Hooking for Trouble

by Betty Hechtman

  I set it up in the dining room, found a package of new slides, and put some fibers on them. The microscope made it much easier to see the fibers. I was going to move on and make up slides of some of the others I’d collected to see if I could match them up when the front door opened and closed.

  Felix and Cosmo went into their guard dog mode, and I heard them barking as they ran into the entrance hall to see who it was.

  “Mother, can you call your dogs off?” Peter said. I did just that, calling their names until they came into the dining room, probably expecting treats. Peter followed them. He was dressed for work, which in his case meant a well-fitting suit and a dress shirt. He’d recently dropped the tie.

  “I came by to pick up my golf clubs,” he said. His gaze flicked from me to the view of the yard. “That house is a real intrusion. You should plant some privacy bushes.”

  I explained my plan to wait until they put up a fence and we saw how much of their house it covered.

  “They’d need to put up a ten-foot fence for it to do any good.” He paused for just a moment. “This might be the time for you to sell this place and downsize into a condo.”

  I tried not to let my reaction show in my face. Peter said something similar about once a month. And I always ignored it. I didn’t believe he’d really thought it through anyway. Didn’t he understand that if I lived in some place with a carport and a small storage place, I couldn’t store the kayak, skis, surfboards, bicycles and golf clubs that he left with me?

  I saw him look at the table. His gaze stopped when he saw the open detective set and the microscope. “Mother, what are you doing?” There was a warning sound in his voice.

  “Just enjoying the wonderful birthday present you gave me.” I grabbed the plastic bag with the bottle of Blood Detector and held it up. “This stuff really works.”

  It took a moment for it to register, but then he looked horrified. “You’ve been looking for blood? Where?”

  My poor son was so uptight that I wasn’t going to tell him about using it in the yard behind us, so I told him about Dinah’s and my experiment. It didn’t sit well with him.

  He reached for the set and flipped the lid back on. “This wasn’t a good gift idea. I’m going to take it back and get you a book of certificates for a spa.”

  “No,” I said, putting my hand on it. “I don’t care about massages or facials; I just care about crime.” Okay, that last part might have been to tease him, but I really did want to keep it.

  “Fine, keep it,” he said, with an unhappy face.

  “Do you know who lives back there?” I said, noting that he was back to looking through the French doors again, probably trying to figure if the new house would hurt my property value. He shook his head.

  “Do you know who Cheyenne Chambers is?”

  He gave me a look that said I had just asked him an incredibly stupid question. “Everybody knows who she is. Anytime there’s a pitch for a reality show, she’s always listed as a possible participant.” He looked back there with new interest. “She lives there?” He sounded surprised. “Why would she move in when the yard isn’t even done?”

  I don’t think he was expecting me to answer, so I just shrugged it off and brought up the show tune show. Naturally, he knew all about it. “I’ve never seen it,” I said. “Actually, I don’t even know when it’s on or how to find out.”

  “I can help you with that,” he said, taking me into the den and flicking on the TV. He hit some keys on the remote and did a search. “There,” he said. “I set it to record the show so you don’t have to worry about when it’s on.” I sensed he meant it as a nice gesture, not a reminder of his superior knowledge, so I thanked him.

  “No problem,” he said leading the way back through to the living room. He looked at the rearranged furniture. “Liza again? The show must go on.” Poor guy. I think he wished all of us would go off somewhere and stop doing embarrassing things. He made a last effort to take back the detective set, but I made it clear it was staying. Finally, he went to the garage and picked up what he’d come for.

  * * *

  I had that feeling of walking into the middle of a story again when I went in the bookstore a couple of hours later, but there wasn’t much time to think about it. I saw there were customers in the yarn department.

  As I crossed the store, I noticed a crowd near the children’s department and remembered that Adele was having an afternoon session. As I got closer, I saw Adele standing in the entrance to her domain, holding a clipboard and checking membership cards. I guessed that it was fairy-tale day and that she was reading Rapunzel by the long puffy sleeved dress and the yellowy blond wig that almost reached to the floor. As she gave the okay, the kids went in, and whoever had brought them stepped away. A group of mothers headed toward the café, glad to be free for a little while. Ursula was in the line with Cheyenne’s two daughters in tow.

  I suddenly remembered my promise to her to get Adele to back off on the form and to give back their membership cards. The line moved forward, and the two girls with Ursula reached Adele. Adele’s face clouded as the nanny said something to her. Then they both started looking around the store and saw me at the same time.

  “I said it was okay.” I directed my comment at Adele. Instead of her nodding and letting it go, she appeared more inflamed.

  I hated to do this, and I was sure Adele would not take it well, but I had no choice. “It’s fine, Adele,” I said when I reached them. “As assistant manager, I said she didn’t have to fill out one of your forms and that the girls could have their cards back.” Adele’s eyes bugged out, and I realized I needed to pour some water on the situation. “I understand you need a contact number. Just write in my cell,” I said.

  It was like when someone runs and stops short and there’s leftover energy with no place to go. Adele seemed to be sputtering, and she mumbled, “But, but . . .” Finally, with a small shrug, she let it go.

  The two girls went on in, and Ursula stepped aside. “I suppose I should thank you,” Ursula said, “but I had hoped you would have taken care of it before there was another confrontation with that woman.” I expected the nanny to go on complaining about Adele’s persistence about the form, but she surprised me. “I can’t really fault her though,” she said, looking back toward Adele with her clipboard. “She has her standards.”

  There were no chairs in the vicinity, so I offered her a seat in the yarn department. She accepted it, and I went up to the customers I’d seen to offer my help.

  “We need some needles,” one of them said. There was a pause before she hesitantly added, “Knitting needles.” Again there was a pause, and she added that they wanted the ones with the cable. I took them to the rack of tools and turned it to display all our needles. “Oh,” she exclaimed when she saw them.

  Her friend started talking in a low voice. “I told you it would be okay. It’s that woman in the costume who goes berserk at the mention of knitting.” I didn’t have to turn to know who they were talking about.

  Ursula had chosen a chair with a clear view of the entrance to the children’s department. Ursula was certainly diligent about her responsibility, unlike the mothers I’d seen heading for the café. I saw that Adele had finished checking kids in and story time had begun.

  “Do you crochet or knit?” I asked. Ursula looked away from the entrance for the children’s department for a moment.

  “No, I never learned. Too bad, though. It would be useful at times like this.”

  “I could show you how to crochet,” I offered. We had some odds and ends of yarn and hooks and I went to the cabinet to get them. I sat down next to her and handed her a size J hook and a ball of worsted weight yarn.

  She was an easy student and picked up the chain stitch and single crochet in no time. She wasn’t one to just want to make swatches, and she asked if there was an item she could make with what she
’d learned. I made up a kit for her with a hook, a skein of yarn and a printed pattern we had for an easy hat and put it in a small canvas tote. She began working on it right away.

  “I needed something to brighten up my spirits,” she said as she took the label off the yarn and pulled out the end.

  “Oh,” I said, my interest perking up. I decided I should really stay with her until she got going on the hat. Maybe I could get some more information about what was going on at Cheyenne’s house. “What’s wrong?”

  She seemed to be considering her words. “I suppose it is all right to talk to you. There’s a code of not divulging any of the family’s business that we all sign. I’ve tried to follow it, but I think this negates it.”

  Now she really had my interest.

  “I have a right to my privacy,” she said, seeming more upset. “Someone went through my room yesterday when I took the girls to the park. With that yard in chaos, they can’t play outside there.”

  “Really?” I said, showing her how to go into one of the chain stitches to begin the hat. “Was anything missing?”

  “No. And to a less trained eye than mine, no one would have known anyone had been in there. But everything was shuffled around on the desk, and a drawer was left slightly open. The closet was the most obvious. I think the nanny’s suitcase was pulled out and put back.”

  “Did you say anything?” I asked. Ursula looked down at her work and smiled as she recognized how the stitches were forming the top of the hat.

  “No. I really couldn’t, since nothing was missing.” She kept on crocheting. “Thank you for this. It’s amazing how much better I feel.”

  “Crochet can do wonders,” I said with a smile. And could be distracting. Neither of us had noticed that story time had ended and the children had begun to disperse.

  “Uh-hum,” a sharp voice said, and both Ursula and I looked up to see Adele in her Rapunzel outfit. “What was it you said about being right there when story time ended?”

  She was holding the two little girls’ hands.

  “I’m sorry,” Ursula said. “You’re right.” She put down her crochet and waved the girls over to her. Adele seemed surprised by her apology, no doubt used to people making excuses instead of simply admitting they were wrong.

  “It’s my fault,” I said. “I taught her how to crochet, and she started making a hat.”

  Adele’s eye rested on the hook and yarn on the table and her expression changed completely. “In that case,” she said, “it’s okay.” She picked up Ursula’s work and examined it. “It looks good, but I’m really the one who gives the crochet lessons around here.”

  The two girls had moved up to the table and were looking at the yarn and tools. “I want to know how to do that,” one of them said. “And be like Mommy.” The other one nodded in agreement.

  “I just happen to have a little spare time,” Adele said. She moved the long blond hair out of her way and sat down at the table. “Pink, get them supplies.”

  As I was gathering some hooks and practice yarn, it occurred to me that the two girls were there the night everything happened and might know something.

  I brought everything back to the table. “My name is Molly,” I said to the two girls before asking theirs.

  “My name is Merci. It’s French for thanks,” the one who had asked for the lesson said. I recognized her as the one who’d been wearing the boa and cowboy boots the day we’d gone to Cheyenne’s. She announced that she was four and her sister was three and her name was Venus.

  “Well, now that we all know who is who, we can begin,” I said.

  “You can go now,” Adele said to me, clearly wanting to be in charge.

  “I think I’ll stay. I’m sure I can pick up some teaching tips from you, since you’re the master.” Then I reminded her that when we put on children’s crochet parties I helped with the lessons. Adele was flustered, but couldn’t argue.

  Adele really was a master, even though the blond wig kept getting in the way. Both Merci and Venus were good students, and Adele had them making loopy single crochet stitches in no time. “And now you know how to crochet,” Adele said, getting up as she maneuvered her long mane out of the way.

  “I want to make a red jacket,” Merci said, holding up her stitches.

  “Me, too,” Venus said.

  “Pink, I’ll leave that to you,” Adele said with a chuckle as she pushed in her chair.

  “I don’t think you’re ready for that,” Ursula said to the girls. She thanked Adele and started to gather the girls up, while I realized my chance to talk to them had never materialized.

  Merci stamped her feet. “I wanna make something.”

  Ursula was packing her things back into the little canvas tote, and I watched her shoulders drop as she looked to the older girl with understanding. “I’m the same way. I wanted to make something, too,” she said. She turned to me. “Could you put something together for them?”

  I nodded enthusiastically, since it would give me some more time to talk to them.

  “I hate to ask, but could you watch them while I go to the ladies’ room?”

  “No problem,” I said. “Take your time. You can pick up drinks at the café if you like.”

  The girls heard the last part and called out their orders for strawberry drinks. Ursula looked to me for a last reassurance that it was okay, and then she was off.

  The girls were enamored with all the colors of the yarn and the different kinds of tools. “How would you like to make a purse?” I asked. Merci made a last play to make a red jacket, but finally agreed to make a purse, as long as it was red.

  “Let’s start with giving you bags.” I handed each of them a canvas tote like I’d given Ursula. “Next comes your hook.” I opened a drawer and took out two blue plastic size P hooks. They were nice for little-girl hands and for little-girl impatience. Their purses would work up quickly with the large hooks.

  “How do you like your new nanny?” I asked both the girls.

  “She’s okay,” Venus said. “But I liked Jennifer more. She let us watch the princess movie over and over.”

  Merci made a face. “Miss Ursula is more bossy. She made me wear these shoes. I wanted to wear my cowboy boots. But she reads to us.”

  “It must have been surprising to have a new nanny. Did either of you know that the other one was leaving?”

  They both shrugged, and I realized it was too complicated a question. It was better to try to ask them specifics from that night. I began by getting them to remember that their parents were at a taping. Then I asked them what they had for dinner as a way to juice their memories.

  They were telling me about the fish sticks and macaroni as we moved over to the cubbies of yarn. I took out some worsted weight yarn in different shades of red and let them pick. No surprise—they both chose a cherry red shade.

  “Was Jennifer there when you went to sleep?” I asked as I dropped the yarn into each of their bags. They both nodded.

  “Do you think she was upset?” They were far more interested in their tote bags, and I got shrugs for answers. I picked out a pair of our kid-size scissors and a big plastic tapestry needle for each of them and put them in their bag. Then I remembered the whole thing with Matt Meadowbrook and Mr. Snuggles. “Did your Uncle Matt come over looking for a bear that night?”

  That got their attention. “We love Uncle Matt,” Merci said. “He’s so much fun. Mr. Snuggles is Bradley’s bear. He’s always losing it.” Then she shook her head. “No. Uncle Matt didn’t come over. He would have asked us to help look for Mr. Snuggles.”

  I was trying to sort through what she’d said as I took out two of the pattern sheets we had for the crochet parties we put on. They had drawings and written instructions. “Your mother or Aunt Lauren can help you.” I folded the sheets and put them in each bag. “Well, that’s it. Now you have
everything you need.” Venus opened the bag and poked through everything. Merci stood off to the side with a furrowed brow. I felt her tug at my arm. “That night I had a dream that someone was arguing.”

  “I’m back,” Ursula announced. She handed each girl a small cup of Bob’s special strawberry lemonade. The girls showed off their bags and told her about their purses. I made sure they understood they could come back anytime they needed help, including Ursula.

  “Thank you,” the nanny said. “This will be a wonderful way to keep them occupied. And it’s something for me, too.” She led them to the front to pay for everything.

  Now that I was alone I had a few moments to think it all over. It was a win-win—I got business for the bookstore, and I knew a little more about that night. Either Matt Meadowbrook was lying about going there that night or he’d been there after Garrett, when the girls were asleep. And Merci’s dream might not have been a dream at all.

  CHAPTER 20

  “We need to generate more excitement about our musical event,” Mr. Royal said as he draped a banner across the sign we had at the entrance of the store. It read “Limited Supply of Tickets. Get Yours Today.”

  “I can’t wait to replace the banner with one that says ‘Sold Out.’” Technically, since the tickets were free, I wasn’t sure that would be accurate, but if it made him happy, I wasn’t about to say anything.

  The door whooshed open and I automatically looked up as Barry came in. The suit and tie meant he was working. He had on his cop face and I assumed he was there looking for bad guys, as he called them. I put my hands up. “I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything,” I said, joking.

  The cop face broke into a smile. “Are you so sure?” He paused for effect. “But then, I haven’t gotten any more calls about weird activities at your neighbors’, so maybe you are.”