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

I found the liquor and returned to the kitchen. Mom poured a small amount into a petite crystal decanter and added it to the tray. I carried it all into the living room and set the tray on the table. June and the colonel sat on the sofa side by side. June poured coffee and Mom looked on from the dining room. I gently took Mom’s arm and escorted her into the foyer.

“They’re so sweet together,” she said.

“You can’t just stand there and watch them.” Apparently spying was in my genes. “I never knew you and Dad were so snoopy.”

“Where is your dad?”

“Spying in the den.”

“That sneak! What a great idea.” Mom hustled down the hallway toward the sunroom.

I was certain she didn’t want to miss another word.

I tidied the kitchen, glad that I didn’t have to cook dinner. When Mom announced I would be hosting Thanksgiving, I ordered tickets to the Ford’s Theatre production of A Christmas Carol. I hadn’t planned on June and Bernie, of course. Bernie would have to entertain himself and I’d gladly give my ticket to June. The theatergoers would be eating out and, to be honest, I looked forward to a quiet evening to catch up on my column.

Even though I wanted to take the high road and wait until June reported to us, the den pulled me like an impossibly strong magnet. I wandered to the sunroom and poked my head into the den.

Mom nestled against Dad on the sofa, her feet on the coffee table beside his, his arm around her shoulders. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought they were watching a movie on TV.

I could hear June saying, “That Simon must have been a horrible man. He cheated my Andrew out of millions of dollars.”

“Ruthless. The man had no scruples whatsoever,” the colonel responded. “There’s one fellow who paved his own path to hell.”

“Did you know him?” I marveled at the innocence in June’s voice.

At that moment, Daisy galloped along the hallway. I rushed through the sunroom to the foyer to see what was going on.

Bernie was hanging his coat in the hall closet. “Where is everyone? This place is as quiet as a tomb.”

“June is entertaining the colonel in the living room.” I was too embarrassed to admit that my parents were spying in the den. Besides, I had some careful questions of my own to craft. I needed to find out what Bernie was doing with Mrs. Pulchinski. “Come in the kitchen and I’ll make you an Irish coffee.”

Bernie followed me. “Splendid. What have you been up to all day?”

It was the opening I needed. “Funny you should ask.”

A soft banging distracted me.

“What is that?” asked Bernie.

I traced the sound to a kitchen cabinet. The door bounced open ever so slightly and shut again. “There’s something in there.”

“Must be a rat. Have you got an iron skillet?” asked Bernie.

“It’s in there with the rat.”

Bernie scanned the kitchen for a weapon. “How about a broom?”

I fetched one that hung on the wall of the basement stairwell.

“You open it and I’ll be ready.” Bernie gripped the broom tightly and held it up over his shoulder.

I flipped the door open and jumped back.

With a complaining mew, as though he were asking what took us so long, Mochie stalked out.

Bernie and I broke into laughter. This was definitely the cat everyone brought back to Mrs. Pulchinski. I scooped Mochie up and danced through the kitchen holding him in the air. The banging of the door knocker interrupted our gay relief. Still holding Mochie, I pranced into the foyer and opened the front door.

Wolf stood on the stoop and regarded me with a serious look. Not even the sight of Mochie broke his stern demeanor. “I need to speak to a Bernard Frei, who I believe is currently residing here.”

TWENTY-ONE

From “Ask Natasha” :

Dear Natasha,

I’m having a party Thanksgiving weekend and want to decorate the staircase in my small foyer. What can I do besides cheesy swags and bows?

—Harried in Herndon

Dear Harried,

One of my favorite decorations is simple and quick. Collect twenty or so colorful leaves from your yard and place them between the pages of an old book for a few days so they’ll dry flat. Buy enough clear glass votives to place one on each step of your staircase. Using rough twine, tie one of the pressed leaves around each glass. Some will be too large and stand taller than the glass but that’s okay. If you don’t have time to press the leaves, you can vary this by substituting berries or interesting twigs. Don’t worry about hiding the rough knot or bow, that’s part of the charm. Place a candle in each glass and light. When your guests arrive, they’ll enter to a seasonal cascade of festive lights.

—Natasha

“Bernie?” Fear clutched at me. I wanted to imagine there was a logical explanation for his brunch with Mrs. Pulchinski, but Wolf’s demand dampened that hope.

Bernie emerged from the kitchen.

I invited Wolf in and the two men shook hands.

“We’ll speak in your sunroom, if you don’t mind.” Wolf headed in that direction with Bernie behind him. Mochie ran ahead of them. My poor parents were stuck and would hear the conversations on both sides of them.

I should bring Wolf and Bernie something to drink. It was the hospitable thing to do and it wouldn’t hurt if I happened to overhear something while I carried it in to them.

Irish coffees were out of the question. Bernie needed to be sober when he answered Wolf’s questions and Wolf was clearly on duty. Working fast, I put on more of the Viennese coffee. While it brewed, I sidled along the hallway to eavesdrop.

I could hear Bernie saying, “I don’t see what’s so unusual about it. I was invited for Thanksgiving, not the days before. One doesn’t want to be the guest that smells like stinking fish. Besides, I had some banking to do in the city and I didn’t know quite how far away Natasha’s grand country estate might be.”

“What kind of banking?”

“Changing pounds to dollars. And I had a rather complicated transaction for my mum. She needed funds from an account in England wired to her in Shanghai.”

I hurried back to the kitchen, poured two mugs of coffee, quickly added sugar, cream, napkins, and spoons to a tray and carried it into the sunroom.

When I walked in, Wolf said, “Exactly when did you arrive in Washington?”

Bernie took a mug of coffee from me. “Thanks, Soph. I flew in the day before the contest. That would have been . . . Tuesday morning.”

“How did you choose the hotel?” When I held out a mug to Wolf, he waved me away. I set his mug on the glass-topped wrought-iron side table next to him and left the tray on the oversized ottoman I used as a coffee table.

“When I talked to Mars on the phone, he mentioned the stuffing contest. I saw an article about it in the Miami Herald and thought it would be most expedient to stay in that hotel Tuesday night. Mars and Natasha would be there on Wednesday and I could follow them back to Natasha’s place in my rental car. Frankly, Detective, I don’t see why any of this matters.”

I assumed I wasn’t supposed to be present and feared Wolf would throw me out any minute, so I backed slowly to the door.

“Did you know Simon Greer?”

Bernie leaned back on the sofa and casually crossed a leg over his knee. “I never met the man.”

I lingered in the doorway, guilt banging at my conscience.

“Did you see him when he was dead?”

“That’s rather ghoulish, isn’t it?”

“Let me make this easy for you. Were you ever in the Washington Room?”

“I presume that’s the place Simon set up camp? No, I had no reason to hunt him down.”