

“Don’t screw up your face that way,” I whispered. “Besides, there’s nothing for sale.”

“If Blue Henderson is here, something’s for sale. This can’t be happening. Not on our block. There must be dozens of houses for sale in Alexandria. Why does she have to look here?”

Nina had to be wrong. Maybe Natasha and Blue bumped into one another and were just being friendly. I peeked around the corner again. Blue led Natasha up the front stairs of the Wesleys’ house and opened the front door for her.

“Have you been inside?” I asked Nina.

She looked miserable when she said, “Double lot, gorgeous old gardens, stunning moldings everywhere.”

In other words, Natasha would love it. And ruin the historic charm by renovating with modern Italian appliances.

Natasha and Mars living under my nose—not exactly what I had hoped for. I turned around and scanned the next block. Weren’t any houses for sale over there?

A flicker caught my eye and, with a jolt, I realized someone clad in burglar black lurked in the deep shadow of a basement entrance on the next block over.

I tried not to stare as I murmured to Nina, “Check the basement apartment next door. Could that be the guy who followed her yesterday?”

“It’s sure not Francie.” Nina fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone. “I’m calling Wolf. I think the cops blew me off last night when I reported her stalker.”

We strolled casually in the direction of Nina’s house and ducked through her service gate. While she left a message for Wolf, I searched the street for the man we’d seen. He hadn’t followed us. Except for the rustling of dried leaves in the breeze, nothing stirred.

“Why aren’t the cops available when we need them?” Nina snapped her phone shut. “Follow me, we’ll cut through the alley.” We jogged through Nina’s backyard and burst out her rear gate onto the alley.

His back to us, the stalker was leaning against the Wesleys’ rear fence. It was the perfect place to attack an unsuspecting Natasha when she walked to her car. She wouldn’t have noticed him until it was too late.

TWENTY

From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

Dear Sophie,

Other people who get married receive too many toasters or blenders. For some strange reason, I now have seven crystal vinegar decanters. Believe me, I don’t use that much vinegar. What else can they be used for?

—Vinegary in Vinton

Dear Vinegary,

I adore those little decanters or cruets because they’re so useful and elegant. You can use them to serve cream with coffee as well as for various liquors to add to warm drinks. Barbecue sauce in crystal adds a classy punch to your table. And if a family member has dietary restrictions, serving his special sauce in a crystal decanter makes it much more tasty.

—Sophie

The stalker turned, his hood shielding all but the smallest slice of his nose from view. He saw us and bolted.

We tore after him, raced through the alley, and came to a full stop where it met the sidewalk.

I didn’t see him anywhere. Not even a flash of black disappearing around a bend or into a garden.

Nina rasped, “There!” She pointed at him lurking behind a tree and he took off again.

We chased after him. He rounded the corner to the next street and we kept going.

Our running had become a fast stagger by the time we reached the corner and saw him step into a Jeep and speed away, his tires squealing. The Jeep looked suspiciously like the vehicle we’d followed through Old Town earlier.

“Did you see his face?” asked Nina between gasping breaths.

“No. Did you get the license plate?” I huffed.

“Me? I was busy watching Natasha so we wouldn’t lose her. You were the passenger, did you get it?”

“I was thinking about Bernie.”