For Better or Worsted

by Betty Hechtman

“Dennis Lake,” he said, putting out his hand before inviting me in. He explained that Emerson wasn’t there. “She’s working a fiftieth anniversary at the Four Seasons in Westlake.”

  It came back to me that Emerson had mentioned her husband worked in Silicon Valley and was home on the weekends while she was off handling the flowers for events.

  “I have some samples of crochet kits to show Emerson,” I said. He seemed confused until I described the format of the party and that each of the guests needed some tools and yarn for the project. Lyla stood next to her father as I took out the three kits Elise had made up. “I suppose I could just leave them and she can get back to me.”

  “I can pick,” Lyla said to her father. Lyla reached out for them, but I wasn’t sure what to do and I looked to her father.

  “Could you give us a minute?” Dennis said. He invited me in and took his daughter into the dining area. I could hear them discussing, which sounded more like arguing, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t listening by looking around the condo living room, moving around as I did. With Emerson’s husband there, the mood was slightly changed. The TV was tuned to some sports game, and it was obvious by the setup of two paper plates and take-out containers that Lyla had been watching it with her father.

  They’d gotten to the point of discussing the merits of one of the kits I’d brought. Lyla liked the one that came in a cloth tote with her name inscribed on the front in glitter glue. “I’d be famous,” she said and went on to describe how everybody would be carrying a bag with her name on it.

  I tried to distance myself more as her father picked up on the obvious: That kit cost the most. Lyla kept working on her father, showing off the tote and its larger amount of supplies. I tried to step away from their conversation and ended up next to the fireplace. Dennis was the analytical type and kept asking his daughter questions about what was really necessary. I moved further away and pretended to be interested in the contents on the mantelpiece.

  It was hard to appear really interested in a pair of candlesticks and a stack of somebody else’s mail. I had examined every inch of the candlesticks by the time I heard their conversation wind down. After a moment, the two of them rejoined me in the living room. “This is the one I want,” Lyla said, holding up the cloth tote with her name in glitter glue. Her father seemed less certain, but nodded.

  Was that a yes? If I questioned it, Lyla might throw a fit. But if I just went ahead without talking to Emerson, she might be upset I didn’t consult her. Oh, the politics of it all. I thanked Lyla, but made a mental note not to do anything until I also got the go-ahead from Emerson.

  The street was Sunday peaceful as I drove to the bookstore. There was a leisurely feel to the day, so I was surprised to see a small crowd along with a cop car and a motorcycle on the street in front of Le Grande Fromage. Everyone was looking up. I walked down the street to find out what was going on.

  When I got closer, I recognized Eric in full uniform. He saw me and stepped away from the crowd. He was all business as he reached me.

  “There’s been another yarn bombing,” he said in such a serious voice I wanted to laugh. He said it as if the yarn really was going to make something explode rather than just offering a surprise. His arm shot out straight as an arrow, pointing at a striped socklike shape that had been pulled partway over a sign that pointed out there was parking behind the building.

  “You have to do something,” he said. “Maybe she’ll listen to you. But this yarn stuff has to stop. They all think it’s her. Doesn’t she get it? She’s making it look like I can’t control my woman.”

  Did he just call Adele his woman? Like his possession he couldn’t control? It was lucky Adele wasn’t there, she would have reacted like a bull to a red cape. I pulled Eric aside.

  It was none of my business, but I stuck my nose in it anyway. “If you plan to have any future with Adele, I’d suggest you drop the caveman act. She’s not your woman. She might be your partner, your girlfriend, your lov—, no cancel that. She could even be your Cutchykins, but not your woman.” Eric took a moment to process the information.

  “Let me rephrase that. What I was trying to say was that I can’t have someone of the female persuasion who I am seeing on a consistent basis going around leaving yarn graffiti. She’s making me look like a fool.”

  I did my best to try to convince him he was jumping to conclusions about Adele. But he wasn’t buying it.

  “Who is always standing up for crochet? Who tends toward flamboyant gestures? And who doesn’t always know when to quit?” he said.

  I had to admit, he had a point.

  He pleaded with me to do something. “It’s only a matter of time before she gets caught in the act if she doesn’t stop. Look,” he said, pointing to a security camera being installed in the front of Luxe, the lifestyle store. “I won’t be able to do anything to help her. The department thinks the yarn bomber is thumbing their nose at us cops, and cops don’t like that.”

  I promised to do my best and headed back to the bookstore. After the three encounters I’d had, I welcomed the peaceful dullness of Shedd & Royal. I helped some customers with the Halloween costumes. Mrs. Shedd had convinced everybody they were going to sell out in a hurry, so they actually were selling in a hurry. I sold a Sherlock Holmes costume with its deerslayer hat and capelike coat, and a Hard Luck Harry outfit from the series about the hobo who traveled on freight trains in the forties.

  When I took a break, I sat down at the worktable in the yarn department. I was surprised to see CeeCee sitting there alone. CeeCee was one of those people who didn’t function well without an audience. She was weaving in the ends of another pet mat.

  “Hello, dear,” she said when I slid into a chair. “They’re painting at my house,” she said by way of explanation. It turned out painting was not quite the right term. She was having a mural painted in her dining room. “It’s me as Ophelia,” she said with a proud trill in her voice. “I have news. They’re making a sequel to Caught by a Kiss. And I’ll be reprising the role.”

  CeeCee tended to be self-absorbed, so I was surprised she noticed that I seemed a little snowed under. CeeCee asked for details. I only got as far as my concern about the details of the upcoming birthday party before CeeCee’s eyes began to glaze over, and she stopped me.

  “I know about parties,” she said gaily. “There’s nothing to worry about. The group has already said they would help.”

  I brought up the kits. “The one the little girl seems to want has her name on the front of cloth totes. It’s written in glitter glue, and I have a feeling it’s done by hand.”

  “No problem, dear. We’ll make a party of decorating the bags at my house. It will also be the unveiling of the mural. Maybe you can bring some of those finger sandwiches you’re doing for the birthday party. I love finger sandwiches. Maybe we should have a sample of the birthday cupcakes as well.” She added the finished pet mat to the others and said something about taking them to an animal shelter. “Is there any word on who stabbed Thursday’s husband? Are you going to bring her back to the group? I hope so, she’s such a lovely girl.”

  I was glad that CeeCee didn’t wait for an answer about any of it before she left.

  * * *

  “I’M HANGING UP MY SLEUTHING SHOES,” I SAID TO Dinah. After the bookstore closed, I had shown up on her doorstep with a bag of food from Le Grande Fromage. “I don’t think Paxton is the guy, but I don’t know who is.” I flopped down on her chartreuse couch while she dished up the croissant sandwiches and salad. “I think I’ve reached the end of my rope for everything.” I went on about the yarn bomber and how Eric had dumped it in my lap. And how the parties had seemed like such an easy idea, but I didn’t even know what the project was going to be. “And I have an okay for the expensive kit, but it’s from a kid.”

  Dinah calmed me down and assured me I was just having a black moment. “It’s all because
you don’t want to confront Thursday about the photographs, isn’t it?”

  I nodded and my bleak mood lifted. I was so grateful to have a friend like Dinah who knew me so well.

  CHAPTER 27

  SEVERAL DAYS LATER, I CAME HOME CARRYING GROCERY bags with the fixings for finger sandwiches. I was going to make the sample sandwich platter to take to CeeCee’s. I’d hired Laurie Jean, the caterer from Thursday’s wedding, to do the sandwiches for Lyla’s party, but she was having so many problems, I wasn’t about to suggest she make up a sample platter. Getting Caitlyn to supply a tray of cupcakes was another matter. She actually offered before I could even ask.

  I noticed there were folded boxes next to Thursday’s fountain and cherubs in my front hall. Since it was supposed to be only temporary, I’d left the wedding presents from her parents there. I had gotten some weird looks when the mailman brought mail to my door and checked out those cherubs. Seeing the boxes made it real that Thursday would be moving into her own place soon. Once she left, I wondered if I’d see much of her. I had confused feelings about her. I’d taught her to crochet and we’d spent time together. I cared for her, but she wasn’t being honest with me. I knew for sure she’d lied about knowing Ben, which made me wonder what else she’d lied about.

  I had put off talking to her when I came home from Dinah’s and the nights after. I could make a lot of excuses, like she was busy working on a poster for her class, or that it was late, but the reality was I hadn’t wanted to know the truth yet.

  But now I was ready. There would be no more excuses or delays. When she came home, I’d confront her.

  I unloaded the bags in the kitchen and went right to making the sandwich fillings. I felt a little more on top of things, at least as far as the party was concerned. Rhoda had come up with the perfect project. I’d gotten a confirmation from Emerson on the kits with the glitter-glue name on the bag. I’d helped Elise get the supplies together for the kits. Eduardo had his staff making up bags of so-called penny candy. And CeeCee had repeated the invite for everything to come together at her place.

  I was cutting the crusts off the bread when the phone rang. The robotic voice didn’t give a name this time, so I didn’t know it was Barry until I picked up.

  “Jeffrey and I are at your back door,” he said after the hellos. He had called earlier to arrange their arrival. It was all because of Cosmo. The black mutt had technically been their dog, though they’d gradually relinquished him to my care. Apparently part of the new Barry was taking back the responsibility of their dog.

  I opened the door and Barry walked in carrying a case of dog food. Jeffrey had a brush and some dog toys and immediately went looking for the dog.

  “Thanks for being so nice about taking care of Cosmo. I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to get our act together,” Barry said as Jeffrey and Cosmo came through the kitchen together. Jeffrey went for the leash and announced he was taking him for a walk.

  “You aren’t taking him with you, are you?” I said in a worried tone. I’d gotten attached to the little dog. Barry seemed relieved by my question and said that even with Jeffrey giving the dog regular care, he was better off staying with me.

  Barry leaned against the counter and looked at what I was making. “Help yourself,” I said, gesturing toward a plate of triangular-shaped sandwiches. The plan was to get everything ready to assemble just before I took it to CeeCee’s, but I’d made up one plate of finished sandwiches to see what they looked—and tasted—like.

  Barry took several and smiled with approval as he bit into a watercress and butter sandwich. I’m sure he hadn’t a hint about the rock I felt in my stomach as I thought about talking to Thursday.

  My company had left, the kitchen was cleaned up, and I was in the yarn room crocheting when I heard Thursday finally come home. I called out to her and invited her to join me. I was tense about talking to her and decided it was a good time to try one of Dr. Wheel’s meditation washcloths. I was using some organic cotton I had and the most basic pattern.

  “Not much longer until you have your house back,” she said, plopping down on the love seat that had become her regular spot. She had a basket next to it where she kept her works in progress. She hadn’t gotten like me, with countless half-done projects. So far, Thursday had only two projects she was going back and forth between.

  She left the scarf and picked up the pet mat she was working on with the odds and ends of cotton yarn I’d given her. It didn’t seem like a good idea to just confront her with what I knew, but rather try to draw her into conversation. I let her crochet in silence for a few minutes before I said anything.

  “It must be a relief for you to know the police at least have a suspect,” I said. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before they gather up enough evidence. If they can find Paxton in a photograph at the reception, there’s a good chance he’ll just confess.” Thursday nodded. “You didn’t happen to see him at the reception?” I said. “That would probably be a clincher.”

  Thursday seemed to be considering something. She looked up and seemed about to speak, but stopped herself. “No, I can’t do that. I can’t say I saw him at the reception,” she said finally.

  “But then why would you be paying attention to the servers on your wedding day? You must have been wrapped in a cocoon of happiness after marrying the man of your dreams.”

  Thursday’s head came up abruptly, and her expression was pained.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I wasn’t thinking. I can only imagine how hard it is to think about the joy of your wedding when you realize it went to black so fast.”

  I watched as Thursday crocheted. Usually she had an even rhythm and uniform stitches. But she seemed to be stabbing her hook into the stitches, and her tension was all over the place, a tight stitch followed by a loose loopy one.

  I borrowed a line I’d heard Barry use when questioning people, even though when I’d heard the line, it was because he was using it on me.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what happened?” I was going to add more. Barry said things like he could help straighten things out if he knew the truth and more stuff to imply he was on the same side as the suspect. Thursday finished the row she was on and started to turn her work. She seemed determined to keep on crocheting and not look up. So far her MO had simply been not to talk, or if she did, to say she didn’t know.

  Her stitches were getting more and more erratic as she picked up speed. Finally, she threw down her work and looked up. “I can’t keep it in anymore.”

  I continued crocheting, though I was paying more attention to her than the washcloth. I’m afraid it didn’t look like meditation, but more like an anxiety attack. Thank heavens, crochet was so easy to rip out. I would fix it all later. For now I was trying to appear receptive and calm.

  It took several deep breaths and sighs before she spoke. “I haven’t told anyone this, but I wanted to call off the wedding.” She seemed to be trying to gauge my expression. I was doing my best to keep a bland face, but I couldn’t help it. Her comment had caught me by surprise.

  “Why?” I said.

  “You have to understand how I got involved with Jonah. I was coming off a breakup.” She tried to pick up the crochet, but then dropped it again, while my hook kept going. “I was heartbroken, and Jonah seemed to be just what I needed. He made me feel wanted and cared for. When he asked me to marry him, it felt like the right thing to do. He had a job and a future. I liked the fact that he seemed to know what he wanted and took charge.” She had to stop to gather herself together.

  “We’d only dated a few months when we got engaged. As it got closer to the wedding, I began to notice that what I thought was him taking charge was really him taking control. When I objected, well . . .” She looked down and sighed.

  I was stunned with what I was hearing. “He wasn’t violent, was he?”

 
“No, but he had these outbursts, then he would apologize. When I told him I thought we should cancel the wedding, he went nuts. He wasn’t going to be embarrassed that way, and he insisted everything would be better once we got past the wedding. Paxton tried to talk to him about at least postponing the wedding, but Jonah wouldn’t listen. Paxton said he had no choice but to refuse to be the best man.”

  “So, it was Paxton’s idea not to be the best man, not Jonah dropping him from the position,” I said. She nodded and said in typical Jonah fashion, he’d made it sound like the decision had been his.

  “Paxton told me that Jonah had changed ever since he’d gone to work in the family business. I think he was under a lot of pressure. He didn’t talk much about his work, but a few times he said he didn’t like the way his father did things.”

  “And why is it that you pretended not to know Paxton at the mall?” I asked.

  “He knew the truth about Jonah, and I was afraid he would say something,” she said. “I thought if I could keep Jonah’s reputation intact . . .” She didn’t finish, but I nodded with understanding.

  I asked her if she’d told her parents about her desire to end it with Jonah, and she shook her head vehemently. “I was embarrassed and I thought I could handle it myself.” She started to tear up. “And then at the reception, I saw someone.” She was having a hard time talking, but she seemed determined to get it out. “Remember I said I’d been getting over a breakup when I met Jonah? His name is Ben, and I was stunned to see that he was one of the servers at the reception.” She said that Ben hadn’t realized he was working her wedding—the caterer had merely given an address and a time, and the dress code.

  “He said he was happy for me, that I must have found somebody who could give me the life I deserved. Then he explained why he’d broken up with me. It wasn’t that he wanted space as he’d said. It was because he was broke and struggling, working odd jobs so he could write. How could he suggest a future together when he didn’t feel he could hold up his end of things?