For Better or Worsted

by Betty Hechtman

  Eduardo complimented Thursday on her skill, and Elise suggested she might want to make a vampire-style washcloth. Before Sheila could say hello, Thursday was admiring the mohair shawl she was making in blue, green and lavender mixed together.

  I was about to let out a sigh of relief. I’d been worried about how they would react or what they would say to Thursday, and I’d wanted to talk to the group first, but it appeared to have been unnecessary. I say appeared, because in the next breath, Rhoda asked Thursday for the real details of what happened at the wedding.

  “I’m just trying to get the facts,” Rhoda said, after getting nudged and gasped at by the rest of the table. “And who would know better?”

  There were rumblings of Rhoda being insensitive, but Thursday stopped them. “All I can tell you is what I know. I saw my mother fidgeting around the cake, and I went to see what was going on.” Thursday stopped, and for the first time I saw emotion welling in her face and her eyes filled with water. “I tripped over something, and when I looked down I saw Jonah was on the ground. I was trying to help him sit up, but—” she stopped, clearly unable to go on.

  Was this the moment when the you-know-what hit the fan that Barry had warned me about? I looked around the bookstore, glad that it was relatively peaceful if she was going to have a meltdown. Only Mrs. Shedd and Ben Sherman, the kids’ writing instructor, were around. When I looked back at Thursday, she had swallowed back her tears and regained her self-control. To make sure things stayed calm, I changed the subject to the crochet birthday party.

  Dinah got what I was doing and gave me an affirmative nod from across the table. For Thursday’s benefit, I explained the whole situation. “It all started with a little girl bored with pizza parties,” I said before going into the girl’s encounter with the crochet group. When I explained the Parties with a Purpose idea, Thursday brightened.

  “What a wonderful idea. I’m a teacher, you know,” she said to the group. “The kids all spend so much time with electronic things these days, they will love actually doing something with their hands.”

  I told her I appreciated her enthusiasm and then got to the challenging part of the party planning. “When I offered to do the party, I was thinking we’d just offer the place and the crochet lesson, but the mother is expecting me to take care of everything. All they want to do is show up.” I heard Adele clearing her throat in a pointed manner from down the table.

  “Molly really isn’t doing this party business on her own. I’m functioning as the crochet instructor,” Adele said. I was a little stunned by the restraint in her manner and the fact that she had called me Molly instead of by my last name, Pink, as she usually did. I was beginning to hope that Eric’s mother never left.

  “In any case, the whole thing falls on us. We can’t just teach the kids to crochet, we need to give them a project that, if they can’t finish completely at the party, they can get a lot done and know how to finish it.”

  “What a wonderful idea,” Eduardo said. “It would be a whole new business for the bookstore, making optimum use of the same space.” His whole focus on things had changed since he bought the Crown Apothecary and started reading books on business management. I think it was important to him that we realized he was more than just a pretty face.

  “There’s another issue. We only have one chance to make this right, otherwise it will be our only party.” I gave Adele a pointed look, and she threw it right back at me.

  “My children’s programs always come off perfectly. It’s your author events that end up being a problem.” Adele was still watching her words and how she said them. She was being so careful, she was beginning to sound like English wasn’t her native language. I didn’t bother to add that it was her costumes and behavior that had had a part in some of the fiascos. Who could forget Adele dancing on the table in purple sequins as the cops rushed in?

  The group promised to help come up with a project that would work for the kids. Thursday even volunteered to help with the kids.

  “At least we won’t have to decorate,” I said, gesturing to the colorful backdrop of yarn. For a while the group fell into silence as they all worked on their individual projects. When it came time for the group to break up, Adele headed back to the children’s department, saying she was working on an important author event. It seemed as if her comment was mostly directed toward Leonora, who didn’t seem terribly impressed. I was so used to Adele and her flamboyant clothes, I did a double take when I saw her outfit. Then I realized she’d copied what I usually wore—khaki pants and a shirt. I wasn’t sure if I should take that as a compliment or a comment on how dull my clothes were.

  Dinah stayed behind with me as I cleaned up after the group. We both watched Thursday as she wandered through the bookstore displays. Now that she was alone, I noticed her demeanor had changed. The smile had become a straight line and her shoulders seemed to slump. I felt good and bad. I was sorry to see her looking so down, but at the same time relieved as it seemed a more natural response.

  Thursday stopped in front of a display of pens, journals and books about writing. I went back to what I was doing, but Dinah nudged me a moment later.

  “Who’s he?” she said. I followed her gaze and saw that Thursday was talking to someone. His head was down, and it took a moment for me to register who the tumbling black curls belonged to.

  “That’s Ben Sherman, our kids’ writing teacher, ah, I mean facilitator.” I still had a hard time with that term. It sounded pretentious, but then I guess the idea was that he was to help it all happen instead of teaching anybody how to do it. I stopped brushing off the snippets of leftover yarn while both Dinah and I watched them for a moment.

  “Maybe it’s from being your Watson, but I’m deducing that they haven’t just met,” Dinah said, noting that he had touched Thursday’s arm.

  “But they don’t want anybody to know it,” I said, pointing out that instead of facing each other they were both facing the display as if that was their focus.

  “Ooh, aren’t we the detectives,” Dinah said, giving me a high five.

  “There you are, Sunshine,” Mason said, coming into the yarn department. “Do you ever check your phone messages?” I was relieved to see him back to his usual self. The happy grin, the flop of hair over his forehead and the twinkle of fun in his eye. “I told Thursday I’d meet her for lunch so we could talk over her next steps. I left a message inviting you.”

  “I can’t get away now. But Thursday is over there.” I pointed toward the display and noted with surprise that Thursday was now alone.

  CHAPTER 7

  “FOOD!” I SAID OUT LOUD TO MYSELF AS I MANNED THE customer service desk. The woman I’d been helping figure out when the next Anthony book was coming out looked up in surprise at my abrupt comment. I’d had a nagging feeling that there was something about the party I hadn’t thought of, and then out of nowhere the answer came. Dinah had left for an English department meeting. Thursday and Mason had gone off for lunch and I had gone back to work.

  “Sorry for startling you,” I said with a sheepish smile. “We’re starting a new venture of putting on parties at the bookstore. We call them Parties with a Purpose. The first one is a girl’s birthday, and we’re going to teach them to crochet.”

  I was on a roll now and probably giving her far more information than she wanted, but in the back of my mind I was also trying to get the word out about the parties. I explained I had just realized I hadn’t thought about the food.

  “You know cupcakes are quite the thing these days,” she said. Then she said she’d be interested in hearing how the party went. “It sounds like a fun idea, and it might work for something I’m planning.”

  I thanked her and gave her one of the store’s business cards after writing “Parties with a Purpose” on the back. More things I hadn’t thought about. If this was going to be a business, we would need to make up a brochure and ad
d the information to our website. But first I needed to pull off Lyla’s party.

  Cupcakes were a perfect idea. I considered talking to our barista and cookie baker Bob about doing them in-house. But for this first party, I didn’t want to take any chances and decided Caitlyn’s Cupcakes was the way to go.

  As soon as I could take a break, I walked down the street and crossed Ventura. Caitlyn’s was on the corner. The building had housed several different businesses in the past, but had been redone to accommodate the cupcake bakery. The front had been made into a retail area with cases of different kinds of cupcakes. A number of tables shaped liked giant cupcakes were sprinkled around on the black-and-white tiled floor, and a bar with stools faced the window. The back two-thirds of the building was where they did the baking.

  I had hoped it would be quiet when I went in so I could discuss all the possibilities with Caitlyn, but the place was crowded. A line of people were waiting to be served and all the tables were filled. It smelled delicious and reminded me that I’d missed lunch. The only thing I could do was join the line and wait.

  It was a neighborhood place and the atmosphere was friendly, which meant that everyone was talking to everyone else while they waited. I shouldn’t have been surprised that the topic of conversation was Thursday’s wedding. It had all the makings of a conversation piece. It was local, it was weird and murder was involved.

  “The TV newspeople are calling it ‘nuptial nightmare.’ Did you see the photo of the mother of the bride sitting in the wedding cake, holding the bloody knife?” a woman said.

  “I heard her referred to as the murderer-in-law,” another woman said. “The newspeople love catchy phrases.”

  Someone else brought up the shapewear defense, and someone else said the same thing had happened to her. “I couldn’t even lift my arms enough to dance with my son at his wedding.”

  I was glad I didn’t have Thursday with me. It would have been her worst nightmare.

  The line moved up slowly, and then even when they’d gotten their cupcakes, people stood off to the side continuing the conversation. The place had become so popular that Caitlyn had hired more baking help and several part-time people to man the counter. Since I was a regular customer, I knew all the counter help. I saw that Kirsty Frazier was assisting Caitlyn today. It was nothing personal, but I hoped when my turn came I’d get Caitlyn, since she was truly a cupcake expert.

  “I was at the reception,” the woman behind me said. Everyone turned to face her and began to shoot questions at her. I scrutinized her as well to see if I recognized her. She was blond with some help, somewhere in her forties with an overeagerness about her. It was obvious she liked being in the center of the discussion as she gave details about the event in the tent. Someone mentioned that she’d heard the cops thought it was someone who slipped in and pretended to be a server.

  “It wouldn’t have been that hard. The servers looked like something out of that old video. The one with Robert Palmer and all the women musicians who looked the same. Someone came by with a tray of baby quiches, and I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.”

  “Were the quiches good?” the woman next to her asked. The question caught everyone off guard and there was a titter of laughter as I finally stepped up to the counter. Just my luck Caitlyn was helping another customer and I got Kirsty.

  “I’m not sure you can help me,” I said. Kirsty did a double take. She had dark brown hair pulled back with a headband that showed off her dangle earrings.

  “You don’t need the boss to put some cupcakes in a pink box,” she said, making a tsk sound and rolling her eyes. She waved her hand over the counter. “Tell me how many you want total so I know the size box and then you pick what kind you want.”

  “That’s just it. I’m not here to buy cupcakes, well, maybe one, but what I really want is advice,” I said.

  Kirsty gave me an odd look. “What? You think cupcakes have taken the place of cocktails, and us counter people are like bartenders who you tell your problems to?” Then she apologized for being short. “Too many jobs, too little sleep,” she said with a yawn. “I guess I might as well get used to it. Med students are notoriously sleep deprived.”

  All ears were on me now and eyes, too, though everyone was trying to act like it wasn’t so.

  I began the story about the Parties with a Purpose, explaining that the first one was for an eleven-year-old’s birthday, and I was trying to line up the food and thought cupcakes might be the way to go.

  “Absolutely,” Kirsty said. She pulled out a menu of party options and slid it across the counter. “Our newest are the filled cupcakes. They look nice, but they are a little pricey.”

  “I’m not sure what Emerson wants to spend,” I said.

  “Emerson Lake?” Kirsty asked, and I nodded. She looked toward the crowd. “She did the flowers for the wedding you’re all talking about.”

  The woman behind me spoke up. “That’s right. She’s the hot flower person for events now. She’s known for her personalized service. Her trademark is decorating the cake with fresh flowers. She always does it on-site.”

  “Even so, she had to dress like the rest of the servers,” Kirsty said. Caitlyn looked up from her customer and gave Kirsty a sharp look. Kirsty flinched and got back to business. “So, do any of those cupcakes work for you?”

  All the choices were a little overwhelming, so I asked if I could take the menu and discuss it with Emerson and Lyla. I asked about how much time they needed and other details, and then bought a cornbread cupcake that almost passed as lunch.

  One of the seats became available, and I sat down to eat my cupcake before going back to work. I was surprised when Kirsty abandoned the line and came out from behind the counter and over to me.

  “Could you do me a favor?” she said, waving to the line that she’d be back there in a moment. She held out an earring. “Could you tell Adele I want another one like this?” She tried to hand it to me, but I was concerned that I might lose it. Instead, I offered to pass on the information to Adele. “Fine,” she said in an annoyed tone. “I’ll keep it in my cubby if she needs to see it.” She rushed back behind the counter, telling the fussing mob not to get their shorts in a knot. The blond woman who’d been behind me came up to me while she was waiting for her order. This time when we looked at each other, we recognized each other, at least sort of. She knew I worked at the bookstore, and I remembered her as the cookbook collector, but until now there had been no names involved. I gave her mine, and she introduced herself as Isa Susberg.

  “Isa?” I said. “That’s an unusual name.”

  “It’s really Isabella. I went by Bella for years, but then it became too common, thanks to some vampire books. I sure hope nobody names a character Isa,” she said with a smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you said about the parties you’re putting on. I’m hosting a baby shower and I was looking for something different. I think everyone is tired of the silly games. The idea of learning how to do something and actually making something sounds great. Could you handle a baby shower, or are you strictly kids’ parties?”

  “We can do any kind of event,” I said. Unfortunately, she asked what kind of parties we’d done, and I had to tell her that Lyla’s party was actually the first one we were doing.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding dubious. I sensed her backing away, and in an effort to keep the conversation going, I told her I’d been at the wedding, too. I asked if she was on the bride’s or groom’s side of the guest list.

  “Actually, both. My husband does business with the Kingsleys’ company, and I know Jaimee Fields from our women’s club.” She confided that she’d been questioned by the police and asked to give a DNA sample. She wanted to know if I’d been asked for one.

  “I came in after the event, so I guess they didn’t need one from me,” I said. What I didn’t tell her was that I’d been so close to so
many crime scenes by now, I was pretty sure they kept my prints and DNA on file. Isa seemed uncomfortable with giving the sample.

  “What if the cops make some kind of mistake?” she said in a concerned voice.

  I assured her they were very careful about who they blamed and, besides, it would take forever to get any results for DNA stuff. By then they would probably have a suspect in custody.

  “You didn’t happen to see anything strange?” I asked. It had become second nature to me now to ask those kinds of questions.

  She gave me an odd look. “You must be the one I heard about. Tarzana’s answer to Nancy Drew. What’s this, the Case of the Wronged Wedding?”

  I gave her an uncomfortable smile and said I’d been involved with some investigations, but that I never gave them names.

  “I’ll tell you what I told the cops. I was there for a wedding. Everybody was standing around having drinks and appetizers. I wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen, so I wasn’t looking for anything weird. It just seemed like a regular wedding reception until the screaming started.”

  I thought she was going to leave it at that, but she leaned in close. “I’m not a detective, amateur or otherwise, but I think there was something going on between the bride and groom. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he was holding her arm so tight that when he let go, it left a mark where his hand had been.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THURSDAY WAS WAITING OUTSIDE THE BOOKSTORE when I finished for the day. She was more dressed up than I was used to seeing her. It seemed like she was going for a business look with the black jeans and rust-colored cotton jacket. She wore makeup down to lipstick, and her short brown hair looked styled. “Thank you for doing this,” she said as we walked to the parking lot and her car. “I need to handle this myself.” She glanced at me. “But maybe with some moral support.”