You Better Knot Die

by Betty Hechtman

  I retrieved my ice cream, which was quickly turning into mush. Barry followed both of us.

  “I have the dog sweater in the car,” Mason said, gesturing toward outside. “I got to something that said decrease and I didn’t know what to do.”

  I really wondered about that. It meant he was working on it on his own, and from what I’d seen, he only worked on Spike’s future coat when I was around.

  “Molly’s had a long day. I don’t think she’s up for crochet lessons,” Barry said, putting his arm around my shoulder.

  I heard the front door open. “Is this door ever going to get fixed?” Samuel said. He looked at the three of us in the living room. “What’s going on?” Ryder, the kid from down the street, came in behind him and waved a greeting with his video camera. At the same time Barry’s cell went off. It was his son, Jeffrey. He was done with rehearsal and going to get dropped off. When he heard where Barry was, he said he’d get dropped off at my house.

  Mason looked at the bowl in my hand. “Was that your dinner?”

  I nodded and he chuckled. “And we ruined it for you, huh?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, going back to the kitchen. “Look guys, I have baking to do for work.”

  “Baking!” they all said together. So much for peace. Ryder had never seen anyone actually make something with yeast. Apparently, the best his mother did was a cake mix. He videoed the whole rising process and was going to do some time-lapse trick. He couldn’t capture the smell though. The yeasty smell mixed with the spicy scent of the cardamom spread throughout the house as the dough rose.

  The front doorbell rang and then I heard a key in the lock. The door opened and shut, and a moment later, my older son, Peter, came in the kitchen. “What’s with the front door and do you know that a channel three news crew is out front?” he said. He looked at the flour-covered counter and Ryder videoing me shaping the rolls. It was hard to tell if Peter was coming from some event or just a long workday. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his dress shirt. He certainly didn’t get that perfection from my side. I hadn’t realized at first that he wasn’t alone. A slender woman in a dark suit and heels so tall my feet hurt in sympathy was with him.

  Explaining the door was easy, but not the news crew. Peter and his companion followed me into the den, where Barry and Mason were watching ESPN. I flipped to channel three and had the eerie encounter of seeing my street on the screen. Kimberly Wang Diaz was doing a remote. It turned out there was nothing happening next door, it was just the news style now to have field reporters do their stories in the area where something had happened. The story was an update on Bradley and his apparent suicide and the investigation into his business.

  “More investors are coming forward,” Diaz said just before going to a tape of her standing in front of the building where Bradley had his office. An older woman I recognized as a bookstore customer came out holding her head down. Diaz asked her for a statement. The woman looked as if the wind had been knocked out of her. The reporter again asked her for a statement. The woman was probably too dazed to think about what she was doing and told the reporter she’d turned over her life savings to Bradley. “He was such a nice family man. And so helpful. I was trying to figure out my Medicare options and I was so confused. Bradley spent an afternoon helping me straighten it all out.” She sighed. “How can he have left his business in such a mess? Those investigators are saying all the money is gone. It just can’t be. It was all I had.” The woman’s eyes filled with water and, in a moment of humanness, Diaz touched her shoulder and said how sorry she was.

  The tape cut to Diaz interviewing Nicholas in his store. He talked about how personable Bradley was. “But isn’t that the way it works with con men?” Nicholas said. He was angry at being taken in, but not devastated. Diaz had tried to interview Logan coming out of Le Grande Fromage, but he put his hands up, blocking the camera, and hurried away. Diaz filled in why he was in such a hurry.

  “A number of the investors told this reporter that they invested with Perkins based on the recommendation of Logan Belmont, a well-respected local real estate broker.”

  The tape ended with Diaz talking to the SEC investigator. “We still don’t know the complete scope of the apparent Ponzi scheme. The records are a mess. We’re trying to come up with a complete client list.” He looked into the camera. “We’d like anyone with information to come forward.” A number was flashed on the screen.

  The story ended with a live shot of Diaz out front giving a list of tips people should think of before turning over their savings to anyone.

  “She ought to add, ‘don’t do it,’” Peter said as if he thought he was being clever. I told him his comment was cold and how bad I felt for the woman who’d lost her life savings. Peter seemed grateful when the kitchen timer went off and ended our skirmish.

  Everyone followed me to the kitchen, talking as they went. Peter made a big deal about introducing the woman to Mason. Not a surprise because he liked Mason and thought if I was going to be involved with any man it should be him. He introduced her to Barry, but it was perfunctory. I had finally acknowledged it wasn’t going to get any better between Peter and Barry. No matter what Barry said, I couldn’t ignore the friction. And I thought when you were as old as I was you got to do what you wanted.

  Peter had stopped over to introduce Brooklyn to me, which I gathered meant he was serious about her. Though I think he regretted his decision. She was friendly enough, but I couldn’t miss the way she focused on the flour all over my apron or the way she stared at Jeffrey sleeping on the couch with the dogs. I don’t think Samuel and Ryder made the best impression, either. And to finish it off, Holstein jumped in her arms and got fur all over her immaculate suit.

  She was still brushing the fur off as they went out the patched-up front door.

  The rest of the crowd hung around while I finished making the rolls. And when I finally took them out of the oven and offered samples they all looked at me as if I was some kind of cooking goddess. Since this was just a run-through, I packed up to-go bags of rolls for all of them.

  Samuel retired to his room. Ryder’s mother called him and wondered where he was. Jeffrey was still asleep on the couch. Barry and Mason kept standing around. It was pretty obvious what was going on. Neither wanted to leave before the other one. They even offered to help me clean up the kitchen. Like I was going to turn that down.

  “Your boss wouldn’t say where you were this afternoon,” Mason said, taking a spray bottle and some paper towels and cleaning up the flour around my mixer. I started to hand wash the mixer bowl and all the spatulas. Barry dried them and put them away. I considered for a moment what to say. Why not throw it out in front of both of them and see what they thought I ought to do with the information?

  I went through the whole thing about how I’d begun to think that Bradley might not really be dead. I brought up the watch and seeing it in the car. I didn’t mention the afghan. I was still having a problem figuring out why Bradley would want that anyway.

  When I mentioned following Emily and Madison, I saw Barry’s jaw clench. I explained both theories—that Bradley just wanted them to run all over the place or that he’d seen me following them. “I realize the woman who came up to them at the Topanga Mall must have been sent by Bradley,” I said. I hesitated when I got to the second mall. Should I really tell them what happened or just say we followed them to The Grove? It wasn’t the same without explaining about the elf. I mean, he had seen who was passing the message. Hoping for the best, I brought up the elf. I saw Barry’s eyes roll up in his head. Mason skipped past a chuckle and went right to a laugh. “And when we got to The Grove, it was too late. The women didn’t have their packages anymore and Bradley was nowhere to be seen.”

  “So?” Barry said.

  “So, I’m wondering what I should do with the information. I’m sure those SEC investigators would like to know that Bradley might be alive.”

  “Molly, you don’t know fo
r a fact that he’s alive. You didn’t see him. And the description the elf gave you.” Barry shook his head. “Am I seriously considering what a guy dressed as an elf said?” Barry went into his interrogator mode and wanted to know if I’d actually seen Emily with the watch at The Grove. When I said no, he pointed out that since I didn’t see her with it, seeing her without it didn’t necessarily mean anything. “You see my point. If you tell this story to any investigators, they’re just going to stamp you as being a nutcase.” He put a hand on my shoulder and started to repeat his stay-out-of-it speech. “And let’s just say, for argument, Perkins is alive. He’s not going to be hanging around here waiting for you to find him. He’s probably halfway to somewhere already.”

  “Where?” I said.

  “Someplace where’s he’s not going to get caught.” I wasn’t happy with what Barry said and looked to Mason for his opinion.

  A smile lit up Mason’s eyes. “Personally, I like the elf story. But as I said before, I wonder why he’d take a chance on getting caught just to pick up a watch, no matter how valuable it is.”

  “There was something else.” I paused, getting ready for their reaction when I told them what the something else was.

  “An afghan?” Barry rolled his eyes. He didn’t have to say the kook word, I knew he was thinking it. “A valuable collectable watch, I might buy, but some crocheted blanket. No way would some guy take a chance on getting caught for that. They’ve been giving out big sentences for investment scams. One guy just got a hundred years. Remember what I said about seeming like a nutcase?” Barry shook his head again. Mason swept up the flour from the floor and the kitchen was done, though neither man made a move to leave.

  My head was spinning now and I began to doubt myself. Maybe there was another explanation. I just didn’t know what it was. Finally Barry couldn’t stall anymore and woke up Jeffrey. Mason hung back, but Barry grabbed him with his other arm and they all went to the door together. Mason looked over his shoulder and blew me a kiss.

  CHAPTER 18

  I THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT BARRY HAD SAID ABOUT seeming like a nutcase, and even though the SEC guy had urged people with information to come forward, I didn’t. Not that I had time anyway. The next few days went by in a blur of snowflakes and preparations for the So Many Traditions event.

  Luckily, CeeCee’s snowflake pattern was simple and I was able to turn them out pretty quickly. My crochet partners came through, too. Sheila stopped by on her break from her receptionist job at the gym and gave me a handful. Eduardo brought in more that he’d made while he was waiting around a commercial shoot he was doing for fat-free sour cream. CeeCee dropped some off as she rushed off to a meeting with her agent. Rhoda sent her husband Harold in with the ones she’d made. Of course Adele insisted she’d done her share and I didn’t even think about Elise. Dinah brought the ones she’d made when she came over to help me starch them all. She’d left the kids at home. “You got a babysitter,” I said.

  “Commander came over,” she said with an uncertain flutter of her eyes. “This will either make or break things. He said he’d teach them how to play checkers.”

  I had stacks of cardboard pieces, rolls of wax paper, pushpins and a big jug of starch. When we’d laid out all the snowflakes, we took them outside and laid them on the lawn furniture to dry. It seemed almost like magic how they went from limp masses of tangled-looking thread to dainty things of beauty. Dinah turned up toward the night sky. “Good,” she said. “Dark blue. No chance of rain.” Maybe it wasn’t going to rain, but it was cold. We could see our breath as we rushed back inside to the warm kitchen.

  Dinah hung around while I mixed up the dough for the batch of cardamom rolls for the bookstore. I mentioned that I’d gotten several voice mail messages from Emily. “I haven’t called her back,” I said. “At first I felt sorry for her and thought she’d been left to deal with a terrible mess her husband made. But after the whole thing with the watch and the shopping malls, I’m not sure how much she’s involved. And I don’t have time to figure it out now,” I said, putting the dough in a bowl and covering it to let it rise.

  “THANK YOU, THEY’RE BEAUTIFUL,” MRS. SHEDD said, taking one of the snowflakes and handing it to me so I could hang it on the window. She was on the ground, attaching small balls of quake wax to the flakes, and I was on a ladder doing the actual hanging. The bookstore had just opened and there were only a few customers browsing while drinking some of Bob’s first brew of the day.

  Mrs. Shedd was quiet for a moment, and when I reached for the next piece to press against the window, I noticed her face had settled into a sad expression. She mentioned seeing the woman on the news the night before and it was obvious she related. “How could all the money he took from everybody be gone?”

  By now I was becoming an expert on how Ponzi schemes worked, so I explained how he used the money he took in from new investors to pay the few people who wanted to take out the returns on their investments or who wanted to cash out of the whole venture. “The rest of it ...” I said with a deep sigh. I reminded her of what I’d overheard the SEC investigator say about all the checks written to all the casinos. “It looks like Bradley lost it all gambling.” I asked her if she was going to talk to the SEC people and give them details of her dealings with Bradley.

  “Eventually I will,” Mrs. Shedd said. “But right now I want to think about tonight’s event and the launch party and the future. Just the thought of finding the paperwork to bring them is upsetting, and it’s not as if it’s going to change anything.”

  Adele came over to where we were working. She looked at the large stack of snowflakes and how many were already hung. “Where’d they all come from?” Her voice sounded surprised and maybe a little disappointed that I’d managed without any more help from her.

  “Well, I have things to do,” Adele said, flouncing off. “I have to tweak the setup in the kid’s department and then I am the one in charge of the whole Santa Lucia procession.”

  Mrs. Shedd watched her go. “Do you really think the last part was such a good idea?” she said as I continued hanging the snowflakes.

  I was having second thoughts myself. Adele had begged to be part of the event and I felt guilty about the yarn department even if she’d brought it on herself by being so anti-knitters. But it was too late to do anything about it anyway.

  “What can go wrong?” I said. “All she has to do is help Rayaad’s daughters into the white dresses and hit play on the CD machine.”

  Mrs. Shedd sighed. I knew that no matter what she’d said, she was having a hard time getting in the holiday spirit. How was she going to tell Mr. Royal about her losses? I knew she was worried he might be so disappointed in her judgment that their whole relationship would unravel.

  By evening the windows had their blizzard of snowflakes and we’d cleared a space in the middle of the bookstore for the procession. The travel books had been cleared from their table and a white paper tablecloth had been put on it. Bob had brought in the trays of brown ginger cookies and I’d cut the buns into quarters and set them on a doily-covered platter. There was punch for the kids and coffee for the adults. We’d covered the whole table with a sheet to be unveiled after the Santa Lucia procession. Even with it covered, the spicy scent of the cardamom and ginger gave away that there was something good under the sheet.

  People had begun to filter into the bookstore. I was glad to see them browsing the aisles as they waited for the event to begin. After Mrs. Shedd’s comment, I tried to check on Adele and Rayaad’s daughters, but Adele had them all barricaded in the office and wouldn’t let me in.

  Battery-operated candles flickered around the bookstore and we’d added a seven-candle candleholder for Kwanzaa to the table with the menorah. The trees out in front of the store had been strung with tiny white lights and looked very festive.

  I was surprised to see Emily Perkins come in with her daughters. She got a lot of hostile stares as she worked through the crowd. Her determined stride in my
direction made me think she was on some kind of mission. Whatever it was got aborted when Mrs. Shedd pulled me aside and said we ought to begin the festivities.

  I knocked on the office door and told Adele it was time to start. I went back to the center of the store and cleared the customers from the path of the procession. Mrs. Shedd lowered the lights. The store holiday music went off and the familiar Santa Lucia song began. Personally it reminded me more of the singing gondoliers at the Venetian hotel in Las Vegas, but the look on Mrs. Shedd’s face made me think it was all connected with Christmases past for her.

  Everyone turned as Rayaad’s daughters made their entrance. They wore the traditional white dresses with red sashes and had crowns of battery-operated flickering candles. I realized I’d been holding my breath in anticipation of disaster, and now that all seemed okay, I let it out in a gush. And then I saw Adele.

  She had on a long dress, too, but instead of white, it was swirled with lime green, purple, rosy pink and sky blue. No red sash for her. She wore a purple one. Instead of the crown of candles, she had a crown of fiber-optic threads that kept changing colors.

  The music lowered and Adele started prowling around the girls in white and playing to the crowd.

  “Yo, yo,” she said in rhythm, holding up two fingers on both hands and waving them rapper-style. She stopped and took a stance, waving her arms in a hip-hop dance mode.

  “Santa Lucia comes from a long time ago.

  She started out Italian, don’t ya know, don’t ya know.

  Then somehow she got to Sweden, how we don’t know,

  Where they celebrate the day with white dresses and

  candles, yo, yo, yo, yo.

  Her name means light and she comes bringing hope.

  Her goodwill lasts throughout the holidays, so don’t ya