I laid my hand on the display of items. “Since these were left on our table, I feel it is my responsibility to finish what Mary Beth wanted to do, and since the first panel has an image of the Casino Building, I think the place to start is Catalina Island.”
For a moment there was silence at the table. Then CeeCee spoke. “I could use an outing, and since I’m sure the package was left for me, I should go along. Count me in.”
Sheila looked up. “I’ve always wanted to go there, but I don’t know . . .” I knew she was worried about the cost. She was chronically short of money. I told her I’d pay her boat fare and she could do something for me in return. I would have just paid it, but I knew Sheila had her pride.
Dinah’s face lit up suddenly. “I forgot the kids have gone home. I’m free. Count me in.”
Eduardo had to beg off because he was booked to do a talk show back east. “The idea is to turn me into more than just a face. I’m going to show my funny side.”
“Good idea, Eduardo,” CeeCee said. “It’s always good to be multidimensional. Did I tell you I used to sing, too?”
“We’re getting off topic,” I said. “So, all of you except Eduardo are coming to Catalina with me?” After some back-and-forth over when to go—everyone had something to rearrange—we finally agreed on a day later in the week.
“I’m here to join the group.” At those words, we all looked up from our conversation to see Camille Rhead Katz holding a swatch of off-white yarn. CeeCee’s face fell so low I thought it would hit the floor, and I heard her groan under her breath. Camille’s swatch had rows of single and double crochet and then a pattern with double crochets and shell stitches. She dangled it in front of CeeCee. “See, now I can crochet.”
CeeCee sputtered, but there was no legitimate objection she could make and she finally muttered a welcome to the group while sending an annoyed flash of her eyes in Adele’s direction.
“Did I hear you talking about a trip to Catalina? Is the group meeting there?” she said in a friendly voice.
CeeCee stepped in before anyone else could speak. “It’s a separate thing some of us are working on.”
Camille looked a little miffed, though not enough to leave. She set her bag on the table. It was made of black fabric covered with a pattern of small red hearts, each of which bore the initials VT. I had seen a lot of similar bags lately and initially thought they were one of those cosmetic-counter giveaways. Adele had been the one to set me straight. They were the latest bag from the Vladimir Tucci collection, and they cost a fortune.
Her crochet supplies were equally elegant. She pulled out a full set of hand-carved wood hooks in a padded roll and a set made out of plastic that featured little lights on the curved part. Next came a clear plastic case that held scissors shaped like a crane, stitch holders, a measuring tape, a space pen and a tiny notebook. She glanced Adele’s way. “Did I get the right stuff?” Adele nodded.
Camille noticed Mary Beth’s filet panels on the table. “Why do I keep seeing this?” She surveyed the group for an answer.
I opened my mouth to explain but caught sight of CeeCee giving me one of her cease-and-desist stares, and I closed it without saying a word. I got CeeCee’s drift. She couldn’t keep Camille out of the crochet group, but that didn’t mean she was really one of us.
Just then Ali rushed up to the table and skidded to a stop. She was out of breath, and between heavy gasps she apologized numerous times. CeeCee’s face softened. She liked Ali. She and her late husband had never had children, but I think she regretted it now. Ali was the kind of girl she would have loved as a daughter, except maybe for her problem with time management.
“That bag is wonderful,” CeeCee said as Ali set down her purse.
“You like it?” the young woman said with a grin. “Some people think it looks a little odd. It’s improvisational crochet. I put on music, take out a bunch of hooks and bits of yarn, beads and charms and go crazy.” I ran my hand over the texture. It went from smooth to bumpy and had beads and charms crocheted right into it. “The best thing is you can’t make a mistake; it’s whatever you feel like.”
Ali looked at the panel piece, too. She didn’t ask any questions; she simply stared at it for a long time, almost as if she were trying to remember something.
“Ladies—and gentleman,” a male voice said. We all looked up, and there was Bob holding a plate of cookie bars. “I’d like to get your opinion on whether these have enough chocolate in them.” He went to CeeCee first. He knew all about her sweet tooth and valued her opinion. CeeCee glanced toward Camille while she was looking away. I could almost see CeeCee’s mouth watering, but I knew she didn’t want any stories of her gorging herself on sweets getting back to Camille’s husband, particularly now when they were negotiating her contract.
“Not today,” CeeCee said. Bob quickly recovered from his surprise and moved on to Camille. She practically laughed at the offer and took out a pack of diet cookies—little meringues with a tiny dot of chocolate.
“Maybe Bob’s the one CeeCee’s show is doing,” Dinah said, nudging me.
I supposed anything was possible.
CHAPTER 9
NOT KNOWING VERY MUCH ABOUT MARY BETH Wells was a definite disadvantage in figuring out her secret and who killed her. I wanted to know more about her before we went to Catalina. There was one person I thought of immediately. He knew everybody and as long as there was no attorney-client privilege involved, would probably share his information.
Mason Fields was a big-bucks attorney with a reputation for keeping naughty celebrities out of jail. We had what I’d call a flirty friendship going. Before I left the bookstore, I called his office and left a detailed message. Then I headed home.
The curb in front of my house was parked up when I got home, so I walked through the backyard savoring the last few minutes of peace as I prepared myself for the onslaught.
Cosmo and Blondie were waiting by the kitchen door and took off into the yard when I opened it. The lights were on in the kitchen, and the deli delivery guy was just bringing in some trays. My mother didn’t cook, but she knew how to order. By the time the delivery guy was finished, there was a tray of meats and cheeses, along with a selection of salads, fresh bread, condiments and cheesecake.
It wasn’t his first trip here. Apparently my parents hadn’t found a Santa Fe deli to measure up to their favorite west Valley haunt. They were like shipwrecked sailors when it came to deli food and had been ordering every night since they arrived. This was a bigger order, which implied more people.
“Help yourself, honey,” my mother said. “There’s plenty of everything.”
She sailed out of the room, and I waited for the dogs to return. When they came in, I fed them their dog food, though the way they were sniffing, they clearly hoped the deli trays were for them.
I followed the sound of voices to the living room. Lana and Bunny, the two other She La Las, were sitting on the couch next to my mother. Their husbands and my father came in from my former bedroom.
When all of them saw me, there was a lot of hugging and telling me how sorry they still were about Charlie and apologizing for not keeping in touch. Finally, we all headed into the kitchen. The three men got their food first and started to file out of the room.
“I hope you don’t mind, Molly, but I set up a table for us guys in the bedroom. There’s a basketball play-off game on.” My father squeezed my shoulder as he passed.
I glanced down the hall just as my son Samuel came out of the room that was my current bedroom. He was dragging a keyboard and a bunch of wires. “Hey, Mom,” he said when he saw me. “Grandma asked me to be the musical director.”
Samuel was a barista at a coffee shop by day and a musician by night. He sang and played all kinds of instruments, though it was either guitar or piano for most of his bar gigs. He went into the living room and started setting up his equipment.
I followed him back into the living room. The She La Las had put down their p
lates of food and were in the empty area in front of the fireplace. One of them started singing “My Man Dan” and the others joined in. It wasn’t like in the movies where suddenly it was like no time had passed and they were great. Actually, they were terrible. They weren’t even singing together. At least one of them forgot the words, and when they tried to do their signature dance steps they almost tripped over each other.
Even though I had just gotten home, I knew I had to get out of there. I grabbed the dog leashes and my cell phone, threw on a warm jacket and went out into the night. The dogs and I wandered around the block, but all too soon we were back at my house again. I looked through the big front window and saw the She La Las jumping around. I sat down on the stone porch. It was a little cold on the butt, but a lot quieter than inside.
When my cell phone rang I jumped in surprise. As I tried to open it, it slipped out of my hands and landed in the bushes. I frantically tried to retrieve it before it stopped ringing. Finally, I flipped it open.
“Hey, sunshine,” Mason said. “I got your message. Why do you want to know about Mary Beth Wells—” He paused a beat. “You’re not a suspect are you?”
“Not this time.” I started to tell him the whole story starting with the park, but he stopped me.
“You sound funny. Where are you?”
I told him about the She La Las taking over my house, and he chuckled when he heard I was on the porch.
“Have you eaten?” he said.
“There’s a ton of deli food, but no.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Information is always better over dinner.”
“But I have dogs with me,” I said.
He didn’t miss a beat. “No problem. I know just where to go. I’ll even bring mine.”
“You have a dog?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes. I’m a lawyer. I need to get unconditional love from someone.”
I considered whether I should tell my parents I was leaving, but there was so much going on inside, I doubted I’d be missed.
A few minutes later, Mason pulled his black Mercedes into my driveway and walked across the lawn.
“Don’t you look cute,” he said when he got closer. The black mutt and the strawberry blond terrier mix got up as they considered whether to bark at him. He ruffled both of their heads before they had a chance, and both dogs went into tail-wagging mode.
They looked even happier as we headed toward the car.
“Where’s your dog?” I said, checking the backseat before Cosmo and Blondie got in. Mason pointed to the front seat.
“I hope you don’t mind sharing.”
I didn’t see what he meant until I tried to sit in the passenger seat. A tiny short-haired white dog with black markings eyed me suspiciously.
“Meet Spike,” Mason said, introducing his toy fox terrier.
Cosmo and Blondie were sticking their noses through the space between the front seats trying to do what Mason said. Spike took one look at them and gave them a commanding bark. Both my dogs jumped back and sat down.
I lifted Spike up and got in. He started to bark at me, but I stared him in the eye and shook my head. “Not after the evening I’ve had.”
Leave it to Mason to know a restaurant where dogs were not only welcomed, they were catered to—as long as you sat on the patio. There were heat lamps and plastic siding that made it warm despite the chilly night. In no time, the dogs had bowls of water and dog snacks and we had menus.
As soon as we ordered, I tried to get down to the business of pumping Mason for information, but he stalled.
“So, where’s the detective?” he asked.
“On a case,” I said, trying to sound like it was no big deal. One of the reasons Mason was a good attorney was he saw through things—like my answer.
“Tough being left behind, isn’t it?” His dark eyes caught mine. He was still wearing his suit pants, but not the jacket. The opened collar of his cream dress shirt showed above the neck of his pullover sweater. The patio was warm enough that we’d both taken off our coats. “Look, I deal with homicide cops. I know the life.”
Mason was easy to talk to, and I eventually admitted I was having my doubts. He looked all too happy. Mason was divorced and had made it clear he wasn’t looking to get married again—something I could completely understand. I was really more interested in casual companionship, too. It was Barry who kept pushing for more.
“But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I need to know who Mary Beth Wells was,” I said just as the waiter arrived with dinner. Mason had ordered a platter of barbecued everything for us to share, and there was plenty to pass down to the dogs.
“Ah, playing detective again, are you? This is fun,” he said as we began eating. “I got your message just as I was leaving the office, so there was no time to check anything. All I can tell you is what I know offhand.”
Mason was on the board of directors of practically every charity there was. In his usual self-deprecating way, he always joked that he had to do something to make up for his profession. Since he was on all those boards, he was a regular on the circuit of dinners and events the charities put on. So, it turned out, were Mary Beth and Lance Wells Jr.
“They made a good-looking couple. She had honey blond hair and refined features. He had his father’s dark coloring and athletic build, but none of the dancing talent. Couple that with a little too much alcohol. Well, there were a few events when Mary Beth had to gracefully get him off the dance floor before he totally embarrassed himself.”
“What about the dance studios?”
“I don’t know much about them except that I think Matt Wells took over as the front guy when Lance Sr. died,” Mason said.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Sorry, I should have explained. Matt is Lance Sr.’s nephew. He’s on the charity-dinner circuit, too. Matt doesn’t have the star quality his uncle had, but he’s certainly competent to be the spokesperson for the dance studios.”
I told Mason again about the note and diary entry along with what I described as the crochet code map. “I’d like to find out what the secret was that she was about to reveal.” Mason was sympathetic when I told him I felt guilty somehow because I hadn’t figured out who the things belonged to sooner.
“Molly, I’m sure you couldn’t have done anything to change things.” He reached across and laid a hand on my arm. By now, the dogs were full of barbecue, and Spike, apparently used to being an only dog, was getting tired of having friends around. He jumped up on the bench, crawled under Mason’s arm and started to squirm, making it clear he wanted to go.
Mason had given me more information than I’d had, but not as much as I wanted. On the way home, I told him about the Casino Building being on the crochet piece but that I had no idea what it was supposed to mean.
“It sounds like she must have been very successful at keeping the secret a secret. Didn’t you say the diary entry was more than twenty years old?”
“You’re right.” I mentioned my coming trip to Catalina and said I hoped it would turn up something. He wished me luck and mentioned what a romantic spot it was.
“I’m going with the crochet group,” I said, rolling my eyes. “At least most of the crochet group.” I told him how CeeCee didn’t want our newest member to come. When I mentioned Camille’s name, Mason blinked in surprise.
“I wouldn’t have figured she’d join a handicraft group.” he said.
“Then you know her?” I asked.
“She’s Alexander Rhead’s daughter. Who doesn’t?”
When we got to my house, Mason, ever the gentleman, insisted on escorting me and the dogs to the door. Maybe it wasn’t all gentlemanliness. When we got to the porch and I started to say good-bye, he put his arms around me and kissed me. He’d kissed me before, but always more in the just-friends vein. This was a full-throttle, deep kiss. And much as I hated to admit it, it sent a shock wave down to my toes.
In the middle of it, the front door
opened and my mother looked out saying something about having heard some noise.
“You must be Barry Greenberg,” she said, making no attempt to mask the fact she was checking him out. She invited him in and I started to make excuses, but he was all charm and introduced himself as he followed her inside. The She La Las were just packing up, and my mother told him all about their big audition.
I couldn’t believe what Mason said then or that my mother fell for it. He said it was hard to believe she was my mother. That she looked so young she could be my sister. I mean, isn’t that the oldest line there is? But she lapped it up anyway.
CHAPTER 10
“WHAT KIND OF BOAT IS IT AGAIN?” SHEILA asked from the backseat. I had borrowed my parents’ Explorer, and CeeCee, Dinah, Adele, Sheila and I were on our way to catch our ride to Catalina. The boats left from a small harbor in Long Beach. We’d found the one window in time just after rush hour and before midday when traffic was light, and we were practically zooming down the San Diego Freeway.
Just like Sheila, I, too, had never been to Catalina. And also like her I was very nervous about the boat. It was the whole boat thing that had kept me away all these years. I had a terrible feeling I would get horrendously seasick on the way over and not want to take the boat back and have to spend the rest of my life on Catalina Island. Okay, maybe my fear was a little over the top. But who says fears are rational?
My son Peter had been to the island a couple of times and had mentioned to me that helicopters flew there, too, but that sounded even worse.
Adele started talking about the steamship that used to go to Catalina and how that trip took two hours. “But that was back in the seventies. The boats they have now don’t seem to pitch so much, and it only takes an hour anyway,” she said, patting Sheila’s hand in reassurance.
Who was reassuring me? But then I hadn’t even disclosed my fears to Dinah. I hoped the fact that I was on a mission of good would somehow help. Maybe the fairies of the sea would make the ride smooth or just knock me out for the trip.
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