On the Hook

by Betty Hechtman

  I silently swallowed. So he was off the scarf and trying a different direction by implying that he knew that I knew the man. “I already answered that,” I said. “All I know about him was that he was on a TV show and there was something on the news that he died.”

  “And the body was discovered by the husband of one of your Hookers.”

  “Really?” I said, acting amazed. “Whose husband was it?”

  Barry wiped a smudge of peanut butter off his chin and tried to look stern. “You can stonewall all you want, but I know that you knew Timothy Clark.”

  This time my confusion was real. “I’ve never met him,” I said.

  “Are you so sure? I’ve seen something that says otherwise.”

  “What is it?” I asked, losing my cool for the moment. For just a moment, Barry lost the cop persona and became just Barry.

  “You tell me about the scarf and I’ll tell you what I have.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, recovering quickly.

  He looked frustrated that none of his interrogation moves were working. “Molly, why are you being so difficult?”

  I grabbed the moment. “So did this Timothy person die of natural causes?” Barry looked me directly in the eye and shook his head.

  “It was homicide,” he said grimly.

  Not the answer I wanted to hear.

  Chapter Six

  I had told Dinah that I would tell all later. I was sure she was curious what was going on, and I certainly wanted to unload to my best friend. I sat looking at the cordless, wondering when was too late to call. I checked the black screen on my smartwatch and twisted my wrist until the display lit up. It told a lot more than the time, just the way my smartphone did a lot more than make calls. I saw that the temperature was fifty-two degrees, I hadn’t walked enough steps to make my goal, the battery was getting close to empty, and it was 10:45 PM. The watch had been a gift from Mason Fields just before I broke things off with him. It was a standing joke that while the rest of the world was fixated on the screens of their smartphones, I mostly ignored mine and, as a result, missed most of the calls and just about everything else that showed up on it.

  The Apple watch worked with the phone, vibrating when a text or email came in and emitting a longer vibration for a call. Even with all those vibrations, I still missed a lot. I liked to think I was too immersed in the world around me to care about another email rolling in.

  Ten forty-five wasn’t that late, was it?

  Rhoda had picked Leo up shortly after Barry left, giving him enough time to ask who Barry was. I wasn’t sure how much to explain and decided to keep it on a professional level. And maybe I rearranged the truth a little. I told him Barry was a homicide detective and was working on a case and he’d come over thinking I might have some information that would help him with his investigation.

  “That’s right,” Leo said brightening. “Rhoda told me you’re sort of an amateur detective.”

  “I’ve gotten lucky a few times—well, more like a number of times—and figured out whodunit,” I said with a smile. I waited for him to make some weird comment as he had before, but he seemed genuinely impressed.

  “She said you’ve gotten yourself in some pretty dangerous situations.” He smiled as if he had thought of something clever. “I guess it means you got out of them, since you’re here now.”

  I almost joked that trouble could be my middle name, but I was concerned he wouldn’t understand I was joking, so I just said, “Yes.”

  I walked him to the door with a sense of relief that my good deed was done, but then, just before he went out, he said, “Until next time.”

  Until next time? He looked so hopeful, I didn’t have the heart to tell him we were done, so I smiled weakly and again said, “Yes.” He had zipped up his parka and carefully walked down the stone path to Rhoda’s car.

  Do it or forget it, I told myself. I went back to staring at the phone, debating if I should call Dinah. So much had changed since she’d gotten married. It only made sense when you put together two people in their fifties who’d been used to their own way of doing things. Again it made me glad that I hadn’t taken Barry up on his offer.

  It had been so much easier when I’d married Charlie. I was young and clueless and just thought everything would work out. Well, it had, because in those days I had bought into Charlie’s way as being the right way and gone along with it, whether it was about leaving a light on in the bathroom at night (he was against it, I was for it) or where we should go for a vacation (he always wanted to tie it to a business trip). Once I had gotten past the grief after he died, I’d seen the light—excuse the pun—and realized my way of doing things was as valid as Charlie’s. And now I was going to have that bathroom light on if I wanted and take that trip to Tuscany one of these days.

  I thought to myself that I should tell Barry he was lucky I hadn’t said yes because we would have had a constant battle on our hands. Maybe I’d say something about it if I saw him again.

  I rolled my eyes at myself. Who was I kidding? I’d definitely be seeing him again about that damn scarf. Barry’s words came back to me—that he knew I knew Timothy Clark. He had to have been bluffing. I hadn’t even been a fan of the show he was on.

  It was 10:50 now. There was just too much simmering in my head and I had to talk to someone. Finally I punched in Dinah’s number and the phone began to ring. I prayed that Commander wouldn’t be the one to answer and say something about giving his heart a start.

  I let my breath out when I heard Dinah’s hello. “Sorry for calling so late,” I said right way, but she stopped me.

  “Commander may not be happy with late-night phone calls, but it’s always okay with me. I was up anyway, grading papers.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to come over?” I said.

  “Are you kidding? I’d love a distraction from these papers. I had my students pretend they were on an island with no electricity or Internet. Their assignment was to handwrite an essay. And they had to use a paper dictionary.” She stopped and I imagined her shaking her head. “All I can say is that they better hope there’s never an extended power failure and all their batteries are drained. They are dead in the water without their electronics.” I heard the jingle of her keys and the sound of her opening her front door. “I’m on my way,” she said as she signed off.

  A few minutes later I saw her coming across the backyard. Felix and Cosmo danced around her as she came inside and the two cats did figure eights around her ankles.

  “Treats for everyone,” she said, walking over to the dog treat jar and the smaller one that held the cat goodies.

  “What can I give you?” I asked when she was done.

  “Whatever is easy. Just being out like this is great. It feels like old times.” She left it at that, but I knew she meant before Commander and I got married.

  We rummaged around my refrigerator and came up with a pint of vanilla ice cream, a jar of caramel sauce, and a can of whipped cream. When we’d created our sundaes, we took them into the living room. Dinah laughed when she saw the furniture. I didn’t have to explain; she knew right away that my mother and the girls had turned it back into their rehearsal hall.

  “There’s always so much going on here,” she said, a little wistfully. “My house is a tomb at night.” She stuck her spoon through all the layers and came up with the perfect mixture of caramel-coated ice cream with a dollop of whipped cream. After she savored the spoonful, she turned to me. “So, I’m sensing there’s some kind of crisis. Tell me all about it.”

  She caught me just as I had put a spoonful of sundae in my mouth, so she continued. “Does the crisis have anything to do with Leo? He looked like he might be trouble. Did he turn out to have octopus hands?”

  I almost choked on my ice cream, laughing at the thought. “He’s not the problem,” I said, and told her the peanut-butter-and-banana story without mentioning Barry’s visit.

  “If anybody can ope
n up that guy’s world, it’s you,” she said. “So then, what is it?”

  “I told you about the fiasco yesterday. Elise showing a house she wasn’t supposed to be showing to Adele, who wasn’t supposed to be looking at one?”

  Dinah laughed at my phrasing.

  “It turns out there’s a lot more to the story. The house belonged to Timothy Clark.”

  Dinah was silent for a moment. “Didn’t I read something online that he died?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said, and then I went into the whole story, including the dropping of the scarf and Barry’s repeated efforts to get me to admit the scarf was mine. “Of course, I keep stonewalling. I was hoping it would turn out he died of natural causes, but then Barry broke the news it was murder. Adele doesn’t even know how much trouble we’re in. I really don’t look forward to letting her know, either.”

  “It sounds like Barry has been making a lot of visits,” Dinah said with a knowing smile.

  “All in his professional capacity,” I said, but then told her how his last one had overlapped with Leo’s stop at my place.

  “I know I shouldn’t be laughing. A man’s been killed, but I wish I could have seen Barry’s face when Leo said you were better than his wife.” She let it sit for a minute. “You do realize that you and Barry aren’t really finished?”

  “Oh, but we are. He’s trying to connect me with a murder. You know Barry; his job always comes first. Though it was priceless when he saw Leo sitting on my couch.” I smiled at the memory and then got serious again. “The plan is to find out who killed Timothy Clark quickly, before Barry manages to find a way to prove the scarf is mine.” I mentioned the last few moments with Barry when he had said that he knew that I knew Timothy Clark. “I think he’s bluffing. I don’t ever remember meeting him. I didn’t even really know who he was until I saw the report on the news last night.”

  Dinah’s expression had grown serious and she took a deep breath. “I hate to say this, but maybe you ought to get in touch with Mason. He is a criminal attorney, even if most of his clients are celebrities with no judgment. He could certainly advise you.”

  “We haven’t talked in months,” I said. “Since my phone call.”

  “But it was civil. It wasn’t as if you had a big fight.”

  “No, there was no fight. I looked at the phone call as preemptive. I was sure I knew what was coming, and I took control and broke the thing off before he could.”

  “I knew there was going to be trouble when Mason let his daughter move into his place while she went to law school.”

  “She never liked me,” I said, remembering how Brooklyn had done her best to ignore my presence whenever I went to Mason’s house. “But when Jaimee moved in, too, while her house was being remodeled…” I threw up my hands.

  “Too bad you didn’t say something then,” Dinah said. We’d been over all of this before, but she knew it was bothering me and listened as if she was hearing it for the first time.

  “Mason’s house is huge and Jaimee moved into the house, not with him. Besides, what was I going to say? It was his house and his family. I actually admired that he felt a responsibility to them.” I dug into the bottom of the dish and scraped the last of the caramel sauce mixed with melted ice cream. “When I overheard Jaimee suggesting she and Mason get back together, I was sure he’d never go for it. Even when Jaimee and Brooklyn tagged along on his business trip to New York, I was delusional enough to believe nothing was up.” I stopped and let out a sigh as I remembered what had been the coup de grace when I had gone over to Mason’s and let myself in with the key he’d given me. “Jaimee was in the living room talking to an interior decorator about redoing the place. Brooklyn saw me and the key in my hand and asked for it back. That’s when I finally got it. They had gotten back together.”

  Dinah got up, came back with the ice cream container, and dropped another scoop in my empty dish and one in her own. “This is definitely an extra-scoop story.”

  “I knew the inevitable was coming, so I just cut things off first—with a machete,” I said with a sad smile, remembering how I had simply told him that he needed to work things out with his family and that we were done, and then I’d hung up without letting him speak. And maybe I had also not answered any of his calls after that. “But you’re right. Mason would know what to do about this situation I’m in. And it would be strictly professional.”

  “Absolutely,” Dinah said. “Now let’s see if we can lighten up this conversation.”

  “I do have something funny,” I said, glad to change the subject. I told her about the teenage girls coming into the bookstore because some influencer on YouTube had told them books were the new hot thing.

  The next morning, I bit the bullet and called Mason’s office. I had considered my various options for reaching him. Calling his cell seemed too personal, and I certainly wasn’t going to call his house.

  When his assistant asked who was calling, I said, “This is Molly Pink,” then quickly added, “And this is a professional call.” I had no idea if she knew who I was, but on the off chance she did, I wanted to make it clear this wasn’t personal.

  “Are you a client?” she asked. I hesitated. I didn’t want to say that I knew Mason; then she’d ask how and it could get awkward.

  “No,” I said, and she put me on hold.

  After leaving me on hold for an awfully long time, a man came on the line and introduced himself as an attorney working with Mason. “Mr. Fields is tied up. Perhaps I can help you,” he said.

  “If I could just speak to Mason,” I said. “I need his legal help.”

  “Then it would be a new-client interview. I can help you with that,” he said. “We could start on the phone and arrange for you to meet with me first.”

  “If you would just tell Mason who’s calling. He knows me. But be sure and tell him I need his services. That is, his legal services. And I need it to be soon,” I added before he could put me on hold again. I didn’t know if I was getting the runaround because someone recognized my name or because it was that hard to get through to Mason.

  “You’re not in jail, are you?” the man asked.

  “Not yet,” I said, trying to make a joke that fell flat.

  After a long time, the man came back on. “Mr. Fields suggested a dinner meeting this evening, since you seem to feel you are about to be incarcerated.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of humor in his voice, and he offered a time and named a restaurant on Ventura Boulevard in Encino before asking for my okay.

  “It’s a date,” I said, then regretted my choice of words. “I meant that as in the time and place are fine. Not that this was in any way going to be social.”

  “Whatever you say,” the man said with a dismissive tone before hanging up.

  “I wished I hadn’t said so much,” I said to myself. This was absolutely not a date. I really hoped he understood that. And then I wondered what I should wear.

  Chapter Seven

  “This way,” the host said when I explained I was meeting Mason Fields. Donte’s had a black-and-white-tiled floor and the wood-paneling look of an old-fashioned grill. The conversation level was at a low hum, and I expected to be led to one of the tables in the center of the dimly lit restaurant. Instead, the host led me to the side of the room and pulled back a curtain, revealing a private booth. He held out his arm in a gesture, inviting me to sit.

  I had fretted all day, alternating between wondering if I was making a mistake and second-guessing my outfit. I had decided to go in my regular work clothes of khaki slacks and a black sweater over a white shirt, but I did redo my makeup and brush my hair. And maybe I did pop the collar on my shirt, though I hoped it would look like it had somehow happened on its own.

  I slid onto the green leatherette seat and glanced at the empty space across from me. “Mr. Fields said to tell you he was on his way,” the host said. “Would you care for a glass of wine or a cocktail while you wait?”

  “No,” I said a little
too quickly. “This is a professional meeting.” I wanted to laugh at myself, as if the host cared. “I’ll have a coffee.” I wanted to be completely alert.

  The anticipation was making me nervous, and I flinched when the curtain opened and a female server dressed all in black set a cup of coffee down in front of me. I was about to take a sip when Mason sat down across from me. He was dressed in his work clothes. This time it was a light-colored suit that draped perfectly over a creamy colored shirt with such a high thread count that it had a soft sheen. His dark hair had enough strands of gray to make him appear seasoned, and the way a lock of his hair always fell across his forehead somehow made him seem earnest and hardworking. Despite my best efforts, I felt a wave of emotion.

  “It’s been a while,” he said in a noncommittal tone as he looked across the table at me. I had expected the usual good-natured warm smile he’d always worn when we were together, but there was no curve in his lips or dancing in his eyes. If anything, they seemed to hold a question. He laid a leather folder on the table and flipped it open, revealing a yellow pad. So, he’d taken it seriously that this was a professional meeting.

  I knew I had made such a point about this not being personal, but I was dying to ask him about Jaimee. Were they living happily ever after? I knew the reason they’d gotten divorced was because when their daughters were grown, they’d discovered they had nothing in common anymore and didn’t really enjoy each other’s company. What could have changed? Had Jaimee gotten a personality transplant? I couldn’t really ask him, since it would make it look as if the professional stuff had just been a ruse to get him there.

  “Lawrence said you were concerned about being arrested,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

  Okay, he was just getting down to business. I felt a pang of disappointment. Mason had always been so much fun and clear about really liking me, and now he was fine with me just being another person in trouble needing his help.

  “Before I say anything, I want to make sure. This stays between us, right?”