Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

THIRTY

From “THE GOOD LIFE”:

Dear Sophie,

Our church is sponsoring a turkey dinner for the less fortunate and everyone is supposed to make something. I’m hopeless in the kitchen, but when I tried my usual trick of offering to bring rolls from the bakery, they expected me to bake them myself. I got out of that, but what can I make from scratch that I can’t goof up?

—Praying in Pulaski

Dear Praying,

Offer to make the cranberry sauce. There’s nothing simpler. All you need are cranberries, water, and sugar. The recipe is on the back of every bag of fresh cranberries. Dump all three ingredients together, bring them to a boil, then turn down the heat and let cook for five minutes. Just watch them to be sure they don’t bubble over. They won’t be ruined if they do, but you’ll have a big mess on your hands, so don’t walk away from them. The sauce is delicious hot or cold.

—Sophie

“Sophie,” whispered Hannah, “I’m so sorry. The killer is your pal, Bernie.”

I should have felt fearful or anxious. Instead, sadness enveloped me. “Everyone else is there?”

“Not yet. But Bernie peeled off while we were walking down here. Like he couldn’t wait. He muttered something about having to check on a friend and that he’d catch up with us at the restaurant.”

A friend? Did he go to alert Mrs. Pulchinski? She could come to search the house while he had an alibi, eating dinner with us and the detective in charge of the case. What a coup. “Is Wolf there?”

“Not yet. Mars and Natasha are here, though.”

Had Bernie returned the key he borrowed? What if he hadn’t gone to see Mrs. Pulchinski? What if he doubled back and was already in the house? “Call me back when everyone’s there,” I hissed and hung up.

I had to know about the key. The old floors creaked underneath me when I stood up. I’d never make it to the console in the foyer to check on the key without being heard. Grasping the Taser firmly, I scanned the sunroom and the backyard. When it seemed the coast was clear, I snuck into the dark hallway to the foyer. I couldn’t risk turning on a light. I placed the Taser on the console so I could pull the drawer with both hands. It squeaked when I opened it. Unwilling to pull it completely open, I slid my hand in and felt around.

My phone vibrated again. I couldn’t answer. It would have to wait.

The key wasn’t in the drawer and I couldn’t recall Bernie handing it back to me. Wasn’t that the night he came home so late? I heard a thunk and jumped. My breathing sounded raspy in the still house. I scuttled back to the den to wait for Bernie. Positioned in a crouch near the door to the living room again, I flipped open the phone and called Nina.

“He’s in the house!” she screamed.

She had to mean Bernie. But where was he? “What did you see?”

“Either he used a key or he’s really good at picking locks. He went in through the front door. Glanced around a little like he was checking to be sure no one saw him.”

“It’s Bernie,” I whispered.

“Wait . . .”

I could hear rustling sounds and assumed she needed both hands for the binoculars. “There’s someone else. He’s going in through the kitchen door.”

Something soft brushed my knee and I stifled a squeal. Mochie purred loudly at my feet.

“I have to call Hannah!” I hung up and dialed Hannah’s number. “Who’s missing?”

“Sophie!” she said in a conversational tone. “Are you coming soon? Almost everyone is here now. We’re still waiting for Bernie and Humphrey. Vicki isn’t here yet, either, but she’s coming. Andrew says she promised to bring meringues to her office tomorrow and she’s waiting for them to finish baking so she can take them out of the oven.”

“Okay, thanks.” I flipped the phone shut. Humphrey. I never would have thought it. But if Humphrey was the killer, why was Bernie here? My head throbbed. My hands were clammy. My breath sounded like a winded elephant. I forced myself to breath shallowly. I couldn’t. I would pass out.

Okay, Sophie. Slow, deep breaths. Stay alert.

The phone vibrated. I flipped it open, wishing the LED wasn’t so darned bright. I covered it with one of Bernie’s shirts.

“It’s the darndest thing,” said Nina. “Now somebody’s watching your house from a parked car.”

I heard something in the living room. “Hang on, Nina,” I whispered. The person was making no effort whatsoever to hide his presence. I leaned forward and peeped. The beam from headlights of a car driving by flashed through the living room for a moment. Long enough for me to see Mochie jump to the top of the grandfather clock.

Where were the two people Nina had seen entering the house? I recognized the squeal of the drawer in the foyer console. Bernie. He must be putting the key back.

Or was the killer looking for the poison vial?

Nina’s voice screeched on the phone. I held it to my ear.

“Somebody’s running to your house. He’s going for the kitchen door. Having trouble opening it.”

Three people? How was that possible? Did Hannah say Wolf was there? I couldn’t remember. I hoped Wolf was the person in the car because I would need him if there were three killers. I couldn’t defend myself against three people with one lousy Taser.

The Taser. I felt around on the floor. No Taser. I must have left it on the console in the foyer. And now I had to face three people. My hands shook at the thought.

Who could they be? I had to call Hannah. This wasn’t working the way I’d planned at all.

Mochie mewed and a light flashed in the living room. I snapped the phone shut. I couldn’t call Hannah now. I gulped for air. What had Hannah said? Bernie and Humphrey weren’t there. Had she mentioned Wolf? Think, Sophie, think! Vicki would be on her way as soon as she took meringues out of the oven.

Vicki. Meringues should be left in the oven to cool. They baked on a low heat to dry out and were supposed to stay in the closed oven with the heat off for at least two hours. Especially on a rainy day like this.

Moving as silently as possible, I kneeled by the cracked door. The intruder shone a flashlight in the silver drawer of my buffet.

Footsteps slammed through the house accompanied by hoarse, hacking breaths.

The flashlight turned off.

A single gunshot echoed.

Heavy feet staggered in my direction. It took every ounce of fortitude not to slam the door and run. I was safer if no one knew I was there.

A terrific thud resounded and shook the old house so hard I could feel the tremor under my knees.

“Vicki?” A man’s voice, scared and small.

“Nooooo!”

The high-pitched scream melded with the sound of someone running into the living room.

A flashlight flickered on Vicki, who hovered over Andrew sprawled on his back.

But who held the flashlight? Wolf? I squinted to see better, but it didn’t help.

“Why is it that you make a mess of everything? You couldn’t just come in this house, find the poison bottle, and leave? Why am I always cleaning up after you?”

The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

Somebody sniffled. Vicki?

“You’re not even supposed to be here! And neither are you, Andrew,” she wailed. “I didn’t mean to shoot you. I thought you were Sophie or Wolf. And now you’re bleeding . . .”

“You poisoned Mars?” Andrew sounded remarkably calm for someone who’d been shot. “But why?”

“You’re such a dolt, Andrew,” said the other man. “She was supposed to poison Natasha, but, as usual, little Vicki couldn’t get the simplest thing right and she poisoned Mars instead. I thought she’d outgrown that, but it’s just like when we were kids.”

“That’s not true,” protested Vicki. “I don’t mess up everything.”

“Really? I suppose you thought it through before you whacked Simon over the head?” He walked to the buffet and shone the flashlight on it. The drawer complained when he jerked it open. “Thanks to you, I’m unemployed. Today is another perfect example. Instead of finding the poison container, you’ve shot your husband and I’m going to have to clean up after you. Again.”

“You . . . you killed Simon? Why did you want to kill Natasha?” Andrew’s voice had grown weaker.

Had he already lost too much blood? I wavered. If I went to his aid, they’d kill me. Where was Wolf?

I inched back, praying the floorboards wouldn’t creak. Holding the cell phone under my sweater to dim the light, I pressed 911.

The operator answered too loudly. I looked up, afraid I’d given myself away, but Vicki’s sobbing must have covered the operator’s voice.

Whispering as loud as I dared, I said the address and “shooting.”

“I can’t hear you. You have to speak up.”

I tried again. “Send ambulance.”

“I can’t hear you,” she shouted.

I flipped the phone shut immediately and hoped Nina had the good sense to call the cops.

“Andrew,” blubbered Vicki, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

The other man continued to jerk open drawers and cabinets. “Now I have to decide what to do with you, Andrew. Clearly you’re too stupid to live. Your dear wife has been having an affair with Simon for a year.”

“Is that true?” Andrew asked in a whisper.

Amid snuffles and snorts Vicki said, “Can you ever forgive me? In the beginning, Simon was so good to me and I felt like a princess. I never stopped loving you, Andrew. I just wanted . . .”

“She wanted somebody to clean up her messes and take care of her like her big brother always has.” The man dropped to the floor and shone the light underneath the furniture. “Instead she married a dufus whom she had to take care of.” He sneezed.

“Natasha hired that private investigator,” said Vicki, “and found out that Clyde was my brother and that I was seeing Simon. She pressured me to get Simon to give her a TV show on his channel.”

Clyde! Simon’s driver was Vicki’s brother?

“But that day at the stuffing competition”—she paused to blow her nose—“Simon asked Sophie on a date in front of the whole world and then when I went to talk to him on Natasha’s behalf, he made fun of me. He . . . he said it was over and that he didn’t care if people knew about our affair and it ruined my life. I would have lost everything if he exposed me. My job, you, everything. But he wouldn’t have lost anything. Wouldn’t even have noticed. He would have gone right on to the next woman without giving me another thought.”

Vicki’s voice grew cold. “He made jokes and I realized that I meant nothing to him. He thought I’d left the room, but I watched him from the door to the service corridor. The turkey trophy was on a table behind him and I clobbered him with it. All he cared about was money. He used me and threw me away like that girl on his TV show who lost her leg.”

“I don’t see the stupid poison vial in here anywhere,” said Clyde. “Where do you think you lost it?”

The flashlight traveled around the living room. Any second the beam would land on me.