Hooking for Trouble

by Betty Hechtman

  Mrs. Shedd was waiting when I arrived at work. “Joshua loves the idea of us having an event connected to the music and video department. It’s his baby and he’s been looking for a way to get our customers to notice the department. He’s quite musical, you know. On one of his adventures he played the harmonica in a blues band in New Orleans.” I thought it quite funny that she almost swooned when she described his band days.

  We both looked toward the small department in an alcove near the café. “Joshua needs to know what sort of equipment we’ll need. Should we do it in the regular event area? And since it is so soon, we need to get some signage up.” She sighed. “Thank you for handling this. I want it to be a big success so Joshua will be pleased.”

  I said I’d get right on it after I got a coffee in the café. “Before I forget, Cheyenne—well, her husband—called and said they’d be stopping by this morning to have a look at things.” The bookstore owner seemed a little nervous. “Molly, I really want this event to work out. We think it could add a whole new dimension to the bookstore.”

  She didn’t say it exactly, but I got her meaning. I wasn’t to let this slip through the cracks.

  I gave her a reassuring touch on the arm and told her not to worry. Yeah, as long as Cheyenne and her husband didn’t know we were neighbors and that I knew something was going on there. I had barely started work on designing the sign when I heard voices at the front of the store. One seemed to carry above the others, and I knew it was Cheyenne’s. Even if I hadn’t heard her I would have noticed her first. There was just something about her that drew my, and the public’s, eye to her. I think that is what they call charisma.

  Garrett was with her. He was glancing around with a displeased expression, and I felt my stomach clench. I had a feeling I’d just encountered obstacle number one. He wasn’t as enthused about the proposed event as his wife was.

  He put a protective arm around Cheyenne as they walked farther into the store. I recognized the tall, thin blond woman as being the third sister in the group, Ilona. She didn’t seem as animated as Cheyenne. She seemed somehow languid and maybe a little sultry compared to Cheyenne’s boisterousness.

  I dropped what I was doing and went to greet the group. Cheyenne was all big gestures, and when she saw me, she broke free of her husband and threw her arms around me. “This is Molly,” she said to her husband and sister. “She runs everything around here, including the crochet class I’m taking.” As she said it, I noticed that she was wearing a beautiful cowl in shades of aqua. I complimented her on it. “I didn’t realize you were such an accomplished crocheter,” I said.

  Cheyenne took a mock bow. “I had lots of time to perfect my skills. I was just telling my husband that I thought I might join your regular group.” She turned back to him. “They have such a fun name—the Tarzana Hookers. Isn’t that a hoot?” He smiled in a noncommittal manner and nodded before she continued. “You could capture some video stuff and we could put it on the website.”

  I said she was welcome to join us, and then extended the invitation to Ilona.

  “My two sisters are the handicrafters,” Ilona said. “I just wear what others make.” She held out her hands and showed off a pair of pale blue fingerless gloves made in a lacy cotton.

  While I was making all this friendly talk, I was thinking about the previous night and what I’d seen. What did they know about it? Barry had said they weren’t even home. I thought about the episode on the balcony and tried to study Garrett without being obvious. He’d folded his arms, and I got the feeling he was unimpressed.

  “See, honey, it’s a perfect little spot,” Cheyenne said to her husband. “I was thinking we could video it. Something simple, with just a phone, and put it up on social media.” She turned to me. “These days everything is video.”

  He seemed to be considering it. “I don’t know if the possible value is worth the trouble. We don’t want it to look like you’re singing on street corners,” he said.

  Ilona had separated herself from the group and was looking at a fashion magazine she’d picked up as they were coming through. Cheyenne’s face turned stormy. “So what if it does? We could say we’re going to the fans. It would make us look generous.” Her lips formed a slight pout. “I want the group to do it.”

  Garrett seemed about to say something, but I had the feeling he was considering that they had an audience—me—and reconsidered. “I suppose it won’t do any harm, and we could put it on the website.” He turned to me. “Where exactly are you going to set it up?”

  As I led the way to the event area, I heard some low conversation going on behind me. Cheyenne seemed to be fussing with Garrett, and I strained my ear to hear.

  “I don’t know why you’re being difficult about this,” she said.

  “Your judgment isn’t always the best,” he said. “It’s my job to keep everything together.”

  “I’m the one who keeps putting herself out there.”

  “That’s fine when it’s something like hosting a talk show or a reality show that brings in some money,” he muttered.

  I turned back toward them when we reached the event area, and they both quickly put on smiles. Ilona looked up from the magazine. “Where’s the stage?”

  Mrs. Shedd joined us just then, bubbling with excitement when she realized who was there. “It’s so wonderful to see you,” she gushed to Cheyenne. “And you must be Ilona.” Mrs. Shedd put out her hand and introduced herself. My boss had figured out the real one to please and turned on the charm when she greeted Garrett. “I think you will be very happy with the event. Molly will take care of everything.”

  “Now that we’re living in Tarzana, it seems like a neighborly thing to do,” Cheyenne said, giving her husband a sidelong glance.

  Ilona glanced around and smiled. “It’ll be fun. Like the old days.” She turned to me. “My sister was relentless. Back then, she practically had us singing on street corners. Once we entertained at the opening of a butcher shop.”

  “What about Lauren? Is she okay with the plan?” Mrs. Shedd asked. Ilona started to speak, but Cheyenne stepped in.

  “She’s fine with it.”

  Garrett finally cracked a smile. “I know when I’m beat. If that’s what you all want to do, I’m behind it.”

  Mr. Royal joined us and they discussed what equipment they would need, which turned out to be very little.

  “If that’s settled, we really should go,” Garrett said, giving Cheyenne a nod. “We have things to take care of.” His tone made it clear that she knew what he was talking about.

  “It’ll be all right,” Cheyenne said with a little shake of her head. “We had a bit of a family trauma last night. We were on our way home from the taping of my show and we got a call from the kids’ nanny. She had some kind of family emergency and had to leave. I suppose I should be grateful, because she called the service we got her from, and they sent over a temporary replacement.”

  “How terrible,” Ilona said, suddenly zoning in on the conversation. “It’s such a chore dealing with help.”

  “If that wasn’t enough, we have some crazy neighbor who keeps sending the cops to the house. I don’t know what it was about this time, but some detective called Garrett to check if we were both okay.” Cheyenne put her hands up as if to say What next?

  What? The nanny left? Did it have anything to do with the traces of blood I found in the yard? I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking questions.

  “Molly, there you are,” my mother said, coming across the bookstore. “I wanted to have a look at this place where you’re working.” She joined our group, her bangle bracelets jangling, and it registered who I was standing with.

  “Cheyenne Chambers!” my mother said with an excited squeal. “And your sister, Ilona.” She surveyed the area. “Is your other sister here?” She didn’t wait for an answer but continued to enthuse. “I love ChIl
La. Your last album was brilliant.” She stopped long enough to see both sisters’ faces light up at the praise. “Liza Aronson, lead singer of the She La Las,” she said holding out her hand as she continued. “I like to think that we would have gone on to be just like you, but it was a different time. You can manage being in a group and having a family today. In my day, you had to choose one or the other, and the She La Las broke up when we all got married.”

  Cheyenne gave my mother a spontaneous hug and air kiss. “The She La Las! You guys did ‘My Guy Bill,’ right? That’s a classic.”

  It was an opening for my mother to mention how her group was back together and touring again. For a few minutes they talked music and the road, and then Cheyenne mentioned that they were going to do a few songs and sign CDs at the bookstore.

  My mother looked at Mrs. Shedd. “The girls and I could do the same thing.” She led us over to the music department and found several copies of a compilation CD with their hit and other groups’ hits from the era. “We’re lucky to be up and kicking with our voices intact,” my mother said.

  “Wait, I have something to show you,” Mr. Royal said. He cut open a box on the floor and pulled out several holders with record albums. “We’re going to have some record players for sale, too. There’s nothing like a vinyl record,” he said, looking to Garrett. He was busy with his phone, only half paying attention, and responded with a nod. Cheyenne and my mother were much more excited, particularly when Mr. Royal found vinyl versions of both of their albums.

  “We’re always the last to know. I can’t wait to tell the girls,” my mother squealed. “We could sign the CDs and the records.”

  “What do you think, Joshua?” Mrs. Shedd said.

  “I think having the She La Las perform here is a splendid idea. Why don’t we do it all on the same night?” Garrett appeared hesitant, but Cheyenne was all for it.

  “It will be like then and now,” she said. Before she had time to realize what she’d said was kind of hurtful, my mother jumped in.

  “Really it’s more like now and always,” she said. All the details were worked out, and my mother said she’d get in touch with the “girls” right away. Then she went on about how nice it was to be back living in the Valley after Santa Fe. “I was so surprised to find out that you’re Molly’s—”

  Oh no, she was about to say neighbor. I faked a coughing fit to cover the word. It worked and successfully ended the conversation, since my mother did her motherly duty and went off to get me a drink of water.

  When it was just me and Mrs. Shedd, she pulled me aside. “It was almost like you were trying to cover something up with that coughing. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  I’m afraid my boss knew me too well. I debated telling her that Cheyenne lived in the big house behind me, but then she’d know I was the crazy neighbor Cheyenne had talked about. I decided it was better to leave her in the dark and just told her I’d had a sudden tickle in my throat.

  “Whatever you say, Molly.” Her voice sounded disbelieving. “But we don’t want to give Cheyenne or her husband any reason to cancel the event. I haven’t seen Joshua so excited about anything since his last adventure.”

  I groaned internally. I was definitely ready for the happy hour gathering of the Hookers. Too bad it was only 11 a.m.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Rhoda came into the yarn department and pulled out a chair. She was the kind of person you’d want to have as a neighbor. She’d be the one to bring you soup when you had the sniffles and get rid of all your used tissues for you before giving your covers a good tucking-in. She let out a sigh as she pulled out her project and got right to work. “I need to get this done,” she said, glancing down at the long piece done in exotic yarn. I knew that it was the back of a long vest she was making for a customer. She was developing a local crocheting business, all based on word of mouth and people seeing the beautiful things she made. Rhoda put the piece away and looked at the bin I’d put in the middle of the table. We’d decided that our happy hour gatherings should just be about making things for others in need. We’d done caps for people going through chemo, blankets for shelters, scarves for soldiers. I’d come up with the current project: We were making cuddle toys for children in trauma. Something soft for them to hold on to in trying times. Rhoda took out the bear she was working on.

  Sheila came in next. She was the youngest in the group, still single and trying to find her way in the world. She was prone to anxiety attacks, though they seemed to be getting more manageable. I knew crocheting was her drug of choice to deal with her nerves.

  She worked practically next door, so it was easy for her to get there quickly. She had developed a business selling her work as well. She had a lapghan folded up in her bag. She took it out and showed it to the group. We always showed off a project when it was finished so the group could ooh and aah about it. The positive feedback always felt good, because we were all our own worst critics. I couldn’t imagine that Sheila had made any mistakes in the small blanket. It was done in shades of green with some purple thrown in and had the hazy color effect, sort of like an Impressionist painting, that was her trademark.

  It was interesting to see the toy she was working on. She’d finished a bear in a toasty brown and then added a dress in a mixture of blues. She was making a bow in the same colors to add to the bear’s head.

  I was making a doll patterned after a knitted boy doll that Samuel had had as a kid. I still had the rather battered-looking Zoomer, as he’d named him, and I was using it as a model to re-create it in crochet.

  The peace of our crocheting was shattered when Adele arrived. I hadn’t seen her all day and had assumed she’d had the day off. “What am I going to do?” she said, throwing herself into a chair at the head of the table. “I can’t even concentrate on my teaching responsibilities.”

  “What’s the matter, dear?” CeeCee said, coming in next. She always appeared picture-perfect because she never knew when someone was going to snap a photo with her and stick it online. She looked at the seat Adele had chosen and made a face. They were still at odds about who was the leader of our group. CeeCee looked skyward for a moment in exasperation and chose a chair to the side of the table.

  “What’s the matter?’ Adele repeated, as if it were an absurd question. “Just that my whole wedding has crumbled. All my plans are in the Dumpster, all the money I paid for it gone. All I have are invitations to a place that isn’t there anymore.”

  “My, I am out of the loop,” CeeCee said. “There must be someplace else you can hold it.”

  “What did I just walk into?” Elise said in her chirpy voice. She was a fragile-looking woman with a bubble of wispy light brown hair, but looks definitely deceived. She had an iron core that could keep her up in a hurricane. Her husband was with her. Logan Belmont had the strangest hairline—it made him look like he was wearing a cap. He was in real estate and specialized in Tarzana. He gave his wife an affectionate squeeze and greeted the rest of us before announcing that he’d be looking around and then in the café if anyone needed him.

  Rhoda brought Elise up to speed on Adele’s problem.

  “I haven’t told Cutchykins yet,” Adele moaned. “I don’t want his mother to know there are any problems.” We all nodded knowingly. Cutchykins was the nickname that Adele and Eric Humphries called each other, and his mother had never been a fan of their match—and was probably even less of a fan now that she was living with her son.

  Dinah pulled out a chair and surveyed the group. “What’s going on? You people look so dour. Who died?”

  “My wedding venue,” Adele said.

  “Just do something simple, like Dinah,” Rhoda suggested. “Cut your guest list way down and you could have the ceremony at City Hall and then go out for breakfast at a coffee shop.” Rhoda was always practical and a little blunt, but we all flinched at her suggestion. The concept
of Adele doing anything low-key was ridiculous. All you had to do was see what she was wearing. The long crocheted vest in sparkly red was eye-catching over the black leggings and black turtleneck. To finish the look, she wore a headband made out of the same red yarn, with a huge flower attached to one side.

  “Ladies,” Eduardo said as he came up to the table. The energy changed with his arrival. The former romance novel cover model laid his leather bag under the table and reached into the bin. His bear was hulkier than the rest of ours. It almost looked like it had biceps. He was planning to dress it in black pants and a white shirt, much like he’d often worn in his cover model days. I wondered if he was going to give it flowing black hair like his.

  He’d been absent from our early-evening gatherings for a while and had no idea of what he’d walked into. He went right into talking about the Tunisian crochet class, apologizing for not being able to sign up for it.

  Eduardo had left his modeling days behind him a while ago and now owned a high-end drugstore called the Apothecary. Drugs were really just a minor part of the place. It featured everything from old-time penny candy and a soda fountain to fancy sundries like silver-plated hairbrushes and imported skin care products.

  Adele was too wrapped up in her drama to join in. Elise rushed into the conversation and starting commenting about the other students. When she mentioned Cheyenne, I froze, remembering that she’d intimated she might drop in to one of our happy hour sessions. I took a quick glance to the front and was relieved not to see her.

  CeeCee made a face. “I don’t understand why Mrs. Shedd made such a fuss about her coming into the store.” She waved her arm toward the wall near the front. Mrs. Shedd had plastered the place with pictures of Cheyenne with her kids, Cheyenne with her sister, Cheyenne with Mrs. Shedd. CeeCee flashed her eyes. “On the scale of things, I think being Academy Award–nominated puts me on at least the same level as her. I ask you, where are all the photos of me?”