Hooking for Trouble

by Betty Hechtman

  Why did I always tempt fate? I saw that Eric Humphries had come in. It was impossible to miss him. He was well over six feet, with a barrel chest, and he was wearing his motor officer uniform, right down to the boots. He stopped a good distance behind the roped-off area. He watched the performance for only a moment, and then I noticed a troubled look come over his angular face. He looked from the crowd, and then at the wall near the front. I saw him walk over near the entrance and examine something on the wall. When he returned, I could tell he was counting.

  How could we have missed the obvious? None of us had considered what the allowed capacity was for the space when we’d decided how many tickets to give out and to let extras stand in the back. I was sure we had too many people, but even if there was just one too many, Eric was a real rule-follower, and he would blow the whistle. He’d make everybody leave right in the middle of the song.

  I couldn’t let that happen now. Luckily, I had a little time. Eric was an exacting type, so he counted slowly, and I was sure he would do it more than once. Adele was hanging by the edge of the performance area, doing what she could to make it look like she was part of what was going on. By the way she was acting, I didn’t think she even realized her fiancé was there.

  I edged toward her and pulled her away. “You have to get Eric out of here,” I said quickly.

  “He’s here? Cutchykins really did stop by,” she said, looking around the bookstore until she saw him. He was too busy counting to notice her. She was about to wave to get his attention when I stopped her.

  “He’s going to ruin everything. He’s counting.” I pointed to the capacity sign in the front. “And Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal will know who did it. Your fiancé.”

  Adele looked stricken. She wanted more than anything to be Mrs. Humphries, but she also viewed herself as a career woman. “I’m on it,” she said. I wanted to ask what she had planned, but she was gone before I could ask her.

  I turned back to where Eric was doing his counting. I thought Adele would pop up next to him, but she seemed to have disappeared completely. Then she showed up next to me, breathless, with a smile on her face. She touched her ear and pointed toward the outside.

  I strained to listen and could just make out a car alarm going off. “Watch,” she said, her eyes flickering in Eric’s direction. He abruptly stopped the counting and cocked his head. Then he was out the door, his radio in hand. Adele gave a naughty laugh as she told me she’d pretended she was me and had hit the panic button for the Matrix.

  When the song ended, the crowd kept clapping and asking for more. Everybody seemed at a loss as to what to do, but then I saw Cheyenne whisper something to Mr. Royal. With all that was going on, I hadn’t noticed that the She La Las were hanging out of sight next to a bookcase.

  “You asked for more, you’ll get it,” Mr. Royal said. “C’mon back up, She La Las, and all of you can do an encore of ‘My Guy Bill.’”

  The She La Las were on their way back before he’d finished talking. My mother grabbed me as she passed and shoved a tambourine in my hand. Samuel was already playing the song when we got to the front. Cheyenne pulled Mr. Royal, who conveniently had a harmonica in his shirt pocket, into the group. He played, and the two girl groups began to sing. Then the audience joined them. I hit the tambourine for all it was worth and actually began to enjoy the whole thing. Pretty soon everyone seemed to be dancing. In the midst of it all I got jostled to the side of the Sight and Sound department and banged right into the photographs Mr. Royal had so carefully hung. And now they were all cockeyed. I stopped my tambourine playing long enough to straighten them, and as I did, I looked at them. Funny—I hadn’t realized that Jennifer Clarkson and the kids were in the background of the photograph of Cheyenne. I stared at the nanny for a moment, and then I had a weird thought. But there was no time to pursue it. My mother danced up to me and nudged the tambourine, and I went back to shaking it. And pretty soon I was dancing, too.

  I glanced out and saw that Barry and Jeffrey were standing outside the roped-off area. Jeffrey was ready to join the dancing, but Barry was clearly staying an observer rather than a participant.

  Somehow they managed to make “My Guy Bill” go on for fifteen minutes. I was relieved when it finally ended and I could put down my tambourine.

  Afterward we set both groups up at tables and they signed CDs and albums. For the first time, I noticed Garrett and his video camera. Mr. Royal came up next to me. “The brave new world,” Mr. Royal said. “I thought we should get the local news to cover this, but Garrett said he would tape something, do a quick edit job, and then upload it to the TV station’s Facebook page, and of course to ChIlLa’s Facebook page and website.”

  Mr. Royal wanted to end the evening with a wine toast. The signing had ended, and both groups had retreated to the backstage area. Mrs. Shedd, Mr. Royal and I headed to the closed-off yarn department to join them. Adele had gone off with Eric to try to help him figure out why her car alarm had gone off.

  The She La Las and their spouses were hanging around the table, still high from the night’s performance. My mother noticed me looking around. “Samuel left. You know him—he’s meeting up with some friends,” she said. “He said to congratulate you on your tambourine playing.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “Music is in your genes.”

  “What about ChIlLa?” I asked.

  “They left, too.” My mother went on about someone going to a hotel overnight. “I can’t blame Cheyenne for wanting to avoid it.” My mother punctuated the comment with a shrug. “You’ll probably hear the noise. Their pool is being poured, or whatever the term is, in the morning.” She reached out as Mr. Royal handed her a glass of red wine. “Personally, I want to make this evening last as long as possible.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Mr. Royal was buzzed from the success of the evening. He sent me home and said he’d take care of putting things back in order. When I left he, and Mrs. Shedd were drinking the last of the wine and seemed deep in a happy conversation.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” my mother said as the She La Las got ready to leave. They were back in their everyday clothes, but still floating from their performance. They were all going out to a late dinner to celebrate. I begged off. I just wanted to go home and relax.

  Of course, when I got home, I was too wired to relax. I wandered around the house, trying to come down from the event. Crochet usually worked, so I went looking for the bag with the Tunisian project. I found it in the dining room, and as I went to pick it up, I looked at the detective set. It was just a reminder of my failure to solve the Mystery at Cheyenne’s.

  “Nancy Drew would have done a better job,” I said to Felix, who seemed hopeful that since I was in the dining room, food might be involved.

  There was no reason to leave the set out anymore. I started to put everything back in the box. The Blood Detector was still in the plastic bag and didn’t fit properly in its slot. I went to extract it and toss the plastic bag, but light caught on something in the bag. When I held it up, I saw what looked like some fine hair. I was trying to think how it had ended up in the plastic bag, and then I remembered that when I had planned to use the Blood Detector on the chaise cushion at Cheyenne’s I had run my hand over the underside of the cushion. “It must have been on the cushion,” I said to myself. As long as I had everything out there, I looked at the mass of fibers under the microscope. Something about them seemed familiar. I looked through the evidence containers I’d collected until I found something that looked similar. I’m sure it wasn’t certain enough of an exact match to stand up in court, but it was enough to convince me.

  How had the pink fibers from Adele’s bargain yarn ended up on the cushion on Cheyenne’s balcony? I found that crocheting helped me think at times like this and took out the scarf I’d started to make in the class. I was still getting used to using a hook with a long cable attached, and it seemed a little unwieldy as I tri
ed to figure out where I’d left off.

  I let my mind wander as I finished the row with the loops and began to take them off the hook, and random facts floated in. I had a cornucopia of images. The first Tunisian class, the nanny’s room, tonight at the bookstore, Cheyenne on the show tune program, even the banquet hall and more things. On a hunch I took out my cell phone and listened to a voice mail, glad for once that I was in the habit of not deleting things. And then, as if by magic, everything sorted itself out and made sense.

  I knew what had happened and how I was going to get proof of at least part of it. But who knew how long it was going to take? I stuffed the ball of yarn and Tunisian crochet project in the pocket of my hoodie. I looked at the detective set and wished it included a night vision scope.

  All was quiet outside except for the chirping of some night birds as I crossed my yard and found the old gate in the chain-link fence. The warmth of the day was long gone, and there was a bite to the air. I was glad that I had changed into sweatpants and brought along an old beach towel.

  My heart rate kicked up as I crossed into Cheyenne’s yard, though there was no reason for it. The yard was empty and the house was dark. I was sure their spending the night at a hotel was part of the plan.

  The floodlights from my house threw some dim light into the yard. The ground was still uneven, so I moved slowly toward the dug-out area. The rectangular space for the pool seemed like a black hole. I was sure the pool was where the action was going to take place—more particularly, I was sure it would be at the deep end of the pool. I found a spot in a shadow that was close to the end and put the towel down. My plan was to sit up until I heard something and then lie down and blend with the ground. And then, once I knew Jennifer was being buried in the bottom of the pool, I’d find a way to get the cops there.

  When I was situated, I tried crocheting, but it was hopeless in the dark. Too bad they didn’t make lighted Tunisian hooks. How long is this going to take? I wondered, feeling the coldness of the dirt coming through the flimsy towel. And then I heard the sound of a door closing and I assumed a prone position.

  Someone was coming across the yard, and there was the squeak of a wheel as they pushed something. I knew who it was and figured they were pushing the wheelbarrow I’d seen in the yard before. As for the contents, I didn’t want to think about it.

  My heart rate kicked up now for good reason, and I tried to breathe as quietly as possible. The point was for me not to be discovered. The figure reached the big opening in the ground, just a few feet from where I was hidden. I couldn’t see their face in the darkness, but I knew who it was. The wheelbarrow was upended, and I heard a thud as the body hit the ground. The figure walked down to the other end and climbed into the hole. It seemed like the coast was clear, and I sat up, planning to wait until it seemed like the digging had begun before slipping away.

  I leaned toward the dug-out area, listening. I never would have thought she would be the killer. She seemed so nice, but then wasn’t that what they always said? I knew it was Lauren who’d dumped the body in the hole.

  How long should I wait before sneaking away and calling the cops? The seconds seemed like hours. Finally, I was sure she must have started digging and wouldn’t hear me if I got up. I stood quietly and started to back away, but my foot caught on something, and I fell backward.

  “What are you doing here?” an angry voice demanded. The sound startled me, and I looked up. I should have figured that she wasn’t alone in it. Garrett was standing over me, holding a shovel. “So you’re the nosy neighbor who has been causing all the trouble.” He’d already started to raise the shovel, and I knew I had to get out of there. I tried to get up, but my foot had caught on a big root.

  Below, Lauren had heard voices, and she was asking him what was going on.

  “You’ll have to dig a hole big enough for two,” he said in an angry voice. The shovel was over his head now, and I knew what was coming.

  I tried pulling my foot free again, but I was trapped. And then it was as if time slowed down, and I had an idea—I’d use the only weapon I had. I wrapped the hook and cable around Garrett’s ankle and then pulled.

  Garrett yelped in surprise as he lost his balance and fell backward into the big hole. I gave myself a thumbs-up for ingenuity. I pulled hard, and my foot finally came free. But tripping him turned out to be just a temporary fix. He was already out of the hole and coming after me with the shovel.

  It was hard to run on the uneven dirt as I aimed for my yard. Before I could reach it, I fell over something, and Garrett caught up with me. I tried to crawl away, but he was next to me, swatting with the shovel. It was hopeless to escape, and I tried to cover my head as I prepared for pain.

  And then, out of nowhere, we were bathed in bright light, and a moment later a voice yelled out, “Freeze! I have a gun.”

  We all became like statues as Barry came closer. “Where did you come from?” I said as I struggled to get up.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Okay, how about telling me everything you know?” Barry said to me. We were sitting on the towel along with Lauren and Garrett. Barry had already placed them under arrest for suspicion of murder and read them their rights. He was still in his work clothes and conveniently had a bunch of those plastic ties cops use as handcuffs. He had bound their hands and their feet. We were all just waiting for his backup to come. He’d already tried asking Lauren why she was in a dug-out pool with a body in a plastic bag, but before she’d even opened her mouth, Garrett had told her not to say anything. Barry’d produced a flashlight that worked as a lantern, illuminating the area around us.

  “First, you tell me how you happened to be here,” I said. Barry cracked a smile.

  “Still answering questions with questions?” he said.

  I shrugged innocently. “I learned it from you.”

  “Too bad I was such a good teacher,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “I came over to deliver your birthday present. Remember I said I’d do a repair of your choice?” He glanced at the pair to make sure they weren’t moving. “No matter what you said about putting in new bulbs yourself, I knew the fixture on the garage was too high for you to reach comfortably. And you refuse to ask anybody for help. I also knew you left the ladder in your yard, and I figured I could change those two bulbs without even disturbing you. It was a pretty good present.” He looked directly at me. “I think it might have just saved your life—or at least it certainly saved you from a bad headache.” He shook his head and gave me a stern look. “You shouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

  “I had no choice. Would you have come if I’d called and told you there was going to be a body buried in the yard? When I heard about the pool being poured, I figured it out.” I couldn’t help it—my eyes flashed with defiance.

  “I might have given you a rough time, but I would have come. I’ll always come if you need me.” He seemed to realize that it was getting too personal, and he put his cop face back on. “These two won’t talk. So why don’t you tell me what you think happened?” He seemed to be preparing for me to answer with another question, but I gave him a break and just started to talk.

  “It was all about hairstyles and outlines of people,” I said. I told him about Logan Belmont and his hair that looked like a hat. “I don’t have to look at his face. I just see that hair and know it’s him.” Barry was trying to keep his cop face, but I saw his dark eyes look skyward with frustration.

  “How about starting from the beginning,” he said.

  “Remember you said you talked to Jennifer at the house after I called?” I said. “That wasn’t Jennifer. It was her,” I said, pointing at Lauren. “She was wearing a wig and mimicking a Southern accent.” I told him how I’d seen what a good mimic Lauren was at the crochet class, when she’d made fun of Susan. “She has the same build as the nanny, and with the long blond wig had the same outline. I bet the kids wo
uld have noticed, but they were sound asleep, thanks to the allergy medicine they’d been given.”

  “I didn’t drug them,” Lauren said in a shocked voice. “That was all Jennifer. It turned out she had a whole supply of allergy medicine and gave it to Merci and Venus all the time before sitting them down in front of a video.”

  Barry seemed confused. “What about before I went over there?” he said, urging me with a nod. “The real beginning. What do you think happened?” he asked me again.

  “I think that Lauren went over to talk to Jennifer. The kids were asleep, like I said, and Cheyenne and Garrett were at the taping. There was some kind of an argument, and Lauren pushed the nanny over the railing. I’m just guessing, but she probably landed badly. There was so much stuff lying around out there.”

  “It was an accident,” Lauren said frantically. “We were just talking. Well, maybe it was sort of arguing. She was being so unreasonable. When I pushed her, I didn’t realize she would fall over the railing.”

  “You should have called us then,” Barry said. “And maybe none of us would be sitting here now.”

  “That’s where he comes in,” I said. Garrett pulled at his restraints angrily.

  “That’s nonsense. I did come home, but the girls were awake and Jennifer was reading them a story. I was back at the taping when the police called to check on things.”

  “That was me you spoke to,” Barry said.

  “And you were on a cell phone, so we know you could have been anywhere,” I said. “You certainly weren’t back at the studio.”

  “Prove it,” Garrett said in a belligerent voice.

  I turned to Barry. “He said he went home to pick up Cheyenne’s outfit for the second show. It’s all there on the recording device on my TV. She was clearly wearing the same clothes as she was in the first show because Garrett didn’t get back in time.”