Krista Davis - Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The

I wondered if she had any idea that she was talking to the prime suspect in those murders.

I put my arm around her shoulders. “A big, strong police detective happens to be eating with us. How about you come in and join us?”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

If she only knew the half of it. I wouldn’t even notice one more person.

I steered her inside. “We’re just sitting down to soup.”

“I hope it’s not that crummy broth Natasha’s been spouting about on TV.”

Everyone filtered back to the table and made room for Francie next to Wolf. I couldn’t help noticing that Natasha had switched places with Mars so she wouldn’t have to sit opposite June. Soup bowls, wineglasses, and spoons passed between guests as everyone chose new seats. So much for the place cards Natasha had crafted from leaves.

While they rearranged everything, I hurried to the kitchen and scraped the pots to make Francie a bowl of soup. I placed it in front of her and urged the others to eat before the soup was completely cold.

Within minutes I realized what was going on with Francie. She only had eyes for the colonel. And she wore a fussy blouse with a bow at the neck and a tapestry vest over top of it. She’d dressed for dinner. But she had to compete with my mom and June, who had engaged the colonel in an animated discussion about his charity work in Africa. I’d felt sorry for him, and then it turned out the man was a magnet for women over sixty-five.

My soup mixture went over big, which was a huge relief. When everyone was finished, Vicki and Hannah cleared the soup dishes and carried in creamy buttered mashed potatoes, green beans with crunchy almond slivers and jewel-like bits of roasted red pepper, crusty bacon-herb stuffing, cranberries spiked with a hint of Grand Marnier, and the gooey marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes Mom made specially for Craig. And last I brought in the turkey, which, in spite of Mom’s surreptitious basting, was roasted to a crispy golden brown.

For the first time, I felt awkward and nostalgic about Mars’s presence. In the past, Mars carved the turkey. I paused and glanced at him, wondering what to do.

He seemed thoroughly uncomfortable, which wasn’t like him at all. Unflappable Mars took everything in stride. But he had unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and was using his napkin to dab his forehead. I stole a glance at Natasha, who seemed oblivious to Mars’s discomfort, nattering on about a program she did on mushrooms.

Dad would have to carve the turkey this year. I hoped Mars wouldn’t mind.

I flashed him a reassuring smile. But the color had drained from his face and he appeared dazed. He wasn’t upset about being here for Thanksgiving. Something was seriously wrong.

“Mars?” I said.

Before I could set the turkey on the sideboard, Mars rose slightly from his chair. With sweat beading on his forehead, he coughed once and then collapsed.

ELEVEN

From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

Dear Sophie,

I love crispy turkey skin. It always looks wonderful when it comes out of the oven but somehow when my wife serves it, the skin is limp and unappealing.

—Crispless in Crimora

Dear Crispless,

I’d bet your wife covers the turkey with aluminum foil to keep it warm while you eat your soup. Covering the hot bird causes moisture to collect and the skin to lose its crispness. Just leave the bird uncovered and it will be as crisp as can be.

—Sophie

Natasha kneeled to tend to Mars. “Sophie, how could you?”

Mom shrieked, “Craig, Humphrey, do something!”

Wolf skirted the table to help Mars. “Call nine-one-one. Looks like a food allergy to me.”

Mars didn’t have any allergies. But even I could see he was suffering from something more serious than ordinary food poisoning. I set the turkey on the table, ran for the phone, and called an ambulance.

When I returned, Mars moaned and curled into the fetal position. He hacked and appeared to have trouble swallowing.

Natasha stroked Mars’s head. “Please, Vicki, get Sophie to tell you what she gave him. Please?”

“You’re being absurd. I didn’t give him anything. If I had poisoned the soup, everyone would be sick.” I was horrified to see more than one scared face. I threw my hands up in a hopeless gesture. “I didn’t poison anything!”

The wail of the ambulance siren grew in strength. I gave up hope that I could be of assistance, flung open the front door, and ran into the street to flag them down.

The sight of another rescue squad raised goose bumps on my arms. Surely Mars wouldn’t die, too. How could this be happening?

They brought a stretcher into the dining room and radioed the hospital. Wolf’s presence made things easier. He knew the rescue crew and provided succinct answers to their questions.

When they asked Natasha if Mars had any allergies, she sheepishly turned to me. I shook my head. Within minutes they carried Mars out of the house and loaded him into the ambulance.

Natasha seized my arm and hissed into my ear, “I don’t know why you would want to hurt Mars but make no mistake. I’ll do anything to protect him.” Throwing me an angry glance, she rushed out to follow the ambulance in her car. Bernie offered to drive June and bring her back later. Vicki apologized for having to leave and ran after a visibly shaken Andrew, who yelled for her to hurry.

I gazed around the yard at my remaining guests. The colonel, lonely heart Francie, pale Humphrey, creepy Craig, suspicious Wolf, my parents, and my sister. I wanted to go to the hospital with the others, but knew I shouldn’t.

Dad slung an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “He’ll be all right. There’s nothing you can do to help Mars now.”

“We might as well get back inside and enjoy the turkey,” I said with feigned enthusiasm. When we returned to the dining room, a police technician surveyed the scene. In the commotion, I hadn’t noticed him arrive. Mom ushered everyone into the living room to wait.

Everyone except MacArthur and Daisy, who were whimpering at the table. Then I realized that Mochie had taken advantage of the chaos to jump up and help himself to turkey. Tiny as he was, he had chomped down on a wing and he pulled on it like a little tiger. I picked him up, along with the chewed-up wing, and called the dogs into the kitchen so they could share Mochie’s ill-gotten treat. Wolf followed the dogs.

“Did you call your buddy to test for poison?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “Be glad Mars had his reaction before we ate anything else.” Wolf tugged loose a crusty piece of stuffing stuck to a pan and munched on it. “At least he only had to test the appetizers and the soup. Unless . . . did Mars come in here and taste anything while you were cooking?”

I tried to remember. “I don’t think so.” Various people had floated in and out of the kitchen. But the only one I could remember for sure was Natasha because she had been driving me crazy. So much for her theory about the cops suspecting Mars. Even they wouldn’t think he’d poisoned himself.

Wolf picked at the stuffing pan again. “That’s presuming he was poisoned at all. Could have had a reaction to something. Even something he ate hours ago for breakfast. The results will probably put you in the clear—for this one anyway.”

I set Mochie on a chair and looked around. The cop, who had already investigated the kitchen, had been very neat. We’d stacked the empty soup bowls on the counter and they were now gone. Except for the smudge of a soup ring where bowls had been, I wouldn’t have known he’d been in the kitchen at all.

After giving Mochie and the dogs their treats, I preheated the ovens to warm up the side dishes. They’d been sitting on the table cooling off for over an hour. The rest of my guests would probably get food poisoning.