“Small world, isn’t it?” Camille said.
“Yes, it is,” CeeCee said. “How did you happen to come here today?”
“It was Hunnie’s idea.”
“Whose idea?” I interrupted.
Camille laughed. “My husband’s. That’s my nickname for him. It’s kind of a play on sounds. You know, the endearing term and his nickname sound the same.”
“Oh,” I said, getting it.
“Hunnie’s going to be taking over my father’s position next week. He’s going to be so busy after that. It was such a beautiful day—and we thought it would be nice to have an outing together.”
“You knew we were coming to Catalina, didn’t you?” CeeCee said. Her voice had gotten a little shrill, but she quickly reverted back to her usual sweet tone.
“I might have mentioned it to Hunnie,” Camille said, pouting ever so slightly. “You said it wasn’t a group trip, but I saw Adele and Sheila on the pier in line for a boat ride and you three are here. The only one missing is that girl with the chopped-up haircut.
“You mean Ali? Exactly,” CeeCee said. “If it had been a group trip she would be here.”
Camille turned toward me. “If it isn’t a crochet group trip, then why are you all here?”
CeeCee, Dinah and I looked at each other, and it was clear I was the intended spokesperson. It was also clear by CeeCee’s pointed look, she didn’t want me to tell Camille the truth.
“I’ve always wanted to come to Catalina and we got a deal on the tickets,” I said finally.
Camille’s eyes narrowed then went back to normal. “Now I get it. You came because the tickets were cheaper. My life coach wouldn’t be happy with me for not getting that right away.” She sighed. “I must sound like an idiot. Living the way I have has its own shortcomings. I’ve never had to be concerned with how much anything costs, and so it’s hard for me to understand how the price of something could keep you from doing it. This is why I need this group so much.”
She hugged each of us and gave us air kisses. It was probably her version of sincere.
“Hunnie suggested I invite you on the boat.”
Dinah and I both started to nod, but CeeCee answered a firm “No, thank you” for all of us, saying we’d already made plans for the day.
Camille took out her crochet work. It was clearly the work of someone new at it. The stitches were uneven and she seemed confused about what loop of the stitch to go in, but she was so proud of it, even CeeCee didn’t say anything. She was off to the local craft shop to pick up some special yarn.
When she finally left, CeeCee sighed. “I know she’s spying, but I actually believe she’s serious about wanting to be part of the group. And her life actually has had its share of difficulties.” She went on to tell us that Camille had had a hard time with dating. “I heard she always had to be concerned about whether someone was really interested in her or just getting close to her father and all his money and power.”
“What about Hunnie?” I said, trying not to choke on the homophone.
“He was already working for her father—a line producer or something. I think Alexander is the one who introduced them. And now, they’re referred to as one of Hollywood’s enduring couples.” CeeCee finished and then shuddered. “This was a day to get away from them. Thank heavens I stopped you before you accepted the invitation to go on their boat.”
“I thought it was a good idea,” Dinah said. “It’s not every day I get asked aboard a luxury boat like that. I wonder if they would have let us look around.”
“Shouldn’t you two be spending your time thinking about Mary Beth Wells’s secret?” CeeCee said. “And I can’t believe that was the best you could do about why we came here. Because we got a deal on the tickets.”
I shrugged off the criticism. “What’s the difference? She went for it.”
CeeCee glanced in the direction Camille had gone and sighed with relief. “I’d love to help work on the mystery of the filet panels, but between waiting to hear what’s going on with my contract and Camille’s showing up, I need a little pampering. I’m off to the country club. I want to check out their spa services.”
CHAPTER 11
“IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S JUST YOU AND ME AGAIN,” I said. Dinah and I finally went back to our table, rolling our eyes about CeeCee’s plans and Camille’s quest to get in touch with her inner regular. “Do you think we should tell her if she wants to be like us, she ought to leave the yacht at home?” Dinah joked.
I reached for my drink, then I made a face. “I think this is yours,” I said, trading cups with Dinah.
“How’d that happen?” She looked at the table perplexed and then, seeing which tote bag was hanging on the back of which chair, realized we’d gone back to opposite sides of the table.
“Now what?” Dinah asked after we’d finished our drinks and the now-tepid French toast.
“Now we go house hunting,” I said with a smile. Thanks to Miss Information Adele, I already knew the only mode of transportation available was a rental golf cart. Golf carts were what most everybody used to get around. The number of cars allowed on the island was very limited. And likely to become even more so since no one could bring one car over unless two people got rid of theirs. Adele said there was a ten-year waiting list.
We found the stand that rented the small vehicles and got one for two hours, which we were assured was plenty of time to cover all of Avalon with time for stops. I considered showing the crocheted house to the rental guy, but I was afraid it would make us seem a little weird.
Dinah offered to drive so I could keep my eyes on the houses. After a few false starts, she got the hang of it and soon we were motoring down the street. The area just behind the business street was called the Flats. We drove through it checking out the houses. They were so close together, you could lend your neighbor a roll of paper towels without going outside. But none of them had the odd shape of the house in the panel.
Beyond the Flats, a few streets were closed to rental golf carts, so we walked those but again came up empty. We got back into our open-air vehicle and followed the route on the map the rental guy had given us. When we reached the top of the town, we stopped by the roadside and checked out the view. From here we could look down on rooftops and out into the water. But we saw nothing close to the house we were seeking.
I slumped against the golf cart. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Mary Beth meant the word casino instead of the building here,” I said. I pulled the multicolored panel piece out and laid it on the backseat.
“But she mentioned the island in the diary entry, remember?” Dinah said, smoothing out the piece. “And missing Catalina.”
“I guess that eliminates Las Vegas,” I said.
“I think if that’s what Mary Beth had been trying to depict, she would have done a motif of Elvis Presley,” Dinah said with a chuckle. “Let’s not give up on here yet. We have the golf cart for another half hour. We might as well finish exploring.” We got back in and followed the map as the road wound around the top of the town. Dinah continued driving while I did the looking. We were clearly in the super-high-rent district. The houses were built into the hill, and some of them were huge.
As we began our descent, we followed the scenic route signs.
“You might as well enjoy the ride, as long as we’re here,” Dinah urged. She pointed toward the Zane Grey-Pueblo Hotel, which stood out from the design of the other buildings. “It’s supposed to look like a Hopi Indian pueblo,” Dinah explained, going on to say it had originally been the famous writer’s home. She threw out other tidbits about the island as we drove back into the heart of town. At one time the Wrigley’s Gum family had owned the island, but now almost everything outside Avalon was part of the Catalina Island Conservancy and was maintained as a natural preserve.
“Oh, and the other town, Two Harbors, is located on an isthmus, hence the name,” Dinah said. “Two Harbors sounds pretty small—one lodge and campgrounds.” I guess my fac
e must have registered surprise because Dinah laughed. “What can I say? When I knew we were coming I did a little reading.” She steered the golf cart back toward the drive along the water.
“Did I tell you about the buffalos?” she said. “They brought some over for some Zane Grey western filmed here in the thirties, and they’ve just kept having little buffalos ever since. Too bad we don’t have more time. We could take one of the tours that goes into the interior and see them.”
The road ran toward the Casino Building. As we passed it, Dinah suggested we stop and check it out on the way back. We zoomed past a diver’s beach after which the road seemed to disappear around a curve and go inland. Dinah pulled over so we could check the map to see what was up ahead.
“I guess this is it,” Dinah said, pointing at the map. “The road goes only a short distance past the curve before it’s marked Hamilton Cove Condominium Residents Only.”
“Maybe the house is part of the condos,” I suggested, but Dinah shook her head. During her pretrip research she’d seen a picture of the condos, and she assured me they didn’t resemble anything on the crochet piece.
“It makes me glad Adele didn’t come with us. I can hear her saying, ‘Well, Nancy Jessica Drew Fletcher Marple, you’re some detective.’ ”
I was about to tell Dinah to turn around when I saw a cat run across the road just where it curved. And then another cat, and another.
“Let’s see what’s around the bend,” I said as Dinah turned the golf cart back on. We drove ahead to the spot where the road curved, and Dinah slowed down as we went around the base of the hill.
At first I saw only a grassy spot with a stand of trees. But when I studied it a little more, I saw the cats. Dinah pulled up a little farther. Now I saw there were cats everywhere, along with a bunch of food bowls. That’s when I saw the house.
“Dinah, look,” I said, my voice shaking. She followed my finger and gasped. I took out the crochet piece, and we looked from it to the house and back again. There was no mistaking it: This was the house. I pointed at the two panels with cat images. “They’re a clue, too.”
Unlike most of the houses we’d seen in Avalon, this one was off by itself. It was well shaded and had a clear view down to the water. I moved closer and got a good look at the structure. The crochet image had broken it down to its geometric basics, but the real house was intriguing. I realized we were looking at the back of it, and we walked through the grass to the front. The cats ignored us and went about their business.
A small porch led up to the door of the white wood-frame house. The front featured a bay window, probably perfect for admiring the great view. But it was the top portion that stood out. I had thought the roof resembled an inverted ice cream cone, but now I saw it was wider—more like a snow-cone holder. Just below it was a round porch.
Bravely, I walked up the steps to the door and knocked, though I had no idea what I was going to say if someone answered. It turned out not to be a problem because no one did. The fact that no one was home meant I was free to look in the windows. Or try to. The view was blocked by window coverings that I realized, on closer examination, were made out of filet crochet. Someone had had a lot of time on their hands.
“We have to find out about this place,” I said, walking quickly back to the golf cart.
“But first we have to return the golf cart,” Dinah said, holding her arm up to show me her watch. “Our two hours are up.”
A few minutes later, we pulled into the rental lot and left the golf cart. Before I could work out a plan to find out about the house, I was distracted by throngs of people coming from various directions and all going into a large doorway.
“What’s going on?” I asked a woman wearing a ruby red poncho.
“Mail call. This time of year it’s the event of the day.” She explained that there was no mail delivery on Catalina. The mail came by plane to the Airport in the Sky and was driven down to town and then put into the mailboxes that lined the wall of the Atwater Arcade.
Curious, Dinah and I followed her into a dark walkway on the ground floor of an old hotel. Along one wall people were eagerly opening their mailboxes. On the opposite side a window looked in on a hardware store and down the way a door was open with a sign proclaiming, “Vacation Rentals.”
“That’s just what we need,” I said as a plan began to form.
“We do?” Dinah said, following me in.
“I have an idea. Just go along with anything I say.”
“Okay, captain,” Dinah said with a nod.
Inside a woman sat behind a desk reading a book. We set off some kind of bell when we walked in and she looked up. It took a moment for her to focus, and then she took off her glasses and let them hang from the chain around her neck.
“Renata Baker at your service,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”
“My friend and I just came for the day, but we’ve fallen in love with the island and we’re interested in renting a place.”
Renata pointed to a couple of chairs and invited us to sit. “You ladies came at just the right time. You can have your choice of rentals and such a bargain price—luxury accommodations at the bare basic rate. How long are we looking for?” She was already pulling out an album and thumbing through the plastic-coated pictures.
“Actually, I saw the house I want to rent,” I said and described the place, but before I could get to the cats, she was already shaking her head.
“That’s the Wells place. They don’t rent it. Well, actually I don’t know what’s going to happen to it now.” Her expression dimmed. “There’s been a death in the family.”
Undaunted, I didn’t give up. “I’d really like to see the inside. If you think it’s going to be for sale soon.” I let it hang, implying I’d be interested in buying it, hoping she’d have visions of a giant commission and find a way to show it to me.
“It belongs to the Lance Wells estate, and I don’t expect it to be for sale,” she said, obviously trying to dismiss it as a possibility. She pointed to a photo of one of the houses we’d passed in the Flats. “This place is just darling. I can show it to you now.”
Feeling dejected, I glanced at the floor. I wanted to get inside the Wells house, sure that some huge clue to Mary Beth’s secret was waiting there. Maybe all it would take was one look around and I would have the whole mystery solved.
I glanced out at the street and saw that CeeCee was window-shopping nearby, eating an ice cream cone. I had a sudden flash of inspiration. A cousin of mine had been in the TV and film location business and he always told the same story: people who wouldn’t open the door for anybody threw it open and invited him in as soon as he said he was looking for a location for a TV show.
“You watch television, don’t you?” I said to the woman. Her eyes narrowed at the strange question and she nodded. “Not much goes on here in the winter. I watch a lot of television.”
“How about Making Amends? Do you watch that?”
“Sure,” the woman snorted. “I can’t believe the things people confess to. What about that guy who admitted he’d been having an affair with his wife’s sister? I thought his wife was going to kill him during the program.” Renata leaned toward me. “I wonder what really happened on that trip to Honolulu they gave the couple. Are they still together or did he mysteriously drown?”
Dinah stepped in to help. “Some things you just can’t make amends for,” she said in a serious tone.
“That’s what I thought,” Renata said.
I pointed toward the street. “There’s CeeCee Collins—the host of the show.”
The woman looked closer. “You’re right. It is her. We don’t get many celebrities this time of year. In the summer they arrive on their own boats and come in to shop or eat. Wow.” She moved toward the door and I heard her start to tell the mail gatherers who were out front, but I stopped her just in time.
“My associate and I are actually looking for locations for the show,” I said. “And
that house seemed perfect. Are you sure there isn’t some way we can have a peek inside to see if it’s what we’re really looking for?”
The woman knit her brows and seemed to have an inner conversation. “We’re supposed to aid in any filming done here—it’s a boon to our economy. But the Wells house is kind of a tough one since it isn’t a rental and I don’t have a key.”
“There must be a caretaker,” Dinah said. “Someone puts out all those bowls of cat food.”
“Of course, you’re right. Where was my head?” the woman said and went out in the hall. A moment later she came back with a tan man who had a head of thick white hair, introducing him as Purdue Silvers. She excitedly pointed out CeeCee, who was savoring the last of her cone, and in an animated voice explained we were looking for a location to shoot the program on the island.
“Do that show here? What a great idea. I could tell them about some wrongs that need righting,” Purdue said. Then Renata pointed out the house we were interested in. He seemed hesitant until she reminded him that productions brought business to the island.
“I suppose there’s no harm in letting you have a look-see. Though I’m not the one who can give you the permission to use it. I can give you the name of the law firm that’s handling it now.” He cast his eyes downward. “There was a recent death in the family.”
Dinah and I made somber nods. He left to pick up the keys, returning a few minutes later, and led us out to his golf cart. He had individualized it to look like a woody station wagon, complete with a miniature surfboard attached to the roof.
Purdue turned out to be a talker and during the short drive back to the house, we learned he was named for his father’s alma mater and that he was one of the few natives who still lived on the island. He said he felt blessed to be able to live in such a paradise. When he stopped to take a breath, I asked him how long he’d been a caretaker.
By Hook or by Crook cm-3 Page 10
