I hadn’t thought of that, but it was a good idea. I put away the hanky, and CeeCee gave me some directions for making a coaster with thread. The doorbell rang, and CeeCee made it clear our time was done. “I know you’re busy, dear,” she said, leading me to the door.
As I walked out, a woman pushed a rack of clothes in. She was followed by a small brunette carrying a makeup case and a man dressed all in black with a blow dryer stuck in his belt. Apparently CeeCee’s stylist brought a crew.
CeeCee was right. I was busy. After stopping home to change and take care of the dogs, I had to set up for Patricia Bradford’s book signing. And I had a feeling it was going to be a bumpy evening.
CHAPTER 20
THE BOOKSTORE WAS IN CHAOS WHEN I GOT there. Patricia’s people seemed to be everywhere. Someone was taking out the regular chairs I had set up, and someone else was bringing in better-looking ones from a rental truck out front. A woman was rearranging the top sellers’ table, taking off what was there and filling it with stacks of Patricia’s Perfect Hints, Volume 4. I’d expected a person or maybe two with a video camera, not the film crew that was setting up, complete with lighting and screens to soften the glare. More of her people were pushing bookcases out of the way and creating an event area in the middle of the store.
This was way beyond what I’d agreed to. To make it worse, Adele was watching it all and taking notes. I tried stopping the progress of the chair people to no avail. I found the guy in charge of the camera crew, but he told me to talk to Patricia. Eduardo was hanging around near Adele and taking it all in. I certainly hoped that Adele wasn’t promising him a production like this.
I was at the front of the bookstore when a small bus pulled up. One of Patricia’s people flew past me and rushed outside to greet the passengers as they disembarked. It was like the Noah’s ark of the politically correct. An elderly Caucasian couple got off first, followed by a pair of prosperous-looking African-Americans, two Hispanic teens, Asian twins, an arm-in-arm couple of gay men and finally, two hand-holding brunette lesbians.
Patricia and Benjamin came across the parking lot. Even from a distance, it was obvious they both were wearing stage makeup. When they reached the front of the bookstore, the bus passengers were arranged around them and a still photographer got it on film.
How could I have been so dense? They were filming this to use it as part of a campaign commercial. The crowd moved inside, and I dodged the parade of chairs to get to Patricia.
“You’re going to have to tone this down,” I said. She was all smiles as she reminded me it had all been spelled out in the paper I’d signed. Now I understood why she’d made it impossible to read when she’d given it to me to sign.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” she said in an artificially warm voice. “Look, Benjamin, here’s Molly.” She pulled me into their little circle.
“We can’t thank you enough,” Benjamin said, greeting me. “It’s good to have you on our team.” Benjamin turned his head toward the camera and put on a sincere smile while he shook my hand and put his other hand on my shoulder.
I could just imagine the caption: Benjamin Bradford takes time from his busy schedule to comfort widow.
I let out a sigh and realized there was no way I could undo this circus, but maybe there was a consolation. People seemed to be attracted by the film crew. Maybe they were curious, or maybe they thought it was their chance to be part of history, but passersby kept coming in. And once they got bored watching the group from the bus be arranged and rearranged in the front rows, they browsed the rest of the bookstore. I noticed a constant line at the cashier. A surge in sales might smooth things out if Mrs. Shedd found out about the filming, which I’m sure she would, courtesy of Adele.
By the time Patricia’s program was to begin, all the seats were filled and there were even people standing. It seemed odd to have everything set up in the middle of the store, but by then I was just going with the flow. I started walking toward the demonstration table to do my introduction, but Benjamin got there first. He took the microphone off the stand and began addressing the crowd while two men with large cameras on their shoulders videotaped him.
“Let me tell you a little about my wonderful wife. Before we married, she was a single parent and she’d told me how hard it was to keep it together for little Kimmee and Demetrius. Her book of hints is testament to her ingenuity and creativity.” He was laying it on pretty thick, and I tuned out so as not to go into sugar shock. I checked out the crowd and noticed a lot of regulars, but was surprised to see Pixie had come in.
As I eased my way toward her, Bob came out of the café holding some iced drink with a lot of whipped cream. He presented it to her and hung around waiting to see her reaction. She was more interested in Eduardo, who was leaning against a bookcase behind Benjamin and the demonstration table, so he was facing the crowd. She took a sip of the drink and threaded her way through people until she was next to the cover model. Bob followed her like a puppy dog. I made a mental note to give him more compliments on his work. I hadn’t realized he was so needy.
By now Benjamin had segued into his campaign pitch and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I’d seen enough of these campaign things to know they would probably just use the visual of him looking hardworking and concerned and mix it with a voice-over.
I glanced toward the front of the bookstore as more people came in, but one person in a blue doctor’s jacket grabbed my attention. Dr. Arnold Bullard. I started toward him. This was my big chance to talk to him and I wasn’t going to miss it. I’d already figured out what to say to trap him. It was Basic Sales 101. You didn’t ask somebody if they wanted to buy something or not—you asked if they wanted it in red or blue. I was going to use the same logic with him. Instead of asking if he’d been at the Cottage Shoppe, I was going to ask him if he was there to buy or sell something.
As I got closer, I noticed he’d stopped. Patricia had taken the spotlight and was beginning her spiel. He watched intently for a moment and then began to move around the edge of the crowd. I trailed behind him and when I’d almost caught up realized I might have been mistaken about who he was watching. Pixie was talking to Eduardo and Bob was next to her.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to get Arnold’s attention. Fat chance that a jealous husband was going to be distracted by me when his wife was in the middle of two men.
Patricia was at her grand finale. She threw the red wine on Benjamin’s white shirt and held up the bottle of special spot-dissolver potion, mentioning the recipe was in the book. This was her big moment. When she got the wine to disappear, the audience always gasped in surprise and applauded enthusiastically.
Bob put his hand on Pixie’s arm, no doubt asking for her verdict on the drink. Pixie suddenly saw Arnold, and as he got closer, she put up her hands as if to stop him from doing something.
I sped up and tried to block Arnold, but it all happened too fast. There was some yelling—something about “paws off my wife” and Pixie screaming, “Don’t!” And then I heard the sound of a fist hitting a jaw. Bob had stepped back, and I saw that Arnold’s fist had landed on Eduardo’s face.
Pixie started shouting. “Stop, Arnold! Stop before you do it again!”
Then all hell broke loose. In a flash, Benjamin’s handlers rushed him out the door, leaving Patricia at the table, still holding the magic-potion bottle.
If I were her, I’d think twice about tying up with a man who left me out to dry when stuff hit the fan. But it was none of my business. I wondered if Eduardo would hit back, but Pixie hustled Arnold outside before he had a chance.
I was left facing the crowd. Adele came up behind me. “Pink, you better do something.”
I had an idea, didn’t know if it would work, but figured it couldn’t make things worse.
I grabbed the microphone. “We’re trying something new here at Shedd & Royal. I hope you all enjoyed our first evening of performance art.”
My words hung in th
e air for a moment as all eyes stared at me. Then someone said, “So you mean that was all planned, kind of like Tony and Tina’s Wedding?” And I nodded, recalling the interactive play.
Suddenly everyone got it and applauded.
“YOU DIDN’T,” DINAH SAID. ON MY WAY OUT I’D called her on my cell to give her a recap. “I miss everything,” she said with just a tiny whine in her voice.
“I did,” I said with a laugh. “And despite everything, it turned out to be a good night. Even without her grand finale, Patricia sold out all her books. People thought Bob was part of the show and complimented him on his acting as they bought drinks and cookies. Adele got an ice pack for Eduardo. A cover model can’t very well go around with a bruise on his chiseled jaw. And all I want to do is go home and collapse,” I said before clicking off and getting in my car.
CHAPTER 21
I OPENED THE BACK DOOR, GLAD TO BE FINALLY home. But when I walked into my living room, I jumped. It wasn’t just that the room seemed in disarray. It was who was on the couch. Barry and Jeffrey were asleep sitting up. Jeffrey was leaning against his father’s tall frame, and there was a dog on either side of them. Blondie, who never cuddled for long, was nestled against Jeffrey. Cosmo was drapped across Barry’s lap with his legs in the air.
Once I got over the shock of seeing them, I started to get annoyed. This was taking it too far with the dog thing. Barry must have been sleeping with his eyes only half shut, because he awoke before I could take another step in the room. I supposed it was from years of getting calls at odd hours and having to function, but he was immediately alert.
I was about the make my comment about the dog care, but he stopped me.
“Now, don’t worry, Molly,” he said, which was like a green light in my worry department. If there wasn’t something wrong, why would he even need to caution me? He extricated himself from Cosmo and sat forward. He had way past a five o’clock shadow on his face, his tie was pulled lose, but he was still wearing his suit jacket. Without Barry to lean against, Jeffrey fell into a prone position behind his father.
I glanced around the living room again. Something had gone on. Things had been knocked off the coffee table, and an easy chair had been moved along with the table next to it.
“Sorry, they had to move that to get the gurney in.” He got up and started picking up the books and doodads that had fallen and putting them back on the coffee table.
“Gurney, like in the thing they roll you into an ambulance with?” My voice sounded a little hysterical. “Who went to the hospital?”
Thanks to his job, Barry was an expert at giving bad news. First he got me to sit down and take a few breaths to calm myself, then in an even tone he told me what happened.
He and Jeffrey had just pulled up to spend some time with Cosmo when the ambulance arrived. “I was afraid it was you and practically broke the door down,” Barry said. “When we came in, Morgan was passed out on the floor and Samuel wasn’t handling it well.
“The paramedics wanted to know what happened, but Samuel kept walking in circles, muttering something about her being dead.” Barry saw me go pale and touched my arm. “She’s not dead. Remember, I said not to worry. I wouldn’t have said that if she was dead.” He went on about Samuel barely holding it together and how he’d taken over and told Samuel to sit down with Jeffrey. The gist was that Morgan had passed out, probably from not eating. She had come to and said she was fine, but when she tried to stand, she collapsed again. “I told Samuel he better man up and take care of her.”
My mother protector came out and I told him again that Samuel was still having a hard time with Charlie’s death, and seeing his girlfriend sprawled on the floor probably brought it all back. Before I could ask about Morgan, Barry said he’d already checked with the hospital and some of her levels were low and they were keeping her overnight. “Samuel called her mother in Phoenix, and she’s coming to take her back there. He said he’d come by and pack up her things.”
“I’d say that’s taking care of things pretty well,” I said a little too defensively. I sank into the chair as the weight of the evening and the adrenalin rush from the news sunk in. Barry asked if I needed something.
“No, just a few minutes to collect myself.” Then I told him about my evening at the bookstore. He shook his head with disbelief when I got to the punch part. “You really should tell Detective Heather she ought to check out Arnold Bullard. He obviously has a problem with impulse management, and he was angry at Drew Brooks. He could have easily smacked him on the head.”
“What was Bullard so angry at Drew Brooks about?” Barry asked.
“I don’t know.”
Barry put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re staying out of it, right?”
I just looked at him. His cell phone rang, interrupting us, and his face grew stern. Phone calls this late usually weren’t good.
“Greenberg,” he answered; he clenched his jaw a few times while he listened. When he hung up, he announced he had to go to work. He straightened his tie and ran his hands over his hair as if that would make him look shower fresh. He bent over Jeffrey to awaken him. “I’ll drop him off at home on the way.”
I’d been concerned about Jeffrey being at their place alone at night so much and Barry had told me he had an arrangement with a neighbor. If Jeffrey needed anything he could go there. I knew I should let it go, but he looked so peaceful and as much as I knew I should stay out of it, it bothered me to think of him home alone all night.
“He can stay,” I said, hoping I wasn’t making a mistake. Isn’t that how it had started with Cosmo?
THE NEXT MORNING THERE WAS A NOTE NEXT TO me. It said, “Thank you. Please consider this the advance notice you are always asking for. Jeffrey and I would like to take you out to dinner at the restaurant of your choice.” He’d signed it, “Love, B.” I read it over and smiled. How could you not melt for a guy who would sign a note love?
The couch was empty, the blanket neatly folded on the pillow I’d put under Jeffrey’s sleeping head.
I showered and got dressed and did some chores around the house. Considering my previous night, I felt amazingly refreshed. I packed up my crochet goods and made sure the plastic bag with the hanky was in my bag. I was going to show it to Sheila.
The bookstore was in better shape than I’d expected. Patricia had been truthful about one thing: She made sure things were put back where they belonged. Rayaad said a crew had been waiting when she opened the bookstore. They had moved everything back, picked up stray coffee cups and even put the best sellers back on their table. The only person not happy about it was Adele. It gave her one less thing to tattle on me about.
As I approached the event area, I heard Adele telling everyone at the crochet table about the previous night’s performance art.
“Pink really called it that,” she said. I was relieved that she’d dressed semicasual today after all the business attire and crocheted ties. She wore black leggings with a brick red baby-doll tunic and a bunch of beaded necklaces. She finished it off with a print scarf wound around her head. Adele went on about how Eduardo had been an innocent bystander and had gotten punched for no reason. “I’m going to make sure nothing like that happens at the Milton Mindell signing,” she said, her voice full of self-assumed authority. I hoped Mrs. Shedd realized she’d created a monster when she said Adele could help with the book signing.
I almost didn’t recognize CeeCee. The stylist had dressed her in loose gray slacks, ballet flats, a white silk blouse and a black sweater—probably cashmere—tied over her shoulders. Her hair was now a natural shade of brown and had been poufed into a style that practically covered her face. The feather bangs were so long they were in her eyes. She looked good in a Lauren Bacall sort of way, but not like the CeeCee we were used to.
All eyes were on me as I set down my things, then came the torrent of questions about the night before. CeeCee wanted to check my work to see how I was coming along and wanted to know why Patricia a
nd Dinah were AWOL. And what had happened to the ballet dancer I’d brought?
I started at the end first and told them about Morgan passing out from not eating and that for now she’d gone home with her mother.
“I should have talked to her,” CeeCee said. “Maybe if she’d heard about my portion control plan, things would have been different.” I wanted to explain that you had to eat something to be concerned with portions.
Even with all her book sales, Patricia had left in a huff after her event. The evening hadn’t gone the way she’d wanted, and I think she blamed me. For all her talk about how wonderful our project was, I wondered if she’d ever show up again. In any case she’d given CeeCee several knitted shawls on the sly, so she’d really done her share. I had a feeling I was no longer part of the team.
Dinah was another story. She had a legitimate reason for her absence. She’d called me in a frantic state. The kids were throwing up, and it had been a long time since she’d dealt with that kind of cleanup and needed advice. Under the circumstances she couldn’t leave them with a babysitter or take them to child care, and Jeremy had been gone when she woke up. Too bad Patricia wasn’t there. She probably would have had some good hints on the cleanup.
My gaze met Sheila’s and she smiled wanly. No drumming or tight stitches, she seemed to have turned all her nerves inward. That made me more uneasy than her finger tapping. With all the tension and nerves roiling around inside her, building up heat and energy, I feared she would suddenly explode. I hoped I was wrong. She appeared to have a rhythm going, and I watched the ball of golden honey-colored yarn jump as she finished a row of stitches
Eduardo was sitting near Adele, though I suspected she thought he was sitting with her. Who would have guessed that he would be one of those flying-finger-type crocheters? He’d already brought in a completed maple-colored shawl, and in the time it took me to get my stuff arranged, he’d produced two more rows of stitches on the olive green one he was working on now.
Dead Men Don't Crochet Page 19
