Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

TEN

From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

Dear Sophie,

When my sister-in-law hosts family holidays, she gets up at four in the morning to bake bread. I work long days and with three kids, I need my sleep and don’t have time to bake when it’s my turn to host family gatherings. I hate it when my sister-in-law turns her nose up at my store-bought bread. What to do?

—Snoozing in Saltville

Dear Snoozing,

You need your sleep. Don’t feel guilty about it. I make rolls or knots about a week ahead of time and I let my bread machine do the hard work. Even the busiest mom can find a few minutes to dump ingredients into a bread machine. Put it on “manual” and it will take the bread all the way through the first rise. Then take the dough out and shape it into rolls or cute knots. The kids can help with that. Place the rolls or knots on an ungreased cookie sheet. Cover with a clean kitchen towel and let rise (out of drafts) until they double in size. Remove the towel and cover the still raw dough with plastic wrap. Slide the entire wrapped tray into the freezer. If you need the tray or more space in the freezer, you can put them in a plastic freezer bag once they’re frozen. When you need them, preheat the oven to 350 degrees, spritz the tops with water, and sprinkle a little salt on them before sliding the tray into the oven. They’ll taste every bit as fresh as your sister-in-law’s. But you won’t be as tired as she is.

—Sophie

The man at the door seemed vaguely familiar. “May I help you?”

“You don’t remember me? But I remember you.” He bent toward me and spoke confidentially, “I cheered for you when you won the school hopscotch championship over Natasha.”

Feeling stupid, I searched his face. He was talking about something that happened in fourth grade. Or was it fifth? Who was this guy?

Mom’s voice sang over my shoulder, “Humphrey! I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the house.”

Humphrey? That name went out of fashion before I was born. But I had known one Humphrey. I took a second look at him as he handed me a bottle of sherry.

“Humphrey Brown?”

“You do remember me.”

I nodded. The truth was I hadn’t thought about him in years. Evidently Mom invited Humphrey as her surprise guest.

The oven timer dinged and I left her to deal with him.

In the kitchen, Bernie peeked inside the oven. “Is this ready to come out?”

I put on oven mitts and was pulling Mom’s sweet potato and marshmallow dish out of the oven when Vicki found me. “I don’t mean to interfere, but Hannah and Mars are about to start a world war over medical insurance costs.”

Swell. Mars loved to argue and he didn’t always know when to let it go. “Bernie?”

“On my way, luv.” Somehow in the bustle of guests arriving, he’d managed to dress and looked almost respectable except for the moppish hair.

“Oh! A kitten.” Vicki stroked Mochie’s head. “I always wanted a cat but my brother was allergic and so is Andrew. I seem destined to live life without a kitty.”

She sighed and ambled toward me. Idly, she tore a corner off a bread knot and nibbled at it like a mouse. No wonder her trousers hung on her so beautifully. I’d have slathered the bread with butter.

I placed crispy golden cheese puffs on a glass serving platter and should have rushed them into the living room, but I was thrilled to have a minute alone with Vicki so I could pump her for information. “So what was the problem between Andrew and Simon?” I asked, pretending to be casual.

She swallowed a piece of the bread. “You remember—the television show.”

“What show?”

Her face reflected surprise. “About, oh, my gosh, about the time you and Mars split up. You’ve heard of Don’t You Dare?”

“That moronic TV show where people take ridiculous risks to win a million dollars?”

“That’s the one. It was Andrew’s idea. But he needed a TV producer with big bucks to back it. He went to Simon, who turned him down.”

“But the show’s still on.”

“Simon stole the idea. It’s been a huge success, well, except for that sad case where the girl lost her leg. If it hadn’t been for that horrible accident, she would have won. My brother always says fate is a fickle mistress. She lost her leg, that cocky guy won a million dollars, and Andrew didn’t get anything out of it. Not a cent.”

Natasha barged into the kitchen and stopped abruptly. “I thought you redid this kitchen.”

“We did.”

“I wish you had called me, I’d have been happy to help. You should have seen the gorgeous kitchen in my country home.” Her voice squeaked and broke. “Of course that’s gone now.” She fanned herself as if willing the tears away and then flicked her hand toward the stone wall. “You should have eliminated this, for instance. Kitchens should never contain rough stone or brick; they’re impossible to clean.”

Faye’s picture swung to a slant but Natasha didn’t notice.

Good thing she didn’t know how old the stone was or that it had traveled here in the bottom of an ancient ship. I was about to point out that I didn’t cook on the stone wall but choked back my words, determined not to start an argument.

“I feel terrible for imposing on you. The fire was a nightmare. We had guests when it started. You can’t imagine the horror of watching your home burn.” Her tone rose to a shrill pitch again. “And then we had to check into a hotel in the middle of the night.”

Vicki walked past me and whispered, “I can’t hear about this one more time.”

I handed her the platter of cheese puffs. “Would you mind taking these in to the guests?” She took the platter and strode into the foyer.

“I’m glad no one was hurt.” I offered a box of tissues to Natasha. She drove me batty sometimes but this wasn’t a drama-queen act. Just thinking about the fire sent chills up my spine. I couldn’t imagine how traumatized she must feel.

Natasha stared out the bay window and massaged her hands around a tissue in a nervous manner. “Sophie, I need to apologize.”

She had my full attention. I couldn’t recall Natasha ever having apologized for anything before.

“I may have been a bit hasty yesterday when I accused you of killing Simon. Not that you didn’t have the motive or opportunity, but now I understand that things may not be the way they seem and I regret that I may have jumped to conclusions about your involvement regardless of how obvious it may have seemed at the time.”

“Thank you, Natasha.” I wondered what had happened to prompt the odd apology but I took the high road and didn’t ask. It was enough that she’d thought about it and bothered to apologize.

I painted a second tray of homemade bread knots with a cold water wash, sprinkled chunks of kosher salt over them, and slid them into the oven.

Her shoulders relaxed like she’d been dreading her little speech. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. When you reach a certain level of celebrity as I have, it becomes so difficult to know who to trust. Who your friends are. It seems like everyone wants something from me. You’re one of the few people I can reach out to, Soph.”

Uh-oh. Wait until she found out about my anti-Natasha advice column. That would move me out of the trusted friend category and fast.

“I need a favor, Sophie.”

Thanksgiving dinner was one thing, but they were not moving in with me, no matter what. I set the oven timer, picked up the gravy boat, and braced myself.

Her dark eyes full of fear, Natasha said, “The police are going to think that Mars killed Simon. I know you don’t want that any more than I do. We have to help him, Sophie.”

I nearly dropped the gravy boat. “Why would they suspect Mars?” Wild notions came to mind. Had they discovered blood on Mars’s clothes? Had someone seen Mars come out of the conference room?

She cupped her hands along the sides of her face. “It’s all my fault. I never should have agreed to be in the contest. But I didn’t dream anything like this would happen.”

I should have comforted her but the gravy base on the stove demanded my immediate attention by bubbling. “What did Mars do that would make them suspect him?”

“It’s that terrible feud.”

I couldn’t help laughing. I’d forgotten all about it. “That was nothing but a publicity stunt.” Simon’s reporters routinely went through politicians’ trash cans and invented scandalous stories. Mars had called him on it and Simon had fired back. In the end, they all won. Mars’s clients got the kind of publicity they couldn’t possibly buy, and Simon’s cable network got better ratings when people tuned in to hear Mars and Simon rant at each other.

“It wasn’t a stunt, Sophie. Congressman Bieler lost his bid for reelection because of the lies Simon’s reporters invented. The worst thing is that the hatred between Mars and Simon was so public. Everyone knows about it.”

I gave the gravy base another stir and checked the time. What I really wanted at the moment was Natasha out of my kitchen so I could concentrate.

“Please, Sophie? I thought you might have some ideas. Something we can do to convince the police that Mars isn’t involved.”

She had to be kidding. I couldn’t even convince them that I wasn’t involved.

“Would you take these bottles of wine into the dining room?” I asked.

Her eyebrows rose. “They’re not decanted.”

“Oh, no! What will we do?” I was sorry as soon as the sarcastic words left my lips. “Just take them into the dining room. Please?”

I breathed a sigh of relief when she complied. The white wines didn’t need decanting and the red was only a backup for guests who didn’t like white wine.

Finally, a few minutes to concentrate on cooking. Without looking, I reached for a pot holder and encountered Humphrey’s arm.

“Could I help you with anything?” he asked.

Did I have a task that would get rid of him, too? “No, thanks. Why don’t you just visit with the others? We’ll be eating soon.” Provided I could get everyone out of my kitchen for a few minutes.

“I’ll just keep you company, then.”

He stood near the fire, his hands clasped in front of him. Each time I looked over at him, he smiled at me, his head jutting forward just a bit, like an eager vulture.

I couldn’t stand it another second. I took the mushroom caps out of the oven and slid them onto a plate with a spatula. Tangy garlic wafted to me from the sizzling filling. Seizing Humphrey’s hand, I towed him into the sunroom. “Honey, I wish I had the time to introduce you to everyone. But here’s Mom.” I released his hand and smiled at him. “She’ll take good care of you and make sure you meet everyone. Won’t you, Mom?”

Without waiting for a response, I handed her the mushroom caps and fled back to the kitchen. Mars and I had hosted plenty of parties when we were married and most of them came off quite smoothly. I could handle this, too. I just needed a few quiet minutes to finish everything.

Natasha returned and tapped me on the back. “You forgot to put out the place cards.”

“There aren’t any.”

“You should always make place cards. How will we know where to sit?”

“Until this morning, I thought there would be six of us. Didn’t seem like a major problem.”

She explained, as if to a child. “Had you set out place cards you would have spared me the possible embarrassment of having to sit near June, whom I cannot abide at this moment since she burned down most of my house. I could have very discreetly switched them.”

I couldn’t help snickering and turned away from her so she wouldn’t see. Was it June or me, the alleged murderer, whom she couldn’t abide?

I collected myself enough to say, “Thank you, Natasha. I never realized place cards were for you to rearrange to suit yourself.”

She ignored my sarcasm. “You should have prepared the leaves days ago. Don’t you watch my show? You have to place them between heavy books so they’ll dry flat.” She sighed. “I’ll just go out into your garden to see what I can use.”

Just then Vicki sidled up to me and whispered, “I thought you should know that the cop from yesterday is hanging around outside.”

“What?” I followed her to the dining-room window that fronted on the street.

Sure enough, Wolf stood on the sidewalk, watching the house.

“For pity’s sake.” I headed to the door.

“Sophie,” she said, tugging at the collar of her silk blouse, “if he thinks you killed Simon, it’s probably not wise to confront him.”

Hers was the voice of reason but I ignored her. I hadn’t killed anyone. I marched outside and straight up to Wolf. “If you’re going to work on Thanksgiving Day, you might as well come inside and eat with us. That way you can keep a closer eye on me. I have a ton of guests. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere.”

He appeared speechless and I felt pleased to have knocked him off his stride a bit. Maybe he’d have to rethink his convictions about my involvement in the murders.

He let out a warm laugh, as though releasing pent-up anxiety. “Are you sure you have enough food?”

“We’ll make do.” I didn’t mention that I was beginning to think a twenty-five-pound turkey was mighty small.

The aroma of roasting turkey filled the air when we walked into the house. I hung Wolf’s bulky leather jacket in the foyer closet and noticed that Vicki swiftly steered Andrew away from Wolf and into the living room with June. Craig scooted along behind them. But Bernie and Mars wasted no time asking Wolf questions about Simon’s murder. They disappeared into the sunroom with him.

I didn’t have the luxury of hanging around to listen. I needed to figure out how to stretch the soup to accommodate fourteen people and I had to fit another place setting on the table.

Natasha joined me in the kitchen, her hands full of moss and shriveled leaves. “Tell me you didn’t invite that detective to join us.”

“You’d prefer to have Wolf standing outside?”

She dumped the organic matter on a dish towel, wiped off her hands, and placed the tips of her fingers against her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “Simon’s murdered, June burns my house down, no place cards, and now this. Why does everything happen to me? You have to ask him to leave, Sophie. I won’t be able to eat a bite knowing that he’s watching us.”

I’d never seen Natasha so unnerved.

She grabbed a glass out of a cabinet, filled it with tap water, drank the whole thing, and held the glass against her forehead.

When she regained her usual poise, she said, “Do not seat me near the detective or June, please. Where is your golden pen?”

If I weren’t an event planner, I probably wouldn’t have owned a pen with gold ink. But I was and I kept one in my event emergency kit in my car and right about now, it was in a police impound lot somewhere. I didn’t bother to explain. “I don’t have one.”

Natasha collected her towel of yard debris and headed for the sunroom. I could hear her ask if anyone had a golden pen.

I had bigger problems at the moment, like stretching the soup.

The pantry yielded just what I needed, though I had no idea how it would taste. I heated the contents of a box of organic roasted red pepper and tomato soup.

Giggling, Mom and June returned from the sunroom.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“He’s so handsome,” said Mom. “He’d turn my head if I weren’t married.”

“Wolf?” He had a certain charm, though I thought he was a bit rugged in comparison to Mars’s polish.

My question brought on more giggles. “We’re talking about the colonel,” Mom said. “He’s attractive but too young for us.”

“But that military bearing,” June gushed.

Mom added, “And a full head of silver hair. You don’t find that often at our age.”

I shooed the swooners out of the kitchen with instructions to coax everyone to the dining room for dinner.

Donning thick oven mitts, I pulled the turkey from the oven and set it on the counter. Juices hissed inside the roaster. Working quickly, I placed the turkey on a grooved cutting board and finished the gravy with the hot pan juices. I dipped a spoon in the gravy to see if I should add salt. Who needed potatoes? It was delicious on its own.

Letting the turkey rest, I ladled creamy homemade pumpkin soup into bowls and poured a generous dollop of vivid red pepper soup in the middle of each. I inserted a knife into the top of each red dot and drew it through the silky pumpkin soup, creating a colorful heart. They looked gorgeous.

Bernie and Wolf helped me carry the soup bowls into the dining room.

I sank into a chair, thankful to finally have everyone present and everything under control. Amid a chorus of “how prettys,” Natasha muttered, “You’re not serving my menu.”

Humphrey sat halfway down the table. He stared at me with such intensity I wondered if he’d noticed that soup had been served. I averted my eyes and ignored him.

Natasha’s face brightened. “You couldn’t get squab. That’s why you’re not serving my soup.” To the collected group she announced proudly, “Because of my recipe there’s a shortage of squab.”

Before I could try my daring mixture of soups, a series of crashes and thumps rumbled through the house and MacArthur barked nonstop.

“MacArthur and Mochie!” I jumped from my chair and rushed to the sunroom with Wolf on my heels. I’d forgotten about Mochie and had no idea how MacArthur would react to him.

Like little angels, Mochie sat between Daisy’s front paws. A frustrated MacArthur barked at Mochie but the brave kitten didn’t budge. With a one-word command, “Quiet!” the colonel silenced MacArthur.

But the odd thumping noises continued.

Hannah nudged me. “Do you know that woman?” She pointed to my neighbor, Francie, who was methodically tipping over my flowerpots and banging a stick against the side of my house.

“I’ll take care of this.” Wolf headed for the door.

“Let me see what’s going on first.” I ventured out into the cold, hoping she wouldn’t use the stick on me.

“Francie, what are you doing?”

She straightened up and pushed straw-like hair off her weather-beaten face. “I saw a rat.”

And I smelled one. “Are you the Peeping Tom?”

“There really was a Peeping Tom. I don’t know why no one wants to believe that. They ought to. There’ve been two murders in town in the last two days.”

I wondered if she had any idea that she was talking to the prime suspect in those murders.

I put my arm around her shoulders. “A big, strong police detective happens to be eating with us. How about you come in and join us?”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

If she only knew the half of it. I wouldn’t even notice one more person.

I steered her inside. “We’re just sitting down to soup.”

“I hope it’s not that crummy broth Natasha’s been spouting about on TV.”

Everyone filtered back to the table and made room for Francie next to Wolf. I couldn’t help noticing that Natasha had switched places with Mars so she wouldn’t have to sit opposite June. Soup bowls, wineglasses, and spoons passed between guests as everyone chose new seats. So much for the place cards Natasha had crafted from leaves.

While they rearranged everything, I hurried to the kitchen and scraped the pots to make Francie a bowl of soup. I placed it in front of her and urged the others to eat before the soup was completely cold.

Within minutes I realized what was going on with Francie. She only had eyes for the colonel. And she wore a fussy blouse with a bow at the neck and a tapestry vest over top of it. She’d dressed for dinner. But she had to compete with my mom and June, who had engaged the colonel in an animated discussion about his charity work in Africa. I’d felt sorry for him, and then it turned out the man was a magnet for women over sixty-five.

My soup mixture went over big, which was a huge relief. When everyone was finished, Vicki and Hannah cleared the soup dishes and carried in creamy buttered mashed potatoes, green beans with crunchy almond slivers and jewel-like bits of roasted red pepper, crusty bacon-herb stuffing, cranberries spiked with a hint of Grand Marnier, and the gooey marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes Mom made specially for Craig. And last I brought in the turkey, which, in spite of Mom’s surreptitious basting, was roasted to a crispy golden brown.

For the first time, I felt awkward and nostalgic about Mars’s presence. In the past, Mars carved the turkey. I paused and glanced at him, wondering what to do.

He seemed thoroughly uncomfortable, which wasn’t like him at all. Unflappable Mars took everything in stride. But he had unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and was using his napkin to dab his forehead. I stole a glance at Natasha, who seemed oblivious to Mars’s discomfort, nattering on about a program she did on mushrooms.

Dad would have to carve the turkey this year. I hoped Mars wouldn’t mind.

I flashed him a reassuring smile. But the color had drained from his face and he appeared dazed. He wasn’t upset about being here for Thanksgiving. Something was seriously wrong.

“Mars?” I said.

Before I could set the turkey on the sideboard, Mars rose slightly from his chair. With sweat beading on his forehead, he coughed once and then collapsed.