She started to explain the difference, then seemed to realize it was probably a lost cause. “It is our yarn,” she said. She had laid the rectangle on the counter and pointed out some variegated yarn that was their trademark. “But we can’t trace it to a single user. The best I could do is give you a list of yarn shops in the area that carry our line.” She looked at it again. “Where did you say you found it?”
“Wrapped around a light pole on Ventura Boulevard,” one of the uniforms said. “This yarn bomber seems to be stepping up the attacks.”
Attacks? Was he kidding? How was adding a little color to a drab light pole an attack? Calling it vandalism seemed a little extreme, too. All they had to do was cut it down.
The woman with the glasses went to get them a list of stores in the area that sold their yarn. Great, the bookstore would probably be on the list.
While we waited our turn, I looked around the lobby area. Wow. They had items made up from their yarn on mannequins and hanging on the walls. There were a couple of desks behind the counter. Behind them I saw a doorway leading to what appeared to be a warehouse full of yarn. I was wondering how I was going to zero in on Paxton when the front door opened and a man in his late twenties came in carrying what appeared to be a food order. On a chance, I called out, “Paxton,” and the bland-looking young man with close-cropped brown hair turned at the sound.
“Molly Pink,” I said, holding out my hand. “And this is my associate Dinah Lyons.” Dinah gave him a little wave, and poor Paxton looked confused.
“We had an appointment,” I said. Okay, I was totally winging it, making it up as I went along. The cops got their list and left, and the woman with glasses looked over the counter at us.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“No, no. It’s Paxton here I was supposed to meet,” I said. I remembered that the article Dinah had found online had said that he was working in all aspects of the business, which no doubt included sales.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I said, looking at the box he was balancing.
“Uh, sure,” he said, handing his load to the woman with the glasses.
Dinah was looking at me and I could read her thoughts. She was wondering what I was going to say. So was I.
I explained that I handled the yarn department at Shedd & Royal. “We’re going to be doing parties at the bookstore.” I explained the whole Party with a Purpose concept and how we’d be teaching groups of people to crochet, and they’d be making a project. “I’m looking to buy kits,” I said. “They’d have yarn, the tools needed and some kind of tote bag.”
Before I asked him if they could do it, I segued into the first party and brought up Emerson. From there, I brought up what she did and how she’d done the flowers for a wedding reception where there was a murder. I just kept on blathering about how terrible it was about Jonah Kingsley. Then I just stopped and looked at Paxton. I watched as a cloud passed through his amber eyes. This was it. He was going to start to spill his guts. Or maybe not.
“I did hear something about that,” he said. I waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, I tried to coax it out of him.
“He was right around your age,” I offered. “I don’t suppose you knew him.”
“Only in the vaguest sense,” he said finally. He gestured toward the front door. “Kingsley Enterprises, Inc., is across the street.” He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “I was at a baseball game the day of the wedding.”
Dinah and I nodded with interest and I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t, even when I gave him plenty of dead air.
“Really?” I said, finally. “He worked across the street and you weren’t invited to his wedding?”
Paxton chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t know him. Like I said, I didn’t go.” He looked at me intently. “What are you? Some kind of private detective?” I shrugged as an answer and let the air go dead again. This time it seemed to make him nervous. “I have nothing else to say. Like I said I was at a baseball game.” He quickly turned the conversation back to the kits. “What did you have in mind?”
When he heard I only wanted eight, and they needed to be very reasonable, in other words, cheap, he looked dubious.
“If it was up to me, I’d try to do something for you, but my grandmother calls the shots. She’s the one who started the business and keeps saying she’s going to start taking time off, but she doesn’t.”
He’d barely finished talking when he ushered us toward the door.
“He was certainly lying,” Dinah said when we drove away.
“It could be that he’s just scared and thinks that if he denies knowing Jonah he can stay out of the whole thing. Maybe he realized that being fired as the best man gives him a motive, or maybe he’s the one who stabbed Jonah.”
CHAPTER 11
BY THE END OF THE DAY, MY HEAD WAS SPINNING, whirling between thinking about Paxton, all the unsettled details of the party, and my regular work. I still had to manage the yarn department and think about upcoming bookstore events.
I was really concerned about the project for the party. Whenever I went into the yarn department to help someone or straighten up, I took the opportunity to thumb through the crochet books, hoping something would pop out at me. It had to be simple enough for new kid crocheters to do, it had to be something fun, and it needed to be relatively quick.
“Hey, Sunshine.” Mason caught up with me as I walked out of the bookstore. I startled, even though his appearance shouldn’t have been a surprise. He’d called earlier and suggested dinner. He thought it would be nice for the two of us to go somewhere.
I’d barely said hello to Mason when Barry came from the other direction and joined us. “Greenberg,” Mason said with a note of surprise, and not the good kind, either. Mason tried to be dismissive by saying “See you later” to Barry and putting his arm through mine. But Barry made no move to leave and ignored Mason’s comment altogether. Instead, he brought up some sports game. Mason commented on it, and the next thing I knew they had a conversation going about balls and playoffs.
The ever-observant homicide detective commented that it looked like we were on our way to dinner and then stunned me by suggesting that he join us. “We are all just friends,” he said. “And we can talk about the murder case.”
Barry’s eyes flitted toward me with a little smile. He knew he’d hit Mason’s tender spot. And the next thing I knew, the three of us were walking into the family-owned Italian restaurant down the street. The air smelled of garlic and tomatoes, and I was already salivating at the thought of their homemade Caesar dressing.
We took a table by the window, and as soon as we’d ordered, Mason turned to Barry. “So?”
“We’d hoped to have a suspect by now, but things aren’t progressing as quickly as we’d like. Having all the workers dressed the same didn’t help. It’s almost like somebody deliberately planned it.”
Mason put up his hands. “It wasn’t my idea. Talk to my ex.”
Barry gave a weary nod and I knew what he was thinking. He had already talked to Jaimee and didn’t want to talk to her again. “We’re talking to all the servers again, trying to see if they noticed any of their own that didn’t quite fit in. So far, all I have is that someone thought one of the staff people was wearing different gloves.”
I flinched, knowing he was probably referring to Emerson. I wondered if I should mention that I knew her and explain why her gloves hadn’t been the regulation kind, but I decided it was better to stay out of it. I also wondered if Barry knew whether Jonah had any enemies? But then Barry would want to know why I was asking, and I didn’t want to bring up Paxton Cline—at least not yet. I’d investigate on my own, and if there was something worthy, I’d pass it on.
“Basically, what you’re saying is that you aren’t any closer to a suspect,” Mason said with a touch of annoyance.
Barry dealt with the comment by totally changing the subject to the yarn bombings. “It’s not my area,” he said, focusing on me, “but since it involves yarn. Do you know anything?”
The food arrived and Mason waited until the waiter left. “You don’t have a suspect in the murder at my daughter’s wedding, and you’re wasting time trying to hunt down some kind of yarn tagger.”
“I wouldn’t call them a tagger,” I said. “Taggers go around spray painting their logos on stuff. The yarn pieces hardly seemed to have a signature or an identifying quality to them. Even calling them graffiti seems over-the-top.”
Barry said they were afraid the yarn pieces were just a gateway to something more.
“You’re kidding, right?” I said, checking his expression as it lightened a smidgen.
“Maybe I agree with you, but some other cops are more concerned.” He pushed his salad away to make room for the plate of lasagna. “Your coworker Adele’s boyfriend for one.”
“I get it. Is this your subtle way of saying he thinks it’s Adele, and I should get her to cease and desist with the yarn attacks?”
“If you want to take it that way,” Barry said, “I’m not going to talk you out of it.”
Mason seemed unhappy with the line of conversation, maybe because it was going on between me and Barry. “Are you really making a fuss over some kind of yarn snuggie on a mailbox?” Mason said.
“You saw a crocheted cover on a mailbox?” I said. Mason nodded, and said there was one on Ventura near the Walgreens.
“Instead of it being USPS dark blue, it was wearing a wild piece that was all different colors. Personally, I thought it was an improvement. It was certainly cheerful,” Mason said.
Barry’s eyes lit up. “Aha, so then it is escalating. First it’s an innocent little jacket on a metal monkey, then hearts on a gazebo, a sock on a street sign, and now it’s a cover for a mailbox.”
Mason groaned and steered the conversation back to the murder investigation. “Really, you’re still interviewing and re-interviewing the same people?”
Barry got defensive. “There were over 250 people there, if you count the help. None of them was expecting to be a witness to a murder. Getting information out of them isn’t easy. We’re still sorting out who was there. We’re still trying to get a list from the caterer. They pay cash and don’t keep the best records. It’s not exactly a profession, and all their people have other jobs, sometimes several. Lots of actors and writers, and waiters.” Barry looked up at the young man refilling his water. “I’m just curious. Have you ever worked for Laurie Jean’s Party People? The caterer?”
The waiter seemed surprised by the comment, and then nodded. “I’m really an actor. You might have seen me in the crowd scene on last week’s L.A. 911. But yeah, I have.”
With that opening, Barry asked him about the wedding. The waiter’s eyes narrowed. “Nope, not that one. It makes me glad I had a shift here. What a crazy world. A few minutes after you’re married, you’re dead.” He held the water pitcher with both hands and got ready to leave. “Personally, I’m going with the murderer-in-law theory.”
When the waiter had gone, Barry turned to Mason. “How involved was your daughter with the planning?” I saw Mason’s expression grow tired.
“Greenberg, I know where you’re going. You’re thinking that whoever planned the wedding could have decided on the robot look, so that somebody could slip in and kill Jonah. It was all my ex’s idea.” Mason finished with his entree. “This dinner was supposed to be a chance for Molly and me to get away from it all for a while.” Mason put his hand over mine in a possessive manner.
Barry stared at Mason’s hand. “Is hand-holding permissible? This whole idea of friends is new to me, and I’m not familiar with the rules.”
I rolled my eyes to myself. The whole idea of keeping both men as friends was supposed to make things less complicated. Now I had to worry there were rules?
CHAPTER 12
“A HUG IN GREETING IS OKAY.” “A LIGHT KISS AS A parting gesture.” “No baggage, and no expectations.” “No cuddling and definitely no sleepovers.” After I gave a replay of the evening and explained how Barry had asked about the rules, the comments kept coming from around the worktable.
“What are we talking about?” CeeCee said as she fluttered up to the table.
“Molly had dinner with her two men friends. Only it sounds like she views them as friends, but typical men, they don’t get that kind of relationship. For them, it’s some kind of competition and Molly is the prize.”
CeeCee let out a burst of her musical laugh. “It’s just like the two neighbors Troy and Rock on The CeeCee Collins Show. My character kept saying they were just friends, but Troy and Rock kept trying to sabotage anything I had with the other. It was a while ago, so everything was very innocent. In those days, even married couples were only allowed a peck on the cheek.”
“If Eduardo was here, you could ask him,” Dinah said. “I think he gets the idea of women as friends. I haven’t noticed him putting the moves on any of us.”
Adele was dressed all in brown and blended in so much with the table, I didn’t even see her until she spoke. “Speak for yourselves. He definitely had a thing for me, but I had to set him straight and make it clear we would never be more than fellow Hookers.” As the last words tumbled out of Adele’s mouth, she froze. “Did I really say that?” She looked around frantically. Some yarn and knitting needles were on the table next to her, but the chair was pulled out.
“Leonora went to the restroom,” Elise said. Adele began to gasp and started biting her lip. “Thank heavens, she didn’t hear me. She must realize I have a past, but there’s no reason for her to know that Eduardo was one of the men in my life.”
I never thought I would be happy to see Adele act outrageous, but she’d been so proper lately, trying to hide under a bushel basket of plain clothes and dull comments to please Eric’s mother. It only lasted for a minute, and as soon as Leonora even got near the table, Adele went back to her fake demure self.
“Yes, Molly, I would be happy to teach little Lyla how to crochet,” Adele said in crisp diction as Leonora returned to her seat. Acting surprised, Adele turned to her. “Oh, Mother Humphries, I didn’t see you come back. We were just talking about the first party we’re hosting at the bookstore.” Adele seemed ready to say more, but she began to bite her lip to stop herself. Could it be that she was finally recognizing how outrageous most of what she said was? I don’t think Leonora liked her moniker. I heard her grunt when Adele said it.
In the meantime, everybody showed off what they were working on. CeeCee went first and showed off another pet mat she was making. “I’m using up all my colorful scraps. No reason for the poor dears not to have something bright and cheery in the shelter.”
* * *
ADELE BROKE IN WHILE WE WERE STILL ADMIRING THE pet mat, showing off some earrings she was making by crocheting wire and attaching beads. When I saw them, it reminded me of what the girl in the cupcake shop had said, and I told Adele the girl needed a mate to an earring. Adele muttered something about having made the beads and having to make a whole new pair.
Dinah was next. “Did I tell you my ex’s kids with his newest ex are coming for Halloween?” She held up a partially done orange bag and explained she was making bags for them to take trick-or-treating. Leonora seemed confused and started to ask questions about Dinah’s relationship to these children. Adele’s eyes went skyward and she swooped in to point out what Elise was working on. That is, until she saw Elise was putting a red tassel on the black-and-white, worsted-weight, striped beanie. Sheila was easy. She was quietly working on a ruana in her trademark heathery colors, no doubt to be sold at Luxe.
Rhoda held up the lapghan she was making. She had a pile of small balls of different colors of yarn on the table. “We give them to cancer patients when they’re getting chemo.”
I was about to show off the ruffly scarf I was making, when Bob interrupted. Maybe interrupted is the wrong word. How could someone showing up with a tray of yummy cookie bars be interrupting? He focused directly on me.
“I understand you were in Caitlyn’s talking about cupcakes for a party at the bookstore.” There was a little edge in his voice, as if he thought I was some kind of traitor. “Cupcakes are already passé,” he said. “If you want to be ahead of the curve, cookie bars are it.” He began to circle the table, and he didn’t have to ask anyone twice, until he got to Leonora.
She waved them away. “I never eat sweets, except for the five grapes I have with my lunch.” Bob stopped by Adele next. Adele gazed at the cookie bars with wide eyes, and I bet she was already salivating. It didn’t help that the rest of us were eating them and saying how delicious they were.
“I really should taste one. As the party coordinator, I should be involved with the food decisions.” Adele started to reach for one, but I heard Leonora suck in her breath, and Adele pulled her hand back like a naughty child.
Bob finished where he’d begun, with me. “Well?” he said putting his hand on his hip and looking at me expectantly.
I explained the importance of the success of the first party and that I’d thought cupcakes would be the best choice for a bunch of kids.
“I can do a giant cookie bar birthday cake,” he said. “It would be much less messy. No little paper cups all over and cake crumbs ground into the carpet. Or, instead of one giant bar I could make the bars bite-size.”
Geez, Bob wasn’t making this easy. Finally, I said I would present the option to Emerson and Lyla and see which one they liked, reminding him that the customer ruled.
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