If Hooks Could Kill

by Betty Hechtman

  “You’re that guy,” he said to North as awe gushed through his voice. “You’re Jake Blake on L.A. 911. North Adams, right?”

  North smiled at Jeffrey’s exuberance as the boy actor put down his plate and stuck out his hand while telling North that he was an actor, too. “You should have seen me as Curly in Carousel. Everyone says I really nailed it.”

  “I bet you did,” North said in a friendly voice. Jeffrey seemed to have forgotten why he came in the kitchen and stood watching North with wide adoring eyes.

  Barry walked into the kitchen. His brows were furrowed and he clearly had something on his mind. He stopped in front of me before jumping in. “About this afternoon at the bookstore,” he began. “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry—” But suddenly he stopped short and his expression went to neutral—he’d noticed there was a visitor present. Ever the cop, he scrutinized the actor’s face. I had the feeling Barry thought North looked familiar, but couldn’t place him. Was it because he was on a wanted poster somewhere or had they met?

  My two dogs came in to check out what was going on. Cosmo, the bolder of the two, sniffed North’s shoes before sitting down. Then Samuel’s cats, Holstein and Cat Woman, arrived silently and moved through the group before going to check their food bowl.

  I stepped in and did introductions, explaining that Barry was an LAPD homicide detective and that North played one.

  North seemed interested in meeting Barry and asked Barry if he would pass along some hints. “I like to put in the little touches to make my performance seem real,” North explained.

  “I don’t really watch the show,” Barry said, “although I might have caught it once or twice. But for starters, if you want to make it accurate, you could have a few wrinkles in your dress shirt. Try spending all night going over a crime scene, and then knocking on somebody’s door at five A.M. to tell them their son’s been killed over something stupid like road rage or he owed somebody a few bucks for some weed, followed by getting a lead that takes you to a homeless encampment in the dirt under the freeway, and then see what your shirt looks like.” North seemed a little overwhelmed with the information, but said he’d tell the wardrobe people.

  When Barry looked away, I caught his expression of distaste. I knew what he thought of TV cops. He said they were all flash with no cash, meaning they had the swagger, but nothing to back it up with. Hoping to avoid an awkward silence, I mentioned that Barry was working cold cases at the moment.

  “Oh, yeah?” North sounded interested. “What made you switch?”

  There was a flash of irritation on Barry’s face. “It’s only temporary. Once I settle the two cases I’m working on, I’m going back to homicide. I just went back to work after an injury.” Barry started to talk about the cases as a way to direct the conversation. Not that it worked.

  “What kind of injury? Like something in the line of duty?” North asked.

  “Something like that.” Barry turned toward me as if he was trying to figure out what I was doing with the actor. Meanwhile North tried to ferret out more details.

  Remembering that North was an important client of my son’s and I was supposed to be keeping him happy, I answered for Barry and said that he’d been shot by a shoplifter. Barry blew out his breath in consternation.

  “Molly, you make it sound so lame,” Barry said. He glared at North. “If you’re looking for something for your show—just remember that any situation can turn deadly.”

  North’s face was suddenly animated. “I remember hearing about that. You’re the one who was trying to help the newbie cop arresting the shoplifter at some discount store. The shoplifter got hold of the newbie’s gun, right?” Without pausing a beat, North stepped closer and patted Barry on the shoulder as if they were somehow connected. “Our writers loved that story and were writing something like it into an upcoming show. You’ve got to admit, it’s kind of funny being shot by a guy in handcuffs.” Barry’s response was a glower.

  I heard the kitchen door open behind us. “What’s going on?” Mason said coming into the room. He joined the group and said hello to Barry and Jeffrey and introduced himself to North.

  Both Mason and Barry looked at me with questions in their eyes. I knew they were wondering what I was doing with North. There was nothing to say because I didn’t even know what I was doing with him. This was getting more awkward by the minute. Peter had only said he would pick North up, not when or why.

  Finally, I heard the front door open and close. At least I’d gotten the answer to when.

  CHAPTER 9

  “What was that about?” Mason said when it was just the three of us. Peter had rushed in, waved to North that they were leaving and barely called a “thank you” to me before they went back out the front door. As the door shut, both Barry and Mason stared at me.

  “I have no idea,” I said with a shrug. I’d been avoiding having Mason come over while Barry was staying at my house, but Mason had taken matters in his own hands and just walked in.

  “Look at you,” Mason said turning his attention to Barry. “Your cast is off and you’re good as new. I hear you’re back to work and driving. So, then you’ll be moving out.” Mason turned to me. “Then Molly can get her stuff out of storage and life around here can go back to normal.” Mason stepped closer to me and put his arm behind me on the counter. It wasn’t around me exactly, but it made a point. Barry’s eyes rested on the position of Mason’s arm.

  “When?” Mason asked staring squarely at Barry.

  Jeffrey had drifted out of the room as soon as North was gone. I was glad he wasn’t there to see this confrontation. Barry hesitated, but something in his posture said he was standing his ground. “I don’t know exactly. I haven’t gotten the okay from my doctor yet.” To punctuate it, Barry moved his leg and grimaced in pain. Was it real or imaginary?

  The whole exchange reminded me of something I’d heard about parking spots. When a man saw that someone was waiting for the spot he was in, he took much longer to pull out than if there was no one waiting.

  “It’s a little crowded here,” Mason said, gesturing toward the rest of the house. “Molly, your message said you wanted to talk to me about a murder. I’m here to help.”

  “C’mon,” I said to Mason. He was right, it was too crowded in the kitchen and awkward with a capital A. I led Mason out of the kitchen, across the living room and through the den. As he soon as he went through the doorway into the hall that led to my bedroom, I heard him sigh.

  “Finally into the inner sanctum,” Mason said. “I’ll close the door behind me.”

  “I know more than he does,” Barry said. I hadn’t realized Barry was right behind Mason until I heard his voice. Mason pulled the door to the hall shut before Barry could follow.

  That was a laugh and a half. When had Barry ever been willing to share what he knew? From him it was stay out of it. The cops have it covered, blah, blah, blah. Mason had always been a better source of information.

  “This is more like it,” Mason said walking into my bedroom. He looked around and suddenly seemed a little disappointed that with the small couch and wing chair, it looked more like a living room than a den of inequity. “Hmm, no round bed with mirrors on the ceiling,” he joked touching the basket of yarn next to the wing chair.

  He sat down on the couch and I took the chair, but after a moment I got up. “Let’s go get some food or something,” I said. “I’m too tense here. I feel like Barry is standing by at the door.”

  I wasn’t too far off. Barry wasn’t standing by the door to my wing of the house, but the chair he picked in the den wasn’t far from it. He had the TV on, but it was obviously all a ruse. Barry watching a dancing competition? His head swiveled as Mason and I walked through the den toward the living room, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You need to remind Barry that he gave up all claims on you,” Mason said when we got into his car. “Even though I’m glad he did, I still think he’s nuts. If a woman said she didn’t wan
t to marry me, but wanted to keep things as they were, I’d never tell her it had to be all or nothing.” Mason paused a moment. “I think Barry’s forgotten that he chose nothing.” Mason started the motor and pulled the car away from the curb.

  We continued our conversation when we got to a small bar/restaurant that served the best thick-crust pizza. We ordered a large one with cheese and a salad to share.

  “When he was laid up, it was no problem. He had people who came over and took care of things and who took him whereever he needed to go. I barely saw him. But now that he’s up and around and back to work, it’s gotten all strange. I said something to him about being ready to move back to his condo. He gave me the same story about needing his doctor to okay him going up and down stairs. But I’m sure it won’t be long.” I paused a moment and then told Mason how Barry had frozen when he saw me struggling with the kids stealing the e-readers in the afternoon.

  Mason appeared stricken. “I wish I’d been there. I would have helped you. It sounds like Barry needs to get his edge back.” We’d finished off the salad and the pizza arrived in the black round pan. The waitress set it on its own little table after serving us each a piece. For a few minutes we were lost in pizza heaven. The tomato sauce was homemade and the mozzarella made a creamy counterpoint to the zesty sauce. And the crust. It had a little crunch and a delicious buttery flavor.

  “Maybe when he takes care of the two cases he’s working on and gets back to his old job, it’ll come back.” I helped Mason and myself to another piece of the delicious pizza.

  Mason shook his head. “He can’t go back to his old homicide job until he gets his mojo back. If he hesitates at the wrong time, it could get him killed. And anybody working with him. I’m sure he knows that.” I felt my shoulders slump. I knew what Mason was saying was true.

  “So, tell me, sunshine, who got murdered this time?” Mason said trying to change the subject.

  Between bites, I told him about Kelly. The whole story—how Adele, Dinah and I had gone over to her house in the morning and now she was dead.

  “Are you three suspects?” Mason asked.

  “No. The cops don’t even know that we were there.” I paused and had visions of Adele talking to Eric. “Yet, anyway.” I looked at the two slices still in the pan and debated whether to have one or not. Mason read my thoughts and scooped up one and dropped it on my plate, before taking the last one for himself. “I’m not really worried about being a suspect. I’m more concerned about Dinah. The murder happened a half block from her house. According to Adele, even though it looked like a robbery gone bad, the cops are zeroing in on Kelly’s husband. You know who he is. Dan from the Hollar for a Dollar store. Oops, I mean More Bang for Your Buck. I suppose it could have been him. Actually I hope it is him instead of some random robber with a gun.”

  “So, she was shot?” Mason said. “You’d think someone would have heard something with all those people around.”

  “It is odd.” I said.

  With the pizza finished, we ordered espressos and a vanilla gelato to share.

  “Sunshine, I hate to say anything, but you do seem to keep getting caught up in murders. Maybe I should be worried,” Mason joked as he picked up the small cup of strong coffee. Then his smile faded. “I know I shouldn’t joke. It’s serious business. Your crochet friend is dead.”

  I tasted a spoonful of the gelato. The creamy sweet taste was a perfect contrast to the espresso. “If there’s anything you can find out, I’d appreciate it. I’m concerned because Dinah lives down the street, but there’s something else.” I stopped. I knew I should be better than this, and not stoop to Adele’s level, but . . . “Adele is making this huge deal out of being the information source. I just need some little edge. I’m not proud of it, but any minute she’s going to start referring to herself as Adele Poirot, or Sherlock’s sister, or Adele Drew.”

  “I get the picture,” Mason said, reaching over and touching my hand. “I’ll see what I can find out.” He squeezed my hand and let go. When I looked up, I was surprised to see the good humor had drained from his face.

  “What’s the matter?” I said. He started to say “Nothing,” and then stopped himself.

  “Old habits die hard,” he said. “I’m still getting used to the idea of talking about things, instead of just dealing with them.” He paused and took a breath. “It’s the wedding disaster and my ex-wife.” The words came out with a rush of air as though they’d escaped. He shook his head with dismay. “At least if she’d told me right away about the problem, I might have been able to do something.” Now that he’d begun, the words flowed and the frustration was clear in his tone. “You don’t know her, but it’s her typical MO. She’s going to take care of something, but only makes a mess of it. I can’t trust her to do anything on her own.”

  “I know a little about event planning,” I said. “Maybe I can help.” Mason grinned at my comment and we both rolled our eyes. My events often ended up a little offbeat. They were always successful but there might be a police raid or the fire department could show up.

  Not exactly what you’d want for a wedding

  “Thank you for listening—and for getting me to talk.” His eyes were warm and I felt closer to him than I ever had. “All of this just reminds me of why we got a divorce. I think I’d rather talk about your murder,” he said. “The robbery gone bad thing is a common cover-up. It probably was her husband, the Dollar King. So I don’t think you have to worry about someone going after Dinah.”

  “Okay,” I said, but I couldn’t help wondering. What if it wasn’t him? I thought back to the conversation of the two prop guys. They clearly knew Kelly and they certainly had access to her place. Could they have killed her? But why?

  CHAPTER 10

  “Oh, dear,” CeeCee said in a distressed voice as she took her seat at the head of the worktable in the bookstore’s yarn department. She had arrived late and Sheila, Rhoda, Elise, Eduardo, Dinah and I were already working on our crochet projects. We all followed CeeCee’s gaze to see what had inspired her comment. Detective Heather and a uniform had just come into the bookstore.

  “I’m afraid she’s looking at you, Molly,” CeeCee said. “That woman is relentless.” CeeCee knew that firsthand from some past dealings she’d had with the attractive homicide detective.

  “Try to ignore her,” Elise said in her wispy voice. The small woman waved her hook at me to try to divert my attention as if not looking at the detective would make me invisible. Sure.

  Dinah leaned in to me. “You could tell her you know North Adams,” she said with a smile. My friend had heard all about my weird encounter with the TV star and was as curious as I was about the whole episode. But my son Peter had simply refused to answer any questions.

  A few days had passed since Kelly’s murder. The cops had finished processing the crime scene and had released the Donahue house, and allowed the L.A. 911 production to get back to work. Though the delay had caused the production people to redo their shooting schedule. Under the circumstances, they’d decided to wait until after the funeral to shoot the scene in the Donahue’s backyard. I hated to admit it, but all the information had come from Adele or as she had anointed herself—the new sleuth on the block. She insisted she’d been offering important insights on the case to her motor cop boyfriend who was still working security on the set. She was sure he’d been passing them on to the right people.

  Not looking at Detective Heather didn’t work and a few moments later I sensed someone standing next to my chair. “Mrs. Pink, I wonder if I could speak to you,” she said in her formal police voice. Calling me Mrs. Pink bordered on the ridiculous. How many times had she questioned me? How many times had I ended up actually helping her? How many times had she hoped Barry would dump me and choose her? Well, she had a better shot at that part now. I was one hundred percent out of the way, even if he was still living at my house.

  I got up from the table and we walked over to the corner. Detective Heather was
a knitter, a very good knitter—I’d seen a pair of socks she’d made for Barry. Actually I’d even sold her the yarn. She implied that the real way to a man’s heart was through his feet. As I stopped next to a bin of some new novelty yarn we’d gotten in, I began to wonder about Barry’s feet and what they were wearing. I hadn’t been paying any attention to them other than to notice when his cast came off his left leg. Had she knitted him a whole wardrobe of socks? Were they caressing his feet even as he sat there drinking tea and telling me about his cold cases?

  I forced the thought from my mind. Barry and I were done, so what he wore on his feet was no concern of mine. Once he left, I’d never think about it again.

  Detective Heather noticed the novelty yarn and picked up a skein that was in various shades of blue. It looked like a flat strip, but when you pulled it open and knitted along the edge you ended up with tiers of ruffles. When I explained what it was, she dropped it like it had cooties. “Ruffles and a revolver just don’t go,” she said.

  “So, what do you want to know?” I asked. I just wanted to be done with the questions and get back to the group.

  She seemed to deflate a little at my question. It probably caught her off guard. I’m sure she was hoping I’d feel intimidated, but after all the times I’d been questioned by her, I had gotten a bit of a thick skin.

  “Just tell me about the other morning at the Donahue house.” Detective Heather had taken out her pad and pen.

  I figured why play games? Who knew what Adele had told Eric, who in turn had told Heather. I just gave her the whole story, explaining that Kelly had joined the Hookers, not that there was anything really official about it. All she had to do was give her information to CeeCee for our roster and she was in. Kelly had been all enthusiastic about the group and wanted to make things for our table at the Jungle Days Fair. But then she hadn’t come to the regular gatherings and nobody had seen any real examples of her work.