Yarn to Go

by Betty Hechtman

  I was on my own.

  I looked around the kitchen with the idea of arming myself. Tag’s favorite perfectly seasoned cast-iron skillet was sitting on the stove. It was certainly heavy enough to do some damage, but it was also heavy to hold. Even so, I grabbed it with both hands.

  I lifted it high and stepped into the dining room, ready to defend the restaurant. At the same moment, the door flew open and I saw the hooded figure had a gun. I made a move to strike and he yelled something, but I didn’t hear it. The adrenaline was pumping, and I was like a crazed warrior.

  The frying pan came down with a whoosh and knocked the gun out of the assailant’s hands. Now what? Should I make a grab for the gun and then hold it on him while I called the cops? I didn’t know anything about guns, but I certainly could figure out which end to point at him. All this thinking happened in a split second, and I dove for the gun, but he was faster and grabbed my hand and pulled it back, while he retrieved the weapon.

  I tried to make a move with the skillet, but he kicked it out of my hand. He dragged me back to standing as he straightened and then flipped off the hood.

  Dane?

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. His voice sounded strained, and I realized adrenaline had been pumping for him, too. And I thought cops were so cool that nothing fazed them. “And what’s with the frying pan? You could have made the gun go off.” He picked up the heavy utensil and laid it on the counter by the cash register.

  “The real question is, what are you doing here waving a gun around? I work here, remember?” I said.

  “I wasn’t waving my gun around, at least not until you went crazy with the frying pan. And you weren’t supposed to be working this weekend.”

  We both stopped and took a few deep breaths and let the adrenaline level drop for both of us.

  “I know because the whole town has been grumbling about being muffinless for the past few days,” he said, finally cracking a smile on his angular face.

  “Tag Thornkill was upset about serving store-bought ice cream, and I came in as sort of an emergency cake situation.” I looked toward the kitchen and thought of the half-filled tube pan. “Aren’t you off duty?” I gestured toward the jeans, black T-shirt and black hoodie. I didn’t mean to notice, but he could sure wear a pair of jeans, and when he took off the sweat jacket, the sleeves of the T-shirt strained against his arm muscles. I know it wasn’t fair, but I compared his body with Dr. Sammy’s. Sammy had him on height by a few inches, but let’s just say the sleeves on Sammy’s polo shirts (he never wore T-shirts unless you counted the white undershirts he often wore) never had any problem getting around his biceps.

  “I’m never off duty, completely. I was going by in the truck and I saw something moving up here and figured someone was robbing the place.” Dane had assumed a cocky sort of stance. I had the feeling a quarter would bounce off his abs. Any money dropped on Sammy’s midsection was likely to disappear. But there was a certain cuddly quality in Sammy’s panda bear build.

  While I was busy sizing up his outfit and body, he went on to explain that he’d been on his way out of town, making a grocery run to the twenty-four-hour market in Monterey.

  “I thought you were tied up with your people in the studio.” I blushed when I realized what I’d said. Did they really do stuff like that? Tie each other up and make interesting uses of his handcuffs? Ewww.

  Dane seemed unconcerned with my comment. “We broke up early tonight. Though I think some of them were going to continue on their own. All the action made everyone hungry, and they cleaned out my place before they left. I don’t know what it is with those people and chocolate syrup—”

  “What about Chloe?” I said. I didn’t really want to hear the rest of the chocolate syrup story.

  “She left a long time ago. She’s not into group stuff.”

  “I don’t really need all the details,” I said quickly. It was hard for me to keep my “ewww” silent. “Now that everything is straightened out,” I said, looking toward the kitchen, “I need to finish.” I expected him to put the hoodie back on and leave, but instead he dropped the sweat jacket on a chair and followed me.

  “Mind if I watch?” He looked to me for an okay. I wasn’t used to having an audience, but then again I might get some information on how the investigation was going. And I wanted to ask him about something.

  Before we were even in the kitchen, he brought up the broken glasses. “I’ll replace them,” I said. “I’ll get you a whole new set.” He asked again why I was concerned about my fingerprints being collected, and I gave him a helpless shrug as an answer. I don’t think he was happy with my response, but he seemed to understand that was as much of an answer as he was going to get.

  I finished pouring the rest of the batter in the tube pans, while he replaced the cast-iron skillet on the stove.

  “There really isn’t much to watch,” I said. I checked the oven thermometer and then slid the pans in. He grabbed the timer, and when I told him how long, set it.

  “What about muffins?” he asked.

  “The ingredients are in there,” I said, pointing to the reusable grocery bag on the counter. Before I could make a move, he was unloading everything.

  He looked at the cocoa and chocolate chips and licked his lips. “Are you making Heal the World with Chocolate? My favorite.” By now the baking pound cakes filled the air with their sweet buttery fragrance, and Dane took a deep breath and sighed with pleasure. “What a great smell.”

  As I began to mix the ingredients for the muffins, I brought up the other car accident I’d read about in the newspaper article, the one that happened the same day as my aunt’s hit-and-run. “What do you think? Could that have been how you missed finding the car that hit her?” I said.

  He appeared a little stunned by the abrupt transition but then clicked into cop mode and seemed uncomfortable. “Uh, this is awkward,” he said. “We should have checked for any other accidents.” He apologized and said he’d make sure they tracked down the car from that accident at the Sandwich King. He caught my gaze. “I know you’re still upset about your aunt’s accident, but you need to let go.”

  “But what if it wasn’t an accident?” I said.

  Dane seemed doubtful. “Who could possibly have wanted to kill your aunt?” There was a moment of uneasy silence before he changed the subject and asked what I was doing.

  I poured the liquid ingredients into the dry ones and explained that with muffins you stirred just enough to barely blend them. When I glanced up at Dane, he was watching me with interest. I suppose his square-jawed face might look stubborn, but his dark eyes seemed to connect, and he had a nice mouth. Why was I looking at his mouth, anyway? This was Mr. Party Hardy. Off-limits, not interested. Maybe his mouth wasn’t so special after all. Maybe it was just a regulation set of lips.

  Dane helped by lining the muffin pan with paper inserts. I spooned the batter in all the cups and put them into an oven separate from the one baking the cakes.

  Dane offered to help me with the cleanup.

  “Really?” I said.

  “Really. You’ve had kind of a tough weekend. It’s the neighborly thing to do.” I filled a sink with hot soapy water, and he rounded up the bowls and utensils. “So then were those people your parents?” he asked as I began to wash and he handled the rinsing and setting on the counter.

  “I bet it took a lot of cop skills to figure that out.”

  “Yeah, lots of investigation. Your mother looks just like you.”

  “But that’s where the resemblance ends.” I told him both my parents were doctors and were less than thrilled with my careers choices.

  “Why? What else have you done?” he asked. Why hide anything? Besides, I was leaving. I gave him the whole rundown of my assorted professions.

  He blinked a few times as I went through the list. “It sounds like you have ce
rtainly sown your wild oats in the career department.”

  “Maybe it’s not in the past tense,” I said.

  “What does that mean?” Dane took the soapy spatula from my hand and ran it under the water.

  I told him about my parents’ offer.

  “It must be nice to have parents who care like that,” he said. When I asked about his family, he just shrugged it off. “So then this is just another thing you’re dropping and moving on from?”

  “I’m not dropping anything. I’d be going to school to become a professional.”

  “Really?” he said. “I thought the definition for professional was that you got paid for it.” He gestured toward the ovens. “Unless I’m mistaken, the dessert and muffin money is how you’re supporting yourself.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I am sort of already a professional. But why stay? My aunt had friends here and she had built up the retreat business. I just put on this one because I couldn’t refund everyone’s money. And there was a murder in the middle of it. What kind of retreat leader am I? I barely know how to knit.” I could feel him watching me, and my eyes started to flash. “I know what you’re thinking. Go on and say it. I don’t finish things.”

  “We finished washing up the dishes,” he said, trying to lighten the moment. I paused to see if he was going to leave, but he made no move to go.

  “So, that guy. Is he your boyfriend?” Dane pulled out a drawer and replaced the clean utensils.

  “Yes, no. He was, but he isn’t anymore,” I said, feeling uncomfortable talking about Sammy. I didn’t want to talk about my personal life anymore. It was much easier to talk about the murder investigation. “Do you think that Lieutenant Borgnine will have it wrapped up by tomorrow?” I asked.

  “You do know about the tip he got,” Dane said.

  I nodded and then asked who it had come from. When he said an anonymous source, I asked if it was a man or woman. “All Lieutenant Borgnine said was that it was an anonymous source.”

  “Lieutenant Borgnine isn’t really going to arrest Olivia Golden?”

  Dane looked away. “I can’t really say. All I can tell you is that the lieutenant isn’t doing anything until he has some hard evidence that ties her to the murder.”

  “Like maybe when she smothered Edie, she got some throw up on her clothes?” I offered. He nodded in a noncommittal manner. “Maybe you should have a look at some other people’s clothes. You know that Kevin St. John wasn’t exactly a fan of Edie’s. He seemed perturbed when she asked about his social life. I bet he knew about Olivia’s sleeping pills. I don’t think anything gets past him. You do know that he served the wine that night?”

  Dane put his hand up to stop me. “Kevin St. John a murderer? I don’t think so.”

  “Wait, there’s more.” I told him how the hotel manager wanted to make sure he got to handle the retreat business in the future. I had even figured out why. The Delacorte sisters had made a very favorable deal with my aunt on the price of the rooms and the meeting space, so she could keep the cost of the retreats reasonable. “If Kevin St. John takes over the retreats, he can jack up the prices.”

  Dane nodded and said something like “interesting.” I thought he was just humoring me.

  “You ought to tell Lieutenant Borgnine to question someone named Michael who is staying at Vista Del Mar. He had something going on with the victim.”

  “Seriously?” Dane said. “I don’t think the lieutenant would take the suggestion well.” The timer for the cakes went off and Dane helped me pull out the tube pans and set them on racks to cool.

  “Remember how you asked who would want to kill my aunt? Maybe it was all about a way for Kevin St. John to get the retreats back. And then when I showed up, he started to worry I was going to take over her business. Having a murder during my first weekend wouldn’t earn me a gold star with the Delacorte sisters. I’m sure he wasted no time in telling them about it and made it look like it was my fault, hoping they would cancel the deal they made with my aunt.”

  Dane seemed unconvinced. “Everyone in town knows he thinks of himself as the lord of Vista Del Mar, and he is certainly protective of the place. But murdering somebody to make you look bad? I think you might just be a little paranoid.” He watched as I took the muffin tins out and set them on racks to cool. “But I will mention it to Lieutenant Borgnine,” he said.

  By now I was able to take the pound cakes out of their pans. I did some final cleanup until the cakes were cool enough to decorate.

  Dane watched as I laid the doily on one of the cakes and used a sifter to sprinkle powdered sugar over the top. When I lifted the doily, there was a lovely lacy white pattern. I finished with the other cakes and then packed up the muffins to go. I thanked Dane for his help and handed him his own bag of muffins.

  He waited until I locked up the restaurant, and we paused for a moment on the sidewalk in front of it. The main street was deserted, and the stop light flashed red for no one. By now the drizzle had lightened into mist. I wondered if Dane had paid much attention to my comments about Kevin St. John or merely attributed them to me being overwrought and tired.

  “Well, I guess this is good night. Thanks for the muffins,” he said. He’d dropped the cocky stance, and his smile was more genuine than teasing. The tiny droplets of water had settled on his wavy dark hair, reflecting back the streetlights. He hesitated for a moment before he gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze.

  “Thanks.” He held up the packet of muffins. “Are you really going to walk out on Cadbury tomorrow—I mean today?” he said, after glancing at his watch. “A lot of coffee drinkers are going to be lost without one of your morning muffins.”

  I started to soften at his flattery, but then he went and ruined it. “I was hoping you’d stay around long enough to join the group in the studio at least once. It’s fully equipped—everything for your safety and comfort.”

  Right, I thought flashing on the box of condoms and stack of women’s clothes. Before I could comment, he got into his red truck and drove toward Monterey and the all-night market.

  Ewww.

  26

  I FINALLY WENT HOME AND FELL INTO AN exhausted heap on my bed, still fully dressed. But I’d left three golden pound cakes in the clear-covered pedestals. They looked simple but elegant with the lacy powdered sugar design. And at least part of Cadbury was no longer totally muffinless. I’d left a basket of freshly baked Heal the World with Chocolate muffins outside the door to the gift shop and kept a basket of them for my group. The powers that be might nix the cute names, but that would still be their name to me, and apparently to Dane as well.

  I awoke to my phone ringing.

  “Casey, are you okay?” Lucinda sounded concerned. I sat up quickly and took in my surroundings and the fact I was still wearing my Saturday night outfit of gray slacks and a black turtleneck, with a residue of powdered sugar. Lucinda continued talking as I stretched and tried to acclimate myself.

  When I got a look at my watch, I understood the call and her tone of voice. It was after nine and the breakfast bell at Vista Del Mar had long since rung.

  “I’m doing my best to handle the group, but everyone got a little nervous when you didn’t show up.”

  As we spoke, I was already moving across the room, pulling out a fresh set of clothes before heading toward the shower.

  “It’s all my fault. I should have never told you that Tag was upset about the dessert situation. That man is so literal. Did anyone even object that the ice cream sundaes were made with ingredients from the Cadbury market?”

  I cut in and told her about the cakes. “Casey, you are the best. I knew we were making the right decision when we hired you as our dessert chef.” She paused a moment and then her voice dropped. “I understand the lure of Paris and cooking school, but I don’t know what the restaurant is going to do without you. Or what I’m going to do without you. You�
��re the only one I can be honest with about everything.”

  I felt a little choked up by her comments. Even though I’d claimed not to have made a decision about going, it seemed like everyone else knew I was. It had always been so easy to move on before. I ended the call by telling her I’d be there before the end of breakfast.

  I was out the door in barely ten minutes. I rushed across the street into Vista Del Mar. No surprise, the sky was white and the light flat. The feeling was different as I went toward the dining hall. I noticed that people were already packing up their cars. Well, I’d almost made it through the retreat. Just a few more hours and it would be done. As for solving Edie’s murder—maybe I was going to have to face it that I was full of hot air. Just my usual MO of leaving unfinished business.

  I passed Kris’s SUV and saw she hadn’t packed it yet. I knew she was anxious to leave, which made me extra grateful that she had agreed to stay for an additional workshop after lunch. I was convinced that Kevin St. John had only agreed to let everybody check out late and had given us the meeting room for the afternoon to try to generate goodwill for his future retreats. One thing I knew for sure: Any event he managed would never have any heart in it. What would Kevin St. John do if he got a retreater like Bree? Was there even the slightest chance that he would help her over a rough spot?

  When I passed another cluster of parked cars, I saw the lanky figure wearing the baseball cap whom I recognized as Edie’s “friend” Michael with no last name. He was loading a suitcase and briefcase into the back of his black Prius. He closed the back and was heading toward the driver’s door. Was he leaving?

  It seemed wrong to let him go without some shot at talking to him. Thanks to Dr. Sammy I already knew the basics and that Michael had a motive to kill Edie.

  I caught up with him and made some lame comment about the weather. He nodded in a noncommittal fashion, but at least he stopped. Now to stall until I figured a way to get him to give away his secrets.