Hooking for Trouble

by Betty Hechtman

  I was just about to turn the conversation to Jennifer when the group began to arrive. Adele took her spot at the head of the table. Elise, Rhoda and Dinah came in together. Melody and Terri were taking their time, talking as they came across the bookstore. Susan came up behind them and rushed them along. Franny wheeled Oscar up in the dog stroller and parked it next to the table. CeeCee came in at the end.

  When they were all seated, Susan looked toward the empty chairs. “Where’s your sister?” she said to Lauren in an accusing voice.

  “I’m not my sister’s keeper,” Lauren said, pursing her lips. Susan turned to me, and then to Adele.

  “We’re not going to wait for her, are we? I didn’t sign up for celebrity crocheting,” she said, still in the snippy voice.

  “Celebrity crocheting?” CeeCee said, glancing around at the group. “What a concept.” She turned to Lauren. “Maybe I should talk to my agent,” she said.

  “Forget what I said,” Susan said impatiently. A burst of noise came from the front of the store, and we all turned as Cheyenne, Garrett, the two girls and Ursula all came in.

  I didn’t dare look at Susan when the group reached the table. It was as if energy somehow swirled around us as Cheyenne made her entrance and made a big production of apologizing for being late. She seemed a little frantic, and I noticed that her sweater was buttoned wrong, so that one side of the hem hung lower than the other.

  Cheyenne deferred to her husband. Garrett smiled at the group. “One of you taught the girls to crochet and said to come in if they needed help.”

  “That would be me,” I said, feeling the stares of the class. I realized I was caught. I had probably said something like Come in anytime.

  I could hear Susan making angry noises as the two girls and Ursula squeezed in.

  “Can we finally begin?” Susan said with a pound on the table.

  Adele waved to me and pulled me aside. “Pink, you made this mess—you deal with it.”

  She went back to her spot and started the class by showing off some more advanced stitches and instructed everyone to make a swatch.

  I was left to crouch next to the two girls. Garrett came up behind his wife and whispered something and I saw her correct the buttoning of her sweater. Then he backed away, and while he tried to be unobtrusive, I saw that he was using his phone to tape the event. Everything seemed to be fodder for social media.

  Susan gave me a sharp look. “You’re disturbing the class. Can’t you move the children somewhere else?” Adele seemed upset that she’d lost control of the class to Susan and said she was just going to suggest the same thing. I figured Garrett would edit that moment out.

  I took the girls and the nanny out into the bookstore and pulled some chairs around a small table we had set up for customers to use for their drinks. Ursula showed me her hat, which was coming along just fine, and I saw her looking toward the café.

  “You can go get a drink if you’d like. I’ll help the girls.” Ursula flashed me a thank-you smile and told the girls she’d bring them something, too.

  Merci emptied the tote bag on the small table. Her younger sister followed her lead. They both had a string of chain stitches hanging off their hooks, and it was clear they didn’t know what to do next. I showed them how to crochet the first row.

  Merci looked back at the yarn department, and her face appeared concerned. “Mommy had one of her moments,” the older girl said. I asked her what she meant. “You know. She gets all crazy. She says crochet makes her okay.” It was true; even from here I could see that Cheyenne’s face had lost its franticness as she moved her hook through the yarn.

  Ursula was on her way back, carrying a holder with drinks. Judging by the way her eyebrows were furrowed, Merci seemed to still have something on her mind. “She should not drink our pink juice.”

  After that, there was no more talking about anything but crochet. Ursula had brought drinks for all of us. She handed the strawberry lemonades to the girls and a covered cup to me. “I didn’t know what you like, so I got you a coffee.” She offered to get me sugar and cream, but I thanked her and told her I drank it black. She took a few sips of her coffee and set down the cup while she watched me help the girls.

  By the time the Tunisian class broke up, both girls had completed a few rows of their purses, and Ursula had learned enough that she would be able to help them. They were going to come back when they finished the two pieces, and I said I would help them put them together and add a strap.

  “That was something,” Dinah said when I went back to the main table. Only she and Elise were still there. I was thinking about how to respond to Dinah’s comment when Mrs. Shedd came in to see how it had gone. No way would I repeat anything Merci had said and discuss what it meant now. I glossed over it and asked Dinah how the wedding plans were going.

  Dinah seemed surprised, but I think she figured out what I was doing. “It’s not the wedding that’s a problem, but afterward.” Elise and Mrs. Shedd both gave her a puzzled look.

  My friend crocheted a few more stitches. “His house, my house. Where we should live.”

  Mrs. Shedd jumped right in. “If it was me, marrying someone, I’d opt for a new place. No old memories to get in the way of the new ones you’re making.” She stopped and smiled. “I sound like a greeting card, don’t I?” She sighed, and I saw her glance toward the front of the store, where Mr. Royal was carrying something into the music department. “If it ever happens, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Elise cleared her throat. “You do remember that Logan is in real estate. You could talk to him, and he could at least tell you what’s out there.” Even with the class done, she had continued working on her scarf. Unlike regular crochet, where it didn’t matter where you stopped, Tunisian crochet was more like knitting in that you needed to finish a row before stopping. Our vampire lover waved her hand toward the café. “You can talk to him now. You know Logan, always setting up shop in a café.”

  She waited for us to make a move, and there didn’t seem to be a graceful way not to follow through. As Elise had said, Logan was sitting at a corner table with his computer out and papers spread around it.

  Dinah stopped me before we reached him. “I’m not so sure about this. I think I should talk to Commander first.”

  “We’ll just ask him some general questions about real estate,” I said.

  Logan glanced up from the computer screen as we reached him. “Is Elise ready to go?” he said.

  “She’s finishing up, but she suggested we talk to you about real estate,” I said. I was trying very hard not to concentrate on his hair, but every time I saw him I had the same thought—his hairline was so odd, it looked like he was wearing some kind of cap. He was waiting for me to say more. “We just wondered how it’s moving in Tarzana?” I said.

  He seemed puzzled by the question. “Could you be more specific?”

  And then I remembered what Elise had said. I’d ask him about Cheyenne’s house. “I was wondering if you knew about that big house that went up behind mine.”

  He eyes lit with interest. “There’s a story about that place,” he said. He began by talking about the developer, and I smiled, nodded and didn’t really listen until he mentioned Garrett’s name. “He went directly to the developer and talked him into leasing the house to them at a low price while they finished it. The yard was just piles of dirt. It needed everything. A pool, retaining walls, extensive landscaping, and a patio along the back. And of course fencing and outdoor lighting.” He stopped to see if he’d mentioned everything. I got the general idea and nodded, hoping it would get him to move on.

  “I’m gathering they couldn’t really afford the house now, but supposedly Mackenzie convinced the developer that they expected a jump in their cash flow in a couple of months and then they would just buy the house,” Logan said.

  I was pretty sure the jump in cash f
low had to do with the release of their next album, which they all seemed to be hanging so many hopes on. It made me nervous to think about what would happen if the album turned out like their last one. I thanked him for the information, and Dinah and I went back into the bookstore.

  Dinah shook her head. “That’s a lot of pressure. No wonder Cheyenne seems a little frantic.”

  CHAPTER 22

  It was dark and late when I walked across my yard. The full moon was so bright that I almost forgot about the pair of floodlights that didn’t work. I could see the foliage of the orange trees in the blue light, and the air smelled sweet with the purple hyacinths that showed up every April.

  I glanced toward Cheyenne’s. It had become automatic now whenever I went into the yard, though this time I had a different perspective. It had never occurred to me that they were living on the edge financially.

  Felix and Cosmo were waiting by the kitchen door, with the two cats close behind. I understood why Blondie wasn’t with them when I opened the door and heard the noise. The terrier mix was no doubt hiding out in my room. My mother and the girls were obviously having yet another rehearsal. Samuel came into the kitchen and seemed surprised to see me.

  “Did you hear the news? Liza and the girls got a gig at that nostalgia club that opened up in Toluca Lake. They’re going to sing ‘My Guy Bill’ and other songs from that era.” He seemed particularly happy.

  “You’re calling her Liza now?”

  “I’m going to be their musical director. I’m not calling her Grandma,” he said. He grabbed a thermal pitcher off the counter. “Hot water and lemon for their throats.”

  I let the dogs have a run in the yard and checked the cats’ bowl before going into the living room. They were apparently taking a break and were sitting on the couches that had been moved across the room. I walked in on a conversation about one of their contemporaries—someone named Billy Kendricks, who had it made because he had written a song called “Keepin’ the Edge.” I was surprised the song had been written by someone from their era, since it had been featured in a recent movie and had become an anthem of sorts about not becoming complacent.

  “The big bucks go to the songwriters,” Samuel said.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, coming into the room. I told them about Mr. Royal sprucing up the music department and my mother put her hands together in amazement.

  “Who would have thought vinyl records would make a comeback?” she said. I explained the gallery of photos he was putting up and told her he wanted one of the She La Las to add to it. I don’t think the last word was out of my mouth before my mother told Samuel to get his camera and then began posing the group.

  The great thing about digital cameras is that you can see what you get right away. It only took a few tries before we got some winners of the three women. They were all holding microphones and looking at one another. It captured their friendship and their joy of entertaining. Samuel went off to print up a copy for me to take into the bookstore.

  “I suppose ChIlLa is getting him photographs, too,” my mother said. I didn’t mean to, but it slipped out that Mr. Royal had used some from their rehearsal at the bookstore. My mother seemed crushed that they’d been left out and I had to do damage control. Finally I resorted to changing the subject.

  “I hear we have reason to celebrate,” I said. When she didn’t instantly respond, I told her that Samuel had told me all about their regular gig at the nostalgia club.

  The reminder of the good news perked her right up, and I was relieved to see her eyes dance with excitement.

  “Isn’t it wonderful? We’re going to be regulars there once a week. Unless we’re on tour.” Her bracelets jangled as she put her cup down on the coffee table. “Maybe it isn’t so bad that we weren’t part of that rehearsal at the bookstore. We might have just gone through our number once. But we’ve been working night after night here. You should have seen us, honey. We were so smooth when we auditioned,” my mother said, doing a little of their choreography.

  “Well, girls, shall we do another run-through,” my mother said, “or should we call it a night?”

  I certainly could get behind that last part and was surprised when the other two She La Las jumped off the couches and went right into dance mode, anxious to do the number again. My mother tried again to get me to stay and play the tambourine, but I begged off, grateful to get to the peace of my room.

  I feel asleep surrounded by the two dogs and two cats, while Blondie watched us all from her chair.

  * * *

  I half expected to find the She La Las passed out on the couch when I walked across the house in the morning, but the living room was empty. Samuel’s door was shut, and I guessed he didn’t have the early shift at the coffee place.

  I got Blondie to come across the house and to go outside with the other two dogs. I even let the cats out, but I kept them under my supervision. I hung around near the chain-link fence so I could stop them if it looked like they were going to climb over.

  There was enough ivy on my side that I didn’t have a clear view into Cheyenne’s yard unless I got right up to the fence and looked over the top. If I could see in, then it seemed they might be able to see me if someone happened to look out the window.

  I could hear that the workmen were back, and my curiosity got the better of me, so I moved next to a tree to shield me from view and peeked over the fence. The spot for the pool had been marked off, and a small Bobcat was moving back and forth, unloading dirt. They seemed to have finished the patio that went under the second-floor balcony. I couldn’t figure out the rest of what they were doing; I could just tell that it looked like they had a long way to go.

  I grabbed the cats and brought them inside. The dogs naturally followed me in. As I shut the door, I looked back at what I could see of the house between the trees in my yard. The white siding and the chimney complete with a lattice design on top looked so innocent, but more and more I was sure the house was full of secrets.

  On a whim, I called Jennifer’s number again. I had left her a message days ago pretending to be her replacement and asking where to send her things. There had been no call back. As expected, I got her voice mail, the slightly Southern-sounding voice asking for a number and promising a call back. It was her, but it couldn’t be her. I left my cell number, since it didn’t identify me, and left the same message about sending on her things, though I didn’t really expect her to call back. Whoever I had talked to had probably figured out that I wasn’t the replacement nanny.

  I had begun to wonder if I would ever find out what was going on. Had somebody figured out how to commit the perfect crime? So perfect that nobody but me even thought there had been a crime? No one was looking for Jennifer because she didn’t seem to be missing.

  I remembered that Mason had suggested that if I figured out the motive I might be able to unravel the whole thing. Good luck on that one, I thought.

  It was a relief to stop thinking about it and to get ready for work. I had an early day, and it felt more comfortable to go in when my day and the bookstore’s were both starting at the same time. Bob had just brewed the day’s first pot of coffee when I stopped in to pick up a red eye. I delivered the photographs to Mr. Royal. “Great,” he said, admiring the shots of the She La Las. “I’ll have a couple framed and on the wall this morning. Now, if you can just get something of Ilona. It should be something that goes along with the rest of these. You know, more casual than a head shot.” As an afterthought, he suggested I get a photo of her husband as well. “He’s really the biggest star of the bunch.”

  I went to the information booth to check over the day’s calendar, making a mental note that I’d have to get in touch with Ilona. But for once, coincidence was in my favor, and an hour later she came looking for me in the yarn department as I was crocheting a swatch of a new fingering weight yarn we’d just gotten in. It always struck me
how different she looked than her sisters. She was taller, with a slighter build. The others both had long dark hair, and she had blond hair in a short, straggly cut. All of their personalities were so different, too. Cheyenne seemed to stir the air around her. Lauren blended in with the background. Ilona had a confidence that made it seem like she owned her surroundings. I was sure the little girl with her was her daughter, since they had the same body shape and were dressed like twins in jeans, sweaters and blue sheepskin boots.

  “Cher saw that her cousins were making purses, and she wants to make one, too. I understand you’re the one who can make it happen,” Ilona said.

  “Of course,” I said, getting up from my chair. I offered to give her a lesson right then and provide her with the same kit I’d given her cousins. “And the same offer that she can come in if she needs help down the line.”

  “Maybe you could show me, too,” Ilona said. “I feel like the odd man out, since both my sisters know how.”

  “I’ll turn you both into hookers in no time,” I said. She smiled at the joke, and we all sat down at the table. I handed Cher a big plastic hook that worked well with little hands and a small ball of yarn. Ilona got a basic size J hook and her own ball of yarn. I smiled to myself, thinking this was my chance to find out about her. I started off by complimenting her on how well the three sisters seemed to get along. “And your families as well. All the children are around the same age and seem close.”

  I showed them both how to make a slip knot and then a length of chain stitches. “It’s a challenge,” she said. “All of it. My sisters and I are in different places, as you’ve probably noticed. Cheyenne and I both try to help Lauren.” Both the mother and daughter held up what they’d done with pride. I demonstrated going back over the chain stitches with a row of single crochets. They both tried to do the same. Cher was fearless and went across the row with glee. Ilona was more careful, but as she neared the end of the row seemed to realize she’d picked up how to do it.