For Better or Worsted

by Betty Hechtman

  “That’s where the shirt was,” I said, pointing at a spot on the sidewalk that ran along the garage. A thin strip of dirt ran along the back fence and was planted with a row of neatly trimmed bushes.

  “The shirt is a key piece of evidence,” Mason said. “If you hadn’t found that, the cops wouldn’t have gotten the idea that someone slipped in dressed as a server.”

  “I’m sure they would have found the shirt themselves,” I said. “It’s too bad it was such a mess. I’m sure it has made it hard to connect it with the wearer.” I stood staring at the spot for a few minutes, as if some new evidence would pop out. It didn’t happen and we went inside. Spike ran in to greet us. He gave me the once-over, but the toy fox terrier caught up with Mason as he headed to the kitchen.

  I kept thinking back to when I had found the shirt. Something was nagging at me, and I told him I wanted to go outside again. Mason shrugged and followed me back to the walkway behind the garage. I retraced the path Thursday and I had taken, then I stopped and took off the black gauzy shirt I had on over my tank top. I heard Mason make a surprised sound.

  “You want to take off your clothes?” he said. He was behind me, but I was sure he was grinning.

  I dropped the shirt and looked at where it landed for a long time.

  Mason joined me looking down at my shirt. “Okay, what are we looking for, Sherlock?”

  “I was just thinking,” I said as I picked up the shirt and put it on again. I turned as if to go back into the house and dropped the shirt again. This time the collar was vaguely pointing toward the back gate. “Don’t you see, the way the shirt falls might show the direction the killer went.”

  “And?” Mason said.

  “And,” I said. “My foot was hurting, so I took off my shoes, that’s how I noticed the shirt in the first place. I was standing on it.” I stopped and closed my eyes, trying to relive the moment. “When I picked it up, I was holding the collar and I was facing the back gate.”

  “Meaning?” Mason said. I think he knew what I was going to say, but he was letting me play detective.

  “That the killer might not have dropped the shirt and then headed out the gate, but rather went back into the reception like nothing happened.” My shoulders sagged. “Just when I had a good suspect, too.”

  “Suspect?” Mason said. “How is it I’m so out of the loop?” We went back inside. I took out some plates and opened the pink box of cupcakes, while Mason opened a cabinet reaching for something. “I guess we haven’t spent much time together, alone,” he said, answering his own question.

  I suddenly wished I could take back my words. I had decided not to tell Barry about Paxton Cline until I had some evidence to go with it, but after the episode at the mall when Thursday pretended not to know Paxton, I couldn’t really tell Mason about him, either.

  “Did I say suspect? What I meant to say was scenario. A scenario that the killer was a stranger and not a worker or guest at the wedding.”

  “And that’s what I think happened,” Mason said, sounding happier that he wasn’t left out. I didn’t feel better, though. I was still wondering why Thursday didn’t want me to know she knew Paxton.

  I glanced over the elaborate kitchen for the evidence of some kind of fancy espresso maker, but there was none. Mason took out two demitasse cups and then reached back in the cabinet and came out with a small metal pot.

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “This is the old-school way to make espresso. I certainly regret now that I didn’t get to know Jonah better.” He began to add coffee and water and screwed the top and bottom together before putting the small pot on the stove. “Then I might have been some help in finding his killer.”

  “Tell me again what you thought of him,” I said. Mason repeated the statement about wondering if anyone would seem good enough for his daughter. “He was always cordial when we met. I understood he worked for his father, but Thursday mostly kept him separate from me.”

  “What about his family?”

  Mason’s expression darkened. “It’s hard for me to separate how they were before the wedding and how Kingsley has acted since.” He shook his head with anger, which was rare for Mason, and I knew he was thinking of how Jackson Kingsley had tried from the very beginning to blame Mason’s family for his son’s death and wanted to cut Thursday out of their family. “We had an engagement party and a few dinners. I just talked to Kingsley about sports. It was a safe topic. My main aim was just to keep things peaceful, so I didn’t bring up any issues that could stir things up.”

  I started to say something about the current Mrs. Kingsley, but stopped, reminding myself that Mason didn’t know about Thursday’s and my trip to the Kingsleys’, which is how I knew that she wasn’t Jonah’s mother and not that many years older than him. I really didn’t like all these secrets.

  The pungent smell of the espresso filled the air as the water made its way up through the coffee grounds into the top of the small pot. He put everything on a tray, and we took it into his den with Spike following close behind.

  After all the commotion of the day, it was nice to sink into his ultracomfortable couch and enjoy the peaceful moment. Mason inched a little closer to me. “Can you remind me what happened to the plan for us to be more than friends?”

  CHAPTER 16

  “SO THE COPS THINK YOU’RE THE YARN BOMBER,” Adele said, sounding a little too happy after I told her about my episode at the mall. I don’t think it was so much that she wanted it to be me as much as to have the spotlight off of her, particularly where Eric and his mother were concerned. Though with her crochet obsession and natural flamboyance, it was hard to believe it wasn’t her work.

  I responded to her comment by rolling my eyes. We were sitting at the worktable together, crocheting. I was trying to get a head start on holiday gifts and working on a scarf in yarn that created its own stripes. Adele was immersed in her jewelry making, but then she’d turned it into a side business. She had set aside using wire for a while and was using hemp cord and beads to make lovely chokers. She had even started making her own beads out of polymer clay.

  Adele pulled the newspaper out of her tote bag, laid it on the table and pointed out a photograph on the second page. It must have been a very slow news day for yarn bombing to get such a prominent position. The statues showed up really well, and, frankly, I thought the colorful ponchos jazzed them up. I examined the picture again and laughed. “It looks like these signs giving directions in the mall are sticking out of their heads,” I said.

  Adele pointed out that the article mentioned that a suspect had been taken into custody. “Now I get it. I guess that means you.”

  “You do realize I didn’t do it,” I said.

  “But it sounds like the cops think you did. They’ve seen you at two other bombing sites, and then to catch you with yarn and hooks at the mall . . . ?” Adele gave me a disparaging shake of her head. “As long as they don’t think it’s me,” she said, checking the chair next to her to make sure her boyfriend’s mother hadn’t slid in when she wasn’t looking.

  “What happened to your need to find out the truth about who was really doing it?”

  Adele shrugged. “That’s when they thought it was me.”

  I had let Adele get away with any number of outrageous statements, but this time she’d gone too far.

  “I see how it is. When you’re on the hook, you want everybody to help you get off it, but when it’s somebody else, you step back.”

  Adele’s mouth fell open and she looked like she was about to object, but then she got a guilty look. “Pink, I think you might be right.” She paused and seemed to struggle as if what she was going to say was really hard. “I, ah, I—well, take this as an apology.”

  “You can’t say the words, can you? You can’t just say, ‘I’m sorry’?”

  “Pink, my motto has been never surrender. Nev
er show your underbelly and be vulnerable. Saying the actual words ‘I’m sorry’ counts as that for me.”

  Only once had Adele let down her guard and told us something that explained why she was the way she was. It was all about a wicked knitting stepmother who made fun of her and a father who wasn’t impressed with her crocheted gift.

  Maybe Eric’s mother was having an effect on her. Certainly her clothing choices were different, but I was beginning to miss her wild outfits. She was blah in all beige today. Not even a beanie with a flower to add a little pizzazz.

  I supposed I should be grateful that she sort of admitted she was wrong, and let it go. I was about to say something along those lines when she leaned into me and grabbed my shoulders in an awkward hug.

  “Okay, Pink. You did it. You got me to say the words ‘I’m sorry,’ even if it was out of context.” She seemed stunned. “There, I just said it again. I’ve shown you my vulnerable side. Go ahead, take your shot.” She closed her eyes as if preparing for the worst. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes a slit. “I’m waiting. The anticipation is killing me. Say whatever you’re going to say.”

  I touched her shoulder and told her to relax. “All I was trying to say was that since you wanted my help when you thought you were in jeopardy, it would be nice if you returned the favor since I’m the one in the crosshairs now.

  “You want my help? I thought you had so many people who would rush to your aid. Dinah, Barry, Mason and all the Hookers.”

  By now, I was regretting saying anything. Adele with her defenses down was more difficult to deal with than when she was being outrageous. And I began to wonder what kind of help she’d really be. Maybe more of a hindrance. But I’d gotten myself in a corner and said yes. I was relieved when some of the other Hookers started to show up and the subject got dropped.

  Mrs. Shedd came by the table and pulled me aside. “Everything settled for the party?” She sounded a little nervous. What had seemed easy at first was turning out to be more complicated. I still hadn’t come up with a project, and there was the yarn and supplies, and the food. I did my best to make it seem like it was all under control, but when I rejoined the Hookers I told them the truth.

  “Pink, I’m handling the crochet lessons,” Adele said. She stopped to check her calendar. “Even though I’m having an important visitor at story time that morning.” Leonora was sitting next to her knitting a pale blue baby blanket. Adele almost bowed to her. “Maybe you’ve heard of Kate Moore, author of Pig Tales.” Leonora barely reacted, but several other people did, particularly Dinah.

  “That’s a classic,” Dinah said. “I read it to my kids. And again to my ex’s kids when they came to visit.” Then Dinah steered the subject back to the upcoming party. “I’ll be glad to help in any way you need,” my best friend said.

  “Yes, dear,” CeeCee said. “Tell us what you need.” I ran down the list of things that still weren’t settled and reiterated that if this first party didn’t come off, there wouldn’t be any more. CeeCee acted as leader and spoke to the group, reminding them of Mrs. Shedd’s generosity in letting us meet at the bookstore and how she always supplied the yarn for our charity ventures. “The bookstore needs to take in money in new ways and the Party with a Purpose is an excellent way. So let’s all pitch in to make this first party so fabulous that everyone in Tarzana, Encino and Woodland Hills will want to have one themselves.”

  Rhoda spoke up first. “Give me a little time and I’ll come up with a project,” she said. Rhoda was a very direct person, and I knew she wouldn’t make a promise she couldn’t keep. I gave her a relieved nod before explaining the criteria.

  “I’ve made kits before,” Elise said, reminding me we sold her vampire scarf kits every time a new Anthony book came out. “I’ll give them to you almost for cost.” Despite her wispy birdlike voice, Elise had a tough core. The table erupted into shock. Finally she conceded and said she’d do them at cost, but she’d need help in putting them together.

  Sheila said she’d help Elise with the kits. Eduardo put down the lacy doily he was making. He’d begun using them for display items in his old-fashioned drugstore. “We have penny candy,” he said with a laugh. We all knew why he laughed—the name should have been changed to “many penny candy.”

  “I can make up little goody bags for the kids,” Eduardo added.

  “I’ll help with paper goods and set up,” Dinah said.

  Leonora looked up. “I’m not really a member of your group, but if there’s anything I can do.” What she didn’t see was that Adele was standing behind her shaking her head vehemently, waving her arms and mouthing no.

  I let out a sigh of relief and went back to crocheting. Peace settled over the group for a minute.

  “What happened to Thursday?” Rhoda said. Leonora’s head shot up with a puzzled expression.

  “Nothing happened to it,” Leonora said. “It’s only Tuesday.”

  A chuckle went through the group and Rhoda explained that Thursday was a person. Of course, she didn’t stop at that. She went on to explain my connection to the bride and how her husband of one hour had been stabbed at the wedding reception.

  “Oh,” Leonora said. “I did hear about that from Eric. He was one of the first responders,” she added with a touch of pride. I assured the group Thursday wanted to come again, but she’d just gotten back to teaching. I told them how we’d had a dinner together on Sunday night before she went back. “We cooked together and then we sat around crocheting. She’s getting really good.”

  Rhoda went right back to talking about the murder. “What’s with the cops? With all those witnesses, how can they not have arrested somebody?” she said in her matter-of-fact voice. “What about you, Molly?” She turned to me. “I can’t believe that with Thursday staying at your house and Mason being a ‘friend’ and all, that you aren’t up to your elbows in investigating.” It was the first Leonora was hearing of my sleuthing skills. By the squinty look she gave me, I don’t think she was too impressed.

  “Maybe that’s the problem. Between the guests and the servers, there were so many people, it was hard for anyone to notice anything. And it isn’t like anyone was expecting something like that to happen. The cops’ scenario still has someone coming in dressed like one of the servers, doing the deed and leaving. But I’m not so sure.” No one picked up on the last part of my comment and asked what I meant.

  “What about the Kingsley family?” CeeCee said.

  I shook my head sadly. “They’ve cut themselves off from Thursday. They’re treating her like the enemy.” I paused. “Or as if she had something to do with Jonah’s death.” There was a moment of silence and I knew what some of them were thinking. Maybe she did it.

  “Talk about crime,” Elise said, cutting into the dead air. “You should have been at the mall the other day. I saw the mall cops racing on their Segways toward something. Probably a bunch of shoplifters.”

  “Not exactly,” Adele said, unfolding the newspaper and putting it in the middle of the table. Of course, then I had to explain what had happened to me.

  “You were in the police station again?” CeeCee said. “They ought to have a special chair with your name on it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Adele said, making her voice sound important. “I’m going to help Molly prove her innocence by working with her to find the real yarn bomber.”

  I was stunned. Maybe a leopard could change its spots, or in Adele’s case, stop wearing them.

  * * *

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL THEM ABOUT PAXTON CLINE?” Dinah asked when we were alone. After the group broke up, Dinah and I had headed for the café. When we’d gotten our drinks, we had taken them to a table in the window. It was surrounded by displays of items the café sold, and it offered the most privacy in the place.

  “I was thinking about it, but Leonora is Eric’s mother. Eric is a motor cop, but still his pa
th crosses Barry’s.”

  Dinah nodded knowingly. “So you still haven’t told Barry about him.”

  “My plan was to deliver Paxton with some hot evidence, but so far I’ve got nothing more than we got the other day.” I put my head down and rocked it with dismay. “It gets worse.” I told her about all the secrets I was keeping from Mason, including the whole Paxton thing, too. “How could I tell Mason about Paxton being a possible suspect and then tell him that his daughter pretended not to know him?” Dinah understood and gave me a reassuring pat on the arm.

  “You said something to the group about not being sure the killer was some stranger who had slipped in and out.” Dinah poured equal amounts of steamed milk and coffee into her mug.

  I gave her the details of my experiment with the shirt in Mason’s backyard. “When I went back to the spot where I had found the shirt and relived it, suddenly I remembered that the collar was closest to the gate. As if someone had taken off the shirt, dropped it and gone back into the reception.” My red eye was almost gone, and I considered having another.

  “Did you tell Mason about that?” my friend asked.

  “He was standing with me when I did it.” I turned to Dinah. “His daughter and his ex are still loosely in the suspect pool. I don’t know how seriously they’re being considered, but I have a feeling that Mason would just as soon the cops stick with the idea that someone came in from the outside in a revenge plot. And someone they’ll never be able to track down.”

  There was so much to tell Dinah. The whole meltdown with Thursday and her mother’s version of what had happened at the wedding. As I was talking to Dinah, something nagged at me. It took me a few minutes to remember. “This is probably nothing, but Emerson made a point to me that she stayed to arrange the flowers on the cake and hand out fresh boutonnieres to the wedding party But when I mentioned that to Jaimee, she looked at me like I was nuts and said that she had not ordered a second round of lapel flowers handed out.”