“Why kill Dr. Bullard?”
“Who said I did?” she said with her eyes flashing. Then her expression changed to a thoughtful one. “It was perfectly done, wasn’t it? But I had a chance to plan, unlike with Drew.
“Dr. Bullard recognized me at the book signing. He got in touch with me and started to lay into me for causing him and his wife embarrassment. I knew he could be trouble when he mentioned he still had the brochure I’d made up.” Patricia smiled. “I’m good. I really am. I told him I was oh, so sorry about the whole thing and wanted to make it right. I said I had the real piece of Irish crochet I’d used as a model for the fakes and wanted to give it to him. I asked if he’d give me back the brochure so I could put the whole thing behind me.” She shook her head with disbelief. “He said yes. I actually don’t think he would have ever turned me in, and he never mentioned Drew’s death, so I don’t think he connected it with the fake antiques. All he cared about was having something real to give his wife. But I didn’t have any authentic Irish crochet to give him. So, I had to get him out of the way.”
Patricia didn’t seem to feel any remorse about what she’d done. But she did seem pleased with the perfection of her planning. She’d arranged to meet Bullard in his office in the evening. “I pretended to be his wife and ordered the soup and had it left in the reception area. When I arrived, it was there waiting. I dropped a roofie in it. They are way easy to get hold of,” she said as an aside. “I said he must be hungry after a long day and offered him the soup as a goodwill gesture.” She snorted out a laugh. “He actually thanked me for it and said he’d missed lunch. A few spoonfuls and he was out cold. I grabbed the brochure, set off the bug bombs and I was out the door.”
She looked at her watch. “I really must be going.” She lit another cigarette. “My, I am surprised they store something as flammable as this,” she said, pouring some citrus cleaning liquid on some rags and dropping them on the floor.
“Sorry I don’t have another roofie.” She found the box of paperweights and took out the one shaped like the bust of Teddy Roosevelt. “I think I have it down now. I should be able to knock you out with only a few smacks.” To demonstrate, she swung her arm with the paperweight a few times. I flinched and tried to move. She got ready to do it in earnest, but then the cigarette fell out of her hand and hit the rags, and they began to smoulder.
She glanced down for a moment and gasped at the growing flames. But still, she stepped toward me with the Teddy Roosevelt bust poised. Any second now, it was going to fade to black for me. I was helpless with my hands and feet taped together. Behind her I could see the yarn swift on the edge of the shelf. I couldn’t do anything with my hands or feet, but I still had my shoulder. With all the power I could muster, I threw my shoulder against the shelves. They made a rattling sound and shook. At first I thought it hadn’t done any good, but as the shelves vibrated, the yarn swift toppled off.
As it fell, it opened, revealing an inner structure like that of an umbrella.
The rags were really beginning to flame, and Patricia coughed and squealed. She threw down the bust and took a step back to escape. As she did, she stepped right into the yarn swift and her foot tangled in it. Panicking, she tried to break free, but the more she tried to pull out of it, the tighter it became. She tried to walk with it on her foot and lost her balance. Frantically she reached for something on which to steady herself. The only things to grab at were the shelves. I had merely tapped against them, but Patricia grabbed them full force, and as the big unit began to totter from side to side, everything on them began to shake, rattle and then roll off toward her.
I was feeling pretty panicky myself as the enclosure started to fill with smoke. Trapped by Patricia and the shaking shelves, I started to cough and choke.
The jars of tomato products slipped off the top shelf. They missed Patricia but crashed on the floor, spattering both of us with blobs of red. The plastic gallon jugs of brown liquid came next. One after another they fell over, rolled off and hit Patricia on the head. She was right. It wasn’t that easy to knock somebody out. It took three of them smacking her on the head before she finally crumpled. And as the jugs finally hit the ground, their plastic caps broke off and the liquid poured out. I cringed, afraid of an explosion. But as I smelled the onion scent I realized it was soup base. It poured over the burning rags, dousing the flames.
I didn’t waste any time getting out. Patricia still had the gun in her purse and her head wasn’t in a bowl of soup. She could come to. I tried to jump over her, but instead I fell on her and had to twist myself around to get my legs faced in the right direction. I hopped toward the door and finally outside—and collided with Adele.
“Pink, I have to talk to you,” she said, throwing her arms around me. “You won’t believe what Eduardo did. . . .” Then suddenly it registered that I had my hands and feet bound together and globs of red stuff all over me.
“Is something wrong?”
CHAPTER 25
“EDUARDO SHOWED UP WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND and her kids. He wanted me to get them into the tent,” Adele wailed. “I feel so betrayed.” We were sitting on the curb waiting for the police. We must have made an odd sight, she in her mortician beatnik look and me in my white shirt and khaki pants covered in blobs of tomato stuff. I thought betrayed was a bit much since the extent of their relationship seemed to have been one coffee date to discuss his bookstore program and several incidences of being chair neighbors. Adele knew how to squeeze every ounce of drama out of anything. Still, I comforted her and told her there was somebody out there who was much better for her.
“Pink, you’re so right. There is somebody out there who is way better.” She went to hug me, but stopped when her eyes rested on the red blobs.
It had been Kevin who called 911 and cut me free of my duct-tape restraints. And not without a certain amount of pain. He’d looked up from his soup making, seen me through the window and rushed outside.
In the event Patricia came to before the cops arrived, I’d found the roll of duct tape in her purse and, after pulling the yarn swift off her leg, wrapped her ankles and wrists. I wondered if she would think it was such a great hint when she was the one wearing the duct tape. It was my second run-in with duct tape, and I hoped never to see the silvery stuff again. I made sure her purse with the gun in it was out of her reach.
I heard sirens in the distance and as they grew louder, I prepared for the onslaught. Moments later, amid a lot of flashing lights and noise, a fire engine, rescue ambulance, several black-and-whites and a black Crown Victoria pulled up in front of us.
Detective Heather got to me first. Her eyes took in a red speckle on my shoulder, and she waved the paramedics over, but I stopped her, explaining it wasn’t blood. She started to snicker when I said it was tomato stuff, but her expression changed when I brought her to the storage unit, explaining Patricia’s phony antique scheme and how all the pieces fit together to show she was the one who killed Drew Brooks and Arnold Bullard. I also mentioned she had confessed to me and then tried to kill me.
“Don’t believe her. She tried to kill me,” Patricia yelled. She’d come to and was sitting up, kicking her feet, and even with her wrists taped she was trying to grab at the shelf unit. She struggled to pull herself up, but everything that hadn’t fallen the first time started to fall now. For the first time since I’d met her, Patricia had a hair out of place. She was a mess.
And when she heard Detective Heather tell her she was under arrest, she kept yelling they’d gotten it all wrong. A uniformed officer pulled off the duct tape and replaced it with real handcuffs. Patricia screeched and said she needed medical attention for the tape burns as the cop led her toward one of the cruisers.
“We’re even,” Detective Heather said as she watched Patricia get in the backseat of the police car. “I’ll forget about the hanky tampering. There won’t be any obstruction of justice charge, either.” Our eyes met for a moment and I detected a flicker of respect. Then she turned
away to make sure the storage unit was wrapped in yellow tape.
Another plain car pulled up. The door flew open and Barry jumped out. I saw him take in the scene, and his gaze stopped on my shirt. I knew he was looking at the red spots. His eyes flared with emotion and betrayed his bland cop face as he double-timed it across the street.
“Tomato sauce,” I said, pointing at the largest spot when he got within earshot. He rolled his eyes and I saw his shoulders relax. He seemed to let his breath out, too. Then he asked if I was really all right.
When Barry was working he never gave hugs or did anything personal. But this time he stood next to me so that my shoulder rested against him and he took my hand and squeezed it. Detective Heather looked over just then. I saw her lip quiver when she spotted Barry’s hand holding mine.
“Omigod. I have to go,” I said, pulling away. “I left Milton Mindell at the bookstore.” Messy clothes and all, I took off down the street.
As I walked into the bookstore, the kids were just coming out of the tent. Two boys took one look at me and started pointing with happy horror faces. “Eww, it’s Rhonda the Zombie.” I gathered it was a character in the latest book, because other kids started saying the same thing.
I glanced toward the table of presigned books and Dinah waved. She was already collecting tickets and handing out books. I blew her a kiss.
Then I remembered the overflow kids I’d left with Adele. Worried that she’d abandoned them and they were taking apart the children’s section, I rushed over. Mason was just escorting Milton Mindell to the center of the group. When Mason saw me, he looked concerned and stepped away. Not that the kids noticed. They were looking at Milton like he was some kind of rock star.
I told Mason it was tomato sauce on my shirt and then immediately began to thank him for helping out. “How did you do it?” I said, gesturing toward Milton and the kids. Milton had always been a stickler about only dealing with the kids in the tent.
“Are you really okay?” Mason asked, touching a dollop of tomato and rubbing it between his fingers. I nodded and his face relaxed into a grin.
“I think after what I did you owe me,” he said. “If you want to know how I wrapped Mr. Mindell around my little finger, you’ll have to have dinner with me. Of course, you might want to change first.” I realized I’d been wrong about there being something starting up between Dinah and him. Later she told me all he’d done was ask her about me.
I sensed somebody behind me, and when I looked over my shoulder I saw that Barry had caught up with me. When he saw Mason, he glared at him. Mason nodded and saluted Barry with a little raise of his eyebrows. It was the barbecue all over again.
CHAPTER 26
“IT WAS A NICE IDEA TO MAKE AN EVENT OUT OF presenting the shawls,” CeeCee said as we stood outside the Cottage Shoppe. The storage container was gone, and now that the remodeling was done, a permanent sign for Kevin’s Kitchen had been added. For tonight the whole place was closed for the private party. It was just going to be the women from the shelter, the Tarzana Hookers and a few guests. Kevin had made a special buffet of his soups and homemade breads, and I had provided the cheesecake cupcakes for dessert. The plan was that after everyone had food, we’d hand out the shawls.
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” Sheila asked as she joined us. She sighed. “I can’t believe how good it feels to know that Detective Gilmore isn’t going to pop out of the bushes with any more questions.”
“Do you think my stylist is right?” CeeCee turned, model fashion, to show off her sleek outfit. She’d given up trying to lose the five pounds once her stylist told her that the right clothes could make her look as though she had. We both gave her a thumbs-up, and CeeCee asked about dessert.
Dinah arrived breathless with E. Conner and Ashley-Angela in tow. “They’ll be good, I promise.” She threw me a hopeless look. “Jeremy called again with another stall, and the babysitter didn’t show.” Then she sighed. “I’m afraid he’s never going to pick up his kids.” I didn’t want to say anything, but I’d been thinking the same thing.
“Ladies,” Eduardo said, taking a place next to CeeCee. His long black hair was loose, and he’d dressed in slacks and a sport jacket. He had asked me several times why Adele was acting so strangely. He appeared to have no idea he’d done anything wrong because, I gathered, he’d only thought they were crochet partners. I covered by saying that was just Adele.
No one could accuse Adele of being subtle. She joined the group with a snap of her black cape, which she’d worn over a purple silk dress. She made a point of ignoring Eduardo as she said in an extra loud voice that her boyfriend William was picking her up.
Only I knew who William really was. After the episode with Eduardo, Adele had rethought her date with Koo Koo the Clown, aka William Bearly, and decided she liked him after all. He’d been thrilled when she called him, or at least that’s what she said. Adele threw me a panicked glance after she mentioned his name, apparently afraid I would give away his other identity. I said nothing. Her secret was safe with me.
“Why are you all standing out here?” Mrs. Shedd said. I’d invited her but didn’t know she was coming until she showed up. All she knew about Milton’s fiesta was that it was a huge success moneywise. Adele had conveniently forgotten she’d been afraid of Milton and had run off when she’d gotten upset over Eduardo. She took lots of credit for the horror author’s success and had convinced Mrs. Shedd she should work with me on any events that were kid related. I guessed I could live with that.
Mrs. Shedd took the lead, and we all followed her up the stairs into the store. Soft light glowed out from the windows and it looked inviting.
Benjamin Bradford was in the entrance hall acting as greeter. Actually he had come up with the idea for the shawl presentation and had Bradford Industries sponsor it. He had several motives. The Women’s Haven really was his pet charity—he’d spent time with his mother in a place like it and it was his way of saying thank you. He wanted to do something good to counteract all the problems his wife had caused. Well, soon to be ex-wife. He’d filed for divorce almost before they finished fingerprinting Patricia. She had been charged with two murders, and one attempted. Because of the charge, she wasn’t given bail and had plenty of time to crochet while she waited for her trial. And Benjamin still hoped to get elected and recognized the shawl event as a good publicity opportunity.
It was the first time I’d been in the store since the work was finished. Mr. Work Boots had done a good job and the place looked great. Kevin was rushing around making last-minute adjustments in the restaurant area.
“Come in, come in,” Kevin said as we approached the redone dining room. Several long tables had been set up, and a buffet had been arranged on a dark wood built-in sideboard. Overhead the wrought iron chandelier had been dimmed.
The women from the shelter arrived along with their director, and we intermingled as we found seats. Everybody wanted to sit next to Eduardo and he solved the problem by moving around. He really was so much more than a handsome face; he had that ability to make people feel good. He also invited everyone to come to his poetry reading at the bookstore.
Kevin knew his way around soup, and everyone had multiple bowls. He had added some salads and stuffed mushrooms to the buffet, too. He was no slouch in the bread department, either.
“I’m so glad you’re all here,” Benjamin said getting up to the front of the room when everyone was finished eating. I noticed a photographer and man with a video camera had come in and were capturing the moment. Benjamin finished his remarks by announcing it was time for the Tarzana Hookers to give out their handiwork.
We came up one by one and handed out the hugs of comfort shawls we had made. After each of us had wrapped a shawl around a recipient’s shoulders, we gave the women a real hug. The women from the shelter all said how much it meant to them—the physical feeling of being wrapped in something soft and warm and that someone had cared enough to make it for them.
B
y the end there wasn’t a dry eye.
Afterward, Kevin showed off the sales area. “Dorothy talked me into keeping it half restaurant and half store.” He took us into the living room and pointed to the alcove and room beyond that were devoted to consignment items and handicrafts. “I’m glad that Trina decided to come back to us,” he said as we admired the items. He pulled Sheila aside. “I just wanted to make sure that your check was for the right amount. I don’t want to take a chance losing your scarves and blankets. They are big sellers.”
“Blankets?” Adele said, getting into the middle of it.
“You haven’t seen them?” Kevin picked up a soft heathery red blanket off the arm of the rocker.
“But it’s knitted,” Adele sputtered, touching it like it was made of worms.
So Sheila was the one who’d been making the blankets all of us had admired. She was full of surprises, but not good ones, according to Adele, who was going on about how she couldn’t believe one of our own was a closet knitter. Koo Koo arrived just in time and collected her.
“Am I too late?” a soft voice said behind me. I turned as Morgan came toward me and hugged me. She was holding out a completed lavender shawl. The gauntness was gone from around her eyes and she looked happier. She pulled me aside and explained she’d come back a couple of days before. The time with her mother had helped, and she’d seen a professional.
“Thank you for letting me stay with you.” She sighed deeply. “I finally faced the real problem. It might not be the five pounds that’s kept me from getting the parts.” She said she wasn’t giving up, that she was just going to go to auditions with a new attitude. She still hoped she and Samuel could work things out.
She looked down at the shawl in her hands and at the empty dining room. The women from the shelter had already left in their van. “I don’t know what to do with it.”
Dead Men Don't Crochet Page 24
