If Hooks Could Kill

by Betty Hechtman

  This time I didn’t even flinch when I saw the tip of a rifle pointing out of the open car window. It was all just make-believe. Dinah and I had slowed to a stop. There was something mesmerizing about watching the other side of the magic.

  Suddenly a voice called “Cut.” Then there were a bunch of angry voices and I heard someone yelling for “Security.” Eric had already popped off his motorcycle and was running to the knot of people. Run might have been the wrong word. It was more like loping. His posture was ramrod straight and there was something proper about him even as he rushed into trouble.

  “What did you do this time, Pink?” Adele had rejoined Dinah and me on the street corner.

  “Are you kidding?” I said with annoyance in my voice. She countered by saying something to the effect that since I always seemed to be getting into trouble, it was an easy assumption.

  Dinah elbowed me and pointed. Eric was coming toward us and he had a kid in tow.

  Jeffrey?

  “Hi,” he said with a weak smile when they got close to us.

  Eric appeared tough and all business. “You know them?” Eric said to Jeffrey in his ticket-giving voice. Then his face softened when his eyes met Adele’s. “See you later, cutchykins,” he said in a sweet voice before he caught himself and went back to gruff Eric. “And don’t you come back,” he said, letting Jeffrey go and returning to his post.

  Jeffrey was not the spitting image of his father. Barry had close-cropped no-nonsense hair and was a conservative dresser. It was either suits, slacks and a sports jacket, or well broken-in jeans with a pocket tee shirt, possibly topped with a plaid flannel shirt.

  Jeffrey had a “look.” But then Jeffrey wanted to be an actor, no strike that, he was an actor. He’d done some plays with the middle school drama club and had gone on some auditions for commercials. There was a debate going on about his name. He wanted to go by Columbia Greenberg and then just Columbia because he thought it made him stand out. Barry thought the whole idea stunk and dealt with it by ignoring it all together.

  Jeffrey’s hair was longer and spikier than his dad’s, thanks to massive amounts of gel. He usually wore a sports jacket and jeans with a graphic tee shirt underneath. But today he’d gone all-American kid. He had on jeans, high-top sneakers and a bloodred tee shirt.

  He threw a disappointed look toward the security cop and the production crew. “Geez, I was just trying to get something for my reel.” Jeffrey explained that he’d ridden his bike past the action, figuring he’d get in the shot. “Then I could say I’d been on L.A. 911.” He watched as they reset the scene. “It wasn’t like I waved or anything. I was just adding a little background. They ought to realize I was helping, not hurting.” He had a pleading look when he locked eyes with me. “You won’t tell my dad, will you?”

  “It’ll be our secret,” I said, not mentioning that Barry and I didn’t even talk that much. Jeffrey seemed relieved and went back to talking about his reel, which was like a resume for actors with clips of their performances. Then he realized his bike was still where he’d left it when the crew had surrounded him. I was about to offer to retrieve it, when Adele stepped in.

  “No problem, I’ll just talk to Eric,” she said in a grand manner. “Having a boyfriend in law enforcement has its perks.”

  Once we’d seen Jeffrey take off on his bicycle, we started down the curving street that led to Kelly’s. Dinah and I practically had to restrain Adele from rushing on ahead.

  The same truck was parked in Kelly’s driveway, and the same two men were walking down the driveway to the street. Nanci must have been attending to PTA business because she wasn’t standing out front.

  “Let me handle it this time, Pink. You’re too soft. Kelly keeps saying she’s going to come to meetings and she’s going to give us things she’s made for the Jungle Days Fair. No more broken promises. I think she’s used to getting by on her dimples.” Adele straightened and appeared formidable. “They don’t do a thing for me. Either we get some actual crochet from her this time or she’s out.”

  In the hopes of toning Adele down, Dinah and I flanked her as we walked up to the small porch and I knocked on the door. Kelly opened the door and invited us in. I heard the two men from the production company call to her.

  “Kelly, we’re going to be heading over for lunch,” one of them said. She called them by name and wished them a good meal. Then she led the way back to her workroom, apologizing for not making the morning meeting.

  “Sit, sit,” she said indicating the chairs and small couch. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “We’re not here for any of that Popsi Cola,” Adele said, still standing. I tried to give Adele an admonishing look, but she avoided my eye. Just as Adele opened her mouth to speak again, I stepped in.

  “We appreciate how busy you are, but CeeCee needs to get an idea of how many crochet pieces we have for the Jungle Days Fair. We really need to pick up whatever you’ve made.”

  Kelly smiled at me and her dimples kicked in. “Sure, I have them all in a bin. I’ll get them for you.” I turned to nod at Adele when Kelly’s doorbell rang. She excused herself to answer it. Adele still seemed unconvinced that Kelly would give us something she’d crocheted.

  “Watch, she’ll come back and make an excuse.” The words were barely out of Adele’s mouth when Kelly did come back in the room. “Okay, what is it this time?” Adele said with her hand on her hip. I tried to shush her and stepped in front of Adele, not that it stopped her mouth. “You’re too busy with whoever came to the door to show us what you crocheted?”

  Kelly seemed preoccupied and then after a moment said it was only a real estate agent handing out brochures. She passed in front of us and went into the closet. After rummaging around, she came out holding a plastic bin that was considerably smaller than the ones stacked in the room. “Here, take this,” she said. Adele reached out for it, but Kelly handed it to me. Now that you’ve gotten what you came for . . .” she said in a dismissive tone. She glanced toward the door to the rest of the house and then hustled the three of us to the sliding glass door. “If you wouldn’t mind going out this way,” she said, pulling it open.

  I had to push aside one of the potted poplar trees that were lined up along the glass to get out. Dinah brought up the rear and put the tree back in place.

  “She certainly rushed us out of there,” Adele said.

  “After what you said, can you blame her,” I said. “Well, I guess this means she’s still in the group, if she wants to be.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Let’s see what she gave us.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Adele wanted to open the bin as soon as we got outside, but I held firm and kept walking. As soon as we got to the bookstore, we headed straight back to the yarn department.

  “Now I want to see what she gave us,” Adele said, pulling the bin out of my arms and laying it on the worktable. With her back to Dinah and me, Adele flipped off the top and hovered over the contents. I was expecting some kind of haughty comment about the quality of Kelly’s crochet, but instead Adele squealed and slammed the bin shut.

  “We want to see, too,” I said, reaching around her and trying to open the container, but Adele leaned on it and held it shut.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m going to stow the bin over here.” Adele pulled the container away and started opening cabinets in the yarn department, looking for a space.

  “Hey, we’re supposed to bring everything to CeeCee’s,” I protested, but Adele kept moving things around to make room for the container. What was going on? Adele seemed very upset and was totally ignoring me. Finally, I cornered her and pulled the container from her grasp.

  “Don’t, Pink,” she wailed as I set it on the worktable and prepared to remove the top. Adele lunged at it and made a last attempt to hold the lid closed, but I pulled it off anyway. When I looked inside, I couldn’t understand why Adele seemed so upset. Dinah joined me and we ruffled through the contents. There were some od
ds and ends of yarn, a smaller container, along with a plastic bag with some papers stuck in it, a couple of small crocheted animals and a bunch of crocheted flowers attached to round pieces of felt. I picked one up and turned it over. “I think they’re supposed to be pins. If we hadn’t pushed her to give them to us, she probably would have finished them and put pin backs on.” I could hear Adele’s anxious breathing as I pulled out the plastic bag and examined one of the sheets. It had some diagrams and writing.

  Adele took the opportunity to grab the container. “Now you know my Achilles’ heel,” she said with a few dramatic sighs thrown in.

  “Achilles’ heel?” Dinah repeated. “What are you talking about?”

  “This,” Adele picked up one of the flowers pins with one hand and put the back of her other hand against her forehead in a sign of distress. “I can’t do a bullion stitch.”

  “A what stitch?” Dinah said, looking at the pin in Adele’s hand. I was right there with Dinah. I knew there were single and double crochets, shell stitches, puff stitches, and even picots. But I’d never even heard of a bullion stitch.

  Adele pointed to the yellow long coil that made up one of the flower’s petals. “This is a bullion stitch. She leaned in closer to us. “You can’t tell CeeCee,” she said in a whisper.

  I tried to hand the plastic bag with the yellow sheets I was holding to Adele. “Maybe this will help. It looks like it has some directions.”

  “It’s a crocheter’s greatest nightmare. I know how to make the stitch; I just can’t do it with yarn—yet,” Adele said, pushing the bag back on me. “Go home and try to make one of these,” she said pointing at one of the coils again, “then we’ll talk.” When I didn’t do anything, Adele took the plastic bag from my arms and shoved it into the tote bag I was using as a carryall. “Subject closed.”

  Then I got it, Adele was still vying with CeeCee to be the leader of the Hookers and having this stitch disability put her at a disadvantage. Well, anything to keep the peace. I agreed to let her leave the container in the bookstore for the time being. I gathered that the time being was how long it was going to take Adele to master the stitch.

  Adele threw her arms around me. “Pink, thank you. You saved my reputation.” She was worn out from the emotional outburst and collapsed into a chair next to the worktable. She pulled a hook and some yarn out of her shoulder bag. She made a foundation chain and something to anchor the next row, then she began to wind the yarn around the hook. I watched for a moment as she tried to pull the strand of yarn through the coil but it came unraveled. And as it did Adele came unraveled with it. It was too much to watch so Dinah and I walked away.

  As we did, I saw Mrs. Shedd look at me, then at her watch. I’d gotten so caught up in the fuss with Adele, I’d forgotten about the time. My workday had begun. Dinah had her own things to take care of so we walked as far as the customer service desk before parting company.

  Though my official title was community relations and event coordinator, when I wasn’t planning events, I helped out on the floor of the bookstore. Lately, the “and More” in the name of the bookstore had taken on a new meaning. Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal were trying to move with the times and had expanded the stores offerings to include an assortment of e-readers, e-books, some toys, some items of clothing and a whole lot of chocolate.

  Mr. Royal wanted the same policy with the e-readers that we had in the yarn department—try before you buy. Really, the idea was try and then you’ll buy. So the e-readers sat loose on a table. Mr. Royal had placed the table near the customer service station so we could keep tabs on the expensive items and so far it was working out.

  I lost track of time as I helped customers find books, explained how to use the e-readers and gave an opinion on which graphic tee shirt would make the best fortieth birthday gift.

  Mrs. Shedd came by the customer service booth. “Those kids are back. Could you keep an eye on them,” she said gesturing toward two scrawny looking junior-high-age boys hanging out in the magazine section. With the kids out of school, a lot of them had taken to hanging out in the bookstore and café. These two had been in before and were doing their best to look like tough gangster types with the baggy clothes, bandanas and oddly tilted baseball caps. I thought they were a little too small to really appear as menacing as they hoped. They both sported tattoos, but I bet they were the temporary kind. I knew the kids were local and had the feeling they’d left their houses in normal looking attire and changed after they left.

  While keeping my watch on the pair, I noticed a police cruiser go by the window with its light flashing and siren whining. Ventura Boulevard ran in front of the bookstore and as the main street that ran along the southern part of the Valley, it wasn’t unusual to hear sirens. But after the third cruiser went by, I began to wonder what was going on. When two more whizzed past, I went to the window to see where they were going. My stomach clenched when I saw them barely slow at the corner and turn toward Dinah’s. I made a move for the door and as I passed Mrs. Shedd, I said something about being worried about Dinah.

  “Go,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “But if it’s part of L.A. 911, please don’t tackle anyone.”

  I rushed down the street and saw another cruiser pass Dinah’s and go down the street that ran in front of Kelly’s. I rang Dinah’s bell and when I got no answer, followed the trail of the cop car, but didn’t get far. One of the cruisers had blocked off the street. Up ahead I saw a cluster of people standing in front of Kelly’s house. The truck with the slats was still in the driveway and wasn’t going anywhere soon, as yellow police tape had been strung across the driveway and across Kelly’s whole front yard.

  A black Crown Victoria drove past me and around the cop cars. It pulled in front of the Donahue house and Detective Heather got out. Not a good sign.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Well?” Mrs. Shedd said when I came back into the bookstore. My adrenaline was still pumping from seeing all the cops, and most of all Detective Heather, and my mind was out of focus. I gave Mrs. Shedd a puzzled look. “You were going to see what was going on. Is Dinah okay?”

  Her question made me remember why I’d gone down the street in the first place. “She wasn’t even home.” I glanced around, wanting to get back to normal. “Right, I was working customer service,” I mumbled to myself.

  “If it wasn’t Dinah’s, then where did the police go?” Mrs. Shedd asked. I winced at my lack of information. If it had been any detective other than Detective Heather, I probably would have tried to find out what happened. But we had a history and not a good one. I knew there was no chance she’d give me any information.

  And that was fine because I wasn’t sure I wanted any information. Detective Heather was a homicide cop and if she was there, someone was probably dead. Judging by the yellow crime-scene tape, it was a safe bet it was someone from the Donahue house and last time we’d stopped by, the only one home was Kelly. I could just imagine Mrs. Shedd’s face if I told her we’d just been to Kelly’s and now she might be dead.

  I knew what Mrs. Shedd would say, too. “Molly, I don’t know what it is about you, but dead bodies seem to show up wherever you go. You visited that poor woman and look what happened to her.”

  The worst part was I couldn’t argue with Mrs. Shedd, because it was true. I certainly didn’t plan it, it just seemed to work out that way. I finally answered Mrs. Shedd and simply told her the cops had gone down the street and stopped in front of one of the houses. “I don’t really know what happened.”

  “Some of us can find out,” Adele said in a haughty tone that made me want to scream. “Some of us have a boyfriend in law enforcement who is happy to give us important info.” I looked at her and thought what have I done? I was the one who’d gotten her fixed up with Eric in the first place. It had been through Barry, though not directly—a friend of a friend of a friend. Adele’d had such a broken heart, I’d foolishly tried to help mend it. I should have realized things with Adele tended to boomerang.


  Adele was out the door in a flash. Mrs. Shedd almost wobbled in the wake of her whirlwind exit. “Is it my imagination or is Adele even more full of herself than usual?” my boss said. It seemed to be a rhetorical question because my boss didn’t wait for an answer, but checked out the front of the store. Her gaze stopped on the junior high boys in gangster outfits who’d been joined by some look-alikes, all of whom were hanging out in the magazine section. They were jostling each other, jumping around and generally being a nuisance.

  “Should we ask them to leave?” I said, but Mrs. Shedd shook her head.

  “I had Joshua try that when they came in before. Or I think it was them. With those outfits, they all look the same. One of them said his father was a lawyer and he’d be all over us for discrimination because they were customers. He showed Joshua he was buying a chocolate bar and a graphic novel.” Mrs. Shedd told me to keep a watch on them anyway.

  I wanted to push whatever was happening down the street out of my mind and headed back to the customer service booth. I was glad there were people waiting.

  An author interested in having a launch party at the bookstore had just walked away, when Adele returned. It wasn’t a silent entrance, either. “It’s just terrible. Oh, the humanity of it all,” she said in her loud voice. As she went through the store, the loudness of her voice and her repeating about how horrible it was, attracted the attention of the shoppers and they began to follow her like she was the Pied Piper. Adele snuck a look over her shoulder at the crowd she’d gathered. When they reached an open area, she turned, ready to hold court.