Behind the Seams cm-6

by Betty Hechtman

  I glanced vaguely in the direction of the audience waiting room where everything had taken place. “She must have had some kind of attack?” I said before describing what had happened. Barry had on his cop face again and he just looked at me when I’d finished. “That’s right, isn’t it, you’re just here investigating because she died suddenly and not in a hospital, right?”

  Barry’s face showed no emotion. It was maddening how he could do that. But then he’d been at his job long enough, it must have been second nature to hold it all in.

  “You’re all right, then?” he said. There was a flicker of emotion in his eyes, which was a relief from robot Barry. He knew that I knew that his not confirming what I’d said meant they suspected foul play. He looked toward the doorway, which was empty, and crossed the space between us and hugged me. “Just answer the questions and let it go, okay?”

  Before he could realize that I wasn’t agreeing with his order, he was out the door.

  Murder? It couldn’t be murder. They had to be wrong.

  I had a pretty good idea who was going to replace him investigating. Detective Heather showed up a few minutes later in a cloud of Vera Wang perfume. Okay, her real name was Heather Gilmore, but in my head and when speaking among my friends, I referred to her as Detective Heather. I always said if they ever made a homicide detective Barbie, she’d look like Heather. I’m sure her extreme prettiness worked well when questioning men. They’d probably confess just to be able to spend more time with her.

  This was not to say that she was just a pretty face. She had it all, brains and beauty and youth. She was more than ten years younger than I was. But despite all her attributes, I had managed to solve some cases she hadn’t been able to crack. There was an additional undercurrent of hostility between us because I had something she wanted badly. Barry Greenberg. I don’t think she could understand how he possibly could have chosen me over her. I could kind of see her point. They would have been the homicide division’s golden couple. Though I had to wonder what it would be like for two people whose daily work really was a life-and-death matter to deal with something mundane like whose turn it was to take out the trash.

  She had questioned me a number of times before, and I began to wonder if she just kept a sheet in her little notebook with all my vitals. The first few times we’d gone through this, I’d been the docile answerer of questions, but by now I asked as many as I answered.

  “Why do you think it’s murder?” I asked. Detective Heather rocked her head with frustration. I might ask questions, but it didn’t mean she wanted to answer them.

  “What’s this?” she asked, ignoring my question and pointing to the giant turquoise crochet hook with the tangle of purple yarn sticking out of my pocket. Adele had been frustrated with her messy stitches and tossed it aside and I had picked it up. Did I mention that on top of all her other talents, Heather was a first-class knitter? Lucky for her, she’d gotten me to question. Adele knew about her knitting talents and would have either thrown a fit or taken the opportunity to try to convert her to crochet.

  I explained the whole audience incident and how it was that Adele and I had ended up in the waiting room. “And you were going to tell me why you think there was foul play,” I said with an expectant air.

  “Nothing is certain until the coroner determines the cause of death. We’re just investigating. What makes you think we think it’s murder? We could just be following up on a sudden death,” she said. How could I tell her it was all based on Barry’s reactions?

  “Because if you didn’t think it was, you would just say it wasn’t.” I rolled my eyes at the tongue twister. I wished what she was saying was true. If it was murder, the three of us who were with Robyn were the most likely suspects. And I had a bad feeling that when I finished answering all of Detective Heather’s questions, the suspects would be whittled down to just one.

  She knew I had caught her and dealt with it by ignoring my comment. “So then, why don’t you tell me what happened,” she said with her pen poised.

  I was shocked at how long Detective Heather kept questioning me. Once she realized who Nell was and that I knew her, she was relentless, going over and over what happened. I was pretty relentless, too, asking her over and over again why they thought it was murder.

  “I give up, Molly,” she said finally. “If I tell you what we found, will you let it go and just answer my questions?” I sucked in my breath in anticipation while I nodded. I wanted to know and not know at the same time.

  “One of the paramedics noticed a smell on the victim and . . .”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” I interrupted. I had noticed it, too, but hadn’t put it together until now. When we were hovering over Robyn and the spilled drink, I’d noticed a faint almond smell. It didn’t register then. Though I’d had a fleeting thought that the drink had one of those flavored syrups added. But of course it didn’t; Robyn wouldn’t have needed sweetener if it had.

  “Cyanide?” I said.

  “You promised no more questions,” Detective Heather said.

  Even though she didn’t confirm it, I was pretty sure I was right. I knew from a past experience that one of the signatures of cyanide was the scent of almonds and that it didn’t take much to do the job, and it acted very fast. For a moment, I felt a little less guilty. If it was cyanide, we couldn’t have done anything to save her. But the relief didn’t last as the question of how her drink became laced with cyanide filled my thoughts.

  Detective Heather asked again about the sequence of events. And again I gave her the facts. I explained Nell had come in with a coffee drink for Robyn. There had been some issue about it being cold and then about the absence of sweetener.

  “Did the victim drink any of the latte before she added the sweetener?” Heather asked.

  “So, you think whatever killed her was in the sweetener?” I said. Detective Heather gave me a blank look and asked me if I knew what brand it was. I said I hadn’t realized it was going to be important and hadn’t paid any attention to it.

  “It’s called Nature’s Sweetie,” Detective Heather said. She waited to see if that would generate a comment from me. Then she said she was surprised I hadn’t heard of it. It was the newest sugar replacement. “For people watching their weight,” Heather added. Was it my imagination or did her gaze immediately go to my middle? A not-so-subtle reminder that I was a little soft in that area.

  I knew eventually Heather was going to ask me what I knew about Nell and Robyn’s relationship. Even if I hadn’t overheard Nell’s conversation with CeeCee, seeing their exchange over the coffee drink made it pretty clear they didn’t get along. I tried to think of something that wasn’t a lie and also wouldn’t make Nell look bad. Who would have thought that without meaning to, Detective Heather made that easy for me with her next question?

  “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm Ms. Freed?” Detective Heather asked.

  “Freed, her last name is Freed?” I said quickly. The subject never got to Nell and Robyn’s relationship and went directly to me explaining Mrs. Shedd’s phone call from the victim. I think by then Heather was as tired of questioning me as I was being questioned. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where to find me. She was actually a customer of our new yarn department.

  BY THE TIME I WAS FINALLY REUNITED WITH MY purse and jacket and escorted to the door, I had a tension and hunger headache. I hadn’t even had my cell phone to call Mrs. Shedd and tell her why Adele and I were going to be delayed getting to the bookstore. When you’re questioned by the cops, it’s all on their terms. As soon as I was out on the street, I regretted being an audience member again. When I’d gone to shows with Charlie, we left by the backstage entrance and went right into the parking lot. It was all gated and secure and no one was going to stick a microphone in your face.

  But now, the exit I went out put me right on the sidewalk. A bevy of reporters were clumped nearby, and I realized they were all set up to do remotes
for the evening news from there. As soon as Kimberly Wang Diaz from channel three saw me, she practically knocked her colleagues out of the way to get to me.

  She smiled. “Molly Pink? You must know what’s going on.” I edged away but she stuck close to me. I’d met the persistent reporter a number of times in the past. She was close enough to me that I could see the stage makeup on her face and smell the ton of hair spray that kept her black hair in an unmoving helmet. I wanted to get away before she trotted out her nickname for me. The last thing I wanted was to have that title broadcast to the greater L.A. area again. “C’mon, give us the details,” she said as I picked up speed. She was hampered by having to let her cameraman keep up with us. I ran across the street just as she yelled, “I know you know what happened. Crime scene groupie.”

  She let go of the chase and I stopped running when I got across the street. It was then I realized a disconcerting fact. Adele had driven and was nowhere to be seen. I tried calling her and all the other Hookers, and all I got were voice mail answers. Were they still inside? There was no way of telling. I had to face it, I didn’t have a ride home. I considered my options. Ventura Boulevard was a few blocks ahead and it ran west all the way across the Valley to Tarzana.

  I was pretty sure there was a bus that would get me to Shedd & Royal or close enough to walk. It was embarrassing to admit that I didn’t even know how much the bus cost. Over the years, the public transportation options had improved, but the truth was most people who had cars treated taking public transportation like a special event.

  I found the bus stop and leaned against the glass enclosure around the bench. It was rush hour and the traffic clogged in the intersection when the light changed. Even when the light went to green, the cars moved so slowly in front of me, I had time to look at the occupants. It was the end of April and the weather was all over the place temperature wise. The mornings were usually cloudy and cool, the afternoons sunny and hot and then the evenings went back to chilly. Since I’d expected to just be getting in and out of a car, I’d worn only a thin rust-colored suede jacket with my khaki slacks. Even the black vest I’d put on over the white collared shirt didn’t add much warmth. And the events of the day didn’t help, either.

  My head pounded and I shivered as I waited. The people in the cars had nice little cocoons of temperature control, and silly as it seems, I felt like a lost child a million miles from home as I saw them go by. I watched a woman take a paper cup of coffee out of her drink holder. I could almost taste it as she held the cup to her lips. Her car moved on and I glanced down the street, hoping to catch sight of a bus. Another car inched in front of me, then slowed to a stop. Suddenly the tinted window lowered.

  “Molly?” a male voice said. I thought I was hearing things, but then the black Mercedes came into focus and I saw Mason was the driver. “Get in,” he said with a quick wave of his hand.

  Before anyone could even honk at the hold up, I was in the car pulling the door shut. As the car began to inch along, we both said, “What are you doing here?”

  I let Mason go first. The eastern part of the Valley was home to a number of movie and TV studios, and he’d had a meeting at one of them. Mason was the high-level attorney naughty celebrities turned to when they got in trouble. He had a reputation for keeping them out of jail or at least keeping their stay short. He didn’t give me exact details, but he’d been at Warner Brothers talking to a client who was accused of hit-and-run involving a knocked-over “No Parking” sign.

  “And you?” he said, giving me a concerned glance.

  I spilled the whole story while he made a detour through a Starbucks drive-thru and got me a coffee and a roll. My stomach was growling loud enough that he could hear it across the car.

  He listened without comment, but I knew what he was thinking—Nell Collins was in big trouble. She had motive. I had overheard her complaining about Robyn and wishing she was out of the way. No doubt she had expressed similar feelings to her coworkers, who were likely to be questioned by the cops. She had opportunity, since she’d been the one to bring the packet of sweetener, which she could have doctored. To cap it off, she had means. As a production assistant, she had to know how to do all kinds of things and get hold of whatever somebody told her to get. It wasn’t a stretch that she could figure out how to get some cyanide.

  “Poor CeeCee. Nell’s the closest thing she has to a daughter,” I said. The coffee and roll had taken a little of the edge off my hunger and headache, but thinking about the situation made me feel bad all over again.

  “Do you want me to talk to her?” Mason said and I nodded.

  “I’m sure she didn’t do it. She couldn’t have,” I said. Mason caught my eye as we got to a stoplight, and again I knew what he was thinking. But what if she did?

  The freeway wasn’t a good option as it looked like even more of a parking lot than the street, so Mason headed toward Burbank Boulevard. It ran across the Valley and through the Sepulveda Dam area, which was the flood area for the L.A. river and was empty of development except for a golf course and various parks.

  By then it all began to catch up with me. Someone had died in front of me and I had been helpless to save them. It started with my eyes getting watery and ended with me sobbing. Mason pulled off the wide street into the golf course parking lot. There was a walking track around it and the after-work exercise crowd were getting out of their cars and stretching before they began their trek.

  Mason offered just what I needed. A shoulder to cry on. He put his arm around me and handed me a wad of tissue. It all came out now. An appropriate place because I felt like the dam had broken and my tears just flooded out. When I was done crying, I felt a sense of relief. His assurance that I couldn’t have done anything to change the outcome helped.

  He took his arm away and moved back into driving position. “Is there anything else on your mind?” I slumped and wondered if on top of all his other talents, Mason had become psychic. There had been an undercurrent of thought that had been percolating for a while. It had surfaced when Barry had shown up at the studio. Maybe I was being foolish. Maybe I should take the ring out of the box and just say yes.

  “I have been thinking maybe I should just go ahead and become Molly Greenberg.”

  I heard Mason choke. I guess his supposed psychic powers weren’t strong enough to have figured what else I was upset about. Mason took a moment to compose himself before he spoke.

  “Speaking as your friend,” he began, “I can just say one thing. Don’t do it.” Mason had been divorced for a while and had managed to keep a decent relationship with his ex-wife. His kids were grown and had lives of their own, but he was always there for family celebrations. When I’d first gotten to know him, it was very clear he didn’t plan to get married again and was only interested in casual relationships. So, I could understand his reaction, though the emotion in his voice was a little stronger than I’d expected.

  “Why change anything? If you were Mrs. Greenberg, would we even be sitting here now?”

  I felt a slump coming again. I hadn’t wanted to consider it, but I knew he was right about that. Barry didn’t like that I was friends with Mason and would certainly ixnay it if we were married. And what about all the time I spent with the Hookers? He didn’t seem altogether happy with it now. If we were married and he felt he had a say in my activities—I didn’t even want to finish the thought. It brought forward all the reasons I didn’t want to get married again. I liked being in charge of my own life.

  I saw Mason surreptitiously check his watch and I apologized for barging into his day. “You have someplace to be, don’t you?” I said.

  “Sorry, Sunshine. But I have a dinner meeting.” He started the car and rejoined the traffic. He dropped me back at the bookstore where I’d left my car. “If anything comes up, call me. Anything—like you start thinking of wedding-dress shopping,” he said with a chuckle.

  CHAPTER 5

  MRS. SHEDD CAUGHT ME AS I WAS COMING IN THE door of She
dd & Royal. “Molly, where have you been? You said you’d be here by noon.” She stopped and took a good look at me. I hadn’t seen my reflection, but judging by Mrs. Shedd’s expression, the long day, a tension headache, someone dying before my eyes and the sob fest with Mason must have left their mark. “Did something happen?” Now she sounded concerned.

  I apologized for being late and not calling. By the time I’d gotten my phone back, calling to say I’d been delayed seemed kind of beside the point. I thought it would be better to just explain when I got to the bookstore. I began with Adele’s crochet moment, and Mrs. Shedd rolled her eyes.

  “She didn’t mention Shedd and Royal, did she?” Mrs. Shedd asked with worry in her voice. A little laugh at the absurdity of her concern under the circumstances escaped my lips before I continued to describe the chain of events. I got as far as Robyn’s dying practically at my feet when Mrs. Shedd put her hand on my shoulder. “Not another dead body,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d be afraid to go anywhere with you.”

  I suppose I should have been grateful she didn’t call me a crime scene groupie. She gasped when I mentioned that the victim was the woman she’d spoken to on the phone, and then gasped again when I mentioned that it seemed to be murder.

  “The police don’t think you or Adele had anything to do with it, do they—or me since I did speak with her on the phone?”

  I tried to reassure Mrs. Shedd. “Speaking to someone on the phone once hardly made you a suspect. I don’t think Adele or I are likely to be considered suspects, either.” My voice sort of trailed off at the end. I hated to, but I finally brought up Nell, and Mrs. Shedd sucked in her breath big time.

  “That doesn’t sound good. CeeCee must be very upset,” she said. “Be sure and point out Nell next time she comes in.” Mrs. Shedd paused before she dropped her voice and added, “That is, if she comes in again.” I knew Mrs. Shedd was thinking about Nell getting arrested. I was going to tell her even if that happened, it wasn’t as if they were going to put her right in jail and throw away the key. She’d probably get bailed out in no time, making it possible for her to come in the bookstore again. But it wasn’t worth explaining so I let it be.