“What do you want me to tell them?” Lucinda said, apparently thinking I was serious about hiding out.
“Nothing,” I said, rocking my head in capitulation. “I’m a big girl and can deal with this.”
Lucinda offered to be my support, but I said I had to deal with them myself. I was grateful when she offered to go on ahead and meet up with the retreat group in the dining hall.
We walked across the street together and into the grounds and went our separate ways. Lucinda looked back and gave me a thumbs-up for encouragement.
“Here she is, Babs,” I heard my father say as I walked into the Lodge building. The three of them were in the small sitting area but got up when I approached. Sammy walked around my parents and got to me first. He had his hands behind his back, but when he reached out to hug me, he was holding a bouquet of roses. Real roses—not the fake flowers he used in his illusion.
“Good trick,” I said as he pressed the bouquet on me.
“The trick is, it’s not really a trick,” he said with a happy laugh. There was something teddy bearish about his build, and when he hugged me, he towered over the top of my head. I recognized the familiar scent of Pierre Cardin cologne he always wore.
Didn’t he get that we’d broken up? He seemed so happy to see me, it made me want to cry. Lots of women would be thrilled to have him after them. He was a good catch. Good job, not the kind of guy who would cheat. I had no doubt he would be a good father. He was funny, too. How many times had I been feeling lost about my life, only to have him start telling me funny stories until I forgot all about it? But even with all that, I didn’t want him. Could it possibly be because my mother had pushed so hard for him?
I refused to believe I was that childish. I was sure there was something else that kept me from falling into his arms.
“Mr. St. John said one of the people on your aunt Joan’s retreat died. Actually, he said she was murdered,” my mother said with a heavy sigh. “Casey, I don’t know why you went through with the retreat in the first place. You should have just canceled the whole thing to begin with. You could have told them about Joan’s death. You know, if you had just asked your father and me, we would have given you the money so you could have given them all refunds. What do you know about putting on a retreat?” My mother stepped closer to me and dropped her voice. “So, you think it was someone in your group who did it?”
“Mother,” I said in the hopeless tone I’d heard both Sissy and Crystal use to their mothers. Nobody knew how to find your sensitive spot better than your mother. “I have it under control,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
The three of them looked at one another, and my father was chosen as the spokesperson. “Honey, your mother was worried that you were going off on a tangent again. We thought it best that we talk in person.” My father at least was dressed casually in a pair of khaki slacks and a polo shirt with a sports jacket. He reached in his pocket, took out a cherry lollipop and pressed it in my hand. Even with all the talk about sugar being evil, my pediatrician father had always carried a pocketful of lollipops to give to his patients and me, ever since I’d been a kid. About the sugar thing, he thought moderation was the watchword. It was impossible for my mother to go casual.
You had to understand that shopping and clothes weren’t of interest to her. She had a personal shopper who would have an array of pantsuits ready when my mother came in. There were work pantsuits, dressy pantsuits, and maybe the tan one she was wearing was supposed to be a sporty pantsuit. She kept her dark brown hair short in a style that required little attention. The only personal touch to her appearance were dangle earrings. She chose them to reflect her mood. Today’s were little lightning bolts, which reminded me of a piece of jewelry connected to Elvis Presley. He’d said it meant taking care of business, which was exactly what my mother had in mind.
I was glad I hadn’t changed out of the gray slacks and black turtleneck. At least I looked kind of businesslike.
“Oh, Ned, we don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to the point,” my mother said. I didn’t really want them to get to the point, at least not that quickly. I was still recovering from the fact they were there. I offered them dinner in the dining hall.
“I suppose we could have dinner here if that’s what you want,” my mother said, looking around at the rustic surroundings. “We’re staying at one of the resorts in Pebble Beach. We thought we would take you to dinner there.” Of course they were staying there. Pebble Beach was all fancy resorts with gourmet restaurants and world-famous golf courses.
“I can’t just leave my people,” I said, suddenly feeling very protective of Vista Del Mar and its more primitive setting. As I said it, Bree walked through the large room that functioned as a lobby for the hotel and conference center. She had her cell phone stuck to her ear, but when she saw me, she got off her call.
“My boys called me,” she said in an excited voice. “And thank you again for last night. I know I was being silly, but if you hadn’t sat with me, I never would have fallen asleep.”
I watched the effect Bree’s comments had on my mother. She looked surprised and a little worried. As soon as Bree went on to the dining hall, my mother shook her head. “Tell me you’re not going to try to take on your aunt’s retreat business. You told us it was just this one. Mr. St. John said he would be only too happy to carry on Joan’s tradition and put on future yarn-related retreats himself. He said he needed some papers from you.”
“So this is some kind of intervention?” I said.
“We can discuss it over dinner,” my mother said. “In this dining hall place, if that’s what you want.”
I wanted to stay on my turf, and led the way out of the Lodge to Sea Foam. I was glad the line had already moved inside the dining hall. Kevin St. John must have thought my parents were allies in his quest to get all the paperwork, because he insisted on comping their meals. I waved to the group at our usual table and by their sympathetic looks figured that Lucinda had told them who I was with.
We chose a table far from the crowd in a quiet corner. Just as I was going to sit down, I noticed that Michael had come in and was surveying the tables. It was the perfect chance to ask Lucinda and Melissa if he was the man they’d seen with Edie. I started to get up from the table.
“I have to take care of something,” I said. My mother eyed me with that all-too-knowing look. The unspoken message was she knew I was trying to run away. I could only imagine her reaction if I said I was investigating Edie’s death.
“I’m sure it can wait,” she said, and I sat back in my seat.
Sammy sensed an awkward moment and went off to get his food, though it seemed like mostly what he did was entertain everyone with silly tricks and his friendly manner.
My mother watched him. “As soon as Sammy heard we were coming to talk to you, he asked to come along. I hope you realize how much he cares about you.” I answered with a dismissive wave of my hand. My mother didn’t understand. Everything I’d said about things being all very nice, but not very good with Sammy was only part of it. I was really doing Sammy a favor. I had trouble sticking with things . . . and maybe people, too.
“Let’s just get to why you’re here, so we can get it over with,” I said.
Some discussion went on between my parents as to who should tell me “the plan.” My mother must have said five times, “Ned, you talk to her. She’ll listen if it’s coming from you.”
Did they think I was six? Like I couldn’t hear them arguing. Finally, I just stepped in and ordered my mother to tell me whatever it was.
“Your father and I talked it over. Since you seem to have such an interest in baking, we thought you should become a real professional. So, we’re here to offer you cooking school in Paris.” She took a folder out of her bag and pushed it across the table. I let it sit there a moment, then my curiosity got the better of me and I opened it.
During my mother’s deliberate moment of silence when everything she said was supposed to sink in, Dane marched into the dining hall. He roared through the room like a ball of energy. I was stunned when he made his way directly to our table and me.
“What’s with coming over and breaking my dishes?” he said.
“It was a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll get you some new glasses.”
“So why did you do it?” He was standing his ground, and I got the impression he wasn’t going to leave until I gave him some kind of explanation. What possible excuse could I come up with on such short notice? All I could do was tell the truth.
“I thought you were trying to get my fingerprints off the glass.”
Dane shook his head in confusion. “Why would I want to do that? Besides, if I was trying to get your fingerprints, why would I put the glass in the dishwasher?”
He definitely had a point. But when I smashed the glasses, I wasn’t exactly thinking things through. Dane was still staring at me, as was everyone else. I certainly didn’t want to go into my call with Frank and my frantic thinking.
“I’m sorry, it was a mistake,” I said in a low voice, hoping he would drop it and leave.
At last, Dane threw up his hands and left, just as Sammy came back to the table carrying a plate of food. He joined my parents in watching Dane go out the door.
“Who’s he?” Sammy said.
“That’s a good question,” my mother said. “And why are you concerned about your fingerprints?”
“Just a misunderstanding,” I said, avoiding my mother’s gaze and very glad that Dane hadn’t been in uniform. “Why don’t I go and get dinner for you two?” I said, getting ready to push back my chair, but my mother put her hand on my arm.
“In a minute,” my mother said. “Mr. St. John offered to take over this weekend retreat. You could leave with us right now.” She leveled her gaze at me. “What difference will it make to your group? It’s not as though you’re a knitter. In fact, the idea of you running a knitting retreat is kind of absurd.”
“Your mother has a point,” my father said. “My sister started knitting when she was a kid. I remember when she dragged the family to some sheep-shearing competition and wanted to get a spinning wheel. She was always teaching someone how to knit. She thought it was some kind of cure-all to whatever your problem was.” My mother looked underimpressed as he spoke, which changed to eye rolling when he mentioned that my aunt had tried to teach my mother to knit. “Joan thought your mother making a scarf would keep her grounded.”
I wish I’d been a fly on the wall for that one.
He gave me a sympathetic nod. “Joan would have appreciated that you wanted to handle this final retreat, but there’s no reason for you to stay now. Particularly with the murder.”
“Walk away now, honey,” my mother said.
Uh-oh, my mother had pulled out the big guns; she’d called me honey. So far Sammy had been staying out of the conversation, but now he jumped in.
“Case, your parents are right. You don’t belong here.” He waved his hand in the direction of the dining hall, and I expected something to magically appear, but this time it was just a gesture. It made me laugh that he called me Case. How was one letter really shortening my name?
“I found a French cooking school in Chicago,” Sammy interjected.
My father noticed me glancing in the direction of my aunt’s house. “We can get people to take care of liquidating Joan’s house and the contents. Mr. St. John already offered to help handle it. You can just go pack up a few things and come with us to Pebble Beach and we can all fly home together on Monday.”
“Think about it, Casey. After cooking school, no more of this baking in the middle of the night. You’d be wearing one of those white coats with your name embroidered on it.” My mother didn’t say it, but I knew she was thinking I’d be a professional something.
Finally they stopped, and both my parents looked at me, waiting for some kind of response. “Did I hear you right? This time you are trying to get me to quit something?” I was incredulous. “All the flak I got for leaving law school, and giving up teaching and now you want me to walk out in the middle of this retreat and my job as a dessert chef and muffin provider?”
My mother looked a little uncomfortable but then nodded. “Sometimes quitting something is the right thing to do.”
I was stunned by their offer. Cooking school in Paris? Wow. It would be a game changer. I agreed to think about the cooking school offer, but told them there was no way I was walking out on the retreat.
“Now let me get you dinner,” I said. I went off to the cafeteria line and came back with two plates of steaming food. My parents were gone, and only Sammy was still at the table.
22
“WHERE’D MY PARENTS GO?” I SAID, SETTING THE plates on the table.
Sammy pulled out the chair next to him. “They went to the gift shop to look for postcards,” he said. “You know that your mother took your answer about the cooking school as a yes.”
“You’re kidding,” I said, wishing she were still there so I could set her straight. I slid into the chair and put one of the plates of fried chicken and mashed potatoes in front of me, though I didn’t feel much like eating. “How’d they hook you into coming?”
“They said you were in trouble.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I know we’re supposed to be broken up, but I thought I might be able to help.”
Did he have to be such a nice guy? The truth was I was kind of glad to see him. I knew he really, really liked me, and he was comfortable to be around.
“What’s with the guy with the broken dishes?” he said. His smile had faded into almost a pout. I knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if there was something going on between me and Dane. Ha! Not likely with the crowd of women around him and his orgy studio. I touched Sammy’s arm and thanked him for coming before explaining that Dane was a neighbor and a cop. “And not anything to me besides that,” I said. I heard Sammy let his breath out in relief.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. The truth was I’d missed him, too, but since I couldn’t give him what he wanted, the kindest thing to do was say nothing and leave him free to hopefully meet some nice woman. I stopped my train of thought. Was I really that noble? No. Probably not.
“So you’re not the least bit worried staying here with some murderer on the loose?” Sammy said. He looked out into the darkness through the tall windows. “This place looks pretty creepy to me.”
I wouldn’t tell my parents about looking into Edie’s murder, but Sammy was different. “I’m not worried. In fact I’m kind of looking into it myself.” I reminded him that I’d worked at the detective agency.
“Case, that was for a few weeks, and didn’t they mostly handle cheating spouses and insurance fraud?”
“Maybe they did, but I learned a few tricks while I was there, and my former boss is kind of advising me. Frank said I had a way of getting people to talk.” As I was talking to Sammy, I noticed that Michael was sitting at a table alone. “See that guy over there,” I said, discreetly gesturing toward Michael. “I’d really like to use my skills on him.” I shrugged dejectedly. “The trouble is, he already knows there’s a connection between me and the victim, so there’s no way he’s going to open up to me now.”
“Do you think he killed her?” Sammy was gazing at him intently now, though Michael was facing away from us.
“Here are the facts. Edie, that’s
the victim’s name, was married but might have been seeing a man when she came to the yarn retreats. But the cops don’t know anything about him. I don’t think they’ve even questioned him.”
“So what do you want to know?” Sammy asked, keeping his eye on the guy.
“Well, what I’d really like to know is if he killed her, but I doubt he’d admit that. So, I guess I want to know if he saw her that night and what exactly was going on between them.”
Sammy’s face lit up in an enthusiastic smile. “Maybe I could talk to him. He would just think I was a stranger. Another lone guy staying here.” I was going to protest, but Sammy talked on. “People talk to me, too,” he said. “All those guys coming in for prescriptions for the little blue pill are always nervous and talk their heads off to me. Let me have a go.”
Why not? I watched as Sammy went to the man’s table and pulled out the chair next to him. Most of the diners had finished and were leaving. The retreat table had cleared out except for Lucinda. When she saw me sitting alone, she came over and joined me. The first thing I did was point out Michael and ask if he was the one she’d seen Edie eating with.
My friend shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. I wish I’d paid more attention.” But what she really wanted to know was what was going on with Sammy and my parents. I told her about their offer.
“Are you taking them up on it?”
I played with the mashed potatoes on my untouched plate. “My first thought was to absolutely say no, but it was a knee-jerk reaction because they were offering it. But then I started to think about it. Paris, cooking school, learning how to make croissants so it’s so second nature I could do it with my eyes closed.” I let out a sigh. “I’d be a professional chef,” I said.
Lucinda leaned over and hugged me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Or what the restaurant would do without you. Our dessert business would die without your fabulous baking. You do know that people come in and order their dessert before they order their meal because we run out all the time. I could talk to Tag and see if we could up what we’re paying you.”
Yarn to Go Page 18
