“That was a little abrupt,” I said to Dinah. “It was almost like he didn’t want to talk about his bicycle. Great. We’re two for two washouts now.” I went with Dinah as she got the kids. They got up from the table quickly and showed us their drawings. Ashley-Angela’s slipped from her hand and sailed to the floor and E. Conner accidentally stepped on it. She started crying when she saw the footprint on her picture of fairies. He started crying when she socked him. Dinah was a firm believer in kids behaving well in public—so we hustled them out fast.
Back on the street, Dinah tried to smooth things over. I took Ashley-Angela’s picture and tried to give the footprint a positive spin, which wasn’t easy. The tread of his sneaker pretty much took over the paper. I kept looking at it and it stirred something in my mind.
And then suddenly it came to me. I told Dinah we had to go somewhere quickly. Once we got in her car, I directed her back to the dead-end street. As she drove, I explained my sudden inspiration. “I looked at E. Conner’s footprint and it reminded me of the footprints on the dirt road. A mountain bike would leave an impression, too. An impression that could identify that particular bike,” I said. “We can’t very well make a plaster cast, but I could take a photo.” I held up my smart phone and sent a silent thank-you to Mason for giving it to me.
“I get it, I get it,” Dinah said in an excited voice. Dinah parked and we got out. The kids were excited at the prospect of an adventure.
We walked around the gate, past the sign marking it as part of the Santa Monica Mountain conservancy, and the kids ran ahead. As soon as I looked down at the short stretch of dirt road, my beautiful plan fell apart. Maybe if it had been a regular day at this time of year when the road was damp and the area quiet, the track of a mountain bike might not have been disturbed for a day or so. But yesterday had turned out to be anything but regular. “I forgot about the police cars and ambulance,” I said as we looked down at churned-up sandy dirt.
“It was a good idea,” Dinah said.
“Yeah, a good idea that didn’t work,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to ruin the kids’ moment, so we took them on a short walk—going in the opposite direction on Dirt Mulholland, while I tried to come up with plan B.
IT SEEMED LIKE I’D JUST COME BACK FROM MY lunch break/side trip to the mountains and then it was closing time at Shedd & Royal. The store was getting busier and busier as the holidays got closer and closer and time flew by. I’d just sent my last customer up to the cashier stand with an armload of books when I passed Mr. Royal standing by the travel section bookcase while a customer picked up a book on Burma. As Mr. Royal bent to point out another book, I noticed the leather sheath hanging from his belt. The image of Mr. Royal slashing open the boxers of Anthony accessories floated into my mind’s eye. More things surfaced. He’d been absent from the bookstore during the crucial time, and since Mrs. Shedd had told him about her loss putting the bookstore on shaky ground, Mr. Royal could have been very, very angry at Bradley.
Mrs. Shedd had already started turning off the lights as the last customers checked out. There was no time to talk to Mr. Royal now, but it was definitely on my to-do list.
As I was walking to my car, my BlackBerry rang and I pulled it out.
“You answered,” Mason said, sounding surprised and pleased when I said hello.
“This time I heard it,” I said with a little chuckle. He claimed he’d reached an insurmountable snag in Spike’s sweater. Could he come over? He’d asked me if there’d been any more incidents with Emily after he’d left, which made me wonder how much his coming over had to do with the sweater and how much a desire to protect me in case Emily came over again.
As an antidote to the recent events, I had planned to get snuggy in old sweatpants and a tee shirt and actually have the ice-cream dinner I’d planned before while I watched a romantic comedy. But I was good at changing plans in midstream.
Barry had only been able to call the previous night. He’d picked up a homicide. The call was short and I knew there were ears around listening, so it was very business-like. I had told him about Emily’s visit and he lectured me on leaving the door unlocked. I thanked him for calling Mason.
“I didn’t know what else to do. My hands were tied and I knew he’d be able to handle things, just in case,” he said. Then his voice got low, as if he didn’t want anyone around to hear. “He didn’t take advantage of the situation, did he?”
I laughed. So much for the nice gesture.
The reporters were camped out in front of the Perkins’ house again and the pools of their lighting seemed strange on the dark street. The hoard ignored me, instead descending on Mason as he got out of his car. He parked on the street and was an easy target. I came across the lawn with the idea of rescuing him. When I got closer, I had to laugh at myself. What was I thinking? Mason was always giving out some kind of statement about some high-powered celebrity client who’d gotten in trouble. It usually went something like, when the full story came out, his client’s innocence would be confirmed.
Maybe I was a little bothered by how easily he lied on camera. Maybe it concerned me that stuff he said to me was more about winning—me being the prize—than about the truth.
By the same token, it was impossible not to like him. He was thoughtful—the kind of person who if he couldn’t personally bring you chicken soup when you were sick, would get it delivered. He was always willing to help with my sleuthing activities. He thought I was fun and cute. I liked the me I saw reflected in his eyes.
There was something else, too. Mason was closer to the world I was used to. High-profile lawyers and public-relations people like my late husband Charlie traveled in the same circles.
And the bonus was he didn’t want to corral me. For the first time, I was dealing with being in charge of my life—as much as anyone ever really is. I liked having my own identity.
For now, I liked having both Barry and Mason in my life. Maybe it was nice being regarded as the prize.
Mason made quick work of the reporters. Easy because they all knew him.
“Molly Pink always thought the Perkins were great neighbors. She’s in shock about Bradley Perkins’ death and the alleged issues about his financial business.”
Someone asked if it was true that I’d been one of the hikers who discovered his body and if I was a suspect.
Mason addressed the group with a warm chuckle and assured them I wasn’t a suspect. A gush of questions followed. Did I think Emily had killed Bradley? Had I invested money with him? Mason charmed them with his smile and answers that sounded good, but really said nothing. Ryder somehow got in the middle of it.
“If you want to know about the Perkins, check out my YouTube piece ‘Life and Death in Tarzana,’ ” he said. Mason made points with him by actually paying attention to him.
Mason ended the media encounter by wishing them all happy holidays and walking across my lawn to meet me. “That should keep them satisfied and they ought to leave you alone.” He held up his leather tote. “Thanks for helping at the last minute. I’ve done something wrong, but I can’t figure out what.”
It was a relief to get inside away from the circus. Though hardly quiet inside. Cosmo was parked in the window barking at the reporters. The cats were stationed on either side throwing in an occasional weird meow. Blondie was silently watching from across the room. I closed the shutter on the big window and Cosmo gave up. I asked Mason why he’d deflected the question about me being one of the hikers.
Mason’s smile evaporated. “It’s information they don’t need to have.” Then he gestured his head toward the Perkins’. “Any more visits?”
“No,” I said. “The more I think about it, I might have overreacted. It wasn’t as if she actually picked up a knife and when I realized there wasn’t any blood on her clothes ...”
“Molly, you’re looking at her the way all these people who gave Bradley money looked at him. It’s the idea that someone you know couldn’t have done something bad. I
t works with my celeb clients, at least most of the time. They’re familiar faces so people find it hard to believe they did something awful.” Mason made a point of locking the door after I’d let the dogs have their yard run. “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Mason said.
Mason made some comment about missing dinner and wondered if I had as well. I let go of my plans for ice cream and a movie and said I’d cook something. He followed me into the kitchen. I’d heard of being able to feel someone’s eyes staring at your back, but I could feel his smile. I’d never cooked anything just for Mason.
I suggested he get Spike’s sweater-in-progress and show me where he was stuck. When he showed me, I wanted to laugh. He’d made a mistake and was trying to rip out a row, but the yarn had snagged and stopped coming free. Fixing it amounted to a little tugging and separating two pieces of yarn. I handed it back to him and suggested he sit in the built-in booth and work on it while I cooked dinner. If he ran into another problem, I’d be there to help. He looked too pleased as he slid onto the wooden bench.
“You ought to keep your cell phone out,” Mason said. My tote bag was sitting on the bench where I’d left it when I came in. Mason reached for it but plucked the owl-in-progress out instead. “What’s this?” he asked. I mentioned the elephant I’d made and how I wanted to make another toy to add to the things we were sending to the shelter.
“A snow owl?” Mason said, holding it up. For the first time it registered that the head was sparkly white and the body sparkly black. I pulled out the pamphlet with the pattern and looked at the photo of the snow owl on the cover. It was all white. When I went to check the pattern I realized the pages between the snow owl and penguin had gotten stuck together and in essence I had put a white head on a black body. I said something about having to unravel it, but Mason stopped me with a grin. “Keep it. I think you might have come up with something. You know it almost looks like a vampire.”
I started to protest but then realized he was right. I was as bad as the rest of them with vampires on the brain. I set it down, deciding I’d figure out what to do with it later.
“The BlackBerry isn’t in there anyway,” I said as I took out some dry penne noodles and put water on to boil. I poured a bag of cut-up vegetables in the olive oil and garlic I’d been heating on the stove. As they began to cook I poured in some bottled marinara sauce and the kitchen filled with tasty scents.
“I want to thank you again for it,” I said. As soon as I’d added the pasta to the churning water, I pulled out the smart phone from my purse. “I’d really never hear it ring if it was buried in all that yarn. The camera function sure came in handy.” I looked at the screen and began to scroll through the pictures on it to show Mason. I got to the beginning of the photos I’d taken of Bradley. I meant to scroll back over them, but I hit the wrong button—like that was anything new—and a strange photo filled the screen. One I didn’t remember taking. I couldn’t even tell what it was at first. The whole frame was sand colored. I kept trying to make sense of it, and suddenly I remembered how I’d fumbled with the phone while Dinah and I were trailing Emily. In all my accidental button pushing, I’d done something right. I’d ended up taking a photo of the sandy road and captured the freshly made track of the mountain bike that had just whipped past us. I smiled and actually jumped up and down.
“Let’s see the picture that’s making you so excited,” Mason said. He reached for the phone, but I held on to it.
“It won’t mean anything unless I explain.” I described the mysterious biker and my idea of being able to identify him or her by the impressions of the wheels. “For once my lack of nimble fingers paid off,” I said after telling him about our trip back up to Dirt Mulholland.
The pasta bounced around in the boiling water, sending a spray on the stove. The sputtering sound got my attention and I went back to check on dinner. The penne was done, so I drained it and poured it into a bowl. A little toss with olive oil and I mixed in the sauce. While I told Mason my thought that the biker could be the murderer, I made a quick salad. He helped me bring the food and plates to the table and we sat down to eat.
Mason liked my idea about matching the tire impressions and wanted to know if I’d come up with any suspects.
“I know that both Logan and Nicholas have mountain bikes and both had reason to be angry with Bradley, though Logan seems to have a lot more reason. I’d include Joshua Royal if I find out he has a mountain bike. I think he might have done it to avenge Mrs. Shedd’s big loss. And then there’s anyone else with a mountain bike that lost money with Bradley.”
“It sounds like it could be a lot of people. I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but how are you going to get a look at all these mountain-bike tires?” Mason said. He began eating and barely had finished a bite before he said how good it was. Mason ate in the finest restaurants, but sometimes there was nothing that matched a home-cooked meal.
I heard a noise in the front door lock before it opened and closed. A moment later Barry walked in the kitchen, pulling his tie loose. He was sniffing the air. No way could you miss the garlic smell. He froze when he saw Mason and me at the table.
I didn’t like this part of being the prize. Both men glared at each other. I got the feeling things were a lot different when the two of them had dinner together. I pointed to Mason’s dog sweater and said he was in a hurry to finish because of the cold weather.
“I’ll just say two words,” Barry said, clenching his jaw. “Pet store.” Mason totally ignored Barry’s comment.
“I hope your people are keeping an eye on our girl,” Mason said, using his shoulder to point in the direction of the Perkins’.
Barry flinched at me being referred to as “our girl.” I think the only one who liked it was Mason. “I was hoping Heather would arrest the Perkins woman,” Barry said. “But the photographs of her with Perkins that Molly took aren’t enough to build a case on.” He directed his next comment at me. “Has she been over here again?”
“I already asked Molly, and she said the answer was no,” Mason said. Barry glowered at Mason.
“I don’t think it matters.” I brought up my doubts again that Emily had killed her husband.
Barry didn’t seem impressed with my reasoning about Emily’s clothes. “Don’t let your guard down, babe. Heather’s a good detective. She’s got good instincts. If she thinks Emily Perkins is the guy, you better believe she is.”
“Can’t you get some kind of protection for Molly,” Mason asked. Barry took off his jacket and hung it on the back door handle after checking that it was locked.
“I did. Me. I had to make some arrangements, but I can stay the night.” He set down the small satchel he brought when he stayed over. There was a moment of awkward silence, then Barry took out a plate and helped himself to some food and sat down at the end of the table. The next minute they started talking about who they thought was going to be in the Super Bowl.
Apparently, I was only a prize sometimes.
We all had ice cream for dessert. As we were finishing, Barry put a travel brochure on the table.
“I know you don’t like things being pushed on you,” Barry said. In the past, in what he thought was a romantic gesture, he’d planned a trip to Hawaii. I mean really planned, almost to the point of packing my bag. He’d just neglected to check with me first. We’d had a fight and spent some time apart over it. Barry seemed pretty stubborn and set in his ways, so it was encouraging to see that he could change. I picked up the pamphlet and thumbed through it. It featured a cruise with stops in lots of places with white beaches and clear blue water. On the back were a list of dates.
“You can think about it,” Barry said. I could only see Mason out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t look pleased.
“You should tell Barry about your theory that the biker is the real murderer,” Mason said before turning to Barry. “She has a picture of the tire tracks and everything.” I gave Mason an annoyed look. I knew it was useless to mention it to
Barry and wasn’t going to. Barry lived up to my expectations.
“What?” he said. “I told you Heather is sure it’s your neighbor. You can’t go around asking people to see their mountain bikes.”
Mason packed up his dog sweater and I walked him to the door. “Let me know if you need any help checking tire tracks.” He chuckled and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek and thanked me for dinner.
Samuel came home a short time later as I was cleaning up the kitchen. My son heard the TV in the den and wanted to know who was there. It was hard to read his reaction when I told him it was Barry. He said he was tired and got himself a snack and poured out some cat food before going off to his room.
When Barry shut off the TV, he insisted on going through the whole house and checking every window and door. When he headed for Samuel’s room, I prepared for a scene. Barry stopped at the door and knocked. To my relief, he didn’t insist on physically seeing that all the windows in Samuel’s room were locked. Even better, he explained why he was concerned about everything being secure and left it at that.
Maybe there was hope we could all just get along after all.
CHAPTER 24
“COME IN, COME IN,” DINAH SAID IN AN EXCITED voice. I’d called her as soon as Barry left in the morning to tell her about finding the photo of the tire impressions and said I’d stop over on my way to work. Barry had sensed something was up and had been all cuddly and affectionate, trying to find out what it was. After his reaction I wasn’t about to tell him that I was going to pursue the mountain-bike idea. He gave up when his cell phone rang and he had to take off. Now that I was at her place, Dinah shut the door and we went into her living room. I had e-mailed myself the picture of the tire track and then printed it up. I laid the sheet of paper on the coffee table, and we both leaned over it. Seeing it enlarged made the imprint very clear.
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 144
