Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

Never linger in your bathrobe. Bathe, do your hair and makeup, and dress first thing in the morning, before you do anything else! Even before that first cup of coffee. Hang a mirror in the kitchen and another in the foyer so you can do a quick check before answering the door. I keep lipstick and a brush in a drawer in my foyer. It only takes a second to freshen up before answering the door.

—Natasha

I passed the magnifying glass over the photo and concentrated. It showed my ingredients clustered on my workspace counter and . . . “Is that an arm?”

“Exactly!” crowed Hannah.

The arm appeared to originate in Wendy’s work space behind the curtain that divided our sections. I followed the sweater-clad arm in the other direction and discovered what I thought were tiny fingers on one of my spice jars.

“I’ll enlarge it on the computer. I think we might be able to identify the crumb who swapped the salt for sugar and messed with your thyme.” Hannah picked up Mochie and disappeared into the den.

As Bernie slid the last plate into the dishwasher, he said, “You’ve been very kind to put me up, Soph. But I suppose I should be shoving off soon. I’d like to stay through the contest tomorrow if that’s okay.”

“Are you going back to London?”

“To tell the truth, I thought I’d make some job inquiries around here.”

It was my chance to ask about Mrs. Pulchinski. “To stay closer to your girlfriend?”

He snapped his head up in surprise. “Something like that.”

Had I alarmed him? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about the girlfriend. But did he plan to brazenly move in with the widow so soon after her husband’s death?

“Sophie!” Hannah shouted.

Bernie and I rushed to the den. I didn’t really think anything untoward had happened to Hannah, but after all we’d been through lately, I wasn’t taking any chances.

Hannah was viewing an enlarged photograph on the computer screen. “I zeroed in so it’s a little bit fuzzy, but I think we have a major clue.”

The printer whirred as it churned out a page.

“Look here,” she said, pointing. “The guy is reaching with his left hand and you can see his wedding ring with an etched circular design. Do you recognize the ring?”

I didn’t. “Thanks for trying, Hannah.”

“Don’t give up yet. At least we know it’s a man. Those chunky fingers couldn’t possibly belong to a woman. Craig and I will make a point of checking wedding bands when the contest resumes tomorrow. I can pretend I’m looking at them because I don’t know what I want for our wedding bands.”

Her offer startled me. She was still focused on the wedding but this time, it wasn’t in a selfish me-me-me way.

“Thanks, Hannah.”

She tilted her head. “You do realize I’ve been overdoing the wedding bit to distract Mom and Dad. They’re so worried about you. When Craig showed me the newspaper article about the dead PI, we put it together with your lame explanation about how you found Mochie and realized you were in trouble. I’ve been trying to lighten the mood by bringing up the wedding, which is a much cheerier subject.”

I threw my arms around Hannah. “And I thought you couldn’t think of anything but your wedding.”

“Aw, c’mon. I know I’ve been a pill, but Craig and I have been discussing the murders, too. If there’s anything I can do to help you, I will. We can’t quite figure it out, though.”

Sprawling on the unmade sofa bed, Bernie said, “We should lay a trap for him tomorrow.”

“For the killer?” I asked.

“No, for the guy who monkeyed with the ingredients.”

Hannah spun toward him in the desk chair. “Great idea! Sophie can leave her work station and you and Craig and I can be on the lookout.”

Bernie ran with the idea. “You could print little pictures of the ring. Then June and your parents can help as well.”

Emotion welled inside me. I wanted to pull them both into a huge grateful hug but someone called my name.

Bernie sat up. “Is that Francie?”

The three of us returned to the kitchen. Francie sat by the fire like she had this morning, but now she hid her face behind her fingers.

Hannah knelt beside her and asked, “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

I wet a kitchen towel, wrung it out, and offered it to Francie.

She pressed it against her forehead. “I’m never like this, I just can’t believe he’s dead.” Tears squeezed out of her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I only came to pick up my coat.”

“Nonsense. You stay with us for a while.” Hannah stroked Francie’s arm. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Was it my imagination or did I like my sister a lot better when Craig wasn’t around?