Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

“How we’ve known each other since grade school and we had secret crushes and now, fate has intervened and thrown us together again and we’re dating.”

Fate, thy name is “mother.” No wonder Wolf didn’t believe me. A bunch of people I’d never met told him Humphrey and I were in a romantic relationship.

Humphrey slipped his car keys into his pocket and removed his coat. With dismay, I realized that he intended to stay awhile. Nina would go home and I would have to deal with Humphrey on my own. Why couldn’t I be stuck with Wolf? On the other hand, Humphrey was better than nothing. I didn’t relish the thought of being home alone at the moment. I’d interpret every squeak and thump as an intruder.

“Sophie,” said Humphrey, “how well do you know this Bernie fellow?”

“He’s an old friend.”

“I’ve been doing a little checking up on him. Frankly, I’m not sure he’s the sort of person you should invite to sleep over.”

Sleep over? Did Humphrey think I was intimately involved with Bernie? I opened my mouth to deny any such thing, “It’s not li . . .” and realized that Bernie might be just the ticket to discourage Humphrey. “He’s stayed over many times.”

“He’s a bit unsavory, don’t you think?”

Nina listened with an amused expression.

“Are you jealous?” I asked.

“Good heavens, no. I’m simply concerned about your welfare. Did you know that he spends his evenings at the Stag’s Inn?”

Nina’s forehead crinkled. “Where have I heard that recently?”

“Mrs. Pulchinski’s desk. She had a coaster from the Stag’s Inn.”

A spark lit her eyes. “Quick, go change,” said Nina, picking up the phone. “I’ll do anything to get out of the house.”

“What . . . you mean go down there?” asked Humphrey. “I hardly think that’s advisable. It looks like a frightful establishment.” I dashed upstairs to change clothes while listening to Humphrey trying to dissuade Nina.

Remembering Mom’s advice, I pulled on a fluffy cucumber-green sweater with a deep V-neck in case we ran into Wolf. Humphrey wouldn’t make a fly jealous but, all the same, it wouldn’t hurt to look kissable. After Christmas, I would have to shed those extra pounds, but for now, trousers with an elastic waist would have to do. I ran a brush through my hair, added a smidge of lipstick, and I was ready.

Bundled against the chilly air, we walked along the ancient sidewalks past enticing restaurants and upscale bars. I sensed Humphrey’s hesitation when we left King Street. The side street, though less busy and somewhat dimmer, was evocative of colonial times and quite charming. Four blocks down, we turned into an old alleyway.

Humphrey balked at the dark alley. Without bright street lights, it seemed dingy. I’d been by in the daylight, though, and it wasn’t as shabby as it appeared when lit only by the few lamps on the back doors of the buildings. It added to the allure of the the Stag’s Inn that the only entrance was through an alley.

“Couldn’t we go to one of the nicer, clean places we passed earlier?” asked Humphrey.

“We could.” I took his elbow and propelled him along the cobbled passageway. “But we wouldn’t get the kind of information I want. You’re the one who’s worried about Bernie. Don’t you want to find out what he does down here?”

He stopped again in front of the pub.

A weathered door of wormy chestnut, braced by substantial forged-iron hinges, reminded me of medieval England. Black forged iron that matched the hinges formed the hook holding a lamp to the left of the door. Due to the thick bubbled glass, it provided little illumination. Growing impatient with Humphrey, I dropped his arm and followed Nina inside. I suspected he’d hate waiting in the alley more than entering the inn with us.

I hadn’t expected the interior of the Stag’s Inn to be murkier than the alleyway. While many of the chic bars and pubs of Old Town were in historic buildings, the interiors used the patina of age in an elegant manner or had been modernized. The owners of the Stag’s Inn hadn’t attempted either.

A low ceiling, ostensibly supported by heavy beams, gave it a slightly medieval flavor. The place might have a certain charm in a better light. It reminded me of the days when cigarette smoke created a haze in bars and I wondered if they sought that old atmosphere or if their electric wiring wasn’t up to code and they didn’t dare plug in more lights.

Small tables lined the right wall and an enormous bar spanned the left wall for a considerable distance. The bartender and a good number of patrons turned to check us out when we entered. I felt as though we’d walked through some kind of time-warp portal that had transported us to a different land.

Even brave Nina whispered, “This better be worth it.”