THIRTY-TWO
SOPHIE’S TIP OF THE DAY:
Dry herbs are more concentrated than their fresh counterparts. If you need to use dried herbs in a recipe that calls for fresh herbs, a good rule of thumb is to use about one-third as much. An easy way to remember is to use a teaspoon of dried herbs for every tablespoon of fresh herbs.
After one more lingering kiss, Wolf took off to check on Andrew at the hospital.
I wanted some answers, though, and no matter how angry it might make Hannah, I planned to get them. I joined the rest of my clan in the sunroom and helped myself to a turkey panini.
“Craig,” I said, “now that we know that Vicki and Clyde were behind the killings, what were you doing over at the Washington Room the morning after Simon was killed?”
I expected Hannah to scold me, but she frowned and said, “Is that true? You went over there?”
“Of course not.” He looked me in the eye. “You must be mistaken.”
“Andrew saw you,” I insisted.
Craig blinked hard. “I did it for you, Sophie, and for your family. I could see how upset everyone was and, well, sorry, Bernie, but I thought if I dropped a clue it would throw suspicion off Sophie.”
“Why are you apologizing to me, then?” asked Bernie.
“I found your key card with the hotel logo on it in the den and sort of dropped it in the Washington Room for the cops to find. It was a stupid idea but I meant well.”
If I hadn’t pushed him, he wouldn’t have admitted it. I was glad Hannah could see him for what he really was.
Instead of being angry, she leaned against him and kissed his cheek. “You did that for us?” she cooed. Give me a break. I’d thought Hannah would finally see Craig’s slimy side. Craig smiled at her and it seemed adoring, but when he turned his smile toward me, it looked smug. I consoled myself by thinking the wedding wouldn’t be until June. Maybe Hannah would still come to her senses and dump Craig.
“Bernie,” I said, “when you came back to the house tonight, where did you hide?”
“In the foyer closet. I heard you come in through the sunroom. You couldn’t have been noisier when you opened that drawer. It’s a bloody good thing I wasn’t the killer. I could have jumped you right then and there.”
The knocker on the front door sounded, but Mars didn’t wait for anyone to open it. He and June found us in the sunroom.
Everyone talked at once.
Mars held up his hands. “Andrew will be fine. He lost blood, but the bullet has been removed and he’ll be okay.”
The colonel rose to his feet. “I, for one, am glad it’s over and we can get back to normalcy on this block.” He glared at Francie. “And there will be no more Peeping Toms.”
June saw the colonel to the front door and I did my best to prevent Francie from following them.
“I have to pick up Daisy from Nina’s house. How about I walk you home, Francie?” I asked.
Nina brought us our coats and we deftly steered Francie out the sunroom door so we wouldn’t interrupt June and the colonel.
Before the door closed, Humphrey slipped his hand into mine. “This has been the best weekend of my life.”
That was a frightening thought.
“I’ll see you at the stuffing contest tomorrow,” he said.
What had my mother started by calling him? I was too tired to deal with him tonight. I snatched my hand back, said good night, and left with Francie and Nina.
When Daisy and I came home, the police had left and everyone had gone up to bed. Only the light in the den still shone.
I walked through the sunroom and tapped on the door to the den. Bernie’s clothes were still strewn about and he hadn’t pulled out the sofa bed yet.
“I wanted to thank you, Bernie. If you hadn’t come back to the house tonight, things might have turned out quite differently.”
“Glad to be of help. Don’t give it another thought.”
“So,” I said, “are you moving in with Mrs. Pulchinski tomorrow?”
“Mrs. Pulchinski?” he sputtered. “Blimy! Why would I do that?”
“I thought you were dating her. I saw you with her in a restaurant.”
His mouth curled up into that lopsided smile. “I was being a nosey parker, trying to find out what I could about her husband.”
I felt awful. Bernie had been trying to find the killer and I’d suspected him of being the killer.
“If you’re not moving in with her, where will you go when you move out?”
“Back to the hotel.”
He had saved my life. It was the least I could do to put him up a little longer. “I won’t hear of it. Tomorrow we’ll move you upstairs to a real bedroom. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
And if that happened to discourage Humphrey, it would only be a bonus!
I trudged upstairs. After all we’d been through, Natasha and I would be exhausted tomorrow and not on top of our game. Daisy and Mochie jumped onto my bed and nestled together like they were old pals. I changed clothes and gratefully slipped under the comforter.
Monday morning, none of her fans could have guessed that Natasha’s life was anything less than perfect. She had no place to call home, had lived in terror of a stalker intent on killing her, and almost lost Mars to poison. Once again, her gleaming hair flowed to her shoulders, her makeup was flawless, and if she had bags under her eyes like I did, she’d managed to camouflage them. I made a mental note to ask her how she did that.
Even though Natasha had been up as late as I had, she’d found the time to decorate her work space with handmade snowflakes. Exactly like real snowflakes, no two were the same and many glittered as they swirled. She signed autographs, smiling and murmuring gracious thanks to her fans.
A reporter shouted, “How did you identify the killer?” She turned her head slightly, chin up, for his cameraman.
“It was nothing any domestic diva wouldn’t have figured out. Everyone knows meringues should remain in the oven after turning it off, especially on a rainy day.”
A second reporter asked, “How do you feel about competing with Sophie today?”
Natasha turned in my direction. She winked at me before saying, “Oh, darlin’, Sophie’s little herb recipe can’t begin to compare with my oyster stuffing. And I know that for sure because I’ve tried hers. Oysters are so much more sophisticated for today’s palate. It’s not even going to be a close call. You know oysters are aphrodisiacs—”
I put her fighting words out of my mind and looked over at Wendy’s work space. She must have been on a bathroom break because her husband, Marvin, edged slowly inside.
I slid the incriminating photograph of the hand on my thyme bottle out of a manila envelope. Pulling the curtain aside, I caught Marvin with his hand on Wendy’s thyme.
“Drop the thyme, buster,” I growled.
He jumped back but recovered his composure quickly. “This . . . this is my wife’s.”