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

Could Natasha really have bashed Simon over the head with the turkey trophy? She’d certainly had the opportunity, but I couldn’t think of a reason. Did she imagine she was protecting Mars? That didn’t make sense. But if she didn’t kill Simon, why would she bury the trophy in her yard?

“I’m glad he had to go. You should have seen the difference in everyone once he left.”

I whipped around to find Humphrey holding the gravy boat. “Who? Wolf?”

“The second he was gone we all relaxed and started chatting. I volunteered to bring more gravy—just to get a moment alone with you.” In the kitchen, I took the gravy boat from Humphrey and refilled it, wondering the whole time what kind of white lie I could concoct to diminish his interest. He stood so close to me that I could feel his breath on my neck.

“I could hardly believe my good fortune when I saw you yesterday. You look just the way you did in high school. Natasha was popular but she always looked straight through me, like I wasn’t there. Nothing has changed, you know. She barely spoke to me today. You always smiled when we passed in the hall. And once you gave me your seat at lunch.”

High school? We were in our mid-forties. Humphrey was stuck in a serious time warp. I handed him the gravy boat and lied. “You misunderstood Natasha. You know how it is, the prettiest girl never has a date. She’s terribly shy.”

“Really? I never would have guessed it. I’ll have to make it up to her. Maybe at the stuffing contest. They will resume it, won’t they?”

I had no idea, but if Humphrey was going to chase Natasha, I hoped they would hold the competition. I grinned at the thought of it.

Humphrey had just passed through the doorway. I grabbed the beige wool of his sweater. “Wait a minute. Where did you see me yesterday?”

“At the Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown.”

I released his sleeve. He winked at me and walked to the dining room. I could hear my father asking Humphrey for gravy. In a fog, I crossed the foyer to the arched opening of the dining room and observed him. How long had he been watching me? Could Humphrey be the Peeping Tom? Would he have hired a private investigator to track me down?

“Sit and eat, Sophie.” Mom waved me in. “Everything is delicious.”

“And no one else has keeled over yet,” added Hannah.

Craig snickered but he didn’t hesitate to stuff his mouth with sweet potatoes.

I perched on my chair and sipped ice water. Halfway down the table, Humphrey ate daintily. Could someone so wan and meek be a killer?

“Humphrey,” I said in as casual a tone as I could muster, “did you know Simon personally?”

“Good heavens, no. I don’t meet celebrities until they’re about to meet their Maker.” Everyone else found his joke much funnier than I did. I felt tension leave my shoulders, though. He had no motive. I sat back, relaxed, and realized my remaining guests were enjoying themselves. Side dishes cluttered the table and conversation flowed. I helped myself to turkey and too many cranberries, one of my Thanksgiving favorites.

The colonel buttered a bread knot. “Don’t worry about Mars, dear. That reaction he had is nothing compared to the trouble he’s in over Simon’s murder. Bad luck that Mars was so public about his disdain for Simon after that reporter went through the congressman’s trash.”

Craig stopped eating. “Mars Winston! No wonder that name sounded so familiar. I remember that. He accused Simon of promoting his personal political agenda through his media outlets. That was a huge scandal.”

Dad helped himself to more stuffing. “Mars is too intelligent to kill someone after a public falling-out.”

“Natasha isn’t.” The dry comment came from Francie.

The colonel sipped his wine. “I’m most fascinated by this murder of a private investigator. The police have reason to think there’s a connection. Wouldn’t surprise me. Simon was known for his ruthless business tactics.”

“This is so exciting. It’s just like one of those whodunit dinner games.” Hannah gasped. “Could we do something like that at the wedding?”

I couldn’t help myself, it was too obvious and I had to say it. “You want someone to be murdered at your wedding? What a lovely memory.”

“Not for real. You know, a mock murder.”

Had Hannah always been this crazed? Was there a disease called Wedding Euphoria that prevented brides from seeing anything else?

Fortunately, Mom changed the subject to MacArthur and we made it all the way through dessert without another mention of murder.

After dinner everyone pitched in to clear the table. If my mother hadn’t been present, I’d have left the mess in the kitchen and joined my guests in the living room. But one of Mom’s cardinal rules was that the cook didn’t rest until the kitchen was spotless. She would bug me unmercifully if she thought there were still dirty dishes in the sink.

Mom must have worked some motherly guilt on Hannah, who flounced into the kitchen. “I’ll load the dishwasher, but I’m not scrubbing anything. It would ruin my manicure.”

Heaven forbid that should happen. While Hannah started cleaning up, I called Natasha’s cell phone number. No answer. I tried Vicki’s number next. Also no answer. I was dialing Andrew’s number when Humphrey strolled into the kitchen.

He smiled as though all was right with his world. “I’m supposed to ask you to put on some decaf coffee. Francie and the colonel would like brandies, your father would prefer a port wine, and Craig wants whatever Hannah is having.”

I nodded at him. “As soon as I get through to someone about Mars. None of them are answering their cell phones. I hope that’s not a bad sign.”

“They’ve probably been told to turn off their phones. They interfere with hospital equipment.”

I hung up. “How do you know that?”

He flipped a milky white hand open, palm up, like he was surprised by my question. “I pick up bodies from hospitals every day.”

I sank into a fireside chair. His words reminded me that Mars might be victim number three.

Humphrey fell to his knees like he was proposing. “You’re still in love with Mars.”

I wasn’t, of course, but I was more than willing to let him think so. “Humphrey,” I said . . .

Hannah chose that exact moment to burst out laughing. “Why does everyone think that? She’s so over Mars. Do you think she’d have invited Natasha and Mars to dinner if she was still in love with him?”

Thank you, Hannah. I shot her an exasperated look.

Her eyes widened. “That’s why you’re so familiar. You’re that kid who used to ride his bike back and forth in front of our house after school. Gosh, I didn’t recognize you at first, but I felt like I knew you from somewhere.”

Humphrey appeared flattered. “Let me give you a hand with those.” He pulled on dishwashing gloves and began to scrub. “To be honest, I never thought anyone noticed me. I just confessed my childhood crush on your sister. Imagine my surprise to learn she feels the same way.”

Why did he keep saying that? Surely I hadn’t given him the wrong impression. I had to let him down nicely, but how?

Biting her upper lip to keep from laughing, Hannah turned slowly to look at me. “Imagine that!”

I rose. “I’m going to get the wine.” Maybe if I left them alone, Humphrey would fall in love with Hannah instead.

The den, where Bernie had set up camp, had two entrances—one to the living room and one to the sunroom. I pushed open the door from the sunroom and the dogs forged ahead of me, trailed by little Mochie.

Bernie had left his clothes scattered about. His suitcase lay open on the floor next to an enormous duffle bag that had seen better days.