Diva 01 _ Diva Runs Out of Thyme, The Read Online Free PDF Page A

paused to watch.

    Every time Wolf said “mocha” the kitten looked at him.

    “He thinks his name is Mocha.” Wolf picked him up and placed him on the chair by the fireplace. He walked away from the kitten and called, “Mochie!”

    The kitten’s head swiveled around.

    “That’s silly.” It was cute but he probably responded that way to lots of words. “Ice cream!” I said as a test.

    The kitten ignored me.

    “Mochie!”

    By golly, the little guy turned his head immediately.

    Laughing, we settled at the table again. Mochie leaped onto the table and lapped cream while Wolf stroked him.

    He didn’t look like a Wolf. He didn’t have that sly, hungry look like Kenner. Wolf struck me as being more like a Great Dane, calm and confident with friendly brown eyes. Maybe that made him more dangerous. Lurking behind the amiable facade was a detective noting my every move. It would be easy to relax, to enjoy his company—to fall into some sort of horrible trap that might make me seem guilty.

    Wolf finished his slice of pie and settled back in the chair, too comfortably for my taste.

    My hands had grown cold. Even the latte couldn’t keep me warm.

    The front door opened and chatter filled the air. My family barged in and stopped in a cluster at the sight of us.

    A tall, fair man with a bad comb-over was with them. Hannah’s fiancé, I presumed. I introduced everyone to Wolf. When I said he was a detective, I thought I noticed a slight twitch of apprehension on the fiancé’s face.

    My mother took great pride in introducing him as Doctor Craig Beacham. He was unfailingly polite but when I shook his hand, a chill ran through me.

    Wolf distracted me by saying good-bye. I thanked him again for delivering my groceries, bringing kitten food, and for naming Mochie, too. At the front door, speaking softly, he said, “You seem like a decent person, Sophie, so I’m going to give you a little advice.” He leaned toward me. “Cops don’t like being lied to. It makes us very angry.” He sucked in a deep breath and his eyes narrowed. “Isn’t there something you’d like to come clean about?”

    My pulse quickened. He obviously thought I’d lied. “There’s nothing else to tell.”

    He shuffled his feet uncomfortably and crossed his arms over his chest. The nice cop of the latte and kitten food disappeared. “Really.” He fixed me with an unfriendly glare. “Suppose you explain why the dead man had your name and photograph on the front seat of his truck?”

FOUR

    From the Live with Natasha show:

    Don’t skip the all-important step of brining your turkey. It needs to sit in salt water for four to eight hours. Wash thoroughly, then let it rest on a roasting rack, uncovered, in your refrigerator for twenty-four hours before you roast it.

    “He had my picture?” I shivered as though a cold fall wind had blown.

    Wolf watched me from the stoop, his brown eyes narrowed.

    “But that doesn’t make any sense. Do you think he brought the kitten as a lure? Like people who want to kidnap children?”

    Wolf’s eyebrows shot up.

    I clutched the door frame. “Do you think someone hired him to hurt me?”

    “Does someone want to hurt you?”

    “No!” It came out too loud. “Not that I know of.”

    Wolf gave up his bad-guy stance and patted my arm. “Relax. It’s probably nothing quite so sinister. Otis was a private detective. A little on the sleazy side, but I don’t think he ever operated as a hit man.”

    “Hit man?” That was worse than I’d thought. “But what would a private investigator want with me? And why bring the kitten? And then get killed?”

    “Precisely.” He turned and walked toward his car. Looking back, he said, “Thanks for the pie. I’ll be in touch.”

    It was the polite thing to say, yet I felt an ominous undercurrent, like this wasn’t the end of my involvement with Wolf or Otis.

    I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, wondering why Otis had been