If Hooks Could Kill

by Betty Hechtman

  I fought the urge to join the gathering. I did and didn’t want to know what happened. As long as I didn’t know anything about Kelly for sure, I didn’t have to get upset. And there was something else. I’m not proud to admit it, but being in her audience would give Adele the upper hand.

  It became a nonissue anyway, because Mrs. Shedd rushed up to the customer service booth and grabbed my arm. Two of the junior gangsters were heading toward the door. Even from here I could see they’d stuck some magazines under their shirts. One of them darted toward the table with the e-readers and grabbed one before rejoining his friend.

  “Do something, Molly,” Mrs. Shedd said. “I don’t care if their father is a lawyer.” They were local kids and I knew it was more about the thrill than the actual stuff they’d taken. I ran up behind them and grabbed them both by the back of their shirts.

  “Hey, lady, back off,” one of them said and tried to squirm away from my grasp. I managed to transfer my hold so I had a grasp on each of their arms, but I was definitely struggling. One of them had started kicking backward toward my shin. I glanced around hoping for some help. The front door opened and Barry came through. I felt a sense of relief, knowing his cop instinct would kick in instantaneously and he’d step in.

  But instead, he seemed to freeze before looking away. The boys were about to pull free when North Adams came in behind Barry and tried to help. A moment later, Joshua Royal came into the store and joined in.

  When I looked up Barry was gone.

  The star of L.A. 911 became Detective Jake Blake and used his authority voice to try to scare the boys with threats of arrest and prison. Mr. Royal got the kids to hand over the e-readers and magazines and gave them a stern warning before letting them go.

  The customers all missed the incident because Adele still had their attention. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, just the rise and fall of her voice, with an occasional gasp from the small crowd.

  “Molly,” a voice called from behind me. I turned and Dinah rushed toward me. I knew she hadn’t been home when the chaos had erupted on her street, but still I was relieved to see her in one piece and hugged her tightly. I could feel her heart palpitating and noticed that her breath seemed a little ragged.

  “They stopped me when I tried to go into to my own house,” she said. I urged her to take a deep breath before she continued. “There are cops everywhere,” she said gesturing in the general direction of her street. “Detective Heather is there.” I nodded and told Dinah I’d seen the detective when I’d gone down the street. Dinah swallowed hard when our eyes met. “I started asking the cops questions and they started asking me questions about when I left and things like that.” Dinah stopped to regroup. “I didn’t get many details, but it’s Kelly Donahue. Something about her husband came home and found her. It was too late. They think it was a robbery gone bad. I heard some cops talking about looking for the murder weapon. I’m pretty sure she was shot. The cops asked me if I heard anything before I left.”

  “Did you tell them we were at her house earlier today?”

  Dinah shook her head. “It’s my policy not to volunteer information that will only cause me trouble. I know I didn’t kill her. . . .” Dinah stopped and looked at me.

  “Take a deep breath,” she ordered. My best friend knew what I was thinking.

  “Molly, it isn’t personal. No matter what Mrs. Shedd has said about not wanting to go anywhere with you because dead bodies keep showing up. It’s not your fault. You’re not some kind of jinx.”

  I was embarrassed to admit that was exactly what I was thinking. “Dinah, I’m terrible. A woman is dead, and here I am thinking about me.” Once that was out of the way, I began to ask Dinah for more details, but she didn’t have many.

  “They blocked off the whole area and shut down the production. I’m guessing they’re talking to all the neighbors around Kelly’s house,” Dinah said.

  Adele breezed by after she finally dismissed her crowd. She looked at the two of us. “I didn’t see you two in the group when I was explaining what happened. I guess you just wanted to hear it from me personally. It must be kind of embarrassing to not be the one in the know.” The last comment was aimed directly at me. All the attention had gotten to her and she looked like her head might float away from all the hot air inside as she straightened the strap on her gauzy sundress. The lime green swirled with purple made me think of a snow cone. She had pulled her brown hair into tiny little pigtails that stuck straight out.

  “No problem,” I said. “Dinah just filled me in.” Trying not to sound too pleased, after all I was talking about somebody who had just died, I told her I already knew that Kelly had been shot and what the cops thought. I watched as Adele deflated like a Mylar balloon with a big leak.

  “Oh,” she said with a harrumph. Then she brightened. “But I don’t suppose you know who they think the killer really is. Eric was the first responder,” she said before giving me her spiel how motor cops were often the first ones on the scene in any kind of emergency. “Even though he’s technically off duty while he’s working as security on the production, in his heart, he’s always on duty,” Adele said with a flutter in her voice.

  “So?” I said, annoyed with myself for falling for her bait.

  “So, he saw the crime scene. It was Kelly’s workroom,” Adele said. “There was stuff tossed around, but he thought it was just a cover-up to make it look like a robbery. He said the first person they’ll be looking at is her husband. He’s the one who found her. Eric said that’s a common ploy to try to cover up being the killer,” Adele said, savoring her moment of being in the know. “The cops are questioning everybody, anyway. All the production people and actors.”

  I thought about seeing Dan and his concern over names for his store. He didn’t seem like somebody with murder on his mind. But then Barry had always said you couldn’t tell a book by its cover when it came to murderers.

  “That’s nothing special in the information department,” I said, embarrassed that I’d gotten sucked into her game and was trying to one-up her. “In fact, what you just told me is investigation one-oh-one in The Average Joe’s Guide to Criminal Investigation.” The book had been my personal bible when it came to learning how to sleuth. “You always look at the closest person first. They usually have means and opportunity. All you need to do is find their motive and some incriminating evidence.”

  Adele tried to dismiss what I’d said. “I was just telling you that in case you get any ideas about investigating. Eric has it under control.”

  I just smiled and nodded and didn’t even bother mentioning that Eric rode a motorcycle and gave out traffic tickets when he was on duty. Yes, he might show up when there was a riot or an earthquake, but he wasn’t a detective. He didn’t detect or investigate like my boyfr— I stopped the thought in my head, glad I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t need Adele to remind me again that Barry and I weren’t anything any longer.

  Adele walked off saying that she had to get back to the children’s area. She was in the process of planning a big event. She was going to have Eric as the special guest reader of Officer Pauly Solves the Case of the Missing Parakeet.

  Dinah hugged me again and said she was going back home. Before she left she glanced toward the café and saw North sitting at one of the tables. “What’s he doing here?” she asked. I just shrugged as an answer.

  After the shoplifter’s caper, Mrs. Shedd suggested we keep the e-readers behind the information desk and only let people try them right in front of us. Mr. Royal wanted to keep it easy for people to play with them and said he’d figure out a way to keep them on the table.

  Eventually, I went into the café for a late afternoon red eye and saw that North Adams was still in there. Nice as the café was, I thought it was odd that he was hanging out there alone.

  As I stopped to pick up a lid for my drink and some napkins, the two men who’d been working in Kelly’s backyard, putting the trees along the back of her house, cam
e into the café. They made some chitchat with Bob, our barista, and said that they wanted coffees for the road. They seemed surprised to see North and stopped at his table when they’d gotten their coffees. I was curious about their conversation and, shall we say, took my time getting a lid and napkins.

  “You do know they shut us down and sent everybody home,” the older of the two jean-clad men said to North. When the actor nodded, the man seemed perplexed and asked why North was hanging around. He was going to stay perplexed, too, because North avoided the question by changing the subject.

  Instead North asked, “Do you guys know what happened exactly? I was in my trailer.”

  The older man whose name was Fred said after lunch he and Zeke had been ready to start laying out the props for the next setup, but had gone back to the Donahue yard to add some more bushes. “We never got to do it. Our security guy was out front with the mister from the house. Then a bunch of cop cars came tearing down the street.” He explained that as soon as the police heard they’d been working in the Donahue’s yard, they wanted to question them. “The cops gave us the bare bones of what happened.” Fred paused and let out a sigh before he repeated what the cops had said—that a woman had been found shot in the house.

  “Do you know who she was?” Fred said. North answered with a shrug. “You remember Rexford Thomasville?” When North seemed to draw a blank, the prop guy continued. “He’s a set designer. Or he was. I heard he has a store in Santa Barbara now. Kelly was his daughter. I didn’t recognize her at first, but she remembered me and showed me some things she was selling online in case we needed them for an upcoming production. It turns out back when, she tried working with her dad, and we all worked together on McCavity. Of course, when she told me who she was, I remembered her. All you had to do was see her smile. The whole family has matching dimples.” North had a glazed look, like he was getting a much longer answer than he’d expected and way too much information. When Fred started talking about Kelly’s brother who had the same dimples and had helped out with props before becoming some kind of surfing champion, North cut him off by asking how long they’d be shut down. Neither of the prop guys knew and finally picked up their coffees before leaving.

  I finally popped the lid on my drink and prepared to go back to the bookstore. Adele sailed into the café as Eric came in the door from outside.

  “Hi cutchykins,” he said as a goofy grin spread over his face.

  “Oh, Eric, you’re such a hero,” Adele said, rushing up to him. She turned to the smattering of people in the café and explained that Eric had been the first responder to the tragedy up the street. “The whole production had to shut down while they process the crime scene,” Adele announced to the café patrons. “But Eric, Officer Humphries to the rest of you, is still working. He’s never off duty.” He didn’t seem to mind her effusive comment about how wonderful he was. If anything he just stood a little taller. She linked arms with him and said that after what he’d done, Mrs. Shedd wanted to make sure he got a complimentary drink and cookie snack.

  It was all a little too sugary for me and I escaped back into the bookstore, still thinking about the conversation I’d overheard. I’d just sort of glossed over the two prop guys when I’d seen them bringing stuff in the yard. It had never occurred to me that Kelly might have a connection with one of them. Maybe I’d spent too much time thinking about mysteries, but I automatically wondered if Fred had told the whole story. Or just enough to throw someone off the track.

  CHAPTER 8

  With the production shut down, the bookstore stayed quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Mrs. Shedd probably wasn’t happy, but I was relieved. It was still haunting me that I’d visited Kelly shortly before she’d been killed and I figured it was only a matter of time before word got back to Detective Heather about the timing of my visit. Instinctively, I glanced toward the door half expecting to see her walking in ready to question me.

  And then tussling with the shoplifters. Why had Mrs. Shedd left it up to me? Did she think that came under my title of community relations coordinator? Frankly, I was still shocked by Barry’s reaction, or should I say, lack of reaction. I called Mason, hoping to talk it over with him, but I got his voice mail and had to leave a message.

  With my thoughts still racing, I took advantage of the quiet and headed back to the yarn department where I took out the cowl in progress I’d stowed in the cabinets for times like this. Adele had given me the pattern, anxious that I turn some out for the upcoming sale. I wasn’t so sure about that, but it was a simple and repetitious pattern and was just what I needed. As I sat working the cream-colored cotton yarn, I felt all the tension go out of my shoulders.

  Refreshed, I went back to the customer service booth as customers filtered into the bookstore. After helping a woman find a book listing local hiking trails, I was surprised to see North Adams sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs by the window. He had a book open in front of him, but seemed to be staring into space. After a moment he got up and went outside. I thought he’d left, but when I looked back at the chair, he was in it again.

  Why was the star of L.A. 911 sticking around the bookstore?

  As I tidied up the customer service booth, I found my eye wandering back to where North was sitting. He had a slight resemblance to Barry—both had close-cropped dark hair and stubborn chins, but North’s eyes were the color of those clear blue mints and Barry’s were an earthy brown. It was odd seeing North as himself. When I’d seen him on the set, he’d had a very different kind of persona. He’d had an air of authority and seemed like someone who could corner a suspect into a confession. He’d become that person when he’d helped with the shoplifters. But sitting in the bookstore chair, he barely resembled that character. Partly, I suppose it was the clothes. The suit and dress shirt had been replaced with jeans that had no doubt gone through extensive abusive treatments to get the soft worn look. No old cotton tee shirt for him. The fit of his black vee neck had “imported from Italy” written all over it. His detective shoes had been switched out for a pair of tasseled loafers he wore with no socks.

  Still, he had charisma. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly, but something about him kept drawing my gaze back.

  I helped some more customers, and when I looked his way again, he was on his cell phone. I saw him look up at me with interest. Still on the phone, he walked across the bookstore and pushed the phone toward me. “Somebody wants to talk to you,” he said.

  “Hello,” I said tentatively and was surprised to hear my son Peter’s voice. Before I could say anything more, he told me just to listen.

  “No comments on anything. Just say uh-huh,” Peter ordered. There was a pause. “Well?” he said.

  “Uh-huh,” I answered. Peter was my older son and a talent agent specializing in TV. He didn’t share as much of his life with me as Samuel did, so I had no idea, until he explained, that North Adams was one of his clients. I started to express my surprise, but Peter cut me off.

  “Mother,” he said dragging the word out with disapproval. “I said just to listen. No comments. Don’t give away what you’re hearing. Just smile.”

  I forced my lips upward hoping it didn’t look too phoney as I said, “Uh-huh.”

  Peter groaned and said I should do all this while appearing natural. I couldn’t help it—despite all his orders I said, “You missed your calling, you should have been a director.”

  For that I got another drawn out “Mother,” with an extra dose of disapproval.

  “This isn’t some kind of joke,” Peter said annoyed that there might have been a touch of sarcasm in my uh-huh. “I need you to take North home with you now. I’ll pick him up at the house. Don’t ask him any questions. And take the back roads home.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said in a noncommittal tone. It was all very mysterious. Peter entrusting one of his clients to me? Just before he hung up, Peter implored me just to do what he said and not mess anything up. Maybe I had a bit of a reputation of
putting my own stamp on things. But not this time. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to cause my son any problems.

  I handed the cell phone back to North and told him to hang on for a moment. I was relieved when Mrs. Shedd didn’t mind me leaving a little early, though when she saw me walking out with North, she gave me an odd look.

  I couldn’t blame her. What was going on? Peter was always horrified that I was still driving the greenmobile. And now he actually wanted me to give one of his clients a ride in it—to my house? Peter didn’t approve of that, either. He thought I should have downsized to a condo when my husband Charlie died. He hadn’t liked Barry when we were a couple and was completely against me letting him stay at my house.

  He was also upset about his brother Samuel moving back home and bringing a pair of cats with him. The only thing in my life Peter seemed to approve of was my friendship, or whatever you wanted to call it, with Mason.

  North made a comment about my car being a classic as he got in the passenger seat. Already I liked him a little more. I took Wells Drive home as Peter had instructed instead of taking the shorter route via Ventura Boulevard. I tried to make conversation and asked North what he knew about Kelly’s murder. I didn’t refer to her as Kelly, but instead called her the woman whose backyard they were using, and I never let on I’d overheard his conversation. He didn’t seem to want to talk and just muttered something about being in his trailer.

  It was just getting dark as I pulled into my driveway behind Barry’s Tahoe. For weeks the Tahoe had just sat there. He’d only recently been given the okay to drive. North got out of the car and followed me as I went through my backyard. Peter hadn’t said anything, but I wondered if I was supposed to give his client dinner.

  As we walked into my kitchen I noticed a bunch of white takeout cartons on the counter and a smell that definitely seemed like Chinese sweet and sour something. A moment later, Jeffrey came in carrying his plate, no doubt for seconds. He gave me a hello nod and started to glance back toward the Chinese food, when he did a sudden double take.