Dead Men Don't Crochet cm-2

by Betty Hechtman

  By the time Patricia’s program was to begin, all the seats were filled and there were even people standing. It seemed odd to have everything set up in the middle of the store, but by then I was just going with the flow. I started walking toward the demonstration table to do my introduction, but Benjamin got there first. He took the microphone off the stand and began addressing the crowd while two men with large cameras on their shoulders videotaped him.

  “Let me tell you a little about my wonderful wife. Before we married, she was a single parent and she’d told me how hard it was to keep it together for little Kimmee and Demetrius. Her book of hints is testament to her ingenuity and creativity.” He was laying it on pretty thick, and I tuned out so as not to go into sugar shock. I checked out the crowd and noticed a lot of regulars, but was surprised to see Pixie had come in.

  As I eased my way toward her, Bob came out of the café holding some iced drink with a lot of whipped cream. He presented it to her and hung around waiting to see her reaction. She was more interested in Eduardo, who was leaning against a bookcase behind Benjamin and the demonstration table, so he was facing the crowd. She took a sip of the drink and threaded her way through people until she was next to the cover model. Bob followed her like a puppy dog. I made a mental note to give him more compliments on his work. I hadn’t realized he was so needy.

  By now Benjamin had segued into his campaign pitch and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I’d seen enough of these campaign things to know they would probably just use the visual of him looking hardworking and concerned and mix it with a voice-over.

  I glanced toward the front of the bookstore as more people came in, but one person in a blue doctor’s jacket grabbed my attention. Dr. Arnold Bullard. I started toward him. This was my big chance to talk to him and I wasn’t going to miss it. I’d already figured out what to say to trap him. It was Basic Sales 101. You didn’t ask somebody if they wanted to buy something or not—you asked if they wanted it in red or blue. I was going to use the same logic with him. Instead of asking if he’d been at the Cottage Shoppe, I was going to ask him if he was there to buy or sell something.

  As I got closer, I noticed he’d stopped. Patricia had taken the spotlight and was beginning her spiel. He watched intently for a moment and then began to move around the edge of the crowd. I trailed behind him and when I’d almost caught up realized I might have been mistaken about who he was watching. Pixie was talking to Eduardo and Bob was next to her.

  “Excuse me,” I said, trying to get Arnold’s attention. Fat chance that a jealous husband was going to be distracted by me when his wife was in the middle of two men.

  Patricia was at her grand finale. She threw the red wine on Benjamin’s white shirt and held up the bottle of special spot-dissolver potion, mentioning the recipe was in the book. This was her big moment. When she got the wine to disappear, the audience always gasped in surprise and applauded enthusiastically.

  Bob put his hand on Pixie’s arm, no doubt asking for her verdict on the drink. Pixie suddenly saw Arnold, and as he got closer, she put up her hands as if to stop him from doing something.

  I sped up and tried to block Arnold, but it all happened too fast. There was some yelling—something about “paws off my wife” and Pixie screaming, “Don’t!” And then I heard the sound of a fist hitting a jaw. Bob had stepped back, and I saw that Arnold’s fist had landed on Eduardo’s face.

  Pixie started shouting. “Stop, Arnold! Stop before you do it again!”

  Then all hell broke loose. In a flash, Benjamin’s handlers rushed him out the door, leaving Patricia at the table, still holding the magic-potion bottle.

  If I were her, I’d think twice about tying up with a man who left me out to dry when stuff hit the fan. But it was none of my business. I wondered if Eduardo would hit back, but Pixie hustled Arnold outside before he had a chance.

  I was left facing the crowd. Adele came up behind me. “Pink, you better do something.”

  I had an idea, didn’t know if it would work, but figured it couldn’t make things worse.

  I grabbed the microphone. “We’re trying something new here at Shedd & Royal. I hope you all enjoyed our first evening of performance art.”

  My words hung in the air for a moment as all eyes stared at me. Then someone said, “So you mean that was all planned, kind of like Tony and Tina’s Wedding?” And I nodded, recalling the interactive play.

  Suddenly everyone got it and applauded.

  “YOU DIDN’T,” DINAH SAID. ON MY WAY OUT I’D called her on my cell to give her a recap. “I miss everything,” she said with just a tiny whine in her voice.

  “I did,” I said with a laugh. “And despite everything, it turned out to be a good night. Even without her grand finale, Patricia sold out all her books. People thought Bob was part of the show and complimented him on his acting as they bought drinks and cookies. Adele got an ice pack for Eduardo. A cover model can’t very well go around with a bruise on his chiseled jaw. And all I want to do is go home and collapse,” I said before clicking off and getting in my car.

  CHAPTER 21

  I OPENED THE BACK DOOR, GLAD TO BE FINALLY home. But when I walked into my living room, I jumped. It wasn’t just that the room seemed in disarray. It was who was on the couch. Barry and Jeffrey were asleep sitting up. Jeffrey was leaning against his father’s tall frame, and there was a dog on either side of them. Blondie, who never cuddled for long, was nestled against Jeffrey. Cosmo was drapped across Barry’s lap with his legs in the air.

  Once I got over the shock of seeing them, I started to get annoyed. This was taking it too far with the dog thing. Barry must have been sleeping with his eyes only half shut, because he awoke before I could take another step in the room. I supposed it was from years of getting calls at odd hours and having to function, but he was immediately alert.

  I was about the make my comment about the dog care, but he stopped me.

  “Now, don’t worry, Molly,” he said, which was like a green light in my worry department. If there wasn’t something wrong, why would he even need to caution me? He extricated himself from Cosmo and sat forward. He had way past a five o’clock shadow on his face, his tie was pulled lose, but he was still wearing his suit jacket. Without Barry to lean against, Jeffrey fell into a prone position behind his father.

  I glanced around the living room again. Something had gone on. Things had been knocked off the coffee table, and an easy chair had been moved along with the table next to it.

  “Sorry, they had to move that to get the gurney in.” He got up and started picking up the books and doodads that had fallen and putting them back on the coffee table.

  “Gurney, like in the thing they roll you into an ambulance with?” My voice sounded a little hysterical. “Who went to the hospital?”

  Thanks to his job, Barry was an expert at giving bad news. First he got me to sit down and take a few breaths to calm myself, then in an even tone he told me what happened.

  He and Jeffrey had just pulled up to spend some time with Cosmo when the ambulance arrived. “I was afraid it was you and practically broke the door down,” Barry said. “When we came in, Morgan was passed out on the floor and Samuel wasn’t handling it well.

  “The paramedics wanted to know what happened, but Samuel kept walking in circles, muttering something about her being dead.” Barry saw me go pale and touched my arm. “She’s not dead. Remember, I said not to worry. I wouldn’t have said that if she was dead.” He went on about Samuel barely holding it together and how he’d taken over and told Samuel to sit down with Jeffrey. The gist was that Morgan had passed out, probably from not eating. She had come to and said she was fine, but when she tried to stand, she collapsed again. “I told Samuel he better man up and take care of her.”

  My mother protector came out and I told him again that Samuel was still having a hard time with Charlie’s death, and seeing his girlfriend sprawled on the floor probably brought it all back. Before I could ask abo
ut Morgan, Barry said he’d already checked with the hospital and some of her levels were low and they were keeping her overnight. “Samuel called her mother in Phoenix, and she’s coming to take her back there. He said he’d come by and pack up her things.”

  “I’d say that’s taking care of things pretty well,” I said a little too defensively. I sank into the chair as the weight of the evening and the adrenalin rush from the news sunk in. Barry asked if I needed something.

  “No, just a few minutes to collect myself.” Then I told him about my evening at the bookstore. He shook his head with disbelief when I got to the punch part. “You really should tell Detective Heather she ought to check out Arnold Bullard. He obviously has a problem with impulse management, and he was angry at Drew Brooks. He could have easily smacked him on the head.”

  “What was Bullard so angry at Drew Brooks about?” Barry asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Barry put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re staying out of it, right?”

  I just looked at him. His cell phone rang, interrupting us, and his face grew stern. Phone calls this late usually weren’t good.

  “Greenberg,” he answered; he clenched his jaw a few times while he listened. When he hung up, he announced he had to go to work. He straightened his tie and ran his hands over his hair as if that would make him look shower fresh. He bent over Jeffrey to awaken him. “I’ll drop him off at home on the way.”

  I’d been concerned about Jeffrey being at their place alone at night so much and Barry had told me he had an arrangement with a neighbor. If Jeffrey needed anything he could go there. I knew I should let it go, but he looked so peaceful and as much as I knew I should stay out of it, it bothered me to think of him home alone all night.

  “He can stay,” I said, hoping I wasn’t making a mistake. Isn’t that how it had started with Cosmo?

  THE NEXT MORNING THERE WAS A NOTE NEXT TO me. It said, “Thank you. Please consider this the advance notice you are always asking for. Jeffrey and I would like to take you out to dinner at the restaurant of your choice.” He’d signed it, “Love, B.” I read it over and smiled. How could you not melt for a guy who would sign a note love?

  The couch was empty, the blanket neatly folded on the pillow I’d put under Jeffrey’s sleeping head.

  I showered and got dressed and did some chores around the house. Considering my previous night, I felt amazingly refreshed. I packed up my crochet goods and made sure the plastic bag with the hanky was in my bag. I was going to show it to Sheila.

  The bookstore was in better shape than I’d expected. Patricia had been truthful about one thing: She made sure things were put back where they belonged. Rayaad said a crew had been waiting when she opened the bookstore. They had moved everything back, picked up stray coffee cups and even put the best sellers back on their table. The only person not happy about it was Adele. It gave her one less thing to tattle on me about.

  As I approached the event area, I heard Adele telling everyone at the crochet table about the previous night’s performance art.

  “Pink really called it that,” she said. I was relieved that she’d dressed semicasual today after all the business attire and crocheted ties. She wore black leggings with a brick red baby-doll tunic and a bunch of beaded necklaces. She finished it off with a print scarf wound around her head. Adele went on about how Eduardo had been an innocent bystander and had gotten punched for no reason. “I’m going to make sure nothing like that happens at the Milton Mindell signing,” she said, her voice full of self-assumed authority. I hoped Mrs. Shedd realized she’d created a monster when she said Adele could help with the book signing.

  I almost didn’t recognize CeeCee. The stylist had dressed her in loose gray slacks, ballet flats, a white silk blouse and a black sweater—probably cashmere—tied over her shoulders. Her hair was now a natural shade of brown and had been poufed into a style that practically covered her face. The feather bangs were so long they were in her eyes. She looked good in a Lauren Bacall sort of way, but not like the CeeCee we were used to.

  All eyes were on me as I set down my things, then came the torrent of questions about the night before. CeeCee wanted to check my work to see how I was coming along and wanted to know why Patricia and Dinah were AWOL. And what had happened to the ballet dancer I’d brought?

  I started at the end first and told them about Morgan passing out from not eating and that for now she’d gone home with her mother.

  “I should have talked to her,” CeeCee said. “Maybe if she’d heard about my portion control plan, things would have been different.” I wanted to explain that you had to eat something to be concerned with portions.

  Even with all her book sales, Patricia had left in a huff after her event. The evening hadn’t gone the way she’d wanted, and I think she blamed me. For all her talk about how wonderful our project was, I wondered if she’d ever show up again. In any case she’d given CeeCee several knitted shawls on the sly, so she’d really done her share. I had a feeling I was no longer part of the team.

  Dinah was another story. She had a legitimate reason for her absence. She’d called me in a frantic state. The kids were throwing up, and it had been a long time since she’d dealt with that kind of cleanup and needed advice. Under the circumstances she couldn’t leave them with a babysitter or take them to child care, and Jeremy had been gone when she woke up. Too bad Patricia wasn’t there. She probably would have had some good hints on the cleanup.

  My gaze met Sheila’s and she smiled wanly. No drumming or tight stitches, she seemed to have turned all her nerves inward. That made me more uneasy than her finger tapping. With all the tension and nerves roiling around inside her, building up heat and energy, I feared she would suddenly explode. I hoped I was wrong. She appeared to have a rhythm going, and I watched the ball of golden honey-colored yarn jump as she finished a row of stitches

  Eduardo was sitting near Adele, though I suspected she thought he was sitting with her. Who would have guessed that he would be one of those flying-finger-type crocheters? He’d already brought in a completed maple-colored shawl, and in the time it took me to get my stuff arranged, he’d produced two more rows of stitches on the olive green one he was working on now.

  I did a row on my shawl, then I brought out the plastic bag with the hanky and showed it to Sheila. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

  She picked up the plastic bag and examined the contents. “It looks like a handkerchief,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes and explained I knew it was a handkerchief. “I was hoping you could give me some information about it, like when it was made.”

  She paused and took a few long breaths. “I’m trying something new for my anxiety. When I get tense I count to five as I inhale and then do the same when I let the air out. It’s supposed to do something to fool your vagus nerve.

  “As long as I never hear from Detective Gilmore again, I’ll be fine,” she said with a sigh. She turned the plastic bag over a few times and looked closely at the filigree-like edging around the fine cotton center. “It might be Victorian,” she said. “No, change that to First World War.” She turned it over again. “I’m really not sure. The class I’m taking now is geared toward designing wardrobes for robots and space creatures.” I saw her do her breathing move, and when she let all the air out she asked where I’d gotten it.

  “She found it at the Cottage Shoppe, dear,” CeeCee blurted out. “Molly, didn’t you say you thought it was connected with the murder?” She gestured toward the red spots. “That’s not blood. It’s tomato soup.”

  Sheila’s breath turned shallow, and she dropped the bag as though it were a scorching poker.

  I put my head down in dismay. So much for keeping its origin a secret. When I looked up, the whole table was staring at me again.

  I went through the story, saying I’d picked it up by mistake. I told them the whole no-show sock thing but left out that I’d been under Kevin’s desk at the time. Where was Din
ah when I needed her? She could corroborate my story. Her ex ought to be at her house cleaning up after his own kids. This situation was worse than if she’d met a new guy and was caught up in that infatuation fog that made you forget all your other friends.

  “Pink, you’re losing it. Isn’t that called shoplifting?” Adele said. She had moved her chair so close to Eduardo’s they knocked into each other.

  “It’s not shoplifting if the thing you pick up is crumbled up and has soup on it, and most of all, isn’t for sale,” I said, giving Adele the evil eye. I reached to get it back, but Eduardo asked if he could look at it.

  He turned the bag over, examining it from all angles. “This looks like Irish crochet.” When he saw my quizzical expression, he explained he was a McGurk on his mother’s side, and he went on to tell us a bit about his family. Eduardo had a deep, melodious voice and a charismatic smile. He could have been telling us the history of dirt and we all would have happily listened. Luckily, the story he told was much more interesting.

  “My Gran Maeve wanted to pass on the knowledge of Irish crochet, but we were a family of boys.” His blue eyes sparkled with good humor. “I was the last to come along, and she realized there weren’t going to be any girls to teach, so I got the gift.”

  Eduardo pointed to the wide scallopy edging of the handkerchief. “This isn’t what most people think of when you mention Irish crochet. Most of it is made of motifs like flowers and leaves, sometimes around cord to give it more of a three-dimensional appearance. My gran taught me how to baste the motifs to some fabric like muslin and then join them with Clones knots or picot filling stitches.” He looked down at his hands and chuckled. “I’m afraid that even with all her lessons I was never that good.”