Yarn to Go

by Betty Hechtman

  “It’s kind of harsh thinking your kids are traitors,” Sissy said. “He is their father.”

  Melissa gave her daughter a disapproving glance. “I understand completely,” the mother said. “You feel left out in the cold by all of them. But you have us.” Lucinda and Scott stepped closer and each put an arm around her and said they were glad she’d finally shared what was bothering her with us. The end result was that Olivia finally smiled.

  “Thank heavens for all of you,” she said as she got up. “You got me through this weekend.”

  When we were back on the hotel grounds, I let them all go on to get ready for lunch. I’d already told them I was skipping the meal.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll act as host,” Lucinda said, staying back as the others moved on. “You did a great job with Olivia’s meltdown. Joan would be pleased.” She took Kevin St. John’s brochure from her pocket and, making a face, dropped it in a trash can. “He can count me out of his retreats.” Lucinda chuckled in disbelief. “I’d rather spend the time with Tag, watching him measure how far the plates are set from the edge of the table.” She looked at me. “You did a great job, you know.”

  “Really?” I said, surprised. “One of the members got killed. I was clueless about yarn crafts or how to run a retreat. The only thing I can say is that I did manage to stick it out to the end and Edie’s killer seems to have been caught.”

  “Ah, but you put your heart into it. I think you have a natural talent. Maybe you inherited it from your aunt.”

  I thought I was going to cry.

  28

  MY EX, SAMMY, WAS IN DEEP CONCENTRATION looking at a magazine when I found him in the seating area of the main building. I stood behind him and glanced down at the magazine, curious about what he was so interested in. He must have sensed my presence, because he suddenly looked up.

  “I was just doing one of those puzzles while I waited.” He held up the page and showed me the two side-by-side photos of some celebrity and his dog.

  “Why did they put in two of the same photos?” I said, and Sammy’s face lit up.

  “You just think they are the same,” he said. He pointed to the game directions that said there were eight things that didn’t match. With this information, I studied the photos again. I was about to say I didn’t see any differences when Sammy pointed to the shorts the guy was wearing. In one of the pictures, they were longer. How could I have missed that? Now I was hooked and stood over him until I’d found all eight things.

  “And now when I look at it, the differences are so obvious,” I said. Sammy got up and we walked to the door and then across to my place.

  “You’re really nice to help me pack,” I said. He flinched at the words as we got to my door.

  “Could you call me something besides nice?” he said. “It makes me sound about as exciting as a glass of warm milk.”

  “How about thoughtful?” I said as I opened the door.

  He shook his head. “That might even be worse. Thoughtful sounds like something your ancient uncle would be when, frail as he was, he still opened the door for you.”

  I laughed and nudged Dr. Sammy. “Why don’t you just pick your own word?”

  He seemed to be considering things for a moment. “How about just hot across the board. Whatever I do, it’s just hot. Or maybe even seriously hot.” I’d forgotten how playful and fun he could be, and we both were chuckling as we went inside.

  “This is where you’ve been living?” Sammy said, taking in the converted garage in one glance. “Well, at least you didn’t have to spend a lot of time with housekeeping.” He wiggled his eyebrows to show he was joking. Then he asked what he could do.

  “I can just throw my clothes in a suitcase later. I’m more concerned with some things in my aunt’s house.” Sammy followed me as I walked across the driveway to the back door.

  I was glad to have his company, because I still felt all emotional about my aunt’s belongings.

  He checked out the kitchen. “This is more like it.” He touched the drying herbs that by now had become a little too dry. “Did you do this?” I explained it was all Joan’s doing. “Then you left everything as is?” He opened the refrigerator at arm’s length as if he was expecting something terrible. He seemed relieved when it was empty.

  Sammy followed me as we went through the house. I kept pointing out all the things my aunt had made. “I want to take it all with me,” I said, picking up the afghan on the end of the sofa and her shawl still hanging on the chair. When we got to her office, my arms were full and I dropped everything as I reached for the crocheted lion on her desk.

  Sammy went to pick up the pile of handcrafted items. “Case, you can’t take all this stuff with you.” He set the armload of yarn-made items on the small love seat.

  I knew he was right, but the thought of leaving all the things she’d made was making my lip quiver, and I could feel tears welling up. I brushed back the emotion and pulled myself together.

  “You’re right. I’ll just take the lion and Joan’s shawl,” I said, gathering both. After that I just wanted to get out of there. On the way through the kitchen I saw the shopping bag with the things Joan had been wearing when she was hit. No way could I leave that. My hands were full, so Sammy got it for me.

  We got back to my place and I set everything down. “Case, you’ll probably be lonely in Paris. I found a great cooking school in Chicago,” Sammy said as he went to put down the shopping bag. Somehow it got upended and I heard the clatter of things hitting the tile floor.

  “Just leave it,” I said, deciding to ignore his comment about changing cooking schools. Sammy backed off with a shrug just as there was a knock at the door. I’d left it ajar, and after the knock, Dane, dressed in his midnight blue uniform, walked in.

  Dr. Sammy made some kind of noise between a sigh and whine as I said hello.

  “I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I shouldn’t have ignored your comment about the victim’s boyfriend being a suspect.”

  “That’s the guy I talked to, isn’t it?” Dr. Sammy said. I nodded and he turned to Dane. “Casey and I were working as a team. I was her Dr. Watson, or more correctly Dr. Glickner,” he said with a possessive smile as he stepped next to me.

  “Did Lieutenant Borgnine figure out whether it was Lou or Michael who killed Edie?”

  Dane totally ignored Dr. Sammy, focusing on me. “How about there’s no evidence that it was either of them and both of them are insisting they didn’t do it, but are trying to finger the other.”

  “I was hoping it had been settled. I don’t like leaving with loose ends hanging.”

  “Then don’t leave,” Dane said. He seemed to have forgotten that Dr. Sammy was even there. “Cadbury needs your muffins.” His radio squawked, and he attended to it as he went toward the door. He looked back before he walked out. “Think about it.” Then he left.

  “Geez, I didn’t realize that guy was a cop. You like him, don’t you?” Sammy said.

  I tried to shrug off his comment. “He’s just a neighbor. And let’s say his lifestyle isn’t my style.”

  Sammy had gotten mopey. “I wish I were different. Maybe some kind of CIA or Navy Seal type. You know, jumping into danger with only a pocketknife and my karate skills.”

  I looked to see if he was joking. I hoped he was joking. Actually, Sammy would probably make a good CIA guy. Nobody would ever suspect him.

  “Or at least if I could be like one of those steamy doctors on television. They’re having sex in a broom closet one minute and saving somebody’s life the next.” He sighed. “Everybody laughs when they hear my specialty, and then they say I bet you know a lot of bathroom jokes.”

  What could I do but stop thinking about my imminent departure. Call it for old times’ sake or whatever, but I spent the next five minutes giving him a pep talk.

  “You’re a hero to your pat
ients,” I said. “And being a good guy these days is so rare, you should be proud. And being a magician,” I added with a smile, “is the icing on the cake.” When he still didn’t seem completely cheered, I went on. “Besides, I heard those CIA and Navy Seal types are an unhappy bunch.” I hoped he wouldn’t ask where I’d gotten my information, because I didn’t want to say from my own imagination.

  He began to perk up a little, and his eyes were warm as he looked at me. “Case, you’re the only one who gets me,” he said.

  I wanted to stop him before he said anything else. I pulled out the red bandana–covered box and opened it. “Sammy, I really need to look through this one more time. It’s all my aunt’s stuff for the retreat business. You’ve helped a lot already. I can do the rest myself.” I gestured toward the door. “You should go and enjoy the scenery.”

  He didn’t seem happy with my suggestion but finally took it.

  I started to thumb through the paper. When I got to the back and the essay and knitting notes, I started to pass over them, then reconsidered. They seemed personal, and there was no reason to leave them for Kevin St. John. I took a moment and really read them this time, and as I did, an idea began to form in my mind. I pulled out the flash drive and fired up my laptop.

  What had seemed like gobbledygook when I’d looked before now made sense. I went back to the photo of the group that Edie had sent me earlier in the retreat. I flashed on the pictures in Dr. Sammy’s magazine—how they looked alike at first, but then there were subtle differences.

  I left the computer on and dashed across the street. The grounds were quiet because everyone was at lunch. The inside of the Lodge seemed cavernous and empty. I found the wall of photos and began to study them. Then I saw it. Now when I looked it was so obvious. Edie must have seen it, too.

  As I ran back to my place, I thought of what Crystal had told me about dye lots. I was still processing it all when I walked back inside my place. Now I understood that Edie’s murder was connected to Amanda Proctor’s death, which I didn’t believe was an accident anymore.

  My foot caught in the handle of the shopping bag that Sammy had dropped. I stopped and unhooked myself and then began to load everything back in the bag. The contents of the sweater pockets must have fallen out. I noticed the keys I’d felt before. As I picked them up, I discovered a plastic card twisted with the tissues. “How could I have missed this?” I said out loud as I examined it.

  I stared at it for a long time, wondering why my aunt would have been carrying her auto club card when she went out walking that morning. Frank’s training kicked in, and I picked up the phone.

  By the time I clicked off, all I could do was shake my head with disbelief.

  I was breathless as I called Frank.

  “Feldstein, it’s Sunday,” Frank said with the usual exasperation in his voice. “What now?”

  “I need your advice,” I said quickly. He started to fuss about it being his day of rest, but I talked over him and told him it couldn’t wait. At warp speed I explained about leaving, Paris and cooking school before presenting what I’d found out and most of all what I’d figured out. “How do I go to the cops with it?” I said.

  “Hold on a minute, Feldstein. There’s a problem. Everything you have is just conjecture. It’s probably right, but before you go saying you’ve wrapped up the case, you might want to get some hard evidence. I told you, cops don’t like it when amateurs do their jobs, and if you don’t provide the goods, they’ll just blow you off.”

  I started to say I didn’t have a search warrant or any power to go looking for stuff. Frank laughed. “Feldstein, the fried chicken is getting cold, so I gotta go, but you don’t need any of that warrant stuff. Just go get the goods. I never told you this, Feldstein, but I thought you had the makings of a pro.” He started to go but stopped. “So, you’re already bailing on that place? Cooking school in Paris?” He sounded doubtful. “Are you sure? I don’t see you as one of those cooks where the garnish is bigger than the meal.” He took a deep breath. “That’s just my two cents.” There was a long pause. “So, let me know what happens.” There was no good-bye, just a click.

  I knew Frank was right. I needed something solid to give the cops. And I knew what it was and most likely where it was. I threw down the phone and was out the door.

  Everyone but our group had checked out or was at lunch, and the grounds were empty at Vista Del Mar. I went directly to the Lodge, and again it was deserted. There was a sign on the registration counter that said Ring bell for service. I slipped behind the counter and looked at the wall of pigeonholes, each marked with a room number. Each also had a hook for the room’s keys. My eye went down the boxes for the rooms in Sand and Sea, grateful that only Edie had asked for two keys when she checked in.

  My heart was beating wildly as I reached up and slipped off the one I was looking for. As I rushed outside, I glanced toward the dining hall and noticed lunch was still in progress. I needed to hurry.

  I headed up the hill past the sea of golden grass. Sunday afternoon seemed to be the time for maintenance. There were housekeeper carts piled high with bedding along with the furniture from the lobby of Sand and Sea sitting outside of the building. A rug shampooer sat idly next to the clutter as it appeared whatever work was going on had stopped for lunch.

  I saw a truck driving slowly up the narrow path toward the back of the building as I started up the stairs. Inside the living room area was empty and the fireplace appeared to be in the process of being cleaned out.

  I rushed up to the second floor. The dark wood of the hall made it seem like I was heading into a tunnel of doom. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my neck as my fingers fumbled with the key.

  I shoved it in the lock and pushed the door open. Cautiously, I looked in and was relieved that the room was empty. I closed the door quietly behind me and felt a wave of cool air coming in through the open window. All the personal items were packed up, and the suitcase stood next to the bed, ready to go.

  This was so not the way I was used to doing things, but there was no choice. My hands were shaking as I laid the soft-sided bag on the bed and unzipped it. I wanted to make it look like nothing had been moved, but the feeling of urgency made me dig deep into it, flinging the contents onto the bed. I was totally immersed in my search and didn’t hear the door open just as I pulled out what I was looking for.

  “What are you doing?” Kris said. She sounded wary, but not threatening. Her tone changed when she saw what I was holding.

  “Give me that,” she said, trying to snatch the cream-colored shawl away.

  “Didn’t Edie call this your trademark shawl?” I said, looking it over. “It’s kind of strange that you stopped wearing it after the first night.” She made another grab for it, and I took a step back to keep it out of her reach. I quickly examined it. “I might never have realized you’d changed it since the last retreat if I hadn’t seen a game in a magazine where things looked almost the same except for subtle differences. It made me see the photograph in the Lodge and the one Edie sent me in a new light.”

  Seeing it close up, the strip of different stitches that had been added to each end in what seemed like a slightly different shade of the same color was more obvious. “Why would you want to change a shawl that you wore all the time? Unless something happened to it, like it got ripped. You must have wanted to fix it, but when you went to buy more yarn it was from a different dye lot, and the color wasn’t quite the same. So, you added it to both ends, thinking it would look planned and no one would notice.”

  “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. There isn’t any crime in changing my shawl.” She held out her hand and asked for it back. When I didn’t give it up, she moved toward me.

  “You’re right, there is no crime in adding onto your shawl. But the question is, what happened to it?” I had it clutched under my arm now. I know that I should have stopped talkin
g, but I was so proud of how I put all the pieces together, I wanted to show her I knew what she had done.

  “Maybe someone tried to grab onto it before she was pushed off a cliff. Someone who was found with some off-white yarn still clutched in her hand. Amanda Proctor wasn’t really knitting when she went for that last walk along the water, was she?”

  It was as if a shade had passed over Kris’s face and all the sunny perkiness had been replaced by a hard, somber expression.

  “You don’t understand. I was just going to talk to Amanda. She kept stepping backward, I tried to warn her, but she took a wrong step. I reached out to grab her, and she grasped onto my shawl. It ripped away before I could do anything, and she fell.”

  I didn’t bother to bring up the fact that she hadn’t gone for help. “What is it that you were talking about?” I said. “Maybe something about Retreat in a Box?” I knew by Kris’s look of consternation that I was right. I mentioned finding the flash drive in my aunt’s box of papers, and that I hadn’t realized what it was at first. “I didn’t get what RIB Test meant at first, but when I checked it again, I saw there was another file on the drive. When I opened it, there was a note to my aunt from Amanda about the test version of the program Amanda had written for their project, Retreat in a Box. RIB. She wanted Joan to try it out and give her feedback.” I looked directly at Kris. “There was no mention of you. When I went through some more of my aunt’s papers, I understood why.” I referred to the essay my aunt had written, which really was more like a mission statement for the Petit Retreats, and all her knitting notes, which made all the cryptic notations after the current group’s names make sense.

  “Joan’s mission with the Petit Retreats was to give each of the participants a challenge and help them to meet it. With Amanda’s help she was going to take it to retail. Amanda was a computer programmer and must have worked with Joan to develop the software. All those kits you brought to the first workshop weren’t designed by you. Joan was the one who wrote the questionnaire and then used the information to come up with a project for each of the retreaters.”