Yarn to Go

by Betty Hechtman

  “Maybe if we find out who gave the trip to her, it might help,” I said. I put the sheet back in and thumbed through the rest of the pages before closing the file. At the back, I found two pages had gotten stuck together. The top one was Bree’s information, but I hadn’t seen the other piece of paper before. It was filled with my aunt’s distinctive handwriting and seemed to be notes of a sort. She had listed the group and written strings of words that must have made sense to her but seemed cryptic to me. Like after Scott’s, it said, BBB.

  “Look, here’s your name,” I said. I pointed it out, and next to it was #344. When I took it back, I swallowed hard when I saw my name was on the list, too.

  I read over what it said. S&SS. “What does that mean, and why is my name on the list?”

  Lucinda sighed. “Your aunt talked me into the retreat. I bet she planned to do the same with you. Whatever S&SS means, I’m sure it was something nice. You know she loved you.”

  I am not a crybaby, I repeated in my head as I felt my eyes beginning to well up. I tried to will the water back, but it kept coming. In an effort to hold back the dam, I avoided looking at my name on the list and checked what she’d written next to Edie’s. 2 at 1. What did that mean? Olivia’s listing just had lux.

  “I don’t know what any of it means,” I said to Lucinda, feeling full of regret. “Who am I kidding? I can’t take my aunt’s place even for this weekend.” I put the sheet back in the file, which dislodged a page at the back. I scooped it up and shook my head. “Here are the notes I took from my call with Frank,” I said, shaking my head in annoyance at myself. “If I’d had them when I saw Officer Party Hardy, I might have been able to ask him some intelligent questions.”

  I guess it was the stress, but my eyes got watery again, and before I could push them back, tears started to roll down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I got up to leave, but Lucinda stood next to me and put her arm around my shoulders, which was a little bit of a reach since I was taller than she was. But it didn’t matter; the support felt good. She just let me cry, and then when I was done, handed me a tissue.

  “Feel better?” she said.

  I forced a smile and nodded. It was like after a storm when the ground is still wet but the air is all clear.

  I put the sheets back in the file and shut it, noticing that Lucinda was trying to hide a yawn. I realized that while I was a night owl and normally would have just started to bake around now, Lucinda wasn’t. I packed up my stuff and wished her a good night.

  When I left her room, I instinctively looked down the hall toward the blockade in front of Edie’s room. I was surprised to see that the door to her room was open and two men were standing in the doorway. The walls of the hall were dark wood, and the lighting wasn’t the brightest, so it was easy for me to disappear into the shadows and ease my way down the hall until I was close enough to hear them.

  Even from the back I recognized Kevin St. John. Not only was he the only person wearing a suit in the casual atmosphere of the hotel and conference center, but there was something about his posture. He always stood very tall, and the way he held his head made it seem like he was looking down on all the little people. The man next to him was a little shorter, and there was something rumpled about his appearance.

  “I’m sure you’ll want to pack up her things,” Kevin said, but the man kept staring in the room.

  “The cops said she was alone,” the man said, “but did you see her with anybody?” Kevin started to explain the retreat, but the man stopped him. “I was thinking about something different. A man,” he said.

  As much as I would have liked to hear more, I didn’t want Kevin St. John to catch me skulking in the hall. I slipped away without making a sound and then crossed into the living room area where we’d been knitting a short time earlier. The fire was down to embers, and all the chairs were empty.

  Outside the air was cold and damp, and I zipped up my fleece jacket. There was a constant roar from the ocean just a short distance away. I followed the path back toward the heart of the conference center. I was about to turn onto the driveway that led to the street, when I glanced toward the Lodge. Light was pouring out of the windows, illuminating the area around them. It seemed like a beacon in the quiet darkness of the rest of the place. I was curious to see if anything was going on there and, like a moth, followed the light. I stopped at the first window and looked into the large room that served as a social hall. The table tennis and pool tables were both quiet. In fact, it seemed like the whole room was quiet except for the person manning the registration desk. Then I saw Bree. She was hunched into the corner of a couch in the sitting area. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if she were trying to hold herself together. Her tablet was sitting on the coffee table in front of her, but the screen was dark.

  I wasn’t sure where my responsibility for the group ended, but after what happened with Edie, it seemed better to err on the side of overdoing it. I went inside and walked up to her.

  “What’s wrong? Did your kids claim your husband is making them sleep in the doghouse?” I said, trying to lighten the moment. It didn’t work, and her eyes got big and round as she looked around the empty room.

  “I’m afraid to go to my room. I’m afraid to stay in there all alone. What if I’m next?” She looked like she might start to sob at any second. I wanted to tell her there wasn’t some mad murderer on the loose and that it was personal to Edie, but the truth was, I didn’t know for sure. She repeated the whole story of how she’d never gone anyplace alone before, never stayed in a hotel room alone, that she was supposed to come with another of the Ewes, but she’d canceled.

  “I didn’t sleep a wink last night and that was before . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “C’mon,” I said, reaching out my hand. “I’ll walk you to your room and make sure everything is okay.” I watched her shoulders relax as she put her tablet in her bag and prepared to leave.

  She hung on to my arm as we walked back to the Sand and Sea building. When we got to the hall, the housekeeping carts were still on duty, but the door at the end of the hall was shut and the whole area was silent.

  I walked Bree to her room and pointed out that she had people from the retreat as neighbors. But it did no good. She hung on to me even when we were inside her room. It was only when I offered to stay until she fell asleep that she finally let go. I sat on the other twin bed while she changed into her sleepwear.

  “All this is easy for you,” she said. “You’re used to living alone. You don’t have to worry about your kids forgetting who you are when your husband starts acting like Peter Pan and they all have too much fun.”

  I let out a little laugh. “It really isn’t easy for me,” I began. Why not tell her the truth. “You have your life together. You have a family and a group of people you knit with. I bet you have no trouble finishing things you begin.”

  Bree seemed surprised by what I said. “Of course I finish things. You have to with kids. And all the Ewes finish the projects we start.”

  Then I told her my whole story. How I had trouble sticking with anything. “Even this weekend. This is outside of my comfort zone, but I am doing it because of my aunt.” Bree hugged me and thanked me for sharing. She said she’d thought I had everything so together. Ha, that was a laugh and a half. It seemed to make her feel better, and then I did something that surprised even me. I suggested we work on our squares together.

  She sat next to me, and we took out our knitting. It was quiet except for the soft clicking of our needles. The repetitive motion and the silence melded together, and I felt the tension of the day leave as my eyes started to grow heavy and finally closed.

  16

  I AWOKE WITH A START, CONFUSED ABOUT MY surroundings and the fact that I was sitting up. It took a moment for the mental fog to clear, and when I saw Bree’s blond frizz of curls against my shoulder, it all came back to me. I checked the window an
d saw that it was just getting light. I got up carefully and then laid her down and covered her with the blanket from the other bed. She was in such a deep sleep, she didn’t even stir.

  Outside, misty fog was floating in, blurring the edges of the dark wood buildings. The street was empty, but still I looked both ways, thinking of my aunt. She had been hit just about this time of day. As I dashed across the street, I glanced toward Dane’s. No cars this time. Party over.

  Thinking of my bed and catching a little more sleep, I started up my driveway. The silence was broken by the rhythm of footsteps.

  “Morning, neighbor,” Dane said. I turned toward the voice. He came up the driveway behind me and started running in place. His pace began to slow, and he said something about cooling down. He wore black shorts, a gray T-shirt stained with sweat and sneakers. The bare arms and legs made me shiver, but he seemed fine despite the chilly outside temperature.

  How could he party all night and then be off jogging at dawn and look so good? Did I really say that even in my head? Okay, there was no denying that he was hot looking. But it was more than looks. There was something about the vibe he gave off. I stopped my thoughts before they could go further. This was Mr. Party Hardy, I reminded myself.

  “All quiet on the retreat front?” He gave me a once-over and mentioned I was still wearing the same clothes. I instinctively patted my hair, and it felt like it might be sticking up all over my head.

  “You’re just who I wanted to see,” I said, remembering the sheet of notes from my conversation with my old boss. I would seize the moment. Of course he misunderstood my comment and turned on the flirty charm.

  “Really?” he said with a big grin.

  “I wanted to ask you some things about the investigation of Edie Spaghazzi’s death.” I watched as his cocky smile deflated, a little. “I realized that the door to her room was locked when we got there, so I wondered how somebody got in. And was there a sign of a struggle?”

  His grin ramped up again. “This is for your Nancy Drew business, huh?” He seemed to be considering what to say for a moment before he continued. “You really don’t need to worry about the case. Lieutenant Borgnine was a big-city investigator before he came here. I’m sure he has all the bases covered.” I thought he was going to end it there and not give me any info, but he shrugged to himself and talked on. “But I suppose there’s no reason you can’t know.” He glanced up and down the street and seemed concerned. “It’s kind of confidential, though. I’m not sure we should be discussing this out in the street.” He nodded toward my place with a question in his eye.

  I wanted the information, so I guessed I was going to have to play his game. He followed me up the driveway and into the guesthouse. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he unabashedly began checking out the place. The way he looked around, you’d think it was a crime scene. He caught me staring at him. “Sorry for being so nosy, but I was curious to see what your aunt did with the space, since my garage is similar.”

  “No mirrors on the ceiling here,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. But since he’d offered me spaghetti at his place, it seemed rude not to offer him something, particularly since I wanted to pick his brain. “So how about some coffee or something?” I said as he moved his snooping to what went for a kitchen.

  “I see Joan put in an all-in-one unit.”

  “Is that what it’s called?” I said, watching as he opened every door on what I called my kitchen. It was very compact but had all the essentials and according to him was actually all connected. There was a counter with a refrigerator below it, a small stove on one end, a sink in the middle, two cabinets above and a microwave mounted over the counter area. I had brought in a three-level cart to hold my baking equipment, which seemed an odd mix with the stripped-down kitchen.

  “For someone who does all that cooking, you don’t have much in the way of supplies,” he said as he opened the cabinets.

  “Baking. I do baking. And I don’t do most of it here,” I said.

  He opened the refrigerator, saying he was curious how much it held. When he opened the freezer compartment, he pulled out a frozen entrée. “You eat frozen dinners?”

  “I don’t have the way with tomato sauce you do,” I said, taking the ziti entrée out of his hand and putting it back in before shutting the door.

  “Would you like some coffee and oatmeal?” I said, finally. I opened the cabinet and took out a box of instant oatmeal, and he wrinkled his nose.

  “Cooking the real stuff only takes a few minutes longer,” he said. He grabbed my hand and led me back toward the door. “I’ll answer any questions you want, but over a decent breakfast.”

  Was I really letting him take me back to his place? Anything to get the necessary information.

  We went in through his kitchen. Whatever had gone on the night before, he’d cleared up the evidence. Not a dirty dish in the sink or a soaking pot on the stove. It was surprising how homey his kitchen was for a guy, and a party hardy guy at that. He refused my offer of help and told me to sit at the table.

  Within a few minutes, he’d made oatmeal from scratch, coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice. He set a bowl of the steamy cereal in front of me. I was surprised to see it dotted with butter and sprinkled with walnuts and raisins. He picked up a bottle on the table and drizzled a little maple syrup over the top, announcing as he did that it was the real kind that came from trees.

  “How’d you become such an accomplished cook and homemaker?” I asked, gesturing toward his well-appointed kitchen.

  “Is that the question you wanted to ask me?” he said in a teasing voice as he slid into the seat next to me.

  I rocked my head with frustration. Why was he making this so hard? I rolled my eyes at him, and he laughed and urged me to eat while the oatmeal was hot. It was delicious, so delicious I was tempted to swoon as I ate it, but I didn’t, sure that he would take that as some kind of response to his company.

  “So, what’s the information you want?” he said as I scraped the last of the oatmeal from the bowl.

  I debated whether I should tell him about the list of things to consider Frank had given me but decided to leave it out. Why tell him any more than I had to? I’d already spent too much time. Now it was just get the information and get out of there. Even if the coffee was delicious and the strong brew just what my brain needed.

  “I noticed that the door to Edie’s room was locked when I got there . . .”

  “And you want to know how we think the killer got in,” he said. I noticed that he’d begun to say we, even if the real investigator was Lieutenant Borgnine. “There was no sign of forced entry, so it looks like Ms. Spaghazzi let the person in.”

  “Do you know if Lieutenant Borgnine thinks she struggled with the assailant?” I was pretty impressed with my word choice. It made me sound almost professional. Dane reacted with a grin on his angular face.

  “You’re getting the terms down, huh? No, it doesn’t seem like she struggled. The only thing we found under her fingernails was yarn fibers from her knitting.” He paused as though he was thinking about saying more.

  “And . . . ?” I encouraged.

  “And it’s kind of odd, because the natural tendency when someone puts a pillow over your face is to fight.”

  “How about this? She was so out of it from the wine and sleeping pills, she didn’t know what was happening to her?”

  Dane seemed a little perturbed. “A possibility. You might be getting carried away with this Nancy Drew stuff.”

  “What about the knitting needles?” I tried to sound very casual. “Any idea where they came from?”

  “Nancy, you’re falling down on the job. The woman was there for your knitting retreat. There was a cloth bag in her room with yarn and several sets of needles.” He waited a beat for emphasis. “Ta-da, I think it seems like a safe deduction they were he
rs and the killer just helped themselves.”

  So, he didn’t know that Lieutenant Borgnine wasn’t so sure that the needles had belonged to Edie. Or was it part of some setup? “Don’t you cops have some kind of gut reaction that points you to who did it?” I said. It was an attempt to see if they had Olivia in their sights. He pushed his empty bowl away and picked up his mug.

  “I’m not sure I should disclose that,” he said.

  I tried all the hair twirling and eyelash batting I could muster, but he didn’t budge, and I was running out of time. I started to take my bowl and juice glass to the sink, but he told me he’d take care of it, and I thanked him for the breakfast.

  Realizing he’d never answered my question about how he’d learned his homemaking skills, I brought it up again. But he just changed the subject.

  “You showed me yours,” he said, vaguely gesturing in the direction of my place. “I’d be glad to show you mine.” His garage studio was clearly visible through the window over the sink. “I have mirrors all over the place, and the whole floor is soft and cushy.”

  Eewww!

  17

  AFTER LEAVING DANE’S I’D GRABBED A SHORT NAP and a fast shower. When I came outside, I looked around for the black cat, but there was no sign of it. Even so, I set down a dish with some yogurt just in case it came by. As I sprinted across the street, I saw the van from Channel 3 pulling up outside the gate to Vista Del Mar. The same reporter I’d seen on TV the night before jumped out and stepped in front of me as I tried to pass. Her cameraman got out of the other side with his camera loaded on his shoulder.

  “Could I have a word?” she said. She was doing a good job of blocking my path, and I didn’t have much of a choice. The wheels in my head were whirring with everything I shouldn’t say. When she asked me my name, I almost said, “No comment.”

  “Everybody is being very close-lipped about the investigation,” the reporter said after she’d gotten my name. “Can you tell us what the mood is like inside Vista Del Mar? Are the guests worried there is a killer on the loose?”