“That he did. I seem to remember a big crowd.”
“That was the problem. It was really too big a crowd to manage, and a lot of them seemed to like our merchandise but then skipped the part about paying for it. So it was definitely not something I wanted to repeat.”
Mr. Royal shook his head. “I never got a straight story about what happened to him. I wonder if it was natural causes.”
“It was murder,” I said.
Chapter Seventeen
As closing time approached, I began to get nervous about seeing Mason, wondering how it was going to go. We couldn’t act as if nothing had happened. Where did that leave us, and where did I want it to leave us?
February was turning out to be a rain-soaked month, which was a good thing after the years of drought we’d gone through, though I might otherwise have wished for more sunny days. It had started raining again, and the large front window of the bookstore was splashed with lines of droplets. Before I even walked outside, I knew it was a steady persistent rain that would probably continue for hours. Mason was standing by the doorway with a big black umbrella, and he stepped forward to shield me from the wet as soon as I came outside.
There was an awkward moment of how to greet each other, particularly since our last meeting had been a purely professional one and further complicated by the fact that he was holding an umbrella. Finally, he offered me a spot close to him and took my arm.
“Well, here we are,” he said in a cheerful tone.
“Yes, here we are,” I said, repeating his words.
“The car is over there.” He pointed to the black Mercedes SUV at the curb.
I was glad the ride to the restaurant was short because all we seemed to be able to talk about was the rain. Most of the restaurant was taken up by the sushi bar, but Mason got us a table by the window that looked out on a small courtyard, where we had a view of the raindrops hitting a fountain.
“Did we really just talk about the weather all the way here?” Mason asked, shaking his head. “Seriously, did we ever do that before?”
“No, but then I don’t think we were both ever looking for an easy topic before,” I countered. The server dropped off a paper sushi menu, which we ignored as we just sat looking at each other. I couldn’t speak for him, but I felt awkward, and it seemed like the best thing to do was clear the air. “I want you to know that I’m really sorry for breaking things off the way I did and not answering your calls,” I said.
“If only I’d known what you thought,” he said as his mouth eased into a grin. “I would have had a pizza delivered with a note telling you that you were wrong stuck in the cheese.” The grin faded. “Promise me you’ll never shut me out like that again.”
“Okay,” I said. “Now what?” I was referring to us, but Mason grabbed the menu.
“We order food,” he said.
“You do know I didn’t mean what was next on our evening’s agenda,” I said. I let out a nervous laugh and he smiled.
“Of course, but we need some sustenance before we get into that conversation.” He handed me a pen and the sushi menu, but I pushed it back on him and suggested he order.
The restaurant had gotten louder as some people at the sushi bar toasted the sushi chef with small cups of sake. I heard one of them call out for another round.
Our food came and we both filled up our small plates with an assortment of the rolls Mason ordered. “So?” I said, picking up a translucent slice of ginger with my chopsticks.
“I don’t think there’s any way we can just pick up where we left off,” he said.
“I’m with you on that. So, then, what do we do, start fresh?”
“We can’t quite do that either.” He mixed some soy sauce with wasabi and dipped a piece of rainbow roll in it.
“You know, maybe you’re right about keeping things light. The best times we had were when we were both in it with our arms open. You know, no ties to bind us or expectations. Fun without drama.”
“Really?” he said. “You never cease to surprise me, and I mean that in a good way. You’d go for that?”
“Actually, with everything I have going on in my life, I’m not sure I could handle anything more,” I said.
“You’re that busy?” He sounded a little miffed. “Just to be clear—does that mean we’re exclusive?”
“How about this,” I offered. “We don’t own each other’s time.”
“As a lawyer, that still sounds a little vague,” he said.
“It means we’re both free to do whatever when we’re not together. No explanations needed. There’d be no need to come up with an alias or a bogus yoga class to cover up what either of us is doing. You wouldn’t commit my time to doing something, and I wouldn’t commit yours.”
Mason’s brows were knitted together. “That sounds even more casual than my idea of it. How would I introduce you? ‘This is Molly, my special someone for now,’ or ‘my fun mate’?”
I batted his arm good-naturedly. “You’d never say that. You said you were my lawyer and my friend. How about upping it a notch to my really good friend?” He shook his head and I offered more possible titles. “How about ‘important companion’? Or you could call me your gal.”
He laughed. “That sounds like one of your mother’s songs.”
The noise at the sushi bar had gotten even louder as the sake drinkers had clearly had a few too many. Mason threw them a dirty look, which they didn’t notice. “This was just a hasty get-together,” Mason said. “I insist on a do-over of our first date the second time around. It should be something befitting our reunion. How’s that for a fancy phrase?”
I laughed at his word choice and agreed to a second first date. He paid the check and we huddled under the umbrella and hurried to the SUV. It was a short drive to the bookstore parking lot, and the Greenmobile sat all by itself in the pool of a streetlight. He pulled next to it and cut the motor. I started to button my raincoat and get ready to get out.
“I think we got through the hard part,” I said. “I can’t speak for you, but I feel a lot less tense now.”
“Me too,” he said. He saw me preparing to open the door. “Any new thoughts on your Timothy Clark investigation?”
I let go of the door handle and turned back to face him. “Are you trying to prolong our evening?” I said with a laugh.
“You caught me, but really, I am interested.”
“Well, I think I might have figured out a motive and a method.”
“I’m all ears,” he said.
“I think Timothy Clark had a scam going with his acting workshops. Maybe scam is a little too harsh. More like he was milking people’s dreams to make a living,” I said.
“That’s the Sunshine I missed,” Mason said with a happy smile. “Tell me more.”
I told him all about what I’d found out. It was fine until I started talking about Brett and how I’d talked to him at the men’s store where he worked.
“What were you doing at a men’s store?” Mason asked, leaning toward me.
“Shopping, of course,” I said with a laugh. “It doesn’t matter why I was there; it’s about what Brett said.”
“Who were you shopping for?” Mason said. Even in the dark car, I could see his brows were slightly furrowed.
“It was more like shopping with. I was there with Leo. Remember I told you about helping him update his look? Well, it turned into a makeover. You should see him now. He looks like a different person.”
“You better watch out,” Mason said. “Next he’ll be making a move on you.” He said it in a joking tone, but his expression made me think he was really concerned.
I laughed it off. “Leo make a move on me? I don’t think so. I don’t think he would even know how. His wife did everything for him. Rhoda will probably have to play matchmaker.” Mason relaxed a little, and I went back to talking about Brett. “It was pretty clear that Timothy was more like an acting coach for him. I got the feeling he paid Timothy a lot of money for the
workshops, head shots, and a reel, all with the hope that Timothy would help launch his career when the time was supposedly right. What if he began to see through it and figured out that the time was never going to be right? He could have thought that people think of poison as a woman’s weapon and figured using cyanide would keep suspicion away from him.”
“Certainly a possibility. Didn’t you say something about method?” Mason said.
“The cyanide could have been dropped in the pink squirrel from a ring with a secret compartment,” I said excitedly. “That would make it seem even more like it was a woman.”
Mason appeared a little puzzled, and then I told him about the happy-hour gathering and how we’d been talking about Timothy’s death. “I kept it pretty general, as if I was just curious but not personally involved. I mentioned that I’d heard he was poisoned. Somehow we started talking about poison rings, and Sheila said they had some for sale at Luxe. It’s kind of a stretch, but it could have been how the killer got the poison in his drink.”
It was raining with such a vengeance that the droplets were actually bouncing off the asphalt. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but I wonder where the killer got the cyanide.”
“We could continue this discussion at my place,” Mason offered. “With a flick of my wrist, I could turn on the fireplace. We could have a sleepover.”
“Sounds nice, but I have to go. I don’t know what’s waiting for me at home, and I have an early day.” I had my hand on the door handle again.
“Now that we’re special friends, don’t I get a good-night kiss?”
“Sorry, of course,” I stammered. “I’m still getting used to our new status.” I leaned toward him as he did toward me. SUVs weren’t made for romance, so making contact was a little awkward, but then we worked it out. It felt like old times, and it turned into an epic kiss that lasted a long time until we both noticed the center divider was poking us in the ribs and pulled away.
“The sleepover offer is still good,” he said, caressing my hand.
With a hasty good-night, I got out of the SUV and into my car before I changed my mind.
Chapter Eighteen
I saw the black Crown Vic parked in front of my house when I pulled into my driveway. My mind was still on Mason. I was so glad that it seemed as if we’d worked things out.
I was sure Barry was ready to do his Columbo impression again, asking me just one more thing. I wondered if I should walk up to the car and tap on his window or play the game of going inside and letting him call me.
Why make it easy for him? Besides, it was raining too hard. I pulled into the garage and ran across the back patio, trying to dodge raindrops. Still, when I walked through the kitchen door, I was dripping wet. As usual, Cosmo and Felix were waiting to greet me. They stuck their noses out the open door and both immediately backtracked inside—it was too much rain even for them. The cats figured it out beforehand and didn’t even bother coming to the door to try to slip out. I took off my rain jacket and hung it in the bathroom off the laundry area to dry. The house was dark and I went around turning on lights, knowing the phone would ring at any moment.
Just as I flipped on the porch light, I heard it. I answered as if I didn’t know who it was.
I had to hold in a laugh as he said exactly what I expected. “This is Detective Greenberg,” he announced, and I rolled my eyes. Really? He couldn’t just say Barry? “Something’s come up and I wanted to ask you about it.”
So maybe it wasn’t exactly the Columbo line, but the point was the same. He was trying to wear me down until I made a mistake and admitted something he could use to get me to talk. I could have saved him the run through the rain. No way was that going to happen.
I opened the door just as he got to the porch. The raindrops were glistening in his short dark hair. He’d thrown a raincoat on, but still there were splotches of water on his white shirt and dark suit.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me,” I said as he came inside.
Felix and Cosmo heard voices and ran to the door, giving off warning barks as they did. As soon as they saw who it was, they danced around his feet in anticipation of some treats.
“Do you mind?” he asked, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.
“Be my guest,” I said, stepping out of the way.
“Good decision, because there would be no peace if they didn’t get their doggy delights.” I followed him into the kitchen as he fetched the treats. “You were out late.” It was a comment, but the way he said it, it begged for an answer.
“Is that what you came to ask me about?”
Barry turned toward me. “No. I was just making conversation.” He looked around the kitchen carefully. I shook my head, knowing exactly what he was doing. Mr. Detective was looking for evidence of whether I’d had dinner at home or not. It was a dead giveaway that the kitchen looked too orderly and I had put a water-soaked white paper bag with my leftover sushi on the counter.
“I suppose you and Dinah went out somewhere for a girls’ night,” he said.
“Nope, she was off with Commander.”
“So maybe you just worked late and were going to eat when you got home.” He picked up the paper bag and looked inside. “And you brought in takeout.”
“What are you—the dinner detective? Not doing a good job if you are.” I took out the small white container from the wet bag. “If I was bringing in food, it would be more than this.”
“I was just going to say it looked like leftovers,” he said. He sniffed the air in the vicinity of the container. “It smells like sushi rice.”
“Good detective nose,” I said, flipping the top open and showing him the six pieces of vegetable roll.
“Was it that Leo again?” Barry seemed perturbed.
“No,” I said, trying to look serious. I couldn’t help but find Barry’s apparent jealousy amusing. “I was just going to make some tea. Would you like some?”
“I wasn’t planning on being here that long, but a hot cup of something would be good on a night like this.” I told him to sit in the living room and I would bring it in.
A few moments later I set a steaming mug of Earl Grey in front of him along with a plate of butter cookies. He was sitting on one of the couches, and I took a seat across from him.
“Don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you.”
He had on his blank cop face, but I saw it soften as the scent of the oil of bergamot in the tea and the buttery sweet smell of the cookies wafted toward him.
“So what did you want to ask me?” I said. “Are you still working on that case of that actor that got killed?”
He was not happy with me taking control of the situation, and he half closed his eyes with frustration. “You know that’s why I’m here,” he said.
“I don’t know why you think I can help you.” I was doing my best to appear as if I didn’t know anything. I let my face brighten. “But then maybe I do know something. We were all talking about what happened to Timothy Clark today when the Hookers got together. Someone said that he was poisoned. I guess that means you’re looking for a woman, because poison is supposed to be their weapon of choice,” I said.
Barry’s face broke. “Sherlock Holmes said that. He’s a fictional detective. Everybody uses poison, and since far more men commit murder than women, more of them use poison than women.” He rocked his head back. “Why did I just say that? I’m not here to discuss what your yarn friends think.” He put down the cup of tea and glared at me. “After the situation at Clark’s house the other night, the CSI team went back through the place, and they found a bunch of fingerprints and said that it seemed some stuff on the desk had been messed up. I was wondering if you’d mind giving me a sample of yours?”
“Why would I do that?” I said, trying to sound like it was an absurd request. I hadn’t thought about us leaving fingerprints when we went looking at Clark’s calendar.
“It looks kind of suspicious i
f you won’t give them,” he said. “Of course, I could always arrest you and then you’d have to give your fingerprints.”
“Arrest me for what?” I said.
“For being difficult,” he said, then caught himself. “Obstruction of justice, interfering with an investigation, and probably something else.”
“Fine, then take me in,” I said, standing up and holding out my hands. He stood and stepped in front of me.
“You know I’m not going to do that,” he said. “Just tell me what’s going on. Why were you at Clark’s house? I know you didn’t kill him, but you probably have information that could be useful in finding out who did.”
He kept looking at me and then turning away. There was some kind of vibe going on with him, like there was an electric current in the air. Finally he leveled his eyes at me.
“Molly, we can’t keep going on like this.”
He held my gaze a little too long, and I felt my face growing hot. Was it my imagination that we’d both stepped closer, almost as if there was some kind of magnetic pull between us?
Then he abruptly turned away. “If you’re not going to talk, I have to go,” he said, heading to the door. I followed him and got there just as the door closed.
I heard him let out his breath with relief as he whispered to himself, “Are you nuts? Get a grip.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I know I said I would call last night,” I said to Dinah as we walked into the bookstore café. She had walked over to the bookstore to meet me for my morning break. “But it was just too late and, no matter what you said, I worried about upsetting Commander.”
I got a red eye and she got a café au lait, and we found a table in a corner where we could talk.
“It would have been okay. I think I worked it out. I keep my cell on vibrate so he doesn’t hear it ring.” She set her mug of half coffee, half steamed milk on the table. “Now tell me everything about Mason,” she said.
“It was a little awkward at first, but I think we worked it out. We’re going to go back to where we should have stayed, companionship with no drama.” I reached in my pocket for a tissue, and a crumpled piece of paper came out with it. As I started to smooth it out, I realized it was the note that had been on my windshield.
On the Hook Page 16
