I found a pattern for an elephant that was just a nice size for a child to hold. I checked the stash of yarn we had for our charity endeavors and found a skein of soft gray yarn. Within moments, I’d finished the first round. This was going to be fun.
My thoughts went back to Emily Perkins. How well did I really know her?
I wondered about the argument she’d mentioned. Was it real or made up? All I’d ever heard was their voices coming from their backyard, and they always sounded friendly. My pondering was interrupted when a young man stopped next to the table. I realized he was one of the holiday helpers our cashier Rayaad had been training.
“Mrs. Fazaha ...” he faltered. I had trouble with Rayaad’s last name and I’d known her for a while.
“We just go by first names around here, except for Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal.”
The young man seemed relieved. “Okay, then Rayaad said to talk to you.” Before he could finish two women had joined him. They were giggling and appeared a little embarrassed.
“It’s about the Anthony books, the Blood and Yarn series. We wanted to get copies of Caught By the Hook and Caught Up in Yarn ...” She let her voice trail off as if I was supposed to understand.
The clerk stepped in. “The display is empty. Are there any more books anywhere?”
“Oh, please say there are,” the other woman said. “My girlfriend had Caught By the Hook on CD and I heard the beginning in her car. We got stuck in traffic, but eventually I had to get out of the car. I need to find out what happens. When he picks up the hook for the first time,” she said in a tremulous voice, “and when he realizes that he’s found a way to control his lust for blood.”
Her friend laughed. “But luckily not his lust for women. Whew. I hear there are some really hot scenes.”
I left my work and followed them to the front of the store. A freestanding cardboard display had a blowup of the cover of Caught By the Hook. It featured a dark-haired man crocheting. There was just the slightest hint of a fang. Near it there was a cardboard cutout of Anthony holding a sprig of mistletoe in one hand and a woman in a trench coat in the other. Her head was thrown back with her neck exposed and he was leaning toward her with just a touch of fang showing. A banner across the middle announced the upcoming midnight launch of Caught Under the Mistletoe and the first public appearance of A. J. Kowalski. One of the women touched the poster with awe as she began to ask questions. Had I read the books, yes, and yes, I agreed Anthony was hot and, yes, I thought he had a heart even if he didn’t have a real one beating in his chest. Then she leaned close and lowered her voice.
“You know who the author really is, don’t you?”
I shook my head. “All I know is A. J. Kowalski lives in the area.” She looked at me with the same disbelief I’d been getting a lot of lately. The two women started talking to each other about whether A. J. was a man or woman. Even though they both agreed that when people used initials it was usually a woman, one of the women kept insisting the author had to be a man.
“I don’t think a woman could write a male character that well.” Her friend saved me the trouble and brought up J. K. Rowling, who did a great job with Harry Potter, and Stephanie Meyer, who pumped life into Edward Cullen.
I had a few books stashed in the office. When I handed them over, the women were so excited they almost tripped over themselves.
“I have to get this, too,” one of the women said, seeing the sign for Crocheting with the Vampire. I had to explain the companion pattern book wasn’t out yet but promised to let her know when it was. They seemed excited when I mentioned we were supposed to be getting Anthony action figures, along with a Colleen figure. She was the reporter who was bringing his story to the world and also the woman he’d fallen hopelessly in love with.
They wanted hooks, too, so I took them back to the yarn department and showed them our accessory display. One of the women picked up one of the golden K hooks and began stroking it. “Is this the kind he uses?”
“It could be,” I said. “The author isn’t exactly specific.”
“I’m going to ask him about the hook at the launch party.” She looked at me. “I’m sure it’s a man.” They had some discussion about whose credit card to put it on.
I watched them go to the cashier stand and suddenly I knew how I could help Emily find Bradley. That is if she was really looking for him.
CHAPTER 3
THE DAYS WERE SO SHORT AROUND THIS TIME OF year, it seemed liked midnight when I headed home, though it was more like eight. Some weather front had blown in and my light jacket didn’t do much to keep out the cold damp air. My street was quiet and dark. The lights were on at the Perkins’, but their lawn display was dark. I wondered if Emily’d had any more news about Bradley.
I pulled into my own driveway and left the car outside the garage. When I opened my back door, Cosmo flew past me into the yard. The small black mutt took off into the bushes. His long fur would no doubt be full of redwood bits when he came in. Blondie was probably sitting in her chair. The strawberry blond terrier was nothing like any other dog I’d had. Before I’d adopted her, she’d been in a shelter for a year and a half, and living in a kennel for all that time had left its mark. She was the only dog I’d ever had who didn’t mind being boarded. It was like going home. The cats circled my legs with plaintiff meows as I walked in the kitchen. They were hungry and still considering whether I should be forgiven for leaving them at the vet’s while I was gone.
As soon as all animals were fed, I called Emily. She still hadn’t heard anything from Bradley and was thrilled to hear I had figured a way to locate him. I was going to tell her my idea on the phone, but she wanted me to come over.
I hated to go empty-handed, but there was no time to throw together a batch of cookies. I noticed the tin of fudge I’d picked up when Adele and I’d stopped on the way back from San Diego. In Emily’s condition, she probably could really use some chocolate.
I crossed her front yard, being careful to avoid tripping over the dark holiday decorations, and barely had time to check out the huge hanging light fixture on the porch before she opened the door. Emily had all the lights burning inside. In the distance I heard the television and her daughters’ voices.
“The girls still don’t know,” she said in a nervous voice. “They figured out something is wrong because we went out for pizza and I’m letting them watch a movie—two things I never do on a school night.” I sensed she was telling me all this so I wouldn’t think she was a bad mother. Far be it for me to judge anybody. I’d been known to eat ice cream for dinner. I handed her the fudge, which she gratefully accepted before bringing me into the living room. We sat down and she tore off the top of the fudge and took a piece. I was right about her needing some chocolate. She caught herself and apologized for not offering me a piece first. I passed and expected her to set the tin on the coffee table, but she kept hugging it. She really needed chocolate.
Curious about Mrs. Shedd’s reaction when I mentioned Bradley, I asked Emily how he knew my boss.
“Bradley knows everybody. Leave him in a room with ten people, and in a few minutes, he’ll have ten friends. He gets a lot of his business that way.”
“What exactly does Bradley do?” I said, a little embarrassed that after having them as neighbors for a couple of years I wasn’t clear on his profession.
“He’s a financial advisor.” When she said that, it jostled my memory and I recalled that when they’d first moved in, he’d said something about working in finance. I’d asked him a bunch of questions since it was shortly after Charlie had died and I was suddenly in charge of everything. I vaguely remembered he had seemed put off by all my questions and that was the end of it.
When I asked what exactly his title meant, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. “That’s what he calls himself. But really what he does is invest money for people. He pools all the money and buys and sells securities. I don’t know the exact details, but he has some special system.
He always gets impatient when I ask any questions. I guess he thinks I won’t understand. When he has me make bank deposits, he tells me what to do as if I’m a child. The same when I help with the monthly statements. But he’s very good at what he does. Wherever I go, I run into clients of his and they always rave about Bradley’s magic touch.” Her face had brightened as she talked about her husband, but then her mood fizzled as she began to talk about how he’d acted the day before. “He’s been short-tempered with me before, but never like that. I wish I knew what I did that set him off.”
I put my hand on her shoulder in a consoling manner. “I’m sure it was more about him than anything you did.”
“You said there was a way you thought I could find him,” she said hopefully. “I’m mad at him for doing this to me, but I want to talk to him and find out what’s really wrong. Running off isn’t the way to deal with problems.”
“Does he have a credit card?” I asked and she nodded. She also nodded when I asked if her name was on the account as well.
“We both have cards on the same account,” she said. Then she began to get it. “And if I find out where he’s charging ...” Her voice trailed off as she went for her purse.
“I’d tell them you think there might be fraudulent charges on his card. They’ll be more likely to give you more details.” I mentioned that the women taking out their credit cards to buy the vampire books had been what made me think of it. “Not that there was any fraud going on with them.” I told her about the run on Anthony books, trying to lighten up the mood. I was glad to see a smile show up on her face when I brought up the launch party. “All this with Bradley will be settled by then and you can come and have fun with the rest of us.” I felt like I was on a teeter-totter. One minute the balance went toward her being involved in Bradley’s disappearance and then, like now, the balance went the other way and it seemed like a ridiculous thought.
She said something about liking that as she dialed the number off the back of her credit card. She got stuck in voice-mail jail until she spoke the words fraudulent charges and the next moment I heard her talking to a customer service rep. Emily had a pencil and paper and began to scribble down information. Finally she thanked the customer service people and hung up.
“His last charge was for a one-way ticket on the seven P.M. Catalina Express yesterday.”
I had a little experience with the island of Santa Catalina. The island was about nineteen miles off the coast, and in the spring, summer and fall, it was a big destination for tourists, and boats ran often. At this time of year, it was mostly just locals going back and forth and there were only a few boats a day.
“How can I thank you?” Emily said. She suddenly looked as if a heavy overcoat had been lifted off her shoulders. “I just felt so helpless before. As soon as I drop the girls off at school tomorrow morning, I’m going to catch the first boat I can and go over there. If I have to knock on every door, I’m going to find him.”
Usually that would be a ridiculous statement, but in the case of Catalina, with one main town of only a few thousand residents, it was a doable challenge.
I admit I walked a little taller when I left. I’d done it. Problem solved. Bradley found. I walked across the dark lawn toward my house. As soon as I passed the row of trees that separated my property from the Perkins’, I saw a car in my driveway. In the dark I couldn’t make anything out beyond that it was a dark sedan. A figure started toward me. I recognized his walk and the outline of his solid build.
“Mason?” I said, going toward him. I was surprised to see the high-profile lawyer, and friend, at my home.
“I got worried when you didn’t show up. And you didn’t answer any of your phones. I went to the bookstore and there were a bunch of new cashiers who didn’t know anything. So then I came here.” He sucked in his breath when he saw the front door illuminated by the porch light. A piece of plywood covered the smashed part, but the door was obviously damaged. “What happened? Did somebody break in?”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Not exactly. Barry did it.”
“The detective?” Mason said with a chuckle. “Didn’t he wrangle a key from you with some story about having to take care of his dog?”
“It’s a long story. He forgot he had a key.” I peered at Mason in the darkness. “Was I supposed to meet you somewhere?” My life had become so busy lately, I was going to have to come up with a better organizational system than writing notes on scraps of paper and leaving them on the kitchen table for the cats to knock to the floor. I checked my cell phone and realized I’d forgotten to plug it into the charger when I got home. It was still dead.
Mason held out his hand and the moonlight reflected off something metal in his hand.
“We were going to have dinner and you were going to help me with Spike’s sweater. Does that ring a bell?” he said in a fake hurt voice.
I sighed as my memory was jogged and it suddenly came back to me. Before the San Diego trip, I’d said I would have dinner with him and help him work on the dog sweater. He’d been anxious for us to get together because it was getting chilly and he didn’t want the toy fox terrier shivering on his night walks. I wasn’t sure how much dinner was about crocheting or just a convenient excuse to get together. It was hard to tell with Mason. Though he was a top criminal attorney known for keeping naughty celebrities out of jail, he was full of surprises. It was possible he really did want to learn how to crochet.
How to describe our relationship? At the very least we were friends—really good friends; Mason always came through with whatever I needed, whether it was background information on somebody or to catch me when I was about to fall. He was also always a willing ear. Did I mention that Mason wanted something more than friendship? We’d come close to that a few times, but something had always interfered.
“I’m sorry, I totally forgot,” I said before rambling off all the obstacles that had clogged up my memory. Mason put up his hand to stop me before I got even halfway through.
“You’re forgiven,” he said with a gentle chuckle. “I’m just glad you’re all right. So, what happened with the door?”
It had been a long day, an endless day by now, and all of it was beginning to kick in. How many times had I repeated the story? Somewhere in my busy day, I’d forgotten to eat. Mason heard my stomach growl.
“C’mon, we can skip the crochet lesson, but we both need dinner. You can tell me about the door when you’ve had some food.” He took me by the hand and led me to his car. It sounded like a great idea to me.
It was late and a weeknight, but Mason knew exactly where to go. A valet relieved us of the car and we walked toward an island of activity amid all the closed businesses on Ventura Boulevard. I was doubtful about the outdoor seating at first. We’d been having unusually cold weather lately. The weatherman on channel three had even mumbled something about the possibility of a rare snow shower. But the chill was no problem as the café had plenty of patio heaters and Mason made sure we were seated close to several. The cuisine was Israeli and I let Mason order. Within moments the waiter arrived with so many small plates of different salads they covered the table. He finished by bringing a freshly made circle of soft flat bread.
I took some bread and dipped it in the creamy hummus dip before I was ready to talk. I finally got the whole story out about the door. I finished by telling Mason how I’d helped Emily locate her missing husband.
“Once she gets a chance to talk to Bradley, I’m sure they’ll get whatever their problem is straightened out. I don’t know the Perkins that well, but they seem like a pretty solid couple.” When I mentioned Bradley’s last name, Mason reacted.
“Do you know Bradley Perkins, too?” I said, surprised.
“Not personally, but I know of him. Somebody was telling me how Perkins had invested some money for them and they’d made a bundle. The guy is supposed to have some knack for making money grow.” Mason seemed suddenly concerned. “You didn’t invest any money with him, did y
ou?”
“I wasn’t even sure what he did for a living until a little while ago,” I said. Mason seemed relieved.
“There are never big returns without big risks,” he said as the waiter brought small portions of hot potatoes and falafel balls.
Mason delivered me home a short time later. He checked the front door to make sure it was secure. He wasn’t a fix-it wizard like Barry, but he knew enough to make sure the lock worked right and that the panel across the broken part was secure. He did make some comment that if he’d damaged my door, he’d have gotten it replaced by now.
“You know you can always stay at my place,” he said. Mason lived alone with his toy fox terrier, Spike, in a house in Encino that was big enough to accommodate a large family. “No strings attached,” he added with a genuine smile. “I’m surprised Greenberg isn’t standing guard.” Mason’s smile turned to a grin at the jab at Barry.
At last I hit the pillow, but as soon as I did, all my concerns about the upcoming unveiling of the vampire author began to surface. Who was he or she? Did I know them? What if it came out before the launch and took away all our steam? I had to untwist myself from the bedclothes several times before finally falling asleep. It was peaceful for a while, then a dog started barking in my dream. The noise was irritating and interfering with the story I was concocting. It didn’t stop and I rose through the levels of sleep, finally realizing the barking was real.
Cosmo wasn’t in his usual spot next to me. The long-haired black mutt generally slept nestled against my side with his feet in the air. The barking was coming from another room and I recognized it as his. There was something different about it, too. I heard an undercurrent of a growl.
By now I was wide awake and my heart was pounding big time. I heard something fall over and I sucked in my breath. Then suddenly relief washed over me. It was probably Barry and a late-night surprise visit. Still it seemed odd that Cosmo was making threatening sounds since he was more or less Barry’s dog. The easy solution was to call Barry’s cell phone. If I heard ringing, it would confirm it was him. I grabbed the phone next to me and punched in Barry’s cell number, and as the call went through, I listened for ringing in the distance.
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 127
