I didn’t hear anything more from him, so I guessed he’d gone to sleep right away. By now I was too wired to sleep. Between the news about Arnold Bullard and my surprise guest, my mind wouldn’t quit.
I found the Trader Joe’s plastic shopping bag with my shawl in progress. Then I dialed Dinah. It was late, but we had long ago agreed that no hour was too late if either of us needed to talk.
“Arnold Bullard is dead?” Dinah repeated after I’d told her what Barry had said. She’d sounded sleepy when she answered but was completely alert once I told her about the tall bald orthodontist. “But he was so high on our list of suspects. Now we’ll never know why he was so angry at Drew or if he’s the one who killed him.”
“I know,” I said. “And now there’s no way to get Detective Heather to consider him a serious suspect, which means she’s still going to focus on Sheila.”
“Have you told Sheila yet?”
I said I was going to do it in person in the morning. Sheila was in such a fragile state I was afraid of how she might take the news. “There’s no chance we’ll get to see the murder scene this time.” I’d told Dinah what Barry had said about it, but hearing a description of the scene wasn’t the same as actually seeing it.
“It sounds like someone wanted to get rid of a pest,” Dinah said, then yawned.
“But who? And isn’t it strange how soup played a part in both Drew Brooks’s and Arnold Bullard’s deaths?” I told her what Barry said about there probably being some kind of knockout drops in the Southwestern corn chowder.
Dinah yawned again. “Did Barry say where the corn chowder came from?”
“Are you kidding? I can’t believe he told me about the possible knockout drops.”
I looked down at the shawl. I’d done several rows while we were talking, but somehow the pattern made of double crochets and spaces, which were supposed to look like tiny windows, had gotten screwed up so that there weren’t any open spaces in some spots and in others they were so big they resembled sliding glass doors. When I finally hung up, I looked over my work and realized I had to tear out all I’d done. It made me so grateful for the ease of unraveling crochet. As I redid the rows, I kept thinking about what Dinah said. Where did Arnold Bullard’s soup come from?
I held up the shawl and realized it was big enough to lay on my shoulder and get an idea of how it would feel when it was finished. Even though it covered only one shoulder, the effect was comforting. Someday, when it was finished, it would offer comfort to somebody who really needed it. Knowing that made me feel proud of what I was doing. At the same time, I was thinking about the soup and the only expert I knew in making it. As soon as the Cottage Shoppe opened, I was calling Kevin.
In the morning, while I was making coffee, Samuel breezed in the back door. Before I could stop him he went in his old room. A moment later he was back. “Why is there a kid sleeping in my bed?” he asked incredulously.
Barry showed up about then, and I left them all to work it out.
As soon as I got in my car, away from prying ears, I called the Cottage Shoppe. Kevin answered.
After exchanging hellos with him and reminding him who I was, I went right to the point. “What kind of soups did you have yesterday?”
“Why do you want to know?” There was caution in his voice. Then he sighed and went on talking without waiting for an answer. “Look, I heard about Dr. Bullard. There was nothing wrong with the ingredients in my Southwestern corn chowder.”
“Then it did come from your place.” I tried to downplay my surprise, but I was practically high-fiving myself. Wow. I even impressed myself at how easily I’d found out where the soup came from. I was good. And then Kevin gave me even more.
“Dr. Bullard was one of our first to-go customers. He worked evenings a lot and needed something to give him a pick-me-up that wouldn’t tire him out. Soup was perfect.”
I didn’t want to bring up the fact that it hadn’t exactly worked that way this time. “So then, he got the soup himself yesterday?”
Kevin’s tone made it clear he thought it was a ridiculous question. “No. His wife got it for him.”
Pixie got it for Arnold? While I was digesting that fact, Kevin realized he’d been talking too much and asked the purpose of my call. I didn’t want to make him feel bad and inquired about the current soup offerings. I noticed there was no Southwestern corn chowder or tomato bisque. I guessed a death connection was a no-no in the soup sales department.
I put the soup issue on the back burner of my mind for the moment, determined to figure out what it meant later. I had to get to work, but I had to talk to Sheila first.
The women’s gym where she worked was at the other end of downtown Tarzana. I wondered if Sheila had already heard that her best chance of getting out of Detective Heather’s spotlight of interest was dead. I walked through the glass door into the bright plant-filled lobby and threaded my way through the women in black stretchy pants and sneakers who were coming and going.
I got the answer before I even spoke to Sheila. Detective Heather was standing at the reception desk talking to her. I was still getting used to Detective Heather’s sleek new hairstyle. The old curly do had made her look a little ditzy even though she definitely wasn’t. The new style gave her an ice-queen look of authority, which she turned on me when I came in her line of sight.
“Mrs. Pink, don’t move. I need to talk to you.”
Sheila looked close to tears. “Molly, I didn’t mean to tell her. It just sort of tumbled out.”
Before Sheila could finish, Detective Heather was in my face. “Okay, where’s the handkerchief?”
I closed my eyes and groaned. I should have realized Sheila would crack under pressure. Detective Heather abandoned Sheila and suggested we go outside. I followed her through the doors, and then she turned on me. “Are you aware of the terms withholding evidence and obstruction of justice?”
I looked around helplessly.
“Barry’s not going to rescue you this time.”
What could I possibly say? Maybe the truth.
“It was just a mistake,” I began. “Do you know what no-show socks are?” I felt a tiny bit of relief when she nodded. “Well, then you know how if they slip off your heel, they get all crumpled in your shoe.” Detective Heather looked impatient and annoyed. What happened to that inscrutable detective expression she was supposed to have? “That’s exactly what happened. Well, it was really only the left one that got jammed under my arch.”
“Do you suppose you could get to the point?” Detective Heather had obviously heard enough details of what happened with my socks and recognized it for what it was—a stall while I hoped one of us would disappear.
“I took off the sock and put it in my pocket, and when I saw something white on the floor, I thought my sock had fallen out and picked it up.”
Detective Heather leveled her gaze at me. “Where exactly did all of this take place?”
I was hoping she wouldn’t ask. I tried to sound nonchalant when I told her it was in Kevin’s office.
“Was he present?” She took out her notebook and started writing. She seemed surprised when I said yes. Of course I didn’t mention I was under the desk and he had no idea I was there. It was my version of the don’t-ask-don’t-tell rule.
“And I suppose when you realized what you’d picked up, you thought you’d use it in your own investigation.”
She had caught me, and I sighed. “Something like that.” I looked to see if she was going to pull out some handcuffs from her purse. Instead she just glared at me.
“You’ll have to turn it over to me.”
I nodded and offered to bring it down to the station. “I’ll have it to you by this afternoon.”
“No. We’ll go to your place and get it right now.” She led me to her Crown Victoria and gestured toward the passenger seat. It was not a fun ride.
When she pulled in front of my house, she leaned toward me. “I know I mentioned withholding evidence an
d obstruction of justice, but I think I left out tampering with evidence. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in if it turns out that handkerchief is evidence?”
I didn’t think she expected an answer. What exactly qualified as tampering anyway? Oh dear. I’d touched the hanky, the pinchy winchy had touched it, and once it was in the plastic bag, a pile of books had flattened it.
And I’d been worried about her asking me about Arnold Bullard?
The dogs were obviously not expecting me home so soon. Cosmo had turned over the trash and was working his way through the contents. When he saw me, he took off across the house, leaving a trail of coffee-ground paw prints. Blondie, who always stayed in her chair when I was home, had relocated to the top of the couch and was surveying the action on the street. It was a slow morning—just a guy with a canvas sack distributing coupons for pizza. Blondie abandoned her post as soon as she saw us, and as she scurried across the house she did something she never did—barked at Detective Heather.
I got the hanky and surrendered it to Detective Heather. She turned over the bag, examining it. By now it had smoothed out with only an occasional wrinkle. She looked closer.
“If that’s blood, you’re really in trouble,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure it’s tomato bisque soup.” I debated whether I should say more, like how I thought the soup got on the hanky, but I was afraid it might annoy her more, and she looked pretty close to the edge in that department. But I took a chance and mentioned having seen a piece of something like the handkerchief hanging off the drawer handle on Drew Brooks’s desk. “Your CSI people probably got it.”
She glared at me in response. I thought she was going to leave after that, but she took out her notebook. “What do you know about Arnold Bullard’s death?”
I didn’t know what to say since all I really knew was what Barry had told me. My silence didn’t sit well with her.
“The bookstore is just down the street from Dr. Bullard’s office. Maybe you decided to take a little walk and check up on him. There was a call about you stalking him before.”
I should have just kept quiet, but when she brought up the stalking issue I thought if I explained it might make it better.
Ha!
I put all my cards on the table. “I thought Dr. Bullard was definitely a suspect in Drew Brooks’s murder. He was very angry about something, and he was there the day of the murder. I thought if I got some information and passed it on to—”
“You’d get your friend off the hook,” Detective Heather said, interrupting me. “I don’t think so. If your mishandling of this handkerchief messes up my case, you are so in trouble.” She glanced around the room. Barry had left his jacket on the couch. She picked it up. “I’m seeing him later. I’ll just give it to him then.”
I guess there was no way to keep her from mentioning the handkerchief issue to Barry. She started to leave, but I realized my car was still at the gym where Sheila worked. I hated to do it, but I had to ask her for a ride back.
CHAPTER 23
“I’M SORRY,” SHEILA WAILED AS I NEARED THE crochet table at Shedd & Royal. Thanks to Detective Heather’s side trip I was late. And judging by the surprise on everyone’s faces, nobody expected me to show. My guess was that Sheila had told them what happened and they thought I was on my way to jail. I laid my bag on the table and collapsed in my chair. Dealing with Detective Heather had left me drained. I looked around and saw that Patricia had come back and was actually crocheting. She was acting as if nothing unusual had happened with her book signing, but she gave me a dirty look. No doubt it was for my run-in with Detective Heather. The odds of my becoming part of Benjamin’s team were dwindling.
Adele was sitting next to an empty chair, continually looking toward the door. I didn’t have to ask what that was about. I knew she was waiting for Eduardo.
“I was so worried,” Dinah said after getting up to hug me. As soon as she sat back down, she began crocheting at warp speed, apparently trying to make up for lost time.
Adele finally gave up staring at the door and looked my way. “Pink, I don’t want you to worry if you end up going to jail. I can handle the Milton Mindell thing alone just fine.” I rolled my eyes at her remark and turned my attention to Sheila.
“I just want to know how the hanky came up in conversation,” I said. Sheila’s eyebrows were so close together they looked almost fused. Her eyes were big and sad.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “You’re the last person I wanted to get in trouble after all you’ve done. Detective Gilmore started asking me about Arnold Bullard. I gave her all the reasons you said he might have been the one who killed Drew Brooks. When she told me he was dead, I kind of lost it and I guess I started rambling. I thought she was going to try to pin his death on me, too.”
Sheila had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. “Then I mentioned the white lacy stuff you saw hanging on the drawer, and when she wanted me to describe it, I said it looked kind of like the hanky.” Sheila stopped again and regrouped. “She wanted to know what hanky and before I realized what I’d done I’d told her. I know I wasn’t under oath or anything, but she kept saying I should just tell her the truth and that I’d get in more trouble if I withheld information. I should have just kept quiet. How much more trouble could I be in than being a suspect in a murder?”
Surprisingly, Sheila said it all without once drumming her fingers—or anything else. She lowered her head and asked me if I could forgive her. Of course, I did. The hanky disclosure had put me in a bad spot, but who could blame Sheila when Detective Heather kept chipping away at her?
“Can we save this for later,” CeeCee said. “Obviously, Molly is fine. When there’s too much talking, there’s not enough crocheting”
“That’s just what I was going to say,” Adele chimed in. She’d been so enamored with Eduardo lately, she’d almost forgotten that she was always vying with CeeCee for the position of group leader.
I took out my shawl, but I was having a hard time concentrating. I kept stopping and staring into space. The threats Detective Heather had made about withholding evidence and obstruction of justice suggested there could be handcuffs and jail involved. My cell phone went off, making me jump. Before I could even say hello, Barry started yelling.
“Molly, are you crazy? Withholding evidence? Why didn’t you say something to me?”
I stepped away from the group. I didn’t want an audience. “I didn’t withhold evidence deliberately. And it might not even be evidence.” Detective Heather sure hadn’t wasted any time in telling Barry. “I didn’t say anything about it because I thought it would put you in an awkward spot.”
“Well, it has.” Then he wanted to know where and how I got it. I told him the no-show sock story, but he knew enough to keep pressing until I explained exactly where I’d found it and what I’d been doing. I couldn’t see him, but I was sure he was hitting his forehead with the heal of his hand.
“Maybe I better call Mason Fields,” I said. I had already been thinking about doing it. Mason got his celebrity clients off from really serious charges like murder—withholding evidence would be small time.
The anger in Barry’s voice changed to something else. Maybe frustration that he couldn’t fix this, but Mason could, and worry about all the time I might spend with Mason discussing it. The picture of them trying to outdo each other barbecuing at my house came to mind.
“No, don’t call him. At least, not yet,” Barry commanded. “Just please tell me, is that the only thing you had?”
When I said yes, Barry sounded relieved and made me promise never to keep anything like that from him again.
“I hope I never have anything like that to keep from you,” I said.
His voice softened and he thanked me for having Jeffrey over. Then he made a big deal about making plans for an actual advanced planned date.
It wasn’t until later, when Dinah and I were ensconced at Caitlin’s Cupcakes, that I thought abou
t Pixie and the soup. Could Pixie have been involved in her husband’s death?
Dinah had insisted on treating for drinks and cupcakes, which, after what I’d gone through, almost counted as medicinal. Dinah seemed more relaxed. She said she’d worked things out with Jeremy and he was taking over the care of his children, so she hoped all of them would be leaving soon. “I want my old life back.”
I brought up my phone call with Kevin, and Dinah’s smile faded and her eyes widened. “Oh dear. Pixie got the soup.”
I told Dinah I’d already come up with a plan. “I’m going to call her, give her my sympathy about Arnold and offer to bring over some food. Then while she’s eating I’ll tell her I know she got the corn chowder for Arnold.” Another hint from The Average Joe’s Guide. If you said you already knew something incriminating, the person you were talking to was likely to just break down and tell you the whole story.
“I’d come with you, but I need to pack up the kids’ things. I don’t want to give Jeremy any excuse to delay their departure.”
“It’s probably better if I go alone anyway. That way I can just concentrate on her.” Dinah told me to be careful, and I assured her I wasn’t going to eat anything there or let Pixie hang around behind me with anything heavy in her hand.
I finished up my afternoon at the bookstore. I spent most of the time finishing the preparations for Milton Mindell’s book fiesta. Adele kept strongly suggesting changes, and I kept explaining that this was how Milton wanted it.
“Pink, that’s old thinking. I’m sure Milton would appreciate some fresh ideas,” Adele said, interrupting me.
I sighed with frustration. “I don’t think so. He’s very specific about how he wants his events handled, and that’s how we’re going to do it.”
Adele stormed off with a “humph.”
Returning home, I decided to make up for the fact that I hadn’t done much cooking lately. After putting a big pan of vegetable and cheese lasagna in the oven, I made a nice salad of baby lettuce with paper-thin cucumber slices, shredded carrots and a buttery avocado, ready to be topped with homemade dressing and a sprinkling of blue cheese and walnuts. I mixed up a batch of cookie bars and put them in the bottom oven. Then, while everything was cooking, I called Pixie.
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