“I just wanted to make sure you haven’t changed your mind about us,” he said. There was no laughter or teasing in his voice now. It was a legitimate question, because I had sort of done it in the past. I rushed to assure him that we were still one hundred percent a go.
“When you hugged me, it felt like home,” I said.
“Good,” he said, adding a whew at the end. He was back to his fun self. “I hope that is a home full of excitement and passion, not a couple of rocking chairs on the front porch sort of home.”
“I’m with your first description of home,” I said with a laugh.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “And don’t worry about Adele.”
“I can’t help it. They have real evidence against her. And more than once she’s told me that I’m her best friend.”
Mason laughed. “She has a weird way of showing it.”
“Adele is just Adele. We’re trying to come up with possible suspects, which is no problem. It turns out a lot of people had problems with K.D. Kirby, including your own Audrey Stewart.”
There was dead silence on the phone. This time I didn’t think we’d been disconnected, because I heard Mason take a breath before he spoke. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”
“Why?” I asked, mystified.
“I was going to suggest we get together tonight. Even for just a few minutes. But Sunshine, you know about attorney-client privilege. I can’t say anything about her. And now I can’t possibly spend any time alone with you. At least until they arrest somebody, hopefully not Adele.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I have great self-control; the best example is how long I’ve hung around waiting for you to make a decision. But even with my best of intentions, if we were together and you started to ask me stuff, which I’m pretty sure you being you, you would, I’m afraid I’d melt.”
“What if I promised not to say anything?” I protested.
Mason chuckled. “I know you, Sunshine. You’re determined to help Adele. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Though the idea of a midnight rendezvous sounds romantic and exciting.”
“I’ve got to hang up now, before I weaken. We don’t want me to get disbarred,” he said. He added a hasty “Love you” before he clicked off.
I sat back on the couch and looked at the phone, thinking about Mason and sorry that I wasn’t going to see him. Dinah had taken her phone into the other room. When she rejoined me, she noticed there was something wrong. “Wow,” she said when I explained about the obstacle with Mason. “All the more reason we hurry up and figure something out and get this case closed.”
She went into the kitchen and came back carrying a cup of chai tea for each of us. “I think we’ve both had enough coffee for one day,” she said as she set them on the coffee table before taking her seat again.
“We didn’t get to play the Sherlock Holmes game before, but we can do it now. So, let’s start deducing.” Dinah was always up to helping me investigate. She found it interesting and exciting, particularly when we had to sneak around.
I recognized the eager look as she sat forward on the couch. “The obvious place to start is with K.D. It’s not hard to deduce that she wasn’t very popular. I barely knew her and I didn’t like her. She was high-handed when it came to knitting over crochet, she didn’t care about anybody’s feelings, and I think her power had gone to her head.”
“Are you sure you didn’t kill her?” Dinah said with a grin. She waited until I’d acknowledged her comment with a hopeless rock of my head before she continued. “Since you get along with most people, she must have been really bad and collected a lot of enemies.”
“I’m sure Sherlock Holmes would deduce there is something strange about K.D. adding crochet to the show,” I said. “It seems very halfhearted if you consider the facts. None of the fashion shows or demos had crochet. She was really over the top in her reaction to Adele’s logo. And why would she react so strongly about a banner saying our booth was pro crochet?”
“Maybe she really is one of those people who talk about crochet as the C word,” Dinah offered. We knew there were lots of knitters who had contempt for crocheters, though neither of us had figured out why. And there were yarn stores that barely seemed to want crocheters’ business, which really made no sense because crochet used more yarn than knitting.
“It’s almost as if someone made her add crochet to the show and she did it begrudgingly.” I thought about it for a minute. “But is that a reason someone would kill her?”
“If it was, it would have to be some crazy crocheter who got in an argument with her. . . .” Dinah’s voice trailed off as we both knew who fit that description.
In an effort to change the subject I brought up something that was jiggling around in my mind. “I wonder what Sherlock Holmes would deduce about Mason. Maybe that Audrey Stewart is guilty and Mason knows it or at least thinks it.” I answered my own question and my shoulders sagged. “I never thought his work would be a problem.”
“Why don’t we look for other suspects. People we don’t have any emotional thing going on with.”
“Good idea,” I said, brightening. “Chances are it wasn’t Adele or Audrey Stewart. Why not start with Delvin Whittingham. He’s the one who knew K.D. always took a bubble bath and had a glass of champagne before the show, which means he of all people would have known exactly where to find her. And getting me to go with him to her room could have just been a ploy to have somebody else find her body.”
“What about motive?” Dinah asked.
“I’ve heard him say several times that K.D. was making a big announcement. He was talking like it was something that was going to benefit him but that other people might not be happy about it. He implied they might be unhappy enough to try to keep her from making the announcement. What if he was really talking about himself? Maybe the announcement was really something that was going to hurt him and he kept her from making it.”
I thought about it for a moment. “About Adele’s hook being found in K.D.’s suite. What if somebody figured out how to commit the perfect crime but wanted the cops to pin it on somebody else?”
“Why?” Dinah asked.
“Maybe they wanted the case closed. And maybe they had it in for the person they pinned it on.”
Dinah’s eyes went skyward. “I know a lot of people find Adele annoying, but . . .”
“What if they wanted to really make sure their son broke up with her?” We both said, “Mother Humphries,” at the same time, and then I said, “But why would she want to kill K.D.?”
“It does sound like an extreme way to mess things up between Eric and Adele,” Dinah said. “What about considering the kind of person K.D. was?”
“It’s pretty easy to deduce from her behavior that she was someone who had rules and standards and she didn’t bend.” I brought up how she’d confronted Julie twice basically for breaking the rules that K.D. had made and described the encounters in the yarn store and at the show when Julie had tried to enter the knitting competition. “But K.D. was willing to rectify a mistake. When Rain talked to her about the mix-up with her booth, K.D. got Rain moved out of the horrible spot at the back of the room. Then there’s the case of Audrey Stewart. The fact that K.D. wanted to press charges instead of just letting the actress pay for the silver needles seems vindictive.”
“It seems pretty obvious what Delvin Whittingham could have gained by killing K.D., but what would Julie have gotten out of it?” Dinah said.
I thought it over a moment. “Maybe K.D. humiliated her one time too many when she wouldn’t accept her entry in the knitting competition and it pushed Julie over the edge.” I didn’t really want to talk about Audrey, but I had to face facts. “And it’s pretty clear what Audrey Stewart thinks she’s going to gain by K.D.’s demise. I’m
not sure who ultimately has the power to make the decision about pressing charges, but the manager of the yarn store, ah, I mean studio, seemed anxious to let the actress pay for the needles and let the whole thing go.” I thought over the scene I’d witnessed. “It was a little strange. Thea Scott seemed almost upset that Audrey had donated the needles to the auction rather than just return them to the store.”
All the deducing on top of the long day had left me with a headache, and we decided to call it a night. Dinah wouldn’t even let me help clean up before I headed for home.
By now the streets of Tarzana were quiet and I didn’t pass another car as I took the back roads to my place. I did a start when I saw that the outside lights were on as I pulled into the long driveway that led to my carport and garage. Of course, I’d realized how long I’d be gone and remembered I’d asked my son Samuel to stop by and look after the animals. He must have left the lights on for me.
No upturned garbage can this time. Or if there had been, Samuel must have cleaned it up. The kitchen was as clean as I’d left it. I almost wished my son had made a little mess while he was there. I laughed at myself, thinking about how long I’d wished for this on-my-ownness and now I didn’t like it at all. But I reminded myself I had Mason, or I would have once K.D.’s murder was settled.
After Dinah’s cozy house, my place seemed enormous with the vaulted ceilings and large rooms. My footsteps echoed on the wood floor as I crossed the living room. I was keyed up from the day and not ready to sleep yet.
I settled onto one of the leather couches in the living room to consider my options. I thought about a nice scented bath but quickly let it go when a vision of K.D. in her bath floated through my mind. For a second I could almost smell the cloying fragrance I’d encountered.
What else was there? Crocheting? To be honest, after the day I’d had, I really didn’t want to do anything with yarn. I thought of watching a movie, but the decision of what I was going to do was pretty much made for me when the animals, glad for company, gathered around me, locking me in place. Holstein climbed onto the back of the couch and came up behind me, putting his paws on my shoulders, kneading them. He rested his head on top of mine and began to purr loudly. Who said cats weren’t affectionate? Cat Woman jumped up and settled next to my leg. Cosmo wasn’t about to be left out, and the small black mutt took up a position on the other side and draped himself over my thigh. The only one who didn’t join us was Blondie. I heard her claws on the floor as she headed out of the room. Even after years of living with me, the terrier mix hadn’t lost her aloofness. I knew she was heading for her chair in the bedroom.
I hoped the cuddling of the pets would be calming, but I started thinking about Adele. Really I started worrying about Adele. Her hook had been found at the murder scene. Now they had her fingerprints, which might match those on the hook. She hadn’t done herself any favors when she made a disparaging remark about K.D. in front of Barry. Though he hadn’t come out and said it, I was sure Adele was Barry’s prime suspect. It didn’t matter that he knew her. Actually, it was almost worse. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to imagine Adele being enraged at K.D. about the stupid crochet logo and doing something on impulse, like waiting until K.D. was in the tub and then throwing the hair dryer in. But Barry hadn’t come back and arrested her. And then a troubling thought surfaced—she hadn’t been arrested yet.
I knew how the cops operated. They liked to take people in when there was the least resistance and when they had the advantage. I knew they favored doing it late at night, like right around now.
As Holstein purred louder and started to massage my neck with his paws, I pictured Barry and the SWAT team. They were all wearing bulletproof vests that said LAPD in big letters and were gathered outside Adele’s condo door. They had their weapons drawn as one of them pounded on the door and yelled out, “LAPD, open up.” They were ready to break through the door if she didn’t follow their command.
I imagined Adele inside dressed in one of those filmy cream-colored peignoir sets out of an old movie from the 1940s. But knowing Adele she would have embellished the nightwear and sewn on some giant doilies done in an eye-searing fluorescent pink.
My mental picture fast-forwarded to the crew of cops escorting Adele to jail. My last image was of her in the peignoir, sitting in a cell with a couple of angry DUIs whom she was trying to teach how to crochet using their fingers. Outside the cell Mother Humphries had an I-told-you-so look on her face and Eric waved a sad farewell at Adele.
I shook my head to get rid of the image. Maybe my imagination had taken it over the top, but the idea of the cops being at Adele’s door was all too real a possibility. I couldn’t let that happen.
Barry’s homicide detective crazy hours had been a problem when we were together, but now they were a benefit. It didn’t matter that it was almost midnight; he was used to getting calls at all hours. Holstein’s massaging turned into grabbing with a hint of claw as I tried to stand up to get the house phone. I reached for my cell phone instead.
“Greenberg,” he said in his cop voice.
“It’s me, Molly,” I said, not assuming he’d recognize my voice. “I need to talk to you about Adele.” I wanted to ask him where he was or more specifically if he was outside my coworker’s door, but instead I just apologized for calling so late.
“No problem about the hour,” he said in an even tone. “Actually, I’m not far from your place. Do you want to talk in person?”
I hadn’t thought about that, but it seemed like a good idea. I’d have a better chance of pleading her case if we were face-to-face. I invited him over.
A few minutes later there was a soft knock at the front door. It was so strange to have all the familiarity between us gone. He’d always come through the yard to the kitchen door and called me by an affectionate nickname. I suppose I should have been glad that he said, “Hello, Molly,” when I opened the door instead of calling me Mrs. Pink.
Barry had obviously accepted the situation as strictly professional. No more was he trying to win me over by being anyone other than who he was. The overhead light on the porch made the shadows on his face even deeper, only enhancing how tired he looked. The dark gray suit, white shirt and striped tie gave it away that he was still working. I saw the black Crown Victoria parked at the curb, which confirmed it.
“Do you want to talk here?” he said, not making a move to come inside.
“Why don’t you come in,” I said, stepping back to clear the way.
“Good,” he said, accepting my offer and letting down his professional demeanor for a moment. “It’s cold out there.” He shut the door behind him and we stopped in the entrance hall.
He waited to make a move until I invited him into the living room. It seemed inhospitable not to offer him something.
“I was going to have some tea. Would you like to join me?”
“That sounds good,” he said. He was standing in the living room, glancing around. I caught a glimpse of his eyes, and they had definitely softened. Was he thinking about all the cups of tea we’d shared and memories connected to my place?
My house held a lot of memories for both of us. I watched his gaze move in the direction of my crochet room, which I’d converted into a bedroom for him when he’d been recuperating from being shot. I stopped looking at him as he turned toward the other side of the house and my bedroom. I didn’t want to conjure up any memories connected with that room and started to walk toward the kitchen.
“Something is different,” he said, and I turned back.
“Samuel moved out,” I said and continued on my way. As I took out a teapot and some loose-leaf Darjeeling, I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake agreeing to us talking here. It was more uncomfortable than I thought it would be. It wasn’t that we’d broken up in a fit of anger. It had really come down to wanting different things. For him, first and foremost was his job, or as he said, hi
s calling. Not only did he love it, but he felt like it was his duty to find justice for the dead. The erratic hours, the knowledge that something else would always come first didn’t work for me. Even though he was the one who made the decision to walk out of my life, I ultimately agreed with that choice.
When I came back with a tray, he’d settled on the couch. Cosmo remembered Barry and was lying across Barry’s lap. I doubt that the black mutt realized he was supposed to actually belong to Barry. I was curious how Barry would react to the dog’s demand for attention. He didn’t exactly rub his tummy and go into baby talk, but he stroked the dog affectionately, though his attention seemed elsewhere and he appeared to be examining everything in the room.
I poured the fragrant tea into two mugs and pointed to a plate of cookies. I knew it wasn’t a social call, but the tea seemed a little bleak without something to go with it. The way he took a handful of the sugar cookies, I was sure he’d missed dinner. It was really hard for me not to offer to scramble some eggs for him, but this wasn’t that kind of visit.
“So,” he said, after eating the cookies and taking a sip of the steaming tea, “you said you wanted to talk to me about Adele.”
“You didn’t just arrest her, did you?” I blurted out. I told him about my image, well, most of it. I didn’t mention the peignoir set or crocheting in the cell. I also didn’t mention Mother Humphries and Eric standing outside it.
Barry broke his cover and laughed. “Arresting Adele would hardly take a SWAT team in the middle of the night.”
“But you haven’t arrested her, right?” I said.
“No,” he said, going back into cop mode.
I launched into my pitch, saying that I was sure that Adele hadn’t done it and it would ruin everything if they arrested her now. I needed her to help me run the booth and she had a whole slew of people signed up for her crochet class. Maybe I fibbed a bit on that one; the sign-ups were still pretty light. I ended by telling him about Mother Humphries, although I referred to her by her real name. “She’s just here for the weekend. If she sees Adele getting arrested, can you imagine what she’ll say to her son about his girlfriend? It’ll be over between them. And he’s the yin for her yang, her soul mate.”
Knot Guilty Page 13
