Gone with the Wool

by Betty Hechtman

  The crowd spilled out onto the deck and then went down the stairs and moved en masse to the boardwalk that led through the dunes. All our feet clattered on the walkway as we followed along, and I felt bad for any deer that were wandering in the dunes. We reached the edge of the Vista Del Mar grounds and the street. The usually empty street was lined with cars, and more people joined the crowd as we crossed the street. There was no traffic, and we all crossed in a constant stream. It was easy to see the white sand, even in the dark. Walking became a little more difficult when we reached the sand, but we continued on to almost the water’s edge, then everyone spread out.

  “We call this the Beckoning of the Butterflies,” Coach Gary said. “We thank them for coming here and admire the magic that draws them here, following in the footsteps of their ancestors even though these particular butterflies have never been here before.”

  The breeze whipped through the crowd, and the waves made a rhythmic sound as Coach Gary and the princesses gathered together. There was a large bin near the water. The princesses each took a cylinder from the container. I saw someone with the kind of lighter used for fireplaces going from princess to princess. The flame was applied to the bottom of the cylinder, and then the princess held up the glowing cylinder and let it go. The sky lanterns floated up and out over the water, carrying their beckoning lights.

  For the moment, I forgot all about my troubles and my worries regarding Chloe. It was absolutely beautiful as more and more of the cylinders took off into the night sky. I felt someone link arms with me. I looked over and could just barely make out Dane’s angular face.

  “Chloe banished me from all of this princess stuff, but I didn’t want to miss this. It’s really something, isn’t it?” More of the lights sailed out over the water. “Even if it’s just ceremonial. I heard the butterflies had already started arriving days ago,” Dane teased.

  I gave him a playful poke in the arm. “Aren’t you Mr. Bust the Perfect Moment.”

  “Give me a chance and I’ll create a perfect moment.” I couldn’t see his eyes, but I bet they were dancing. The last of the lanterns went up, and everyone applauded. “That’s my cue. I’ve got to go.” I’d felt the brush of his equipment belt and realized he was in uniform, which meant he was on duty. He touched my arm and then walked off in the sand.

  In the darkness it was impossible to see who was who, and I followed the crowd as everyone headed back to the street. Some people began to splinter off and head to their cars, and others continued through the Vista Del Mar gate onto the boardwalk, through the dunes.

  Sammy must have had some kind of radar, because even in the dark, with all those people, he found me as I was walking on the boardwalk. “Case, the good news is that my father finally showed up. The bad news is that they are insisting we spend some time with them—both of us.”

  Back to reality and the pile of problems facing me. “When?” I asked.

  “They were talking about now,” he said. “I’m really sorry, but the sooner we do it, the sooner they’ll leave.”

  I saw his point and thought over what I still had to do. “I suppose I could do it for a half an hour. Just let me see my retreaters first.”

  Sammy gave me a bear hug. “Case, you’re the best. I’ll tell them we’ll meet them in the café.” He moved on ahead to find them and give them the good news.

  The boardwalk ended, and the crowd spread out even more. As I went up the stairs to the deck outside the Lodge, I caught up with the two Danish women. They were all smiles and told me in hesitant English how much they were enjoying the retreat. I looked around for Liz Buckley, knowing it would reassure the travel agent, but I didn’t see her.

  We walked into the cavernous building together. I was glad to see Lucinda, Bree, Scott and Olivia gathered by the window looking out over the deck, and I brought the Danish women over.

  Bree’s fluff of blond curls bounced as she talked. “Next year, I’m bringing my boys. This whole thing about the butterflies is magical. Imagine that somehow they know just where to come, when they’ve never been here before, but their great-grandparents have. Or maybe it’s great-great-grandparents.”

  Lucinda smiled at Bree’s excitement. “It certainly brings a lot of attention to Cadbury.”

  Scott usually had the buttoned-down look of a businessman, but for once his face was beaming. Olivia was the only one who wasn’t gushing over what we’d just witnessed and seemed almost glum.

  “Sorry, but the whole event reminded me of my ex. I heard that he and the new wife took off in a hot air balloon after they said their vows,” she said. She’d come so far in moving on with her life that I hated to see her take a step back. Thinking about her ex’s marriage, particularly the fact that her children had gone to the wedding, stirred up all kinds of upset for her. I hoped changing the subject would make her forget about it. “Remember, you were going to try using a loom to make squares,” I said. The idea of collecting knitted and crocheted squares that she could sew together into blankets and donate had become almost an obsession with Olivia, and she immediately brightened.

  “What a great idea.” She looked at the group. “Why not have a session right now?” She went over to the retreaters and suggested they move to the living room–like lobby of the building their guest rooms were in. She made sure to let the Danish women know they were included.

  “Are you coming?” Lucinda asked, hanging back as the others moved toward the door.

  “I wish.” I told her about having to meet Sammy’s parents. “I hope they say whatever they have to and then leave. I have too many things going on to be able to keep up with the masquerade of being his girlfriend.” Lucinda gave me a sympathetic hug and then went on to catch up with the others.

  The Beckoning of the Butterflies seemed to have left a lot of people anxious for a treat. As I crossed the large space, I saw that the line for the Cora and Madeleine Delacorte Café was spilling out the door into the main area of the Lodge. As I got closer, I saw that Sammy’s parents were already in line, in a position near the door. Coach Gary squeezed past the line as he exited the café with a cup of something hot. He’d removed the monarch wings and had his leather jacket unzipped. He was all smiles and seemed almost to glow from the success of his Lord of the Butterfly duties. I saw several people speak to him and assumed by the humble bow of his head and big smile that he was collecting compliments.

  As he passed Sammy’s parents, Sammy’s dad stopped him. No smile and bowed head this time—Coach Gary’s expression darkened instead. I suppose Dr. Bernard Glickner was probably telling him something about the sky lanterns being dangerous. Sammy’s father must have realized he’d said the wrong thing, because the next thing he did was pat Coach Gary on the shoulder. The only way I could describe the move was that it looked like they were in solidarity about something.

  I tried to thread my way through the line to join them but kept getting dirty looks, like I was trying to cut in front. I’d almost reached them when a tall woman who looked like the stereotype of an old maid librarian blocked my path and gave me a scathing look.

  “Missy, there’s a line,” she said, holding her arms out. I was going to point out Sammy’s parents but decided it wasn’t worth the battle. I’d just wait until they saw me. Maybe I had another motive as well—I was now close enough to hear what they were saying. I hoped they would spill whatever they planned to “discuss” with me and Sammy. Better to be prepared.

  Satisfied that I wasn’t going to try to pass her, the librarian turned away from me, and I was able to get in even better hearing range of Sammy’s parents.

  “I know where you went,” Estelle said. “Bernard, you have a problem.”

  “I do not,” he countered. “Just because I’m bored with a butterfly festival and went looking for something else to do doesn’t mean I have a problem.” They moved into the doorway of the café. “This detour was your idea anyw
ay.”

  “You should have used that time to talk to your son.” Estelle seemed to move her head a lot as she spoke. “There’s something he’s not telling us. She’s working a couple of jobs. His mind seems to be on something other than his medical career. That house is tiny. Did you see Sammy’s socks on the floor? He never does that.”

  “Aren’t you Mrs. Detective,” he said. “But I agree, he’s hiding something. He’s never had any sense where Casey was concerned.”

  They said something after that, but it was drowned out by the conversation going on behind me. I wondered what his parents had up their sleeves.

  Sammy came barreling through the line. He grabbed my arm and prepared to move around the librarian. She started to block him, but Sammy’s parents turned and saw us.

  “There you two are,” Estelle said. The librarian made a disgruntled noise and then let us pass.

  We found a table in the corner and spent a few minutes settling in with our drinks and making small talk about Vista Del Mar. Poor Sammy kept looking around nervously, probably afraid someone who knew about his magic show was going to suddenly appear and say something.

  And then they got down to it. “It looks like the two of you are having lots of fun here playing house,” Bernard said. “But Sammy you need to come back to Chicago so you can pick up your career again before it is too late and you lose your spot in the practice.”

  I was listening and watching the dynamics of the room at the same time. I saw Lieutenant Borgnine use his badge to push through the line and come inside. The bulldog-shaped man squinted his eyes as he looked from table to table. I tried to will myself invisible, but it didn’t work, and his gaze rested on me.

  Estelle was talking to me about the advantages available for Sammy in Chicago. “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for holding him back, would—” Just then the lieutenant reached the table and interrupted her.

  He ignored everyone but me. “I know what you’re doing, helping that boyfriend of yours. He’s off the case and so are you.”

  I’m not sure what upset Sammy’s mother more, being cut off or what Lieutenant Borgnine had said. Sammy leaned back in his chair as his eyes went skyward in hopelessness. Bernard scowled at his son.

  I took the chicken’s way out. “Thanks for the drinks and suggestions, but I have to get to the restaurant to do my baking,” I said, quickly pushing back my chair. As I walked toward the door, I glanced back and saw that both the elder Glickners were leaning close to their son and seemed to be lecturing. I knew the topic was me.

  11

  I took a few minutes to refresh myself as I drove to downtown Cadbury and parked the yellow Mini Cooper in front of the Blue Door. There were more people on the street than was usual for this time. Butterfly Week or not, all the stores except for the drugstore were closed, and the restaurants that had been persuaded to stay open all week during their usual extended weekend hours were in the process of closing.

  The Blue Door’s waitstaff had finished clearing up and was setting up for the next day. Tag was by the front, taking care of the last diner’s check. My eye immediately went to the spot where my desserts were displayed. I had such a reputation that people often ordered their dessert to be set aside even before they ordered their dinner, so they’d be sure to get it. The usual sign that read DESSERTS BY CASEY was missing, and there was a half of one of the cakes left.

  Tag saw me looking. “See what happens when we don’t put your name on them,” he said. “Lucinda made me promise not to tell you’d baked them, either. I was just told to say that we were trying something new if anyone asked.” As an afterthought he added, “You probably should bake one less cake.”

  I wasn’t happy with the suggestion, but I didn’t say anything. Obviously, Lucinda hadn’t told him why I didn’t want my name associated with the desserts. His manner made me think that either he hadn’t heard any rumors about my muffins being suspicious or he’d ignored them.

  He seemed even more fidgety than usual and kept looking out the window. I went to take my supplies into the kitchen. The waitstaff had just finished up and were heading out the door. I took my supplies back to the kitchen and saw the chef slinging his backpack on his shoulder. “It’s all yours,” he said. The words were friendly enough, but his tone sounded begrudging. There was always this awkward switch-over, since we both seemed rather territorial about the cooking space.

  As I was putting the muffin supplies out of the way, Tag stuck his head in. He seemed nervous and preoccupied. “I’m not leaving quite yet. Just go on about your baking and don’t pay any attention to me,” he said. He was acting so strange I wondered if I should try to contact Lucinda, but then I remembered she’d told me that he seemed worried about something and was being secretive.

  Since it was obvious I had a lot less baking to do, instead of beginning to set out the ingredients for the cakes I was going to bake, I hung by the door to the dining room to see what was going to happen.

  I heard a soft knock on the glass door and then Tag’s voice talking to someone. I waited to see if the person would come inside, but instead Tag went out onto the porch that ran along the side of the converted house. There was another door in the kitchen that led to the same porch, but it was solid wood. I opened it a crack and looked out into the darkness. A little light came off the street lamps along Grand Street, but it only illuminated the area enough for me to see Tag was talking to another man. They were keeping their voices low, and I couldn’t make out any words, although I could pick up a little of their body language.

  They weren’t adversarial—if anything the other man seemed apologetic. Their conversation ended abruptly, and the other man turned to go. As he got to the stairs, the light illuminated him, though I only saw him from the back. He didn’t seem familiar to me. All I could see of his clothing was a jacket that seemed like a Windbreaker, and when the streetlight hit his footwear, I saw that he was wearing boots. The shine on them made me think they were rubber.

  Tag never looked in my direction, and I slipped the door shut as he went back inside. I made up an excuse to come into the main part of the restaurant. He was standing looking out the window as if he wasn’t seeing what was there at all. He muttered something to himself that sounded like “Thank you.”

  I cleared my throat to announce my presence. “Everything okay?” I asked.

  It took him an extra moment to react. “Why are you asking?” he said, seeming nervous again. He straightened a few knives the waitstaff had left slightly off-kilter and then, without waiting for me to answer, said he was going home.

  When he’d gone, I went back to the kitchen, wondering what I should say to Lucinda about Tag’s behavior. I really didn’t want to be in the middle of something, and yet she was such a good friend to me, I felt an obligation to tell her what I’d seen.

  I turned on some soft jazz and tried to set a better mood for my baking. I had decided on a basic chocolate layer cake and sweet potato muffins. I was taking out the baking chocolate when I heard a knock at the door.

  I peered into the darkness of the front porch to check who my visitor was before unlocking the door. Dane bobbed his head closer to the glass pane and smiled.

  I opened the door and invited him in. “I couldn’t talk before,” he said. “I was on duty, and there were too many ears around.”

  He was definitely not on duty now. His faded blue jeans hugged his body, and he wore a thick hoodie on top. With all the karate and running, his body was in perfect shape and always seemed to be full of potential energy. He had an angular face with a stubborn jaw.

  He sniffed the air. “You’re getting a late start,” he said. “There’s usually something baking by now.”

  So far I hadn’t told him anything about my worries, and I debated whether to bring it up now. It seemed like he had enough on his plate with his sister. Dane followed me into the kitchen, took off the hoodie a
nd offered to help. He saw the baking chocolate on the counter. “Do you need this chopped?” he asked.

  It didn’t really need to be. But it would melt faster and more evenly if the chocolate was in smaller pieces. I handed him a chopping blade, and he set to work.

  “So, Chloe isn’t giving up on being a princess,” I said. Dane stopped what he was doing and turned to me with a confused shake of his head.

  “I don’t get it. Chloe has never wanted to be part of anything around Cadbury until this. Of all the things to choose. She’s my sister, but I don’t think she has a chance to become Butterfly Queen, even with Rosalie Hardcastle gone.”

  “I’m sorry I really don’t have anything to report on her killer yet,” I said. I certainly didn’t want to tell him that everyone I’d talked to seemed sure that Chloe was the killer. “You probably know more than I do.”

  “Yes, nobody is supposed to tell me anything, but I’m just so lovable they can’t help themselves,” he teased. “I know that the cause of death was the stabbing and her body has been released. Because of all the hoopla around here all week, I heard the town council talked her husband into waiting for the wake and funeral. They won’t happen until the monarchs have all been welcomed and the queen crowned.”

  “What about the knife?” I asked.

  “This is actually a good place to ask about it,” he said. He looked around the kitchen and started opening drawers.

  “If you’re looking for the chef’s knives, he takes them with him. I don’t know if it’s because the chef is worried I might use them and do something bad or he isn’t sure if he’s coming back and wants to be certain he has his belongings.” I pulled out a drawer. “This is what’s here for me to use.”

  Dane looked through the drawer and pulled out a paring knife. “It was something like this, and it had a label that said Vista Del Mar Kitchen on it.” He handed it to me, and I looked it over.