Gone with the Wool

by Betty Hechtman

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “It’s not like they dropped the investigation or anything, but I heard the funeral isn’t going to be until next week. They’re saying her family can’t get here until then, but I think it’s the work of the town council. This is Cadbury’s week to shine. You can imagine what a damper it would put on the festivities to have a funeral procession parade through the center of town.”

  “What about her family?” I asked, realizing I knew almost nothing about them.

  “There’s her husband, Hank, and two sons. Both of them went to college on the east coast and never looked back. I’m not sure if it was because of the small town or that they didn’t want to have to deal with her.” Maggie took a swig of her coffee. “Her husband is an okay guy.”

  “I wonder if I’ve ever seen him,” I said.

  “Maybe not. He’s on the quiet side and never makes himself the center of attention, the way Rosalie did. Plus, he has an odd schedule.”

  “I think he might have come in the restaurant once with Rosalie,” Lucinda said. “It was right after we opened, and Tag dealt with them. They seemed to be checking out the place, and they didn’t even stay to eat. I got the feeling she dismissed us as outsiders.” Lucinda seemed to be searching her memory. “I don’t have any memory of him other than he was present. Everything seemed to be about her.”

  “Sounds right,” Maggie said. “But you never really know with someone like him—if he was really that easygoing, or if he just let her be the heavy and was behind everything she did.” Maggie sounded like she was talking about something specific, but when I asked her, she seemed uncomfortable with the question and just said no.

  “I suppose his true colors will come out now,” Lucinda said. “Now that he can’t hide behind her.”

  * * *

  I saw several of the retreaters pass the window. They had pinned their crocheted butterflies to their jackets. I pointed them out to Maggie and mentioned what a good activity it had turned out to be. I thought about mentioning the vanishing man in Cadbury Yarn, but I decided if Gwen wanted to rendezvous with a secret boyfriend in the stockroom, I wasn’t going to spread the word around town.

  * * *

  “I didn’t realize how late it was,” I said as Lucinda and I approached the small bus. When I looked inside I saw that most of the seats were already full and there was a din of conversation.

  “There are two people missing,” I said after doing a quick head count. Someone called out who they were and said she’d heard them say they had to pick something up at the drugstore.

  “I’ll go round them up,” I said.

  It had been a long afternoon, and I knew the group wanted to get back to Vista Del Mar for a little free time before dinner. Like everything else in Cadbury, Cadbury Drugs & Sundries was an independent shop. It wasn’t like the big chain drugstores that were almost general merchandise places these days, although it seemed to be pushing the envelope when it came to the meaning of sundries, and it sold some food items and souvenirs. I noticed a couple of paper replicas of monarchs hanging from the ceiling as I walked in.

  To say the store was packed with merchandise was an understatement. The shelves were higher than my head, and every inch of wall space was taken up. I almost expected to see merchandise hanging from the ceiling along with the butterflies. The way the store was laid out, there was no way to just stand in the entrance and look for my retreaters. I started down the maze of aisles, checking out the shoppers. The aisles were narrow, and a man in a white jacket was blocking the one that had actual drug supplies with a red plastic bin filled with assorted products. He was about to put some of the stock on one of the shelves, but when he saw me, he started to move out of my way. I saw that his hands were full.

  “Go on and finish what you’re doing,” I said, stopping next to him.

  “I appreciate your patience,” he said when he’d finished. “We’re such a small store, there isn’t room for a large supply of anything. Not good for a shelf to be empty.” I glanced down at the shelf as he added a container of tropical-flavored antacids to the ones already there, filled an empty space with some small boxes of laxative pills and finished by putting two bottles of bright pink stomach medicine in front of the one bottle left. He picked up the bin and started to move away. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

  I laughed. “More like anyone.” I explained who I was looking for. I was sure he was the pharmacist and owner. I’d never met him, but I had heard about him. His name was Larry something; he’d bought the business about eight months ago and was divorced with a teenage daughter. But that wasn’t what made him the topic of conversation. He looked like a shorter version of Clint Eastwood—younger, too. I guessed that he was in his forties. What made it even more newsworthy was the fact that the real Clint Eastwood had a ranch nearby.

  There were a lot of jokes about what would happen if they met up, particularly since Larry had taken some of Clint’s taglines and made them his own. I’d heard the most popular one was something like “Hey, let Dirty Larry make your day,” when he handed someone a prescription.

  I introduced myself, and he did the same, just giving his name without any tagline. “Nice to meet you, Casey,” he said, extending his hand. “I think you’ll find the women with the butterflies in aisle three. They were looking for tooth care supplies.” I waited to see if he was going to add a tagline now, but he just pointed toward the aisle. When I found the pair, I saw they’d been susceptible to all the store’s extra merchandise, and they had a lot more than toothbrushes. I walked them to the front to check out, but not without picking up a bunch of stuff, too.

  Lucinda poked through my bag of things when I got back on the bus. “Cat toys?” she said with a laugh.

  I shrugged. “I thought maybe if Julius had something to amuse himself with, he wouldn’t be so anxious to wander.”

  With everybody on board, the bus pulled away from the curb.

  Lucinda brought up Chloe and asked if I’d made any headway in clearing her. I was glad she seemed to have let up on her upset with Tag. I shook my head, realizing I’d been too preoccupied with calamari and crocheted butterflies to think about her. “If you had another suspect to throw Lieutenant Borgnine’s way, he might not be so sure Chloe was the killer,” Lucinda said as the bus left the downtown area and passed through a street of houses.

  I shrank back against the seat as I recalled my earlier encounter with the cop in the rumpled jacket. How had I managed to so successfully put it out of my mind? “There is one other suspect he has,” I said. Lucinda let out a gasp when I told her it was me.

  The ride back was too short to discuss more. In no time we were on the Vista Del Mar grounds again. As Lucinda got off the bus, she seemed concerned and asked if I wanted to talk about it more. But this was her time off, so I urged her to join the others as they headed back to their rooms to drop off their purchases and get ready for dinner. Cadbury was hardly a hustle-bustle town, but it was still far more peaceful on the rustic grounds of the resort. If only I could have let go and enjoyed the fading afternoon.

  I was on a mission when I got home. I didn’t even stop to give Julius his toys. No matter, he was already poking around the bag where I left it on the table. I was sure he’d probably like them better if he pulled them out of the bag on his own.

  I sat down and grabbed my landline. Frank wouldn’t be at the office now. He’d said never to use his cell number unless it was an emergency, but I decided being a suspect in a murder case qualified. I had hidden my panic from Lucinda, but now that I was alone, it came out in full force.

  I punched in the number and tried to get my breath to sound regular.

  “Frank, I’m a suspect,” I said as soon as he answered.

  “Feldstein,” he said, sounding surprised. Then what I had said sunk in. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I figured that cop
with no neck would come up with something. Cops don’t like it when you make them look bad by showing off that they were wrong and then solving their cases.” Frank let out a chortle. “You didn’t do it, did you?”

  “Of course not. This isn’t a joke. Lieutenant Borgnine wasn’t smiling when he started questioning me. And I’m sure you’re right that he would love to get rid of me by sending me off to prison.”

  “Calm down, Feldstein. We’re not going to let that happen.” I heard some sizzling noises in the background, and Frank begged off for a moment. “Some of us are cooking our dinner,” he said when he returned.

  “You cook?” I said, surprised. I had no doubt he ate, and a lot. He had the body to prove it. But somehow I’d pictured him living on sub sandwiches, cold French fries and donuts, with a liter of soda thrown in.

  “Feldstein, I am a Renaissance man. I’m making a stir-fry over jasmine rice. And it’s almost done. So here’s my advice. Unless you can come up with some more suspects, you might have to just let him have the girl with the bright hair. Honestly, I’m thinking she really might have done it. The woman humiliated her in public and threw her out of the Princess Court. You said yourself the girl threatened her. You said the weapon was a kitchen knife from the place where the dinner was, which means she could have had access to it. And you make her sound like a tough tootsie.”

  “But Frank, she said she didn’t do it.”

  I heard him laugh so hard he snorted. “Feldstein, really—just because she said it, you believe it?”

  “Wait, Frank, there’s someone else. Rosalie’s husband.”

  “You didn’t mention she had a husband. Now we’re cooking with gas. Spouses make excellent suspects. That’s what you’ve got to do—give that cop another suspect. Dinner’s ready, got to go.” He clicked off.

  I can’t say his advice gave me much comfort, but I had to put it on hold while I went back to being retreat leader and sat through dinner with my group. Afterward, most of them broke off into smaller groups to make more butterflies. A few were more interested in the evening events put on by Vista Del Mar. There was a sing-along by the fire pit and the screening of Butterflies Are Free in Hummingbird Hall. The movie had nothing to do with monarchs, but I guess since it had butterflies in the title someone thought it fit in with the plan for the week.

  When I stopped back at home, there were messages from my muffin customers saying that they wanted to continue with the half orders. I suppose I should have been glad that they didn’t cancel entirely.

  I gathered up the supplies for the night’s muffins and put them in a couple of recyclable grocery bags. Frank’s words echoed in my mind. I had to give Lieutenant Borgnine another suspect, but how?

  As I was loading everything into the Mini Cooper, I heard music coming from down the street. That meant that Dane had some of the local kids over in his garage for karate lessons. Dane would know what to do.

  I walked down the street and up his driveway before knocking on the door to the garage. Our houses were a similar style but not quite the same. The music and karate yells covered up my knock, and I tried again. When nobody seemed to be responding, I opened the door and went inside. The floor was covered with mats, and the walls had mirrors, which made the space seem larger than it was. A bunch of boys were kicking their legs and moving in some kind of routine. Dane was in a white karate suit with a black sash, walking around and correcting their form. He was almost next to me before he realized I was there.

  His angular face softened into a smile, and he held my gaze. He was definitely glad to see me. The boys gave me the once-over. I noticed Crystal’s son, Kory, was among them. He gave me a little wave, but the others began teasing Dane, calling me his lady and saying they bet he liked my muffins.

  Laughing, Dane told one of the other kids to take over and led me outside. There were some catcalls as we walked away.

  “Don’t mind them,” he said. “I’d rather they tease me than grumble about the loss of that homecoming game. This is the first time they’ve been here since the game. I’m glad to see them back in action.”

  “Are the players who got sick in there?” I asked, and Dane nodded.

  “They were the ones making the catcalls.” Dane had his teasing smile.

  “I heard someone yell out something about muffins. I suppose they blame me for getting sick,” I said.

  Dane rolled his eyes. “I don’t think they were referring to the muffins you bake. Teenage boys are kind of crude.”

  “Oh,” I said, realizing what they meant. I also realized that I’d gotten distracted from my reason for coming over. “There’s something I want to talk to you about—regarding the case.”

  “I’m all ears,” he said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. The door opened, and a couple of the boys came out.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but we were wondering if you made some of that spaghetti.” Dane told them that he had, and they went back inside, only to reappear a moment later.

  “Everybody is asking how long till we eat?”

  “In a few minutes—it’s all ready,” he said, urging the boys to go back inside. Then he turned back to me. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “This was a mistake,” I said. “Maybe we can talk later.”

  His face warmed. “Much better idea.” He glanced toward his house. “You could come back when you’re done, if you don’t mind Chloe.”

  “That’s not good. It might be hard to say things in front of her.”

  “There’s your place,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Not with Sammy in the guest house.” Dane got it and agreed. I suggested he come by when I was baking, but he said feeding the crew and the cleanup was going to take a while. “Those boys are like bottomless pits, even more so after a workout. I make them help with the cleanup, but it’s more about teaching them to be responsible than speed at getting it done.”

  “Maybe we should just wait until tomorrow,” I said.

  “Not so fast. We’ll work something out. How about when you finish baking? We could meet by the entrance of the boardwalk at, say, midnight?”

  “Perfect,” I said. “It’s a date.” I meant it just as confirmation, but he took it literally, and his mouth curved in a teasing grin.

  “Oh yes it is.”

  14

  Tag was waiting for me when I got to the Blue Door and followed me as I carried my bags into the kitchen. “How’s Lucinda? Is she mad at me? Why is she mad at me?” he asked. The cook had already left, and the place would have been mine, except that Tag didn’t make a move to leave.

  “She’ll get over it,” I said. I looked over at the dessert case. There was a half of a chocolate cake left.

  “Lucinda insists we have you make the normal number of desserts. The leftover chocolate cake will probably go at lunchtime,” he said.

  I told him I was making pumpkin cheesecakes for the desserts and pumpkin muffins to keep to the orangish theme. “Do you think the town council would go crazy if I called them Monarch Muffins?”

  “They might be okay with that, but why take a chance? Just call them what they are—pumpkin muffins,” he said. Still, Tag didn’t leave, and eventually he started helping me. It seemed like I was never going to get to bake alone. At least I was sure all the measurements would be exactly accurate, I thought, watching him pouring sugar into a measuring cup.

  “She’s upset because she thinks you’re keeping secrets from her,” I said.

  “You mean all that nonsense about putting calamari on the menu without consulting her? I would never do that. What possessed you to tell her I was sneaking in squid?”

  “I thought I saw you talking to a fisherman last night.”

  “You must have been hallucinating. I wasn’t talking to anyone about fish.”

  “The man on the porch in the Windbreaker and rubber boots . . .” I said,
trying to jog his memory.

  “Him?” Tag said. “I noticed the Windbreaker, but I didn’t notice his footwear.”

  “If he wasn’t here making a deal for calamari, who was he and why was he here?” I asked, opening a can of pumpkin.

  Tag appeared stricken. “I can’t talk about it. If she was upset about a menu change, she’d go nuts if—” He cut himself off. “I’m not going to say another word.” He found another measuring cup for the pumpkin.

  “Don’t tell Lucinda what I said,” he said. “Tell her it really was all about calamari. You can say I admitted I was going to put it on the menu, but since it made her upset, I canceled the plan.”

  “But that’s not true, and then she’s going to think you lied to her,” I said.

  “Better all that than what it is,” he said cryptically. He handed me the measured pumpkin and left without another word.

  I finished up the rest of my baking without incident and left three pumpkin cheesecakes in the cooler. I packed the muffins in plastic trays that fit into two carriers and got ready to make my rounds.

  The sidewalks and streets were deserted, so I got a little nervous when a lone car stopped next to me and the window went down.

  “It’s kind of late for you to be out alone. Hop in and I’ll give you a ride,” a man’s voice said.

  “Next you’re going to tell me you’re looking for your puppy,” I said sarcastically. I’d grown up in Chicago and was streetwise. I made an abrupt turn and started to go back the other way, knowing the car couldn’t make the same move, and taking out my cell phone just in case.

  I hadn’t considered that he would just back up and keep pace with me. “That’s it, I’m calling 911. The police station is around the corner.” I was about to press the button when he called out, “It’s me, Dr. Bernard Glickner. Sammy’s father.”