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

We could pull together eggs and bacon and whip up apple-cinnamon French toast. Thank heaven the freezer and pantry were well stocked. Could Mom have mentioned brunch to Francie?

Wearing sweats, Dad ambled in and stopped short. “Didn’t realize that we’re having company. Pardon me while I change.”

Mom and June followed suit, but Francie didn’t mind. She tossed kindling in the fire, lit it, and made herself at home in a fireside chair, her nose buried in the paper. At least I didn’t have to worry about entertaining her.

I found a basket big enough for the muffins, lined it with a white lace-edged napkin, and placed the muffins inside. While Francie read, I peeled and sliced firm Granny Smith apples and melted butter in a large pan. The apples plopped into the melting butter with a sizzle. I added a liberal dose of brown sugar, sprinkled cinnamon over the top, and gave the entire mixture a few good turns to blend it all. With the burner on low, I put the lid on and left the apples to simmer while I set the dining-room table.

Mochie zoomed past me into the living room. Daisy followed cautiously, as if she expected Mochie to change direction any second. Instead he jumped onto the sofa, gazed around, and then flew back toward Daisy and me in the dining room. I spread my arms and blocked the table, hoping to discourage Mochie from leaping on top of it. But at the last moment he veered to the right and halted abruptly in front of the buffet.

His bottom raised, Mochie flattened his chest to the floor and struggled to reach something under the buffet. I decided a mouse would run from him so I let him entertain himself by trying to bat out what was probably a major dust bunny while I set square white plates on an apricot tablecloth.

Natasha’s pumpkin wreath had started to cave in on itself. I carried it into the kitchen and tossed it in the trash. I retrieved a large rustic basket made of twigs, filled it with hard ruby pomegranates and rosy pears, and carried it, along with a bag of assorted nuts in the shells, to the dining table. I placed the basket in the center, ripped the bag open, and scattered nuts around the basket, throwing a generous handful on top of the fruit.

Something rattled as it spun across the floor. Daisy pranced after it. Mochie squeezed out from under the buffet, his belly flat, his whiskers white with dust-bunny fuzz. He ran to his new toy, which Daisy sniffed cautiously. Mochie batted it across the room, where it spun before rolling to the outer wall, raising the excitement level of his game. I spoiled his fun by retrieving it for a closer look.

Made of some sort of brassy metal, the cylindrical object measured about two and a half inches long and less than an inch in diameter. Both ends were rounded. Whatever it was, it had not been made to stand on end. Highly polished stones decorated it in between swirls of tiny golden beads.

I detected a thin line near one end and gave it a twist. It opened easily to reveal a hollow compartment. A creepy feeling came over me. My dread grew when I realized that Mochie was staring at something behind me. I whipped around in time to see Craig watching me again. I closed my hand over the object so he wouldn’t see it and suppressed my initial instinct to ask him, not very nicely, why he liked to spy on me.

Choking back my annoyance, I asked, “Hungry?”

“Sure smells good. Can I help you with anything?”

I would have sworn his eyes focused on my clenched hand when he asked. Mostly I wanted to get rid of him so I could close the little vial and cram it in my pocket away from His Nosiness.

“Would you bring the basket of muffins from the kitchen?”

He didn’t comply immediately. I suspected he knew I’d found something and that I was hiding it. My blood pressure rose in the few seconds that passed with us in a standoff. I had the upper hand, though. No matter what he’d seen, he couldn’t exactly tackle me and wrestle it from my hand with everyone else in the house.

As I stared him down, it occurred to me that he rarely showed emotion. He acted sweet and endearing around Hannah, but he must be a great poker player because he never displayed anger or frustration or any negative feelings. No matter how much he wanted to fit in and be accepted by our family, it didn’t account for his amazing self-control. I didn’t trust him and I didn’t like him.

At long last he left, presumably to fetch the muffins. I turned my back in case he was trying to fool me, twisted the top onto the peculiar vial, wrapped it in a napkin, and stuck it in my pocket.

Although I still found an occasional item from the days when Faye had owned the house, it seemed unlikely that the vial could have lain on the floor all these years without being noticed. But what a perfect little poison container. It fit easily in my pocket. No one would have noticed it in the palm of a killer’s hand. Or was I leaping to conclusions?

When Craig returned, I had finished setting the table. I smiled nicely, thanked him for his help, and rushed back to the kitchen so I wouldn’t have to be alone with him. Mom had the French toast under control, so I opened two packages of preservative-free bacon and laid the slices on the griddle. The mouthwatering aroma of crispy bacon would surely rouse Bernie.

I struggled to act normal but I couldn’t help watching Craig. Had he intended to look for something in the dining room? Did the vial belong to him? Did he have a reason to poison Mars?

Ten minutes later, the entire household gathered for brunch in the dining room. But the phone rang before I could take my first bite. I chose not to answer. The machine could pick up and we would all enjoy a peaceful brunch.

The knock on the door a few minutes later was more difficult to ignore. When I opened it, Nina burst in. She hadn’t bothered to wear a coat over her dressing gown.

“You won’t believe this—my monster-in-law saw the colonel being loaded into a hearse last night.”

“Did we hear that right?” Dad asked from the dining room.

It was too late to hide it from June. Nina bustled into the dining room and I followed.

“I’m still in shock,” she said.

I watched June. Would she be able to deal with another blow?

“Good Lord! The man must have had a heart attack last night when his tart visited,” said Mom.

“Or someone killed him.”

“Sophie, why would you even think that?” Mom asked.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit much to be coincidental? We know he was at the stuffing challenge. He spent Thanksgiving Day with us. Whoever killed Otis and Simon must have killed him, too.”

Dad murmured, “I’d rather believe the tart did him in.”

June looked down at her fingers, folding and unfolding her napkin.

Francie lowered her forehead to a quivering hand. “This can’t be happening.”

“The hearse!” I said. “Before I went to bed last night I saw a hearse driving down the street. The tart must have found his body.”

Nina picked up a piece of bacon and chewed on it, “What tart?”

I set a place for Nina while Hannah explained about the tart’s arrival during the night.

“That old codger. Who’da thought it?” Nina helped herself to French toast and apples.

Francie slumped against the back of her chair. “No! It can’t be. It’s not possible.”

“What about MacArthur?” I asked Nina. What had the tart done with him last night when the colonel was taken to the morgue? Had he been left alone in the house? “Francie, do you know how to get into the colonel’s house?”

Francie pursed her lips as she gazed around the table, evidently debating how she should answer. “I’ll go with you.”

We pulled on coats and walked somberly across the street.

The sun shone, the cold air felt clean and crisp, and it was impossible to imagine that the colonel wasn’t with us anymore. We opened the gate to the service alley and rounded the back of the house. Francie lifted a terra-cotta flowerpot and slid a key out from underneath it.