Dead Men Don't Crochet

by Betty Hechtman

  The theater was just down the street. It was a small art theater with three screens that had survived despite the push for fancy stadium seating and numbers of screens running into the double digits. The woman in the box office was just closing when I rushed up, and it was a struggle to get her to sell me a ticket. She must have said six times that the movie was in its last half hour, and there wasn’t a later show, and I should go to their sister theater in the city because it still had another showing. She gave me a funny look when I said all six times that I didn’t care. Finally, I told her I was meeting somebody and that seemed to satisfy her enough to sell me the ticket.

  When I walked in the theater, there was a night scene going on and I couldn’t see anything. I hung at the back until it faded into morning and illuminated the screen enough for me to count the rows to find Dinah. It was lucky she had given me directions to find her because from here all I could see was the back of heads.

  I heard muttering and groans as I climbed over feet to get to Dinah, who was sitting in the exact middle of the row. As I slid into the adjacent seat, she pointed to the row in front of her. Sure enough, I could see the on-screen sunrise reflected on one of the heads. The woman with him was shorter and had some kind of scarf covering her hair. Dinah offered to share the last of her popcorn, but I was more interested in trying to see his face. I wondered whether he was really the guy I was looking for—perhaps Dinah had just overreacted to the first bald head she’d encountered. The movie went to an underwater scene, making it too dark for me to make out any of his features.

  A few short scenes later, the movie ended. Most of the crowd started to leave, but the pair in front of us just sat there as the credits rolled. Apparently they were some kind of film buffs or knew somebody on the crew because they sat through everything from the director and main cast list to the assistant to the transportation captain. We stayed there with them.

  When the lights came up, the woman stretched and they got up to leave. The bald guy took her hand, and they walked out of the theater without noticing we were mirroring their steps. I finally got a good view of his face and squeezed Dinah’s arm.

  “It’s him. It’s really him,” I said in an excited whisper. When I checked out the woman’s face, I realized I’d seen her before, but I couldn’t place her. That happened to me all of the time; usually they turned out to be customers of the bookstore.

  We followed them all the way out to the parking lot, and as soon as they climbed in their big white Lexus, we rushed toward Dinah’s car.

  “Now what?” Dinah said as she put the car in drive.

  “We follow them home,” I said.

  “And then?”

  “I’m still thinking,” I answered finally.

  CHAPTER 16

  “WHAT DO I DO NOW?” DINAH SQUEALED AS WE trailed them down Ventura Boulevard. The Lexus had its turn signal on.

  “We follow them,” I said, pointing toward their destination.

  “I guess they got hungry,” Dinah said as she pulled behind them in the In-N-Out Burger drive-thru line. Ahead they were already ordering, and a distorted voiced repeated back their order loud enough that we could hear.

  “Does she really think a diet soda is going to make the burger and fries a lo-cal meal?” I said as they confirmed the order and pulled forward.

  “Hmm, a cheeseburger sounds good,” Dinah said, eyeing the menu.

  I was glad we were in Dinah’s car. It was a silver Nissan. I didn’t know the model name, just that it blended in with all the other silver compacts on the road, unlike the greenmobile, which never blended in anywhere. We pulled up to the order spot. Dinah decided against the burger; we ordered two coffees, no cream.

  They got their food and pulled back onto the main street. We barely stopped long enough to grab our coffees and toss some money at the clerk before zooming after them.

  The street was pleasantly empty, which was another of the positive points of the Valley. By late evening, traffic was light on even the major streets. We stayed several car lengths behind them, though I don’t think they had any hint they were being followed. I saw the turn signal go on as they approached Vanalden and nudged Dinah to do the same.

  The road stayed level for a while, but then as it twisted around began to go uphill. This area of Tarzana was above where I lived. A whole development of houses had been built on pads on the side of the Santa Monica Mountains. Beyond the houses the land was open and belonged to the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy. When the boys were small, we used to hike along dirt Mullholland and on some of the trails. It always amazed me how we could seemingly be in the middle of wilderness but still just a five-minute drive to Starbucks.

  Our couple turned off the main street and we followed. I was a little worried they’d notice us since there was virtually nobody else on the road, so I told Dinah to douse the headlights. I was glad they knew where they were going because I was lost after the second turn. We passed through a maze of streets until I saw a garage door opening up ahead and told Dinah to pull over.

  As soon as the Lexus went in and the door lowered, Dinah eased the car forward up the hilly street until we were directly across from the house. Ahead the street ended in a cul-de-sac. I realized that while we were driving I should have been thinking about what we were going to do once we got here because now that we were in front of their house, I had no idea what to do.

  “I guess maybe we should just sit here for a while and see what happens,” I said. “Ideally, I’d like to talk to him and ask him some questions.”

  Dinah looked at me and then at the house. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “We might as well have our coffee before it gets cold.” I took mine out of the drink holder and sipped it. I usually burned my lips when I tried to drink through one of those openings in the lid, but this time the coffee had sufficient time to cool during our ride and was the perfect temperature. “At least if we could get a name, we’d have something to start with.”

  “Do you have any ideas how we are going to do that?” Dinah asked.

  I suggested we get their street address. “Peter knows about a reverse directory.” I squinted at the curb across the street. There was supposed to be a white rectangle of paint with the address printed in black. The way the streetlight was reflecting I couldn’t tell whether there were numbers let alone what they were.

  “I can’t see much of anything from here,” I said. “I need the window open.” Dinah turned the key without turning on the ignition, and I lowered the window and stuck my head out. It didn’t help. I said I’d have to get out. I opened the door quietly and stayed low, moving along the car toward the front. Then I dashed across the street and bent down to look at the curb. Every year someone claiming to be a student or painter looking for work came by and offered to repaint my numbers for a price. Apparently, these people hadn’t taken them up on their offer because three of the numbers were worn away enough to be illegible.

  There was a wood sign hanging on the small entrance porch. I’d seen them at the county fair. The wood plaques were ready-made with flowers or birds and then personalized with the address or a residence name like Home of the Belmonts or Casa de Kennedy. From this distance I couldn’t even tell if the white writing was letters or numbers. I had no choice but to move closer. I was practically on the bottom step, peering up at it when the lights came on in the room that faced the street.

  There was nothing covering the window so I had a perfect view of the bald man and the woman I assumed was his wife coming into the room with their burger meals. I was afraid they had an equally perfect view of me. But since they weren’t expecting anyone out there, I thought if I moved very slowly I could work my way into the shadows without being noticed. They put their food on the table and one of them turned on the TV. Meanwhile, I inched away from the pool of light. As soon as I hit the darkness, I skittered across the street to the car and got in.

  I leaned back in the seat and let my breath out
in a gush. “That was a close one. Any second I thought the guy would look up and see me.”

  Dinah urged me to take a sip of coffee, though I didn’t know why—I was more than awake enough from the adrenalin rush. “Did you find out anything?” she asked.

  I mentioned the sign I’d almost been able to read. I glanced across the street. The couple was on the sofa. “They’ll probably just eat the burgers and go to bed. If I just got a little closer I’d be able to read it.”

  We decided to finish our coffee and wait.

  “Why were you at the movies alone?” I asked, wishing we’d gotten something to eat along with the coffee. Didn’t private detectives always have donuts on stakeouts?

  “Jeremy said he had a meeting about some business deal.”

  “So, Mr. Mom left you with the kids again?”

  “Tried to,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “I told him they were his kids and I was going out.”

  “And?”

  Dinah sighed. “He said I was standing in the way of his career opportunities and tried to make me feel guilty. When I didn’t budge, he postponed his so-called meeting until tomorrow. When I left he was trying to put them to bed.”

  “It sounds like the same old Jeremy.”

  She sighed again. “You’re probably right. What was I thinking letting him stay with me?” She set down her cup. “You’d think a woman of my age would have more sense.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were just giving him the benefit of the doubt.” I glanced back toward the house. The couple was still sitting there; I could see the flickering bluish cast of the television. “Haven’t they had enough passive entertainment for one night? Why don’t they go to bed and read a book or something?”

  “What’s that noise?” Dinah said, looking out the windshield. I heard it, too. It was a rhythmic thwack kind of sound and seemed to be getting louder. I pressed my face close to the side window and noticed the flashing lights of a helicopter in the distance.

  “I think it’s a police helicopter. There’s probably another one of those chases that keep showing up on the news. The cops try to pull somebody over and they just take off instead. What are they thinking of? Do they honestly believe they have a chance of getting away when they end up being chased by a helicopter and a whole line of police cars?”

  The noise grew louder, and suddenly the area around the car was bathed in an intense white light. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see if the car being pursued had turned on this street.

  Just then a knock at the window made both of us jump.

  “Open the window, please,” a deep voice commanded.

  I glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw a line of police cars with their lights flashing pulling up behind us. They didn’t seem to be chasing anyone. “You better do it,” I said to Dinah.

  As soon as the window was open, she stuck her head out. “Is there some kind of problem?” she asked in her most innocent, charming voice.

  The deep voice belonged to a patrol officer with a somber expression that didn’t lighten up at her comment. Instead he ordered us to step out of our vehicle with our hands on our heads.

  We followed his request, and Dinah put on her best blathering act.

  “Am I glad to see you,” she said. “My friend and I are lost. Do you know what street this is? We were trying to see the street sign, so I could check it on my Thomas Guide.” She actually pointed her elbow at the street guide next to the front seat. I was impressed that she came up with an excuse so quickly, complete with a visual aid.

  I decided to let Dinah do the talking since she seemed to think so well on her feet. I stood outside the car and glanced down the street. It was choked off by black-and-whites with their doors flung open. I had seen something like this only on TV, and in those fictional situations the cops were always crouched behind the doors with their guns drawn. I swallowed hard and wondered if that was what was happening here.

  Another officer approached us warily as someone yelled at us to put our hands on the roof of the car. Dinah gave them a dirty look but complied. I slapped my hands down on the cold metal without hesitation.

  “Officers, I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I don’t know who you’re looking for, but it couldn’t be us,” I said, looking over my shoulder. What criminal would be wearing a black dress, red jacket and heels? Lights had come on in most of the houses, and people were standing in the windows; some had even streamed out into the street. I hoped there wasn’t anyone who recognized us.

  I felt hands get way too personal as one of the patrol officers patted me down. I heard some kind of skirmish going on with Dinah’s search. Apparently the cop got all twisted up in the long pink and orange scarves she had draped around her neck. I got a glimpse of the bald man’s house. He and his wife were outside talking to several uniforms. There seemed to be a lot of pointing toward us.

  “That’s them,” the bald guy shouted. “They were going to rob us.”

  I was about to say something about how ridiculous that was, but one of the officers spoke first and asked if he could have a look in the trunk.

  We had nothing to hide, so both of us nodded yes. I just hoped Dinah didn’t have anything weird like that dismantled mannequin she’d picked up at a garage sale once. One of the officers checked the trunk, and the other shined her flashlight in the car. Apparently there was nothing weird in it, because after a moment he shut it. The officer with the flashlight spent a lot of time around the base of the seat, but eventually she shut off her light.

  The officer who had checked the trunk walked over to the bald man. “We didn’t find any weapons in their car. Sir, there’s no law against them sitting in their car.”

  “I don’t care,” the bald man shouted. “Arrest them. Maybe they don’t have any weapons because they were just casing the place and waiting for their gang to show up.”

  We still had our hands on the roof. My arms were starting to feel a little tingly, and I wished I’d gone with the ballet flats. Dinah and I looked at each other over the car. Would anyone seriously believe we were gang leaders?

  Another car pulled up, and the helicopter continued to circle, keeping the area illuminated. The uniforms were talking to someone. I hoped it was about letting us go.

  “Molly?” a familiar voice said in an accusing manner.

  “Barry?” I said, trying to pick him out of the group.

  He turned back to his associates. “This is who you thought were gang leaders?” Even in the darkness I could see him shake his head with disbelief. There was a lot of discussion I couldn’t hear, but finally somebody said we could take our hands off the car roof.

  Barry was next to me now. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Telling him we got lost on the way home from the movies didn’t work. The movement of his head made it clear he was rolling his eyes even though it was too dark to actually see what his eyes were doing.

  “C’mon, Molly. There is no way you have to come up here to get home from anywhere. Besides, the people who called said you’d been sitting here for a while.” He looked in the car and pointed at the empty coffee cups. “You two were playing detective, weren’t you?” He shook his head with hopelessness.

  I stepped closer. “You should tell Detective Heather to check out that guy. He was there the day Drew Brooks was murdered.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell her,” he said.

  “You will not. You’re just humoring me, aren’t you?”

  He tilted his head and let his breath out. “Maybe a little. Now go home.”

  He stood there until we got in the car. The helicopter had left, and the police cars were turning around and heading back down the street. Barry waited until we’d put on our seat belts and locked the doors, then he headed back to his car. I saw his partner in the front seat. He appeared to be laughing.

  They were still there when Dinah hit the headlights and we drove away.

  Dinah dropped me at my car in the
bookstore parking lot. When I got home my phone was ringing.

  “Mother,” Peter said in that tone that came out like an accusation, “are you watching the news?”

  “No, honey, I just came in,” I said, hoping my pleasant voice would diffuse his mood.

  “From where? Jail perhaps?” he grumbled.

  While he was talking I had flipped on the set and cringed. Apparently one of the many neighbors on the street had brought out his video camera. The screen showed the police officer standing next to Dinah and me as we put our hands on the roof of the car.

  “Tonight, on our You Be the Reporter segment, we have a video just uploaded by Richard Beekman of Tarzana. The police detained two women who were suspected of being part of a follow-home robbery gang,” the news anchor said over the picture. The camera zoomed in on Dinah and me. Our faces were in shadow, but even so, Peter had recognized us.

  “It was just a mix-up,” I said, hoping to avoid going into detail. Meanwhile, I kept watching the screen. The video panned past several of the houses as Richard Beekman explained that his neighbor had discovered the pair just as they were about to strike. The neighborhood reporter went on to explain that seven black-and-whites had shown up as well as a helicopter and that no arrests had been made. The video panned back over the houses and pulled in for a clumsy close-up of the bald man’s house.

  Richard Beekman wasn’t the best cameraman and kept zooming in and out, trying to be artsy. He zoomed in on the entrance to the house. Just when I caught sight of the sign on the porch, Richard pulled out to give a bigger view of the scene. Then he swung the camera to focus on the uniform talking to the bald guy and his wife. They were standing on the small porch, and the sign was right behind the bald guy’s head. I leaned toward the TV, trying to see the writing. Then I saw it wasn’t an address; it was a name. Bullard. Their name was Bullard.