A Stitch in Crime

by Betty Hechtman

  “Whatever,” I said, handing her the rhinestone clipboard.

  A few minutes later, she stood watching as I got into her old silver Honda. She had actually made me show her my license. Sometimes she was just too over-the-top. What the fuss was, was beyond me. The car was well worn and not exactly what I’d call orderly. She’d re-covered the front bucket seats with what I hoped was fake black-and-white cow skin. The backseat was littered with skeins of yarn that were tangled together and a bag from a craft store with more supplies. I chuckled at the box of bubble gum packets. Who knew Adele chewed that stuff that came in shreds and was supposed to look like chewing tobacco? She never ceased to surprise me. I laid my tote bag with Izabelle’s crochet book on the passenger seat.

  I started to roll down the window, but Adele yelled for me to halt and pulled open the door.

  “Pink, did you pay any attention to what I said? My car is fragile. If you open the window, it won’t shut.” She touched the roof of the car protectively. “Maybe I should drive.”

  I reminded her she had the rhinestone clipboard for now, shut the door and turned on the motor. I know she was watching as I finally drove away.

  I felt strange driving out of the Asilomar gate, as if I was suddenly reentering the real hustle-and-bustle world. Well, maybe not exactly hustle-and-bustle, but suddenly there were stoplights and traffic, houses and stores and an abrupt end to the feeling of being off somewhere.

  Shortly beyond the business area, the road became curvy as it went over a ridge and through a forest of Monterey pines before I saw the signs for the Del Monte Mall. It had taken a bunch of phone calls to listings in the yellow pages before I found someone at a photo center who said he could do what I wanted.

  I found a parking spot on the perimeter of the large mall and checked the directory for the store I wanted. A tall, skinny college-age clerk looked up when I walked in.

  When I explained I was the one who’d called, he said, “You understand we don’t have the actual software that does age progression, like they use for the milk carton photos. That’s strictly for FBI and law enforcement.” I nodded and he asked to see the photo.

  I opened Izabelle’s book and showed him the picture. “You want me to age-progress a doll?” he said, giving me a weird look. Not a big surprise; it was an odd request. I thought of explaining why I wanted the altered photo, but I couldn’t come up with an easy explanation that didn’t make me seem even weirder.

  “I think I can do it with Photo Shop. How about next week?”

  “I was thinking of something more along the lines of in an hour or so.”

  He swallowed hard. “Okay. I’m always up for a challenge.” He took the book and said something about scanning the photo, followed by a lot of computer mumbo jumbo. With that settled, I rushed back to Adele’s car.

  I returned to Asilomar just as lunch was ending. The driveway was clogged with people from our retreat on their way to the afternoon sessions as I parked the car in one of the few spots near the administration building. Adele had made me promise to drop off the keys the moment I got back. She was already in the crochet workshop room. When she saw me, she put down the purple pouch bag she was finishing and got up, insisting on inspecting her car.

  She walked all the way around it, checking for damage. I rolled my eyes in disbelief as she opened the back door and rearranged the yarn, bag of craft supplies and box of bubble gum packets in the backseat and complained that everything had gotten jostled around, no doubt because of my harsh driving.

  She held out her hand for the keys. “Ah, there’s one more thing,” I said, giving them to her.

  “What now, Pink? My people are waiting.” She began walking, and I followed.

  I broke the news that I had to go back. You’d think I’d just asked Adele for a seat on a rocket to the moon.

  “What, exactly, is all this about?” she asked, putting her hand on her cloud-colored encased hip. She wasn’t going to give back the keys without the whole story. She stopped in the middle of the path and waited while I told her about the doll in Izabelle’s book and how I thought if I got it age-progressed, I’d know what she looked like as an adult.

  “But we know what she looked like, Pink. I think you’re losing your detective touch.”

  I reminded Adele how she’d brought up that Izabelle’s perfect looks weren’t natural.

  “Right,” she said. “My eagle eye did pick out the fake cheekbones and redone nose. And the puffy lips, ha!” I threw in the eye and hair color. Then I dropped the bombshell and told her Izabelle had an identical twin and that she might be among us.

  Adele took a moment to process the information and then got it. “And I bet if someone was on the beach with Izabelle, it was her,” Adele said, handing back the keys. “Okay, you didn’t wreck my car the first time, so you won’t this time, right?”

  In all our negotiations, I hadn’t noticed that there were people around us until Jym called out a greeting. Jeen’s acknowledgment came out like a combination groan and sigh as her eyes locked on Adele. I looked past Bennett, who appeared deep in thought, to a dark blue uniform that immediately grabbed my attention.

  “There you are,” Sergeant French said in a studied friendly voice. He stopped next to Adele. “Ms. Abrams, I just want to talk to you again about the afternoon Ms. Landers died.”

  Adele grabbed the fabric of my corduroy blazer. “Here, Pink has some information for you. I really have nothing more to add. Like I said all those times before, I didn’t talk to Izabelle after the incident in the crochet workshop. I didn’t follow her to the beach. I didn’t have any of the s’mores. I went to my room alone, where I could concentrate, and tried to re-create the stitch she had stolen from me.”

  The police officer shifted his weight and sighed. He obviously hadn’t given up on Adele being the person with Izabelle on the beach.

  “Ms. Abrams, you know you’ll feel better if you tell me the real story.”

  “That is the real story,” she protested. “Talk to Pink. She’s got it all figured out. I’ve got a workshop to run.”

  She marched off, and Sergeant French turned his attention to me. “More amateur sleuthing, Ms. Pink?” he said with another sigh.

  “I’m going to have something this afternoon that’s going to rock your investigation.”

  “Right,” he said without looking at me, probably because he was rolling his eyes. Commander came by, carrying a grocery bag. He stopped to remind me that his group was making a special appetizer for the evening get-together. Sergeant French nodded at him.

  “Anything else you want to add to your statement?” the police officer asked.

  Commander merely shook his head as an answer. So, Sergeant French had talked to him, too.

  When Commander was out of earshot, I asked the sergeant if Commander had mentioned that he’d picked up marshmallow forks on the beach. I was expecting a big gasp of surprise before he asked me for details, but he gave me his blank cop face.

  “I don’t have to discuss this with you. We’re not working together, remember? At first Mr. Blaine didn’t mention it, but it came back to him, and he called me. He said he’d picked them up along with a partially burned bag. He claimed it was his natural tendency to pick up his things others had left. He didn’t remember exactly, but was pretty sure he’d thrown the bag away and cleaned up the forks and put them back with the others.”

  “Well, there goes any forensic evidence,” I said. I think Sergeant French was back to rolling his eyes as he prepared to leave.

  “You should talk to Spenser Futterman,” I said quickly.

  “Who?” Sergeant French asked. His cop face was all gone as I described Spenser and his female companion and said that Spenser was the crow.

  “The what?” he asked. He was trying to keep a serious look, but his mouth wanted to grin. I reminded him that someone was in Izabelle’s room when Dinah and I had first used the key. “There were papers missing and we saw a shadow go out the window
. You said it was a crow, remember?” He gave me a condescending nod and I explained how Spenser and his lady friend had come into Izabelle’s room and I’d heard Spenser admit that he’d been in there before and had exited through the window. “So you see, he’s the crow.” It was a little tricky explaining why I was in the closet.

  “I guess that’s part of your amateur sleuthing,” Sergeant French said. He couldn’t hide the grin anymore. He took out his notebook and wrote something down. “See, I’m making a note of it. You said they didn’t take anything other than pictures, right? I’ll have my men check this guy out.”

  Right. I knew when someone was humoring me.

  The call that my photo was ready came as the workshops took their break. I walked through the throng of people quickly, not wanting to be stopped by anyone, and made a direct line to Adele’s car.

  I struggled with the lock, not remembering what special move I was supposed to use, and finally jiggled it enough that it moved and the button popped up. A few moments later, I zipped back out through the gate, elated at the prospect of seeing the altered photo. In a few minutes I’d know for sure if Izabelle’s twin was among us and, more important, who she was. I barely noticed the ride and pulled into the large parking lot of the Del Monte Mall.

  Rather than deal with Adele’s weird lock, I just left the car open. How long would I be, anyway, and who in their right mind would want to steal her car? The layout of the mall confused me, and I didn’t realize until I was walking into it that I had parked at the wrong end. By then it seemed longer to walk back and move the car than to go the extra distance. I felt a surge of excitement as I reached the walkway between the stores and headed toward the photo studio. I was priding myself on my creativity at age- progressing the doll. Amateur sleuth, hah!

  When I walked in the store, the kid straightened. “I think you’re going to be very happy with this,” he said as he showed me the sealed, large manila envelope sitting on top of the book behind the counter.

  “Can I see it?” I said, reaching for it, but he handed me the bill instead. When the transaction was complete, he handed me the charge slip, book, and envelope, and walked me to the door. “We close early on Sunday.”

  Since I had waited this long, I decided to do the unveiling in the car, where I could sit and examine the picture. The only problem was, finding Adele’s car turned out to be a chore. I’d been so focused on getting to the photo place, I hadn’t paid any attention to where I had left the car. Silver cars don’t exactly stand out the way my greenmobile does. A 1993 Mercedes 190E in teal green is hard to miss. When I finally located it, I slid in, shut the door, and tore open the envelope.

  When I looked at the print, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I certainly understood why the clerk had been so quick to show me the door and discourage my viewing his work in front of him.

  How to describe what I was looking at? Basically, he had taken the doll’s head and given it some wrinkles and gray hair. Apparently he had understood that noses and ears keep growing, and had extended the doll’s nose until she looked like a witch and her ears hung to her chin line. Discouraged, I threw it on the seat and turned the engine on.

  The parking lot opened right onto the highway and I stepped on the gas, very anxious to get back now. I had spent too much time away from my duties, and for nothing. Up ahead the stoplight went to yellow, and I stepped on the brake. The pedal went down, but the car didn’t slow. As the car flew through the intersection, I looked ahead at the road and realized I was in big trouble.

  CHAPTER 22

  “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD—THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING,” I said out loud, as if it would make any difference. I took my foot off the accelerator again, and again the car didn’t slow at all. I tried the brake, but the car just made an angry noise and kept roaring down the road. What was wrong with Adele’s Honda?

  A picture flashed through my mind—a retreating figure in a hooded sweatshirt as I approached the car. I hadn’t paid enough attention to know if it was a man or a woman. Had that mysterious person done something to the car? I felt the pit of my stomach squeeze and started saying “Oh my God” again over and over out loud. I needed time to figure out what to do. Time I didn’t have at the moment. I was closing in on a yellow Ford Focus in front of me. I was going to hit it if I didn’t do something fast. I tend to be a cautious driver, not changing lanes unless there’s lots and lots of room. I glanced to my left, hoping for a big open space. No such luck: a black Cadillac was barreling along, catching up to me. Hoping for the best, I pulled in front of the fast-moving dark car.

  I made it, but just barely. I heard the driver honking behind me and could only imagine what he was doing with his middle finger. The Ford became a yellow blur as I zoomed past it. I felt giddy at my momentary success.

  The road sloped upward, but that barely slowed the car. Both sides of the road were bordered by giant Monterey pines, though I saw them as more of a green blur as I put all my attention on the road ahead. Someone must have heard me talking about getting the picture of the doll altered and figured out what it meant. So, I had been on the right track. A lot of good that was going to do me. I got it. Whoever had overheard me didn’t want me to make it back.

  And unless I could figure out what to do, whoever was going to get his or her wish. The realization of what that meant hit me like a thud. Was this going to be the end for me?

  Barry would blame himself. He’d think if only he hadn’t listened to me and had come anyway, nothing would have happened. Would he be the one to break the news to my sons? I felt my eyes fill with tears. I knew Peter would be okay, but I worried about my younger son, Samuel. And what about Mason? He’d blame himself, too.

  I thought about my late husband. Would Charlie be waiting for me? I felt a momentary comfort. I knew he would. He’d hold out his hand and help me through the tunnel all the people who’d been dead and come back talked about. Charlie would help me to the light. But that wouldn’t help those I’d left behind.

  Dinah would be heartbroken. Sheila would be sad. And Adele—the jury was still out. She’d probably inherit my job at the bookstore. My death would be chalked up as an accident. Sergeant French would give up and accept that Izabelle was alone on the beach. And her killer and mine would get away with it.

  I didn’t want to die. Not now, not yet.

  I put more effort into working my foot against the accelerator, trying to get it unstuck, not that it helped. My cell phone was in my purse on the floor, out of reach. Who would I call, anyway? I looked toward either side of the road, hoping there would be an open field to steer into, but I saw only trees.

  Another stoplight was coming up. It was green, and I hoped it would stay that way. It was still green as I got closer. I let out my breath, thinking I would make it through. But it went to yellow. Thankfully, the car in front of me didn’t consider stopping, and sped through the intersection. The light was red when I got to it. I choked on my breath as the silver Honda zoomed through the intersection. In the rearview mirror I caught sight of the cross traffic surging into the spot I had barely vacated. I caught sight of something else, too. A cop car pulled onto the road from behind a tree and, lights flashing, came up behind me.

  My breath poured out in a gush. Someone was coming to help. Or not. I heard a disembodied voice over a loudspeaker order me to pull over. He didn’t want to help. He wanted to give me a ticket.

  I opened the window—who cared now if it stuck?—and tried waving my hand out of it, hoping they’d realize I was in trouble. I don’t think they got the message. The cruiser stayed on my tail, and the voice over the loudspeaker kept ordering me to pull over. I saw more flashing lights in my rearview mirror. Three cruisers were after me now. It was like those car chases I’d seen on TV.

  I was so occupied with what was going on behind me, I momentarily lost track of what was in front of me. When I refocused, I saw that I was closing in on a blue Neon. Worse, there was a white minivan in the lane next to it, mat
ching its speed. It seemed like I had no way out. It got worse as I saw the Neon’s brake lights go on. I pulled hard on the wheel and drove onto the shoulder just in time. As soon as I got ahead of the two cars, I steered back onto the road. The cop cars did the same.

  The road was empty ahead. Had the cops cleared it? I hoped so. All I had to do was steer now—and figure out how to stop. In my peripheral vision I saw one of the police cars had pulled alongside and was driving next to me. A voice barked through the loudspeaker, commanding me to pull over. I yelled back, with all the voice that I could find, that the accelerator was stuck.

  I roared past stores and businesses in Pacific Grove. The turnoff to Asilomar went by in a flash, and then the street turned and ran along the beach. There were dunes on one side and a rocky beach on the other. I thought of those piles of sand I’d seen on the sides of highways to stop runaway trucks and tried to aim the car toward a sand hill, but all my years of trying to avoid hitting things kicked in and I couldn’t do it. I just grazed the sand and was back on the road. I looked toward the beach side and was relieved to see the rocky area give way to plants and sand. Much as I hated to damage the fragile plants, as soon as I saw an area that looked level, I pulled the wheel hard to the left. The car went off the road, and I bumped through the low fence and over the plants, finally hitting the soft sand. The wheels got stuck and the engine stalled out as the car finally stopped. For a moment I just sat there stunned. Then I opened the door and got out. As soon as I stood, my legs gave out.

  CHAPTER 23

  A STRONG PAIR OF HANDS CAUGHT ME BEFORE I hit the sand. I instinctively tried to fight my way free of being held. The first backward swing of my elbow made contact.

  “Ouch, tough girl, I was just trying to help,” a familiar voice said as my rescuer let me go. I looked back just as I hit the sand. Mason was rubbing his arm. “You’ve got quite an elbow swing.”

  He looked down at me with concern. “Are you okay?”