Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

“Nina and I have seen him following her twice. At least we think it’s the same guy. We’ve never gotten a good look at his face. We warned her about him, but she acts like we’re making it up.”

Mars rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his face. “That explains a lot. She can’t sleep and she has no appetite. No wonder. Poor kid probably thinks she’ll be the next victim.”

“She denies that she’s being followed. I’m very afraid for her,” I said.

June gently stroked Mochie on her lap. “Mars, son, I have thought and thought about the people who attended Thanksgiving dinner and no matter how I envision things, I always come back to Natasha—she’s the one who poisoned you.”

Mars groaned. “Mom, that makes no sense. Why would she do that?”

“Maybe she figured out that it’s you who leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor,” I said.

Mom tried to hide her smirk and Mars attempted to glare at me but couldn’t help laughing.

Something else had been bothering me and I decided this was a good time to bring it up. “About the fire . . . could Natasha have set her house on fire to cover up some kind of evidence?”

“I don’t think Natasha could ever bring herself to burn the home she worked on so hard.” Mars shook his head. “Someone else might have set the fire, though I don’t know why.”

“It wasn’t me!” June protested with such vehemence that Mochie sprang from her lap in alarm.

“Honey, I think it’s time you told Wolf all this.” Mom poured boiling water over a tea strainer on top of a Royal Worcester teapot.

“Not without your lawyer present,” insisted Dad.

“You’re lawyering up?” Mom asked, fear in her tone.

“Face it, Mom. I found both of the corpses. Had their blood on my clothes. And Mars was poisoned in my house. I’m right up there in contention for killer of the year with Natasha.”

“I guess the fire and moving to the hotel and then being poisoned distracted me,” said Mars. “We have to get to the bottom of this. We can’t take chances on one of us being the next victim. And the police won’t leave any of us alone until they have the killer.”

I recognized Mars’s expression. He wore the same determined look when his candidates’ popularity numbers tanked.

“Natasha and I are moving in with Andrew and Vicki today. Just until we find a place to live. Our hotel bill is growing astronomically. The move won’t be a big deal since almost everything we own has to be laundered and cleaned.” Mars’s eyes met mine. “As soon as we move, I promise I will make the murder priority number one.”

Mom set the remaining turkey in front of me. “Slice while you talk.”

Over an early lunch of Thanksgiving leftovers, we discussed various suspects and theories, none of which satisfied any of us.

When we finished, Mars and June left in a hurry to do some shopping before June’s sleuthing date with the colonel.

Mom loaded the dishwasher and I whipped up a cranberry spice Bundt cake to serve when the colonel arrived.

While it baked, I forced myself into the living room to be sure it wasn’t a wreck. If there was one domestic chore I hated, it was cleaning. I’d hired a service to clean before my parents arrived, but dust had begun to settle on tabletops again, and my most hated job, washing the kitchen floor, awaited.

I plumped up pillows and dusted the tabletops in the living room. Fortunately, I didn’t use the living room often and it stayed relatively serviceable.

The fireplace mantel and window moldings shone a glossy white when I turned on a couple of table lamps. A designer had suggested to Mars that yellow wasn’t just a power color in neck ties, so Mars insisted on buttery yellow walls. We argued for days over upholstery for the sofa and chairs. Mars won with a fabric the color of summer squash for the sofa. Blood orange pillows that coordinated with the yellow plaid I’d insisted on for the chairs interrupted the shades of yellow.

I should have vacuumed or run a dry mop around the hardwood floor but time didn’t permit. The dining room needed tidying, too. It connected to the living room through a twelve-foot-wide opening. Faye knew what she was doing when she built the addition. The living room and the dining room felt larger as a result of the opening between them and provided terrific flow for parties.

I returned to the kitchen, removed the cake from the oven, and placed it on a rack to cool while I walked Daisy. On our return, Mom flitted around the kitchen, as nervous as if the colonel were her suitor. She’d even turned the cake out of the pan for me while I was out.