“Sorry I’m late,” Dinah Lyons said, arriving in a burst of energy. She’s my best friend and a freshman English instructor at Beasley Community College. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair short, which, along with her scarf wardrobe, gave her an arty, offbeat look. I was surprised at the flowing piece of white chiffon she was wearing, since she usually went for a couple of scarves in unusual color combinations. Dinah looked at Izabelle, assumed she was a new member of the group, and started to introduce herself, but she was stopped by Izabelle’s condescending smile—as if it was ridiculous to think she’d be one of us.
Izabelle set Dinah straight about who she was and why she was there. Then she spoke to the rest of us. “I don’t usually put on retreat workshops. The only reason I agreed to do the crochet session was Mrs. Shedd said I could demonstrate the fusion craft featured in my upcoming book. I want to practice it in front of a live audience before I go on the road with it. When my new book comes out, I’m going to be doing a major tour with stops at The Today Show, Martha Stewart, and some others.” Izabelle waited for the expected oohs and aahs, the loudest of which came from Adele as she returned, holding several of the large hard-bound copies of Izabelle’s current release.
CeeCee took advantage of the lull in conversation. “Molly, if you’re in charge, then I guess you’re the one I have to break the bad news to. You know I committed to running the acting workshop at the retreat, but I’m not going to make it until the last day.” Izabelle looked at our resident celebrity and seemed to just get who she was as CeeCee explained that the Hearts and Barks charity we’d helped before was having its yearly luncheon and that the entertainment was scenes from some current musicals. “The headliner, Helen Jones, had an emergency appendectomy, and you know the show has to go on, particularly when you’ve sold lots and lots of tickets and you don’t want to cancel and refund all that money meant to help the free pet clinic.” CeeCee paused to see if I was getting it. “I’m not sure you girls know, but I’ve done my share of singing and dancing, and my name means something. I couldn’t say no.”
Not a good sign. I’d barely been in charge of the weekend for an hour and Adele was practically smothering the crochet workshop leader, and now CeeCee was telling me she was going to be a no-show. I opened my mouth to object, but CeeCee turned on her magnetic smile.
“Now, dear, just because I can’t make it doesn’t mean I’m leaving you in the lurch. I found a replacement. He’ll probably do even better than I would have. He not only acts, but is the director of his own little theater. He knows how to work with actors, or people who want to be actors, better than I do.”
Izabelle had signed the books and set them on the table, and was now intently looking at CeeCee. “I thought it was you, but then I wasn’t sure. But it really is you, isn’t it?”
CeeCee was used to those kinds of comments and smiled, even though she’d been interrupted. Instinctively she touched the beret she wore over her highlighted brown hair to make sure it was straight. She always dressed to be seen even when she was just coming to lead the crochet group. Izabelle said how much she’d liked CeeCee’s old sitcom. “With all your years in the business, you’ve probably done tons of promotion on TV shows. I bet you could give me some pointers. You know how it is—nobody wants to fluff an interview with Matt Lauer.”
“I don’t know if I can help you, but if you’re going to the retreat, I bet my replacement could.” CeeCee turned to me. “Bennett Franklyn is an actor’s actor. He’ll do great.” CeeCee looked over the group to see our reaction. She seemed disconcerted when Izabelle was the only one who recognized the name. “He’s on Raf Gibraltar. You know— the main character is some kind of science teacher-secret agent who saves the free world every week by using everyday items to stop the bad guys. There’s lots of duct tape and coat hangers. Once he used a kid’s pencil to stop a fuel leak.” There was a chorus of recognition.
“Then Bennett plays Raf Gibraltar?” Dinah asked.
CeeCee seemed perturbed by our ignorance of acting professionals. “No, no. He plays his older brother. You’ll recognize him when you see him. People always think they know him from somewhere. He has those everyman looks. His wife is his manager. She’ll be coming as well.”
Izabelle was listening, at least until Adele interrupted, asking Izabelle about the fusion craft.
“You’ll have to wait until I do my demonstration.” Izabelle pushed the signed books toward Adele and said she had to go. Adele squeezed her hand and said she couldn’t wait to hear about the fusion craft before Izabelle picked up her things and left.
Dinah was the next to notice the rhinestone clipboard on top of the box. She picked it up and looked at me. “What’s this?” CeeCee, Sheila, Eduardo, and I all rolled our eyes as Adele told her in full detail what it was, what it meant and, most of all, that once again she hadn’t gotten her due.
In a huff, Adele went off to the bookstore café to see what kind of cookies Bob, our barista-cookie baker, had made. As soon as she was gone, Dinah came over and hugged me. “How wonderful that you’re going to be in charge.”
I smiled weakly. “Yes, this is my big chance to show off my leadership qualities, but what if I screw up? I was just planning to be a participant at the retreat, and help Mrs. Shedd. ‘Help’ is the important word here. Help isn’t the buck stopping with me.”
“Don’t worry,” Dinah said, releasing me and going back to her seat. “Look at all those author events you’ve put on. They’ve all been fine.” She winced and then went on.
“Okay, maybe there were a few mishaps, like the stink bomb.” Dinah caught herself again and put on her inspirational tone. “But even with the mishaps, everything always turned out well and you sold a lot of books. You’ll do fine this weekend. I personally promise not to be a problem.”
Dinah was leading a memoir-writing workshop.
Sheila chimed in and reminded me that she was going to be there, too. “You can count on me if you need any help,” she said.
Eduardo and CeeCee both voiced their confidence, and apologized for not being able to offer any support because they weren’t getting there until the last day.
“You’re not coming?” I said to Eduardo. He explained that he had a photo shoot for a cover that was big time. “It’s a Roberta Iron book,” he said, referring to the romance novel superstar.
Adele returned with a snickerdoodle and a latte. “Why, exactly, isn’t Mrs. Shedd coming?”
“All she said was that something had come up,” I said.
CeeCee cocked her head. “I bet it has something to do with Joshua Royal. Things have sure changed since he came back. Pamela Shedd must be well into her sixties, and Joshua, too, but they’re acting like a couple of teenagers.”
That was true. When Mrs. Shedd hired me as the event coordinator, Mr. Royal was such a silent partner that I didn’t think he existed. And then one day he’d just shown up. It was obvious they had some kind of history and were picking up its threads.
With all this talk about the fancy clipboard, I finally had a look at it and thumbed through the pages it held. “Mrs. Shedd said the crochet group would make afghans over the weekend and donate them to a homeless shelter up there,” I said, my voice rising in concern.
“It’s obvious she doesn’t crochet,” CeeCee said with a sigh. “Even if we weren’t going to do a crochet-along project, it would be impossible except for the speediest of crocheters to make an afghan that fast.”
There was something else on the page in front of me. Another little plan of Mrs. Shedd’s that she hadn’t mentioned. She had crossed out candle making and written in knitting. “When did she add a knitting workshop?” I blurted out. If Adele was upset about me getting the rhinestone clipboard, it was nothing compared to her reaction to the word knitting.
She smacked her fist on the table. “I can’t believe she betrayed us like that.”
All of the Tarzana Hookers agreed that crochet was better than knitting, but we weren’t militant lik
e Adele. Before I could calm her, she launched into her tirade.
“We crocheters are not going to be the stepsisters of knitting anymore. Why does everyone insist on saying ‘knitting and crocheting’? Why not the other way around? ‘Crocheting and knitting’ is alphabetical.”
We all just listened as Adele went on. We’d heard it many times before.
Half an hour later, the group broke up. CeeCee left in a hurry to get to a production meeting for her show. Sheila had to get to one of her several jobs. Dinah had to get to class. Adele and I were left to put away the table. As Adele was packing away her hooks, she looked around the table. “Pink, where is it?”
“Where’s what?” I asked, looking at the cleared table. Adele stuck her head under the table and checked the floor. She seemed a little panicky.
“The piece with the marshmallow stitch I created is missing.”
CHAPTER 2
IT HAD TAKEN A WHILE, BUT I’D FINALLY CALMED Adele down by convincing her someone in the group must have scooped up her work when they were packing up their own.
Adele stopped the frantic search and flopped into one of the chairs we hadn’t folded up. “You’re probably right.”
Typical Adele. She could call me by my last name and hassle me every chance she got, but she forgot it all and expected me to help her when she had some kind of trouble. Dinah had asked me why I didn’t just tell Adele to back off when she got annoying or demanding, and I had explained that I looked at Adele like that cousin everyone has who annoys you no end, but you put up with her because she’s family. Okay, Adele wasn’t family in the real sense of the word, but in a looser sense she was.
I gave Adele a sympathetic smile and went to touch her shoulder. “Pink, just because you helped me look for my marshmallow stitch doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the rhinestone clipboard,” she said. “I’m going to talk to Mrs. Shedd. I’ve worked at the bookstore longer. I’ve gone to three of the workshop weekends, and you’ve gone to . . . ?”
Adele didn’t let up until I repeated that I had never been to one. After that she tilted her head with a knowing look. “And Pink, just to let you know, if you have any expectations of having a good time, you might as well cancel them. The rhinestone clipboard comes with twenty-four-hour responsibility.”
I tried to dismiss Adele’s warning. I knew about putting on events. Hadn’t I handled countless book signings? Then I started to think about it. I never sat in the audience at events. I was always keyed up and standing just out of sight. And there was the setting up and tearing down. Oh, dear, I hated to admit it, but Adele was right. The rhinestone clipboard came with a definite downside. I would be so busy making sure everything went right, I wouldn’t get to take part in the crochet workshop or have any time for fun.
As I put the table back in the storage room, I realized I’d never gotten a chance to take out the lightweight bubble gum pink scarf I was working on. Was this a preview of the weekend?
Suddenly, another problem surfaced. Barry Greenberg.
Barry Greenberg was my boyfriend, though I thought that title sounded stupid for a homicide detective in his early fifties. I also thought the term dating sounded too giggly and high schoolish. For a long time I had fought the idea of any title connected with our relationship, even though he was definitely woven into the fabric of my life. Barry had wanted us to move on and get engaged or married, but I had resisted. I’d been Mrs. Pink for a lot of years, and I wasn’t ready to be Mrs. Somebody Else yet. So, we basically settled on being just . . . a couple.
Barry was supposed to come on the retreat with me. He wasn’t going to take part in the workshops, but it had seemed like there would be plenty of time for us to do things together.
It had taken a lot of juggling for him to get the weekend off and make arrangements for his son, Jeffrey, to spend the time at a friend’s house, and we were looking forward to this time away together. Even if I had to help Mrs. Shedd, I was sure I’d be free for moonlight walks along the beach that was supposed to be across the street from the conference center where the retreat was being held. Meals were included, but we figured we’d slip away for dinners on our own. Barry had already made reservations at several restaurants that he promised were heavy on romance. Now that the bucks were going to be stopping with me, there was no way I could slip away for dinner and moonlit strolls. Adele was right. I might as well forget about having a good time.
This was certainly a different turn of events. How many plans had been broken because Barry picked up a homicide? Or he had to fly off somewhere to follow a suspect? Or an important lead came up just as our salad arrived? Sometimes I felt like Barry was married to his job and I was the other woman. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, I was sure he would understand. At least I hoped so.
I took out my cell phone and called. “Greenberg,” Barry said tersely. His tone softened when he heard my voice, but barely. I could hear the adrenaline flowing in his voice, making it high-pitched and choppy as he said something to his partner about making a right turn at the next street. The trouble with cell phones is you never know what somebody is doing when you reach them, or where they are. And I always seem to get Barry at the wrong place.
“What?” he said abruptly, then apologized for being short.
“Maybe this isn’t the best time,” I said.
Barry is not one to put things off, and once he realized I had called for a reason, he insisted on knowing why, even if he was on the way to a situation that was probably dangerous. I gave him the short version. “Basically, I’m calling off our weekend because I have to work.”
“What?” He choked. It wasn’t the kind of what that meant he didn’t hear. It was the kind of what that meant he didn’t understand. Sure, he could always understand his work interrupting everything, but not mine. “But I rearranged everyone’s schedule to get the time off,” he argued. “This is so last-minute. We were leaving tomorrow. C’mon, Molly, how much do you really have to do?” Then suddenly he said he had to hang up, and I heard a lot of sirens in the background.
Apparently the shoe on the other foot didn’t fit so well.
As I was leaving the bookstore café with a red-eye in hand, Mrs. Shedd stopped. She had her purse and was obviously on her way out. Mr. Royal was waiting outside and seemed to be waving at her to hurry up.
“That man is so impatient. I guess we have a lot of time to make up for,” she said, referring to all the years Mr. Royal had been traveling the world. She leaned close and handed me a piece of paper. “I’m sure you won’t need this—it’s only for emergencies.” I glanced down at the elaborate directions on how to reach her. “Joshua surprised me with tickets for a cruise. You know, one of those last-minute deals. We’re off to Mexico.” Her smile suddenly dimmed. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve always been the responsible good soldier. But I thought it was time I did something impulsive and let someone else be the responsible one.” She nodded toward me. “I guess that’s it. Rayaad will be handling things here. And you’ve got the weekend covered.” Her expression focused. “Oh, there was just one more little snafu. The tai chi master I’d lined up canceled at the last minute.” Mrs. Shedd shook her head. “Don’t you just hate it when people are undependable?” She pointed toward the box of packets still in the event area. “Don’t worry, I already found somebody. I put a blank name tag in the box for him and relabeled the folder. You’ll do fine.” And then she was gone. So CeeCee was right. Mrs. Shedd was doing something with Mr. Royal.
Before I could finish my coffee with a shot of espresso, a black Crown Victoria stopped in the red zone in front of the bookstore. Barry got out and rushed inside.
As always when he was working, he wore a nicely fitting dark suit and a subdued tie, but whatever he’d been in the middle of had left him looking frazzled. He ran his hand through his neatly cut dark hair, and for a moment emotion cut into his expressionless cop face. He didn’t look happy.
He crossed the space be
tween us in a few steps. His dark eyes were flaring by the time he reached me.
“Babe, you can’t just dump our plans.” He glanced around and, seeing that no one was looking, put his arms around me. Generally, when he was working, he was completely hands free. “C’mon. I won’t be in the way. How much time can it really take? You have to eat and you have to sleep and you have to get some kind of breaks. I had big plans,” he said, his voice heavy with suggestion.
His proximity was giving a lot of weight to his argument, and the thought of his plans made me a little rubbery in the knees. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with him, it was just that I now had more responsibility. For a moment I started to weaken. Was I really listening to Adele and her warning? Hadn’t Mrs. Shedd told me to have fun? What better way to have fun than to spend some quality time with Barry? But then my good sense kicked in. I had the rhinestone clipboard and the responsibility that went with it. I didn’t want to be thinking of how I could slip away every minute. I wanted my mind focused on the job at hand. And that meant no distractions. No Barry.
When he finally accepted that he couldn’t change my mind, Barry double-timed it outside, and a moment later the car pulled away. I packed up the box of presenters’ packets along with the rhinestone clipboard and headed for home. This weekend was not going to be a vacation.
CHAPTER 3
“YOU SHOULD LOOK AT THIS AS AN OPPORTUNITY,” Dinah said. “You said yourself that Mrs. Shedd is spending less and less time at the bookstore, and to back out of this weekend at the last minute—” Dinah looked me in the eye. “I’d say it’s only a matter of time until she turns over running the whole place to someone. And I’d guess you’re at the top of her list.”
My son Samuel had just dropped us at LAX, and we were walking into the terminal along with throngs of early afternoon travelers. Samuel had assured me I didn’t have to worry; he would take care of the dogs, get the mail, and water my flowers. I wasn’t worried because my older son, Peter, had assured me he would take care of the dogs, mail, and plants. Barry had promised to do the same. What can I say? I had asked all three to take care of things in my absence. Each of them was busy and not used to having a couple of dogs depending solely on him. I figured the worst that would happen was the dogs and plants would get too much care.
A Stitch in Crime Page 2
