If Hooks Could Kill

by Betty Hechtman

  “He’d certainly have some explaining to do,” I said interrupting Dinah. “But we don’t even know for sure there was really a real estate agent at the door.” By now we were in front of the Donahue house.

  “What if nobody is home?” my friend said.

  “We come back,” I said.

  “Or we climb in a window,” Dinah said with a naughty look.

  Before we walked down the short path to the Donahue’s door, I glanced next door at the Silvers’. The house was quiet for now and the driveway empty. A SUV was sitting in the Donahue’s driveway with a surfboard attached to the top. Stone opened the door before we could ring the bell, apparently on the way out. He was carrying a wet suit and a towel. His sunglasses hung from a cord around his neck and, as usual, he smelled like coconut suntan lotion. He seemed surprised to see us.

  I broke the ice by telling him how pleased my bosses were that he’d agreed to the book signing. “I’m sure it will bring in a big crowd,” I said. Then I got down to why we were there and told him the story about the mysterious real estate agent and how they might be able to place Dan at the house before he’d said he’d arrived.”

  “By all means come in and look around. I don’t recall seeing a pad of paper with a photo on it, but that doesn’t mean anything.” He led us inside and we looked around the living room and came up empty. “Maybe my sister took it into her workroom,” Stone suggested. “Anything to help nail Dan.”

  I felt a little less unsettled going into Kelly’s workroom this time. The room looked different. There were things on the computer table I didn’t recognize from before. Stone explained that Dan was using the computer.

  “Is he handling her online business?” I asked, but Stone shook his head. “All he cares about is his own business.” Stone helped us check every surface for one of those dollar-shaped pads all the real estate agents used as advertising. I even opened one of the plastic bins. I’d expected to see the neat skeins of yarn, but it was a jumble of twisted yarn, hooks and other paraphernalia. Stone noticed my expression. “It’s kind of a mess. Dan’s been going through all the bins like he’s looking for something.”

  We did one more look around and then Dinah and I admitted defeat. Before we left, Stone pulled out a box from the closet. “I left some stuff with my sister when I moved to Hawaii. This might come in handy,” he said, handing me a publicity photo of him surfing. Stone walked us out and thanked us for trying to help before he climbed into Kelly’s SUV and headed for the beach.

  I noticed a car was in the Silvers’s driveway now. “Maybe all isn’t lost. How about we pay her a visit.”

  Nanci Silvers seemed surprised to see us and hesitantly invited us in. I nudged Dinah when I saw the box of Orioles chocolate sandwich cookies by the door. She certainly dressed the part of PTA president. The beige linen shift and sandals with a heel gave her an air of authority. We all sat staring at each other for a moment and finally Nanci asked if there was a purpose to our visit. Dinah and I’d had no chance to discuss our strategy. I was hoping to somehow naturally bring up the wandering real estate agent. I was winging it and remembered her fuss about the Donahue house being registered as a location. “Dinah wanted to know if you’re still collecting signatures for your petition.”

  Nanci’s sharp expression grew a little vague. “Signature’s for what?” I reminded her about her previous concern and a look of recognition came over her face.

  “It’s not an issue anymore. Once they shoot the one scene in the yard, the house won’t be used again. Dan took it off the list.”

  “I guess you know him pretty well,” I said, pointing at the case of Orioles cookies. Nanci suddenly got that deer-in-the-headlights look. “Ah, it’s a donation for the first bake sale of the season.”

  “Bake sale? Whatever happened to homemade baked items?” I said remembering all the platters of chocolate chip cookie bars I had made for the bake sales when my sons went to Wilbur Elementary.

  Nanci flicked something off one of her nails and leveled her gaze at me. “Nobody bakes anymore, or cooks, either. I know I certainly don’t have time.” She seemed to be getting impatient with us and I was afraid she was going to show us the door, but we were saved by the bell. Her cell phone rang. As soon as she answered, she made an apology and went into the other room.

  “This is our chance to look around,” I whispered to Dinah. We began to check the various surfaces in the living room. There was a stack of mail on a stand by the door. I went through it quickly, thinking the pad could have gotten mixed in with it. “Dinah, look at this,” I said in a loud whisper. I held up an advertisement that pictured some fancy guns with the headline “Life Is Too Short for an Ugly Gun.”

  Dinah’s eyes got wide when she read it, but then she took me over to the wall and pointed out a photo of Nanci and a man, both holding rifles and smiling. There was some kind of certificate below it for skeet shooting.

  Both of us noticed the cream-colored crocheted wrap sitting on the edge of the sofa.

  “Sorry, for the interruption,” Nanci said as she came back in the room. Dinah and I dropped back into our chairs with a thud. “Was there anything else?” Nanci asked. I noticed that she didn’t sit down, a definite sign she was looking to end our visit.

  “Dinah was just saying that here she lives barely a half block from you and doesn’t know anything about you.” I smiled innocently. “So, are you married, divorced or what?”

  “I’m married, but you probably haven’t seen my husband,” she said directing her comment at Dinah.” He’s the sales manager for a manufacturer up in Chatsworth and he’s on the road most of the time.”

  “What do they manufacture?” Dinah said. I knew she was trying to keep the conversation going until I brought up the real estate agent.

  “This and that,” she said. She stared directly at us. “What is it exactly that you’re here for?”

  I picked up the wrap. “Do you crochet? We’re always looking for more Hookers,” I said.

  It took a moment for it to compute. “You mean your crochet group that meets at the bookstore.” She punctuated it with a laugh as if it was an absurd idea. “I certainly have no time for handicrafts. I bought that from Kelly.”

  “Then you were familiar with her online business,” I said. Nanci answered with an impatient sigh.

  “No. She just showed me what she was selling. I just bought a few things—most of it was too expensive for me. She made a point that she used only very expensive yarn and made one-of-a-kind items.” Nanci picked up the wrap and showed us how there were beads spaced through it and the yarn, though the same color, changed texture. There was a moment of silence and I saw Nanci glance toward the door. Any second she was going to push us out.

  I struggled for a topic that would grab her interest and buy me some more time. “It’s about Autumn,” I said. At the mention of her daughter’s name, Nanci snapped to attention.

  “How do you know my daughter?”

  “I don’t really know her very well. It’s more her boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?” Nanci was really alert now.

  “Yes, Jeffrey Greenberg or maybe you know him by his stage name Columbia.”

  Nanci appeared dumbfounded. “The kid on the bicycle? He’s like a baby.”

  “Isn’t that the truth. Girls mature so much faster. I just wanted you to know that he’s a really good kid and Autumn couldn’t do any better.”

  Apparently Nanci didn’t agree. She went into a whole rant about how Autumn had no time for boyfriends now. She had school, her dance lessons, the soccer team, show choir and of course, preparing for her future, which Nanci was confident was going to include an Ivy League college and a big career. “She’s going to use her talents for more than running the PTA.”

  Nanci must have given up her concern about being rude, because she started walking toward the door. “You must have some important appointments to get to.”

  Dinah and I looked at each other. It was our last ch
ance. The Average Joe’s Guide to Criminal Investigation said if time for questioning was limited, go right for the throat.

  “Here’s the thing,” I said as we reached the front door and she opened it. I quickly told her how Dinah and I had been next door the day Kelly was shot. “We’re pretty sure a real estate agent stopped by while we were there.” I told her I was trying to find out their identity and wondered if they’d left information at her house.

  Nanci paused. “Nobody left anything here.”

  “Were you home that day?” I asked.

  She looked me directly in the eye. “I heard about you two. Someone at the PTA called you Sherlockette and Watson. Not that I have to tell you anything, but I wasn’t home.”

  “Where were you?” Dinah said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Nanci said as she ushered us out. “I don’t have to give you an alibi.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “You better not tell Jeffrey what Autumn’s mother said,” Dinah said as we walked into the bookstore through the café. The smell of baking chocolate chip cookie bars was so delicious, it practically put me into a stupor. So, nobody baked anymore, huh. True it was for the café, but Bob was using my recipe, which I used all the time. I pinched a little excess on my hip—maybe too much of the time.

  “I would never tell Jeffrey what she said. But at least we got our answer about the real estate agent. I’m pretty sure he or she doesn’t exist. So for whatever reason, Kelly didn’t want us to know who’d come over,” I said.

  “It could have been Nanci,” Dinah said. “You notice that she got her way. After L.A. 911 uses the yard, that will be it.”

  “It seems crazy, but she was pretty upset about the idea of filming on her street. And we know she knows how to shoot a gun.” I reached out to take the red eye Bob had made for me. He handed Dinah her café au lait.

  “Do you think she has a gun?” Dinah asked.

  I nodded. “And I bet it’s a pretty one.” I reminded Dinah of the brochure showing off fancy guns.

  “Too bad we didn’t ask to see it. Not that I have any idea how to tell if it had been fired recently. I suppose the cops must have found bullet casings and can match them up with a gun. Do you think Detective Heather knows about Nanci’s gun?”

  I put up my hands in ignorance. “I’m not going to be the one to tell her, either, unless I’m sure it’s the murder weapon.” We took our drinks and went on into the bookstore while trying to figure out a way to get a look at Nanci’s gun or trick her into admitting that she’d killed Kelly.

  The production company must have been filming a scene because none of them were hanging around. Rayaad was even reading a magazine at the cashier stand. She looked up and said Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal were unloading books for the signing.

  We found my bosses setting up a display of the books with Stone’s photo and story. They had moved one of the signs promoting the event to stand next to the table. Once Stone had agreed to sign his picture in the surfing book, I’d put up signs around the bookstore and was trying to spread the news by word of mouth. It was all kind of last minute and I was hoping for the best.

  I gave Mr. Royal the photo Stone had given me. It was an amazing shot of him walking on the beach holding a surfboard. “If he wants to put out anything about his energy drink, there will be room on the table,” Mr. Royal said. He stared at the photo and spent a few minutes raving on about Stone’s surfing prowess.

  “I wonder where Adele is,” I said, doing a three sixty around the bookstore. “It’s too quiet in here.” Dinah followed me as we headed toward the kids’ section. But when we walked into the area with cows jumping over the moon on the carpets and kid-size tables and chairs, there was no Adele.

  “Her stuff is here,” Dinah said touching Adele’s tote bag sitting next to a notebook on the counter against the wall. Dinah’s elbow brushed the tote bag and it toppled off the counter and fell bottom up on the floor.

  “We better pick this up before Adele comes in,” I said grabbing a runaway ball of yarn. I noticed a hook had fallen free. “Did you see where this came from?” I asked Dinah as I rummaged through the stuff on the floor. I finally found a swatch of yarn missing a hook and figured they belonged together. Before I slipped the hook back into a loop, I examined the cream-colored yarn. I held it up to show Dinah.

  “Poor Adele,” I said. “These are supposed to be bullion stitches.” I handed them to Dinah and she shook her head in dismay.

  “I see what she means about it being her Achilles’ heel. These are terrible.” We’d both seen photos of properly done bullion stitches and they were tight coils with a slightly crescent shape. Adele’s coils were anything but tight or neat and appeared to be coming undone. We put everything back in the bag and set it back where it was.

  “What’s in the notebook?” Dinah asked.

  “It is just sitting here,” I said as if that made snooping in it okay. As soon as I opened it, I almost dropped it.

  “Look.” I pointed to the title “Adele Abrams, Very Private Detective” on the first page. Underneath it said “Case Book.” There was no way I was putting it down now. I flipped to the next page and saw “Case #1—The Murder of Kelly Donahue.” Beyond that she had a page titled “Suspects” and below that had headings for “Who Gained From Her Death,” “Alibis,” and “Adele’s Golden Triangle of Guilt.” A whole separate sheet was called “What to Wear to an Investigation.”

  “Wow, she sure has a long list of suspects.” I did a double take as I got lower on the list. “Including you and me.”

  “Geez, is she crazy?” Dinah said looking over my shoulder.

  “She put an ‘LOL’ next to us,” I said going through the list. “She’s got Dan at the top with an asterisk. Nanci Silvers is right under him. Look at all the production people she listed. The only names I recognized were Fred and Zeke, the two prop guys I’d overheard and North Adams.” It seemed like she’d listed everyone on the cast and crew except Eric. “She ought to put herself on the list. She could be trying to kill everyone who knows how to do the bullion stitch, so she won’t look bad.” I was just joking about that and we both started to laugh. Neither of us heard Adele come in until it was too late.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded pulling the binder from my hands. She stuffed it into her tote bag. As she did, she noticed that things weren’t quite as she’d left them. “CeeCee knows, doesn’t she?” She pulled out the little swatch of bullion stitches and she started to cry and pull out the stitches at the same time. Adele cried like everything else she did, loudly and with a lot of drama.

  Dinah and I surrounded her and gave her a group hug. She seemed so heartbroken over her crochet disability as she called it, we both reassured her that we were sure she’d master the stitch in no time and once again promised not to mention it to CeeCee.

  I was hoping the fuss would make her forget we’d been looking at her detective book. Of course it didn’t. “A lot you know. Eric was helping me with it. Maybe you don’t know, Pink, but homicide detectives make up a murder book for each of their cases. Us serious freelancers do, too.” She pulled the notebook back out. “When you see this you’ll understand how on top of things I am. I couldn’t get any crime-scene photos of the body so I had to improvise.” She turned to a page I hadn’t seen and showed how she’d drawn Kelly’s workroom with a stick figure sprawled face up with a large red mark in the middle of her chest in front of the sliding glass door. She had used red curlicues going from the stick figure to areas all around it to show the blood spatter. “Eric told me where the body was.”

  “I’ve seen a real murder book,” I said to Adele. “Just the other night, Barry showed me the one from a case he’s working on.” I was going to tell Adele more about it, but she cut me off.

  “Mine is almost as good as the real thing,” she said, holding the picture page open.

  “I drew it all based on what Eric told me, like they could tell that Kelly was shot at close range and was facing her
assailant.”

  “So then this is accurate? She was on her back?” I asked, and Adele nodded. “It means she was facing her killer.”

  Adele snapped the book shut. “All of it points toward the culprit being Dan Donahue. Except they haven’t found the murder weapon and they don’t have any other hard evidence that he did it. At least, not yet,” Adele said, giving us a knowing look.

  * * *

  Although Mason and I had been having dinner together most nights, that night we didn’t. He called to tell me they were having some kind of family powwow about the wedding situation. I realized I had no place in it, but I still felt left out.

  I was surprised to come home to an empty house. For so long Barry had been there every night, mostly Jeffrey, too. But now that Barry was back on his feet, literally, it made sense they wouldn’t just be staying put. I could tell by the trash, they’d had dinner before they went wherever. The takeout food containers gave it away. And the number of dishes in the dishwasher.

  I laughed at myself. I was becoming quite the detective. Figuring out Samuel was out was easy. The light was off in his room and the door was shut. I had the house all to myself, finally. It was still balmy outside due to the fact it had been over one hundred degrees during the day. It seemed like a perfect night for an ice cream dinner. The only problem was no ice cream.

  I brought the dogs inside and grabbed my purse. Gelson’s and Whole Foods were closing for the night, so I headed toward Ralph’s. The hot weather seemed to have made lots of people put off their grocery shopping because even though it was almost ten, the parking lot was crowded.

  Once I got inside the store, I remembered other things I needed and, before I realized it, had a cart full of things like paper towels and cat food. I was ready to pick up the ice cream and check out, when I almost crashed carts with Dan Donahue. I had assumed by what I’d seen at their house that Dan brought everything they needed from his store, but apparently I was wrong. His cart had a whole selection of merchandise.