By Hook or by Crook cm-3

by Betty Hechtman

  Roseanne left in a huff. Hal followed behind, turning back just for a moment. He tilted his head toward the front window. I noticed the fireplug in a suit standing outside.

  I had been so involved with talking to Roseanne I hadn’t noticed the music had changed to hip-hop. Not only that, but everybody had begun dancing beyond the confines of the event area. Couples were gyrating between the bookshelves, and people were spinning alone around the display tables. Matt passed me quickly, giving me a thank-you wave on his way out.

  In all her purple-sequin glitter and doll-face makeup, Adele was on top of a table in the window grooving to the music—or trying to. She looked like she was having a fit. Nevertheless, people had gathered around and were mimicking her moves while waving their arms as though she were a dancing goddess.

  I pushed through the group and tried to get her down. Above the music I heard a loud rhythmic thwack and suddenly the area outside the window was bathed in a blindingly bright spotlight. With lights flashing and sirens on, three cruisers stopped at the curb. I twisted toward the front of the bookstore just as the door flew open and someone on a bullhorn ordered everyone to lay on the floor.

  Who knew Mrs. Shedd was going to drive by while Adele was doing her table dance and think she was a masked maniac taking over the bookstore?

  As things were getting sorted out, Detective Heather and her partner came out of the café, both holding coffee. She glanced around the bookstore and then looked at me with a disparaging shake of her head.

  When Mrs. Shedd finally got the whole story, she turned to me and said, “Molly, why didn’t you tell me? I love dancing.” She did a little spin. “When Mr. Royal was here, we went dancing all the time.” Her voice sounded wistful. All along I’d thought he was a pretend partner. It was the first time I believed he might exist.

  Dinah walked in as the last police cruiser pulled away and everyone was streaming out. “Did I miss something?”

  In all the commotion, I’d forgotten about the crochet piece. As I was getting ready to leave, I looked under the counter by the cashier stand. There was a large envelope with Catalina written across the front. When I opened it, a filet crochet piece slipped out. I spread it out on the counter and shook my head. It was in the same style as the one I had. But the motifs? They were all moons and stars and teddy bears.

  This piece had been made for a child’s room.

  CHAPTER 24

  “THAT’S WHAT WE SNUCK INTO THE DANCE STUDIO for?” Dinah said as we both sat staring at the new piece spread out on her coffee table. It had been quite an evening and I needed to decompress. No way could I do that at home with the She La Las jumping around and running through their number just one more time. Instead, I had gone home with Dinah.

  She kicked off her shoes and unwound her scarves and picked up the envelope the new crochet panel piece had come in.

  “Maybe it has something to do with the baby the caretaker and the grocery clerk mentioned,” I said.

  “Maybe, but I for one am disappointed.” Dinah rolled the piece up and put it back in the envelope. “I hope you have something better to share.”

  “Actually I do,” I said and told her about the standoff between Roseanne and Matt. “There’s some disagreement about who gets the dance studios. Roseanne seems to think they are now hers, which brings up the question of what lengths she would go to get in this position.” I mentioned how jealous Matt had said Roseanne was of her sister.

  “I bet Mr. Card Room hopes his wife is right,” Dinah said. She had made us some chamomile tea and filled two cups with the sweet-smelling liquid from a pot on the table.

  “Okay, if Roseanne is a suspect let’s see how she fits in with what we know,” Dinah began. “We know Mary Beth was poisoned and poison is supposed to be women’s weapon of choice. The poison was in marzipan candy. Whoever did it had to know Mary Beth loved marzipan. If someone gave me a box of that stuff with a diamond ring stuck in one of the candies, I’d never find it. It’s cute the way they make little fruits and vegetables out of it, but the taste and texture make me gag.”

  “Okay, so if somebody wanted to poison you, they’d have to use something else,” I said with a chuckle. “Since they were sisters, I have to believe that Roseanne knew Mary Beth’s candy of choice. But it isn’t a stretch to think Hal would, too. Matt said he knew about the almond-paste candy. Except . . .” I took a sip of tea while a problem circulated through my mind. “How does it fit in with the crochet piece and the diary entry?” I took the original crochet piece out of my bag and laid it out.

  “She sure did nice work.” Dinah fingered the perfectly even stitches.

  “That’s not the point.” I had my little notebook out and was flipping through the pages. I got to the notes I’d taken in Catalina and looked them over again for the zillionth time. Call it a matter of timing, but my eye went from the list under Purdue Silvers’s name to the panel with the vase of flowers and for the first time I made the connection. “Omigod, how could I have been so stupid?” I said, leaning closer.

  I showed Dinah the list and the panel with the flowers in the vase. “Name that sounds like a flower and then a vase full of them. I bet there is a connection.” We peered closer and then stepped back, trying to get a better perspective.

  “The only problem is, what kind of flowers are they supposed to be?” Dinah said. “Maybe droopy tulips? Any way you look at them, they don’t look like roses.”

  “So much for Roseanne in that department.” I checked out the motif again. “Yeah, they do look more like drooping tulips.”

  Dinah yawned and said she was too tired to think anymore. My nerves had settled and I was ready to face my house. I hugged Dinah good night and left.

  As I walked out, I saw a black Crown Victoria had pulled behind the greenmobile.

  Before I got to my car, the motor cut off and Barry got out. This was awkward. If we weren’t friends, what were we? And how was I supposed to act?

  “I heard there was some excitement at the bookstore. Something about a masked woman in sequins trying to rob the place.” He was trying to sound serious, but who could say that with a straight face?

  “Adele just got carried away and Mrs. Shedd overreacted.” We were standing facing each other now a few feet apart. Even with the streetlight I couldn’t see his expression. He seemed to breathe heavily a few times, as though holding something in.

  “I happened to drive by your house. There was a motorcycle parked out front.” He left it hanging.

  “It’s Mason’s.”

  “Oh,” he said in an unreadable tone.

  “Are you stalking me?” I asked lightly. Barry took a moment to consider before answering.

  “It could look that way, couldn’t it?” He paused again. “Here’s what it is. I got in the habit of checking on you when I was out working. I’d drive by your house to make sure everything looked okay. Or if I saw your car—” He glanced toward the greenmobile. Even in the orange streetlight, it stood out. “And if there was a call at the station involving you or your area, somebody always contacted me.” He breathed a few times and did the clenching thing with his jaw. “Sorry. Habits are hard to kick. I’ll have to make a note that I’m not supposed to care anymore.”

  He let the words hang in the air for a moment and then continued. “Jeffrey is coming back in a week. Whatever differences we have, it doesn’t seem fair for him to lose out on his dog. I’ll have him call you, if that’s all right, and maybe you could work something out.”

  My heart squeezed. In all this, I hadn’t thought about Jeffrey. Barry was right. Even if we couldn’t be friends, his son and I still could. Oh what a complicated web this had become.

  When I got home, the She La Las were crowded into the den amidst all the living room furniture that had been moved in there, and were watching themselves on the TV screen.

  “Samuel got the idea of videoing us so we could see where we need work,” my mother said as I walked in. I had to laugh. She was so co
mpletely self-absorbed, she hadn’t even said hello. Apparently Peter had also given them some pointers. “No matter what he said about not knowing anything about personal appearances, he did know a lot.” She mentioned there was plenty of food left in the kitchen and also that if I didn’t want any, it might be a good idea to put it away and take the trash out.

  “How many more days before your audition?” I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

  “Not enough. We made so many mistakes. Look right there, Lana. You should have gone right and you went left.”

  As I turned to go, she mentioned Mason. “What was with him? He was so nice before, but tonight he kept scowling at me. And that outfit.” She shook her head with disapproval. “I think you better keep looking.”

  I stifled a giggle as I walked across the house. Too bad I had to miss that show.

  “YOU WERE THERE?” CEECEE SAID TO CAMILLE as the crochet group settled in around the event table. Adele had just told her about dance night. “It’s probably just as well I wasn’t. They would have had a field day getting photos of me in the middle of a raid.”

  “There wasn’t any press,” Camille said. She had her work on the table and was trying hard to be part of the group. “It was my first book event, but it won’t be my last. We had everything: music, dancing, drama and police action. I couldn’t wait to tell Hunnie about it.”

  CeeCee appeared worried. “Did you tell him I wasn’t there?” Camille shook her head and seemed confused by the question. I knew CeeCee was still convinced Camille was spying on her because of the contract negotiations.

  “My mother was pretty surprised by all the excitement,” Ali said. “I tried to talk her into joining the crochet group, but she’s really busy with her cactus nursery.” Ali held up another crochet cactus she’d made. “She’s going to start selling these, too.”

  Sheila picked it up and admired it. “I’m okay with missing last night. It sounds kind of tense.” She turned toward me. “Have you had any luck figuring out more of the filet crochet piece? The woman at the gym with all the police information said they had decided Mary Beth’s sister was a person of interest. And the poison was in the candy apples, just like you said.”

  “Wow,” I said, turning to Dinah.

  Camille obviously wasn’t listening. She was ruffling through her designer bag du jour and after a moment pulled out a newspaper page and held it up. “I don’t know if you saw this.” There was a photo of a patrol officer walking a child to a cruiser. Their backs were to the camera, but it was clear what the child was holding. More than holding, he was really cuddling it.

  “That’s the blanket you made,” I said to CeeCee.

  “Dear, you’re right.” CeeCee looked closely at the picture. It was something to see one of our blankets actually providing a little comfort.

  Camille stood up. “I am so proud of working with you all. This is so different than just planning charity dinners and having to make sure I don’t wear the same dress twice. This is real. It is direct to a person in need. Thank you.”

  Adele rolled her eyes. Maybe Camille was laying it on a little thick, but after all her years of living like a princess the experience of tangibly helping someone in need had to be new to her, and in its own way, probably wonderful.

  “Pink, give us an update. Have you found out Mary Beth Wells’s secret or who killed her? You’ve had enough time.”

  “Actually, I’d like your opinion,” I said, bringing out the original panel piece.

  “More about the mystery,” Camille said in an excited whisper. “I can’t wait to e-mail my kids about this. They think I’m such a joke—that all I do is get dressed up to have lunch with a bunch of women. I want them to know I’m doing something real.” Camille put up her hands. “It used to be you wanted to make your parents proud. Now, you have to impress your kids.”

  I remembered the photo Dinah had shown me of Camille in the background the day we found the bag. Okay, she was sitting there and her name sounded sort of like a flower. It seemed like the perfect time to ask her about it.

  I pulled out the print Dinah had made and slid it in front of Camille. “Do you want to tell me about this?”

  Camille kept her face down as she stared at the photo. Trying to help her along, I pointed out Mary Beth. “I thought you didn’t know her. But it’s obvious you’re looking right at her.”

  CeeCee’s eyes grew wide with horror, and she started waving at me from across the table. I knew she was trying to stop me, but I wouldn’t look up. Finally, CeeCee came around the table and snatched the picture away.

  “Molly, what are you trying to say? That Camille had anything to do with what happened to Mary Beth Wells. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Camille glanced at the print now in CeeCee’s hand. “So that’s Mary Beth Wells. I only talked to her on the phone.” Camille didn’t seem offended. If anything, she seemed kind of excited that someone thought she was a murder suspect.

  I pointed to the panel of the vase of flowers and said that someone had mentioned a woman who was connected with Mary Beth had a name that sounded like a flower. “I think this panel might refer to that woman, but Dinah and I can’t figure out what kind of flowers they are supposed to be. I wanted to see what the rest of you think.”

  “Let me look, Pink,” Adele said, taking the piece and studying it intently. A moment later she shrugged and pushed it away. “I don’t know, maybe snapdragons.”

  “It can’t be snapdragons. It has to be a flower that also sounds like a name,” I said.

  Sheila suggested they looked like sad tulips.

  Ali pulled it toward her. “A flower that is also a name. There are lots: Rose, Daisy—Camille sounds almost like a flower,” she said, nodding at Camille.

  “I think it looks like an iris,” CeeCee said finally.

  “Iris,” Ali repeated with a laugh. “How could I forget to mention Iris? That’s my mother’s name.”

  “It is?” I said, forgetting the crochet piece for the moment and giving her all my attention.

  “I guess when I introduced her the other night I just said she was my mother.” Ali rolled her eyes. “What was I thinking?”

  As I looked at her, an idea began to roll around in my mind. In all my thinking about a baby being involved in the secret, I’d forgotten one thing: The baby wouldn’t be a baby anymore. The baby would be a twenty-something adult. And there was a twenty-something adult before me with a mother whose name matched the flowers in the filet panel. Could it be that part of the puzzle had been right in front of me all the time? I was almost afraid to ask, but finally I swallowed and spoke.

  “How old are you?” I said. She looked at me oddly, and I realized my question must have seemed out of place. I quickly said something about her being about my son’s age and wondered if they’d gone to school together. “He’s twenty-three and went to Wilbur Avenue Elementary.”

  “Me, too, on both counts,” she said. She thought about it for a minute and asked if his name was Samuel. When I said yes, she made a comment about having a crush on him in second grade.

  So she was the same age the baby would be, and her mother’s name was the same as the flowers in the crochet piece. My next question would tip the scale.

  “When’s your birthday?” I asked, holding my breath.

  “Pink, what’s with all the questions?” Adele interrupted. “We’re here to crochet.” I wanted to tell Adele to put a sock in it. But it was too late; Ali was already gathering up her things.

  “Oh no, I’m late for my dentist’s appointment.” She was gone in a flash.

  Sheila shook her head. “Doesn’t she see the pattern? She gets here late and has to leave early because she’s late somewhere else.”

  “Ladies, Ali will have to work out her own time issues. Meanwhile, we’re wasting ours,” CeeCee said. “Adele, show them your bookmark.” Adele displayed the one she’d just finished. Even though she’d ruined my questioning, I couldn’t help but be impressed.
Her work was beautiful. The bookmark was white filet with a checkerboard pattern. She explained how she’d sprayed it with starch and attached it to a piece of cardboard to block it. CeeCee took out a handful of bookmarks she’d made and showed them off. She went on talking about what a hit they’d be at the next library sale. I wasn’t listening. All I could think of was that I had to talk to Ali’s mother.

  CHAPTER 25

  IRIS STEWART RAN THE CACTUS AND SUCCULENT nursery out of her house. It was on one of the big plots of land north of the 101 Freeway. I’d passed it often, though I had never stopped there before. A sign across the front fence beckoned customers: Exotic Cacti and Succulents Nursery. Check us out.

  I parked on the street and walked up the driveway. The whole front yard was devoted to cacti and succulents of different sizes and shapes. Most were in pots or some other transportable container, but quite a few were in the ground as part of the landscape. It was a far cry from the lush lawn of the next-door neighbor.

  The house was an old one-story white stucco from the time when Tarzana was out in the sticks. Bougainvillea made a roof over the patio across the front. As I reached the house, the front door opened and a man walked out.

  “Hi,” he said in a friendly tone. He introduced himself as Paul Stewart and explained he was just the advance man. His wife would be out shortly. Although I’d never met him before and had nothing to compare with, his appearance made me think he’d been sick—very sick. His hair was lackluster and his complexion too pale, but mostly it was the way his shirt collar seemed too big for his neck.

  As he went back inside, I noticed there was some effort in his walk. Iris almost passed him in the doorway. I had barely noticed her when Ali introduced me to her at the bookstore. Not that saying, “This is my mother,” exactly qualified as an introduction.