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

Dad’s blue Buick pulled away from the curb and Nina Reid Norwood, who lived across the street and one house over, jogged across to me.

On the day Mars and I moved in, before the movers managed to bring in one piece of furniture, our new neighbor, Nina, barged in carrying a wriggling black-and-tan hound puppy. Mars and I immediately adored the puppy with one freckle on her nose who happily followed us up and down the stairs. We adopted sweet Daisy the next day. Nina later confessed that adoption had been her goal but she wanted to check us out first.

Nina’s husband, a renowned forensic pathologist, traveled constantly, leaving her plenty of time to help homeless animals. The daughter of a professor of pathology, Nina met her husband at a backyard barbecue hosted by her parents. She claimed the serious young doctor was just the antidote for her first marriage to a man who never met a woman he didn’t like.

She must have been right. I’d never heard her utter one negative word about her current husband, although she had plenty to say about his mother.

On the sidewalk, Colonel Hampstead sang “Walkies, walkies!” and waved as he walked his bulldog, MacArthur. His ever present walking stick tapped along the brick walk.

I whispered to Nina, “Do you think he has anyplace to go for Thanksgiving?”

She gave me a sad puppy-dog look.

“Colonel!” I sprang after him. “Would you care to join us for Thanksgiving dinner?”

The grateful look in his eyes told me everything.

“You can bring MacArthur if you like.” I bent to pet him. “You like turkey, don’t you, fella?”

“MacArthur and I would be delighted to accept your kind invitation.”

Shivering, I told him I’d call about the time and raced back to the house.

In her North Carolina drawl, Nina said, “My mama would die of a conniption right here and now if she could see me standin’ on the neighbors’ lawn talking in my bathrobe.”

I had no doubt that she would. Nina had a voluptuous figure, and even in the November cold, she didn’t mind showing a little cleavage. Maybe Mom was right about married women and flannel. Nina’s quilted silk bathrobe was certainly more seductive than my jammies.

We dashed inside and Nina warmed her hands by the fire while I poured more coffee. I made a point of putting extra sugar in mine.

“So how’s it goin’?” she asked.

“They’re making me crazy already.”

“They’re supposed to. That way you don’t miss them so much when they leave.”

“I just wish the stuffing contest wasn’t the day before Thanksgiving. It’s putting a big crimp in my preparations for the grand feast.”

Nina accepted a cup of coffee from me. “My mother-in-law has informed me that she expects place cards à la Natasha. Now, assuming I had the time, which I don’t, or the inclination, which I don’t, why on earth would I make place cards out of moldy old moss and dirty leaves?” She straightened Aunt Faye’s picture. “At least you don’t have to put up with your in-laws anymore.” Still standing, Nina asked, “When is Daisy coming back?”

A peculiar question. Neither Mars nor I could stand giving her up, so we shared custody. “After Thanksgiving.”

Nina stared into her coffee. “Last night while you and your family were out at the charity dinner, Francie called the police about a Peeping Tom.”

“What?” Francie, the elderly woman next door, was prone to unusual behavior.

“I’m afraid so. They found some evidence of an intruder behind her house and she swears she saw him in your yard, too.”

I hadn’t noticed anything disturbed. Then again, I hadn’t looked. “I’m sure it was a fluke. He probably won’t be back.”

“I hope not. I’d just feel better if Daisy were around when your family leaves.”

She turned as though she was going to sit. Instead she craned her neck and walked around the table to the bench in the bay window. “I swear I just saw someone sneaking around the colonel’s house.”

TWO

From “Ask Natasha” :

Dear Natasha,

I have no idea how to decorate my home for Thanksgiving. Pumpkins and gourds seem tired. Any suggestions?

—Lost in Louisa

Dear Lost,

Create a nut garland to add that special touch.

Using an electric drill, make holes in assorted nuts. You may need a vise to hold the nuts. String them on rough twine to make your own harvest garland. Mix the nuts for a variety of textures and colors.

—Natasha

I joined Nina at the window. “I don’t see anything.”

“He disappeared behind the colonel’s house.” Nina downed the rest of her coffee. “I’m outta here. I’ve got enough problems of my own with my mother-in-law arriving tonight. My house will never be clean enough for that woman. I have to go by the shelter, too. We’re fostering a golden retriever until they can place it.”

“And you want to be sure that person you saw isn’t lurking behind your house now?”

She laughed. “You know me too well.”

I tamped down the fire while she let herself out. She might have tried to laugh it off, but I could tell she was worried about the man she’d seen.

That prompted me to have a look at my own backyard from the glass-enclosed sunroom on the back of the house. Sure enough, a few flowerpots lay on their sides as though they’d been knocked over. I consoled myself with the notion that the police knew about it and the guy probably wouldn’t return.

After a quick shower, I pulled on a long-sleeved amber sweater. Checking to see if my roots needed a blonde boost yet, I popped hot rollers in my hair. Jeans seemed like a good idea for my grocery run. Except I couldn’t find a pair of jeans that I could button at the waist. I hated to acknowledge that Mom was right, but I was developing curves where I shouldn’t have any. I caved to comfort and put on khaki trousers with elastic around the back.

The car Mars called Nike on Wheels was still packed with votive candleholders and tablecloths from a charity dinner the night before. I never knew what kind of cakes, plants, flower arrangements, and odd decorations I might have to cart around in a pinch, so I’d insisted on a hybrid SUV. Mars had hated it. At least the car was one thing we didn’t squabble over.

Too lazy to unload it, I shoved all the supplies together to make room for groceries.

The drive to my favorite natural food grocery store didn’t take long, but the parking lot was jammed and I had to park around the side of the store. When I stepped out, a short, stocky man approached with a banana box in his hands. I braced myself and prepared to say no to whatever he was selling.

“Could I interest you in a kitten, ma’am?”

I didn’t look. I didn’t dare see it. “No, thanks.”

“He’s awful cute. Purebred ocicat.”

“Aussie-what?” No. Say no, Sophie. Walk away now.

“Ocicat. My wife breeds ’em, and this little guy got stripes instead of spots so nobody wants to buy him.” He held up an adorable kitten with huge green eyes.

Say no, Sophie, I chanted to myself. Think of Daisy. She had a sweet disposition, but I had no idea how she’d react to a kitten. The wind kicked up again and assorted bits of paper trash swirled past. I smiled at the man, said, “Good luck,” and ran for the store entrance to extract myself while I could.

I grabbed a cart and headed straight for the turkeys. I selected a twenty-five-pounder, far larger than we needed, but I rationalized that everyone loves turkey sandwiches. Cranberries, organic gold Yukon potatoes, fresh green beans, almonds, butter, but no matter where I shopped in the store, I couldn’t get the bright eyes of the poor little kitten out of my mind. That man was willing to give it away to anyone. What would happen to it? I placed canned pumpkin in my cart for the soup my mother thought was so important and decided that if the man was still there when I left, I would take the kitten to Nina. At the very least, she’d make sure it got a decent home.