Gone with the Wool

by Betty Hechtman

  I was doing my best to be patient, but after what I’d heard and seen, I was bursting to talk to someone who could advise me and who wasn’t involved.

  “Okay, shoot,” Frank said finally. I could hear he was chewing, which was perfect, as it would give me time to tell him everything before he got impatient and wanted to hang up.

  What had taken Liz a long time to tell me, I told Frank in a few sentences. It was really pretty straightforward. The dead woman had been trying to muscle her way into a local business. I gave him a little background about how Rosalie had tried to accomplish it and that it seemed she’d been running the show.

  “So the dead woman was into extortion,” Frank said. “Finally, the kind of crime I can understand. So, that charming town that sounds like a candy bar has a dark side.”

  “Had a dark side,” I said. “She’s dead and hopefully took it with her.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Feldstein. You keep saying how easygoing her husband is. That could all be a front. Maybe he let her do the dirty work, but he was the brains behind it.”

  “There’s some more,” I said.

  “There always is. Don’t keep me in suspense.” I heard Frank take another bite of his sandwich.

  “The travel agent thinks she’s the only one who was offered the special deal, but I wonder if that’s true.” Frank continued to work on his sandwich, and I told him that in addition to the travel agency, the Hardcastles were the landlords for the Blue Door, Maggie’s coffee place, the yarn store and the drugstore.

  “What if all the tenants got the same rent raise, followed by the same offer with the same warning not to tell anyone?”

  “Feldstein, now you’re cooking with gas. Why would she stop with trying to get a piece of just one of the businesses if she thought she could get a piece of all of them?”

  “Maybe you’re right about the husband being behind it all,” I said. “Though neither one of them will admit to it, I’m sure I saw the owner of the Blue Door talking to the husband.” I said “the owner of the Blue Door” rather than “Tag” to keep my sanity. Frank was already on overload with all the people in my life, and whenever I used a name, every five seconds he’d ask me who they were again.

  My ex-boss took his last swallow. “Aha, Feldstein, what did I say? I bet he’s the brains behind it and he’s making the rounds to tell them the deal is in force. Maybe he even killed her because now that she’d done the dirty work of setting it up, he wanted to reap the benefits all for himself.”

  “Now, how to find out for sure?” I said.

  I heard Frank crumpling the wrapping from his sandwich. “This should be a piece of cake for you. You already know most of those people. Just scoot off and talk to them.”

  “It might not be that easy,” I countered. “I told you the Blue Door owner wouldn’t admit to talking to the husband. And the Cadbury Yarn woman actually lied to me and said that there had been no one with her. Frank, I saw the man with my own peepers. I believed that he was a boyfriend she was trying to keep secret until I realized who he was.”

  “Peepers? Feldstein, really. We’re not in some old gumshoe TV show. Even I call them eyes.” He chortled to himself as he repeated my word choice. There were more sounds of rustling paper. “So maybe I was wrong and you really have your work cut out for you. I want to hear about this one.” Any second I expected the change in tone that meant good-bye would be coming soon, but he surprised me by continuing on in a chatty voice. “Say, what’s up with your magician boyfriend?”

  “Friend who is a boy—well, he’s really a man, Frank. His father is acting like he’s already my father-in-law. His father and his mother seem to be fighting about something. One thing is clear, they’re trying to marry us off.”

  Frank let out a chortle. “I can’t believe I’m still on the phone with you, but you’re my comic relief for the day. What’s with the muffins? Are the townspeople still up in arms, thinking you’re responsible for the lost game?”

  “No. Today was good. I think they’ve forgotten about it. The muffins are moving close to normal again.”

  “Too bad for the magician. If your baking business collapsed, he might have talked you into leaving town with him. Remember Feldstein, if you come back to Chicago, you come work for me.”

  “Aw, Frank, that’s so nice,” I said.

  “There’s nothing nice about it. You were the best detective’s assistant I ever had.”

  “You mean assistant detective,” I said.

  “Whatever,” he said before he clicked off.

  19

  It was only when I walked back on the Vista Del Mar grounds that I realized I was still out the money from Liz’s check. Lunch was in session, so I went directly to the dining hall and headed to the tables that had become the group’s regular spot for the meals.

  Lucinda got out of her seat and came over to me. “I was worried about you, again,” Lucinda said. “I thought maybe . . .” She left it hanging, but I knew what the rest of it was. She was worried that Lieutenant Borgnine might have moved me up to chief suspect and arrested me.

  I held up my hands to show that they were free and tried to sound breezy, but inside my brain was churning. There was so much to process. I glanced at my friend in her Eileen Fisher outfit and realized she had a real reason to be concerned about the secrets Tag was keeping from her. The worst of it was that I really couldn’t say anything.

  “When you didn’t come back, I handled lunch,” Lucinda said. The remnants were still on the round wood table, though everyone had left. Most of the rest of the dining hall was empty as well.

  “You better get your food before they close up shop,” she urged.

  When I got this busy I tended to forget to eat. The smell of food reminded me that I was hungry. There was no line, and the kitchen staff was in the process of clearing up the lunch food.

  “Excuse me, am I too late?” I said, trying to get someone’s attention. A young woman in a white uniform looked up. She waved for me to come into the kitchen.

  It was warmer in there, and the smell of hot food was stronger. It seemed like all the steam trays were empty except for some scrapings around the edges of the metal containers.

  “They really cleaned us out today. I can make you a grilled cheese sandwich,” she offered.

  It sounded good to me, so I gave her a quick nod, and she dropped some butter in a skillet, where it instantly began to melt. While she assembled the sandwich, I looked around.

  Everything Frank and I had talked about had just been supposition. I needed evidence. Looking around the kitchen made me think of the murder weapon. The knife had come from the Vista Del Mar kitchen, but there was some confusion as to whether it was on the cheese plate that was ordered by the butterfly people or if the killer had gotten it some other way. I figured I might as well see what the cook knew while she was making my sandwich.

  “I suppose the police already asked you about the knife,” I said. I didn’t have to give it any more description for her to know what I meant. She dropped the sandwich in the melted butter and turned around.

  “I know somebody said it was from the cheese plate, but I don’t think so,” she began. “We were really busy that night with the regular guests and the special dinner with the butterfly people. We had to make two different dinner menus. The woman in charge of the butterfly committee insisted we serve their people steak.” She stopped and checked my sandwich. “We do a good job with food like this.” She flipped it so the browned side showed. The cheddar cheese was beginning to ooze out of the sides, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation. “But steak.” She made a hopeless gesture. “Most of the people just fought their way through it with the knives on the table, but someone did come back here asking for something sharper. We don’t have steak knives, so I gave out one of our cooking knives.”

  My heartbeat picked up in anticipation as I aske
d her who it had been.

  “The cop asked the same question—that one that wears the rumpled jacket and has no neck. Like I said, we were really busy in here. I barely looked up as I gave it out. I remember it was a man’s voice asking for it, but that’s all.”

  “Well, that should get Chloe off the hook,” I said, mostly to myself. The server seemed perplexed, and I explained who Chloe was.

  “You mean the girl with the tattoo?” When I seemed surprised that she’d seen it, the young woman explained that when people were going through the line, mostly all the servers saw was their shoulders and down. “You’d think it would get her off the hook, wouldn’t you?” the young woman said as she put my sandwich on a plate and cut it on the diagonal. “But the cop seemed to think it didn’t mean anything for sure, because the man could have been getting the knife for someone else.”

  Lieutenant Borgnine was really a piece of work.

  I took the food back to the table. By now the staff was circulating around the sea of round tables, clearing off the dishes. Lucinda sniffed the delicious scent of my lunch. “That looks much better than the sloppy joes they served us.” Lucinda, ever the restaurant person, grabbed the pitcher off the lazy Susan and filled my glass with iced tea. Or maybe it should have been called lukewarm tea. Either way, it quenched my thirst.

  I offered her a bite, but I think she saw the way I was wolfing it down and realized how hungry I really was. Between bites, I told her what I’d just learned in the kitchen.

  “Maybe Lieutenant Borgnine really is having second thoughts about whether Chloe is the main suspect. She is still out and about.” Lucinda poured herself some of the tea.

  “There might be another reason for that—one that’s not so good for her. I saw Maggie this morning, and she made a point that butterfly week changes everything around here. You remember when she told us about Rosalie’s funeral being put off until after the festival is done? Maybe Lieutenant Borgnine has been urged not to arrest Chloe because she’s in the Princess Court.”

  Lucinda considered what I said and then nodded. “That sounds right. It would certainly put a damper on the celebration to have one of the princesses arrested for the murder of a former queen. Life in a small town,”she said with a sigh. The tables were almost all clear now, and all that was left of my sandwich was a few crumbs. The woman had added some carrots and celery sticks on the side, and they’d disappeared as well.

  “Is that why you left this morning, to go talk to Maggie?” Lucinda asked. It did seem kind of lame that I would abandon the retreaters just to grab a cappuccino. Lucinda knew nothing about the returned checks or even that Liz had put me on notice that she’d be watching how things went with the two Danish women. My friend did so much to help me with everything that I had wanted her to have some illusion of being just like the other retreaters, and not having to deal with what went on behind the curtain.

  But what I knew now changed that. “I went to see Liz Buckley,” I began. “It was about a bounced check.” Lucinda’s eyes widened with interest.

  “That puts you in an awkward spot,” my friend said after I’d finished the story. I had mentioned Liz’s being distracted, but I didn’t say by what. Until I knew what was going on with Tag and the Blue Door, I didn’t want to say anything to Lucinda. I’d already caused more problems than I’d solved with the whole calamari story. It felt uncomfortable not telling Lucinda everything, and I think she had a sense I was leaving something out, but she let it go.

  “I hope that once butterfly week is over and things go back to normal, she’ll get it straightened out,” I said.

  Lucinda’s expression clouded. “But for now you’re still out the money.”

  Hoping she wouldn’t connect the dots and think what I was asking was connected to Liz, I changed the subject to the Blue Door, and then after a few minutes brought up the question of their landlord. I was eager to find out what she knew without telling her what I knew.

  Lucinda seemed disgruntled. “You’d have to ask Tag. I wanted to be an equal partner in everything about the restaurant, but Tag hovers over the business end and won’t tell me anything. It’s usually okay with me, since he’s so good with all those little details. The food has always been my domain. That’s why I was so upset when I thought he’d added the calamari without telling me.”

  I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying she ought to wish that was the problem.

  “Time for the workshop,” Lucinda said, checking her watch. “Will you be joining us?”

  I gave her a weary smile as I got up. “Definitely. I think I need a retreat more than the rest of you.”

  As I walked over to the meeting room, I saw the sun had burned through the clouds and was making an appearance. It was amazing what the change in the light did to the surroundings. The weathered dark brown buildings didn’t look so foreboding, and the dried golden grass had a glow. But by the time we’d walked the short distance to the meeting room, strands of shimmering white were blowing in from the dunes, and the sun looked like a copper coin under a veil.

  Wanda and Crystal were already stationed at their respective tables already, and the others were coming in and taking their seats. I glanced toward the counter and saw that a coffee and tea service had been brought in. I looked with regret at the empty space next to it—the spot where I usually put homemade cookies. Maybe tomorrow, I thought hopefully.

  My hat still had a long way to go until it was finished, but I welcomed the mindless repetition of winding the yarn around the pegs on the loom and using the pick to move the loops off the pegs. I’d hoped the workshop would give my mind a rest, but instead all kinds of thoughts kept popping up. Now I understood why Maggie seemed so harsh about Rosalie. She must have gotten the “offer,” too. And I understood why Gwen had been so worried. I wondered about the Clint Eastwood look-alike who owned the drugstore. I remembered that he’d opened eight months ago, when Lydia Hardcastle was still running things. Was he part of Rosalie’s plan, or did she somehow leave him out?

  I couldn’t understand why Maggie hadn’t said anything about Rosalie’s offer. She had made it clear she didn’t like her, so why not spill the beans? Could she have somehow escaped Rosalie’s clutches?

  Then another thought hit me. Maybe none of them were talking because they were worried about being a suspect in her murder. Or worse, what if Tag, Maggie, Dirty Larry or Gwen had killed her? And I couldn’t rule out Liz. She was there that night. Sure, she was doing her narration when the lights were off, but she had one of those battery-operated microphones. She could have been anywhere. Over and over I’d heard that the Blessing of the Butterflies followed such an exact plan, you could set your watch by what was happening.

  Liz could have been standing outside and known just when Rosalie’s back would have been exposed by the open door.

  I was so deep in thought, I didn’t notice what anybody else was doing until the woman from across the table leaned toward me. “I just want you to know I was definitely against using a loom for knitting, but now that I’ve tried it, I think it’s great. I’m not giving up my needles, but it’s another avenue.”

  Inside, I let out a sigh of relief. When the woman had started talking, I thought she was heading for some kind of complaint. “Thank you for telling me,” I said.

  Now that I’d been pulled back to the present, I started paying attention to what was going on around me. Wanda and Crystal had demonstrated some advanced stitches at the beginning of the workshop, but after that they were really just there to help fix mistakes. The rest of the time they were working with the group on the same projects. A length of navy blue knitted material hung below Crystal’s round loom. She had stopped adding to it and had taken out a needle.

  “It’s for Kory,” she said, referring to her son. “Now that he’s working on the grounds here, it’ll keep his head warm and be stylish at the same time.”

  Her
comment made me think of her mother’s yarn store. Crystal might know something about what was going on without realizing it.

  “Does your mother own or rent the building?” I asked Crystal. She gave me an odd look, and I realized it did seem like an out-of-the-blue question.

  Crystal had cut the yarn, leaving a long tail, and threaded it through the needle. She began taking the loops off the pegs with the needle. After she took off the last loop, she pulled tightly on the yarn, closing the top of the hat. “I think she rents it.” Her face lit up in understanding. “I know, you’re thinking of opening your own bakery and you want to know about getting a space.”

  “That’s it,” I said, glad that she had provided just the cover story I needed.

  “You should talk to my mother. I just help with arranging the yarn, giving lessons and ringing up sales.” Wanda threw Crystal a disapproving look from the other table.

  “Doesn’t your mother talk to you about the business end of the yarn store?” Wanda said. “I would certainly know everything about everything if I was working with my mother.”

  “So then you don’t know anything about the rent and if there was recently a big raise in it?” I persisted.

  Crystal suddenly appeared guilty. “I’m afraid I’ve been far too self-absorbed. I should be more involved in things.” Wanda looked stunned that Crystal had actually agreed with what she said.

  “Hey,” Kory said as a greeting as he came inside and walked over to his mother. She was just weaving in the last strand of yarn.

  “Here it is,” she said, and her son put it on. His cheeks were ruddy from the cool air. He modeled for the group, and they all gave their approval.