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

“You knew Otis?” I asked.

“Sure. All the regulars knew Otis.” The bartender wiped a glass.

“Who . . . who do you think killed him?”

The Brit with his back to me rotated to eye me. “You a cop?”

A cop would be inept to ask such a blatant question. “No, a friend of Bernie’s.”

“A friend of Bernie’s who knew Otis.” He scratched a sideburn that would have been at home on Elvis Presley. “You know Otis well?”

The woman with the dipping neckline giggled. “She’s not his type.”

“Only in passing,” I said.

The Brit spewed beer from his nose. He wiped his face with his sleeve. “You must be a friend of Bernie’s, that’s what Bernie said about Simon Greer.”

I felt like a cold wave hit me. “What exactly did he say about Simon?”

“That he hadn’t really met him, which is bullocks.”

TWENTY-FOUR

From “Ask Natasha” :

Dear Natasha,

When my husband’s friends visit for an afternoon of football viewing, our home theater looks like a junkyard in minutes. It makes me want to pull out my hair. How can I get these guys to clean up their act?

—Tech Fan in Toms Brook

Dear Tech Fan,

Banish beer cans. Buy a set of pilsner glasses and pour the first round yourself. Don’t allow bags and plastic containers to migrate out of the kitchen. Serve the chips in silver bowls and dips in hollowed-out artichokes or boules. If you surprise them with elegant hors d’oeuvres served on proper platters, they’ll have fun and you’ll be the hostess they remember.

—Natasha

I wasn’t sure what bullocks meant but I gathered the British guy didn’t buy Bernie’s denial of knowing Simon. “Why is that bullocks?”

“It’s a well-known fact that Bernie’s stepfather killed himself.”

I was stunned. Bernie had never mentioned anything of the sort. “You must know Bernie very well.”

“Naw. Bernie’s stepfather was a highly respected gentleman. The circumstances of his death were quite well known in certain circles.” He took another swig of beer.

“What circumstances?”

“He was brought to the brink by a competitor. A man of questionable ethics who used devious business practices to spin Bernie’s stepfather into the ground. He lost everything. His country manor, the land that had been in his family for generations. He lost it all and took his own life because of a young entrepreneur named Simon bloody Greer.”

I finally understood the full impact of his sad tale. Bernie blamed Simon for the death of his stepfather. “Are you suggesting Bernie killed Simon to punish him?”

“That’s a bit of a leap. But I don’t believe him when he says he didn’t know Simon.”

At that moment Humphrey grabbed my upper arm so hard his thin fingers felt like talons. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?” I was still trying to process the new information about Bernie. Part of me felt terrible about the tragedy of his stepfather’s death, but at the same time, I now knew that Bernie had a motive. I had been so sure he wasn’t involved.

I thanked the Brit and stumbled toward the table where Nina was speaking animatedly with a young man sporting a mohawk. He strode away before I sat down.

Humphrey didn’t bother to take a seat. “I think we should go. That last guy was, well, I wouldn’t want to see him again until he needs my services.”

“No way,” said Nina. “Otis’s death started the sequence of events. If anyone here knows anything about his clients or his business, we need to hear it. That guy you’re afraid of is sending over someone who knows all about Otis.”

Humphrey reluctantly sat next to me. “After this one, we’re going home.”

I braced myself for an unsavory character. But no amount of bracing could have prepared me for the man who sauntered toward us. Other patrons called out greetings and jesting barbs to him. The man with the moppish hair and lopsided grin turned the empty chair around and said, “Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, what do you think you’re doing?”

My pulse pounded in my head. How could Bernie be the local expert on Otis? How could he know all these people? No wonder Wolf questioned him. My spirits plummeted.

Surely Mars’s best friend hadn’t tried to poison him. Did Mars suspect Bernie of killing Simon? He must have known about the stepfather. Would Mars have told me about his suspicions? Maybe that was the real reason Mars had taken Bernie’s car. Could the story about Natasha and the soup kitchen have been a diversion? Had Mars borrowed the car hoping it would contain clues?

“Bernie,” I hissed, “what are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are, I imagine. Gathering information about Otis.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted so very much to think his motives were pure and that he meant to help us find the killer. But I couldn’t overlook the fact that we’d seen him brunching with the widow Pulchinski. I searched his face, desperately wishing I could read his intentions and know if they were benevolent or evil.

Nina cut to the chase. “What have you found out?”

Bernie turned and raised his hand to signal a man at the bar. Medium height, bald with bushy eyebrows, and brawny enough that I would want him on my side in a fight. He sauntered over, a giant mug of beer in his hand.

“Ambrose,” said Bernie, “tell my friends what Otis told you.”

Ambrose sat down. He took a long swig of beer and rested the mug on the table, never letting go of the handle. “Wish one?”

I couldn’t tell how drunk he was. He hadn’t staggered to the table from the bar, but if he was slurring his words that badly, I wondered if we’d hear an accurate representation.

“All of them.”

That simple sentence went a long way in redeeming Bernie. He might rely on a drunk for information, but he didn’t intend to hide anything from us.

Or had he paid the drunk to lie?

“I told that idiot Kenner that Otis was sleeping with Wolf’s wife.”

“The one who’s missing?” I asked.

Clearly pleased with himself, Ambrose said, “Yeah, boy! And I told Wolf that some political type wanted his ex-wife tailed.”

“Are either of those true?” asked Humphrey.

“Not the one about Wolf’s wife.”

Bernie prodded Ambrose. “Now tell them what Otis really said to you.”

“He said he knew that being a PI would pay off someday and that his ship would come in soon. Bought all the boys a round of drinks that night.”

I sat back in disgust. That meant nothing.

“And?” Bernie reached over and helped himself to a slug of my beer.

“And that the bigger and richer the client, the more they’ll pay to keep things quiet.”

I folded my arms across my chest and thanked my lucky stars I hadn’t paid for these brilliant insights. So far, the only thing I’d learned was another reason for Wolf to doubt my innocence. He probably thought Mars was the political type having his ex-wife followed and that I had killed Otis to prevent him from revealing a dark secret he’d uncovered.

I’m not much of a poker player. Either my face showed how unimpressed I was or Bernie could read my thoughts.

“Tell them about the cat,” he said.

Ambrose snickered. “Oh, yeah. His wife had this kitten she couldn’t get rid of and it was driving her nuts. She’d been bugging him to take it to the pound, but ol’ Otis had a soft spot for the little guy. Said he’d found a lady who could give it a good home but she didn’t know it yet.”

“He targeted me? He wanted me to have Mochie? Why? He didn’t know me.”

Bernie threw me a smug look.

Ambrose stared into his empty beer mug like he was searching for one last drop. “Ole Otis knew a lot about people who didn’t know him. He was good at his game. He was only sorry it had taken him so long to figure out how to make big money at it.”