For Better or Worsted

by Betty Hechtman

  His silence was only making me more tense, and I did my best to concentrate on the passing view. We’d gone from the busy Valley floor to a rustic wilderness in a few minutes. The houses on either side of the twisting road were mostly a little offbeat. I could barely see the creek that ran below the road on one side. The water was only a trickle now, which made the quirky bridges some of the homeowners had built seem like overkill. But when the winter rains came, the creek could become a dangerous torrent. We passed some small businesses and went through the actual town of Topanga, which looked like a throwback to the ’60s with its hippie feel.

  Still Mason refused to tell me where we were going or to talk about the information. “Enjoy the adventure,” he said with a sly smile. “It’s always an adventure with me.”

  Eventually, I caught Mason’s vibe and began to enjoy the feeling that I was running away from everything for a little while. No worries about crochet lessons, the bookstore, or the book signing. It was like playing hooky from school, though I really wasn’t.

  Mason turned off the main road and drove on a bridge over the creek. There were a few more twists and turns, and he pulled up to a valet stand in front of a rustic-looking restaurant with a poetic name.

  It was early and the place was empty. Mason spoke to the host and we were led to a table outside. When I say outside, I don’t mean some wooden deck patio. I mean a table on a rocky ledge with dirt as the floor. Below, the lazy creek made its way through rocks and plants, and the whole area was shaded by big, old trees.

  Mason’s eyes were dancing as I looked around the place. He must have known where Barry and I had gone, and he’d found a way to outdo it. Then I knew. The box from the café had its name on it and was in the refrigerator. Thursday must have seen it and told Mason.

  I was still surprised that she was trying to put something together between me and her father. I thought it was always the dream of kids, no matter how old, that their divorced parents get back together. But then maybe that dream didn’t factor in Jaimee.

  The menu said lunch, but Mason got them to make us omelets, sweet potato patties, fruit and toast made of the homemade whole-grain bread they baked on-site. Coffee was served in a French press pot.

  “Well?” I said expectantly, when we’d gotten our food and started in on it. I looked across at Mason and expected his cheerful expression, but instead he appeared dead serious and I felt my heart rate quicken.

  “I need your help,” he said. “You know how Jackson Kingsley has said repeatedly that he thinks Jonah was stabbed to get back at me.” There was a long pause before Mason continued. “I blew it off and just took it for what it was, a grieving father looking for someone else to blame. You don’t know, but Detective Heather, er . . . Gilmore raked me over the coals about the revenge motive, too. I insisted it was ridiculous . . .” He let his voice trail off.

  “But I began to wonder if it could be true. I went through the past few years of cases to see if there was anyone who might be holding a grudge against me or blaming me for something.”

  I was going to say something reassuring, but Mason wanted to keep on going. “There’s someone I got off for a DUI hit-and-run. The car jumped the curb and just some daffodils and marigolds died.” To make sure I understood, he explained more fully that the tires had crushed the flowerbed in front of a home.

  “But that’s nothing,” I said. “Who would come after you for that?”

  “There’s another chapter to the story,” Mason said. “Two weeks later, the same person got into another accident and this time it wasn’t flowers that died.” Mason’s whole expression seemed to sag. “The family of the victim knew my client had been in a previous accident and had kept his license and gotten off. You see where they could blame me?”

  I had lost interest in the food by then. “You were just doing your job,” I said, reaching across to touch his arm.

  “That’s what I try to think. My job is to defend my clients. But I have to tell you, I wish I had never taken that case.”

  “You said there’s something you want me to do,” I said.

  “I need to know if some member of the victim’s family was one of the servers at the reception. I can’t get through to the caterer. She isn’t happy with my family and claims the murder and all the discussion about the way she had the servers dress has hurt her business. Actually, she said it killed her business.” He looked toward me.

  “We all know you have rather unconventional ways of doing things. Could you try to get a list of who worked at the reception?”

  Of course, I agreed. Then Mason went out of his way to lighten the mood, and we went back to eating our brunch. On the way back through the picturesque canyon, I looked over at him. “It was a lovely place, but wasn’t that a long way to go for an omelet?”

  Mason smiled. Maybe that was the point. He drove in silence for a few moments, and it was obvious he had something else on his mind. “Was this better than last night?”

  “I’m taking the Fifth on that,” I said with a laugh. I knew no matter what I said, it would probably come out wrong.

  CHAPTER 19

  “THANKS FOR MEETING ME,” I SAID TO DINAH. WE were parked next to each other in the parking lot behind the bookstore. I had called her when Mason dropped me off at my house, and I explained what Mason wanted. She offered to be my Watson right away. Since I had some time until I had to get to work, and Dinah had a break in classes, we decided to move on it immediately.

  “What’s the plan?” she said, rubbing her hands together in enthusiasm. “I hope there isn’t sneaking around involved, because I’m not dressed for it.” That was the truth. Dinah was wearing a burnt orange cotton pantsuit with a white shirt. A long scarf in a lighter shade of the orange trailed in the wind behind her. She was definitely jazzed by the idea we were teaming up to investigate. “I’m so glad to be in the middle of things again. I feel like I’ve been out of the loop.”

  “No sneaking around, so your outfit is fine,” I said, gesturing for her to get into my car. “I decided to go directly to the caterer. I even made an appointment to see her.” I started the engine and we took off out of the parking lot.

  “Wait a second, if Mason can’t get the list from her, how can you?”

  “I haven’t exactly worked that part out yet.”

  It was only a short drive to our destination, and I told Dinah about the dueling meals I’d had with Barry and then Mason. “Men are too much. They’ll try to one-up each other on anything—even romantic restaurants,” Dinah said with a merry chuckle. But when I told her what I’d overheard Thursday say to Barry, she almost choked on her breath. We both agreed that Thursday’s reaction was surprising.

  Just before I parked, I had an idea about how to approach the caterer. “It’s obvious. I’m planning a party and that’s her specialty.”

  “You’re going to talk to her about Lyla’s birthday party?” Dinah said.

  “I might leave out a few details. Just go along with whatever I say or do.”

  Laurie Jean’s Party People was located in a storefront on Ventura. We had to ring a bell to get in. Laurie Jean greeted us and took us into a small room in the front. It had comfortable armchairs and a table in the middle.

  “Have a seat, ladies,” the caterer said. I checked out the rest of the place as I was choosing a seat. I noted a small office on the other side of the entrance, and the whole back seemed to be given over to a kitchen and food storage.

  She waited until Dinah and I sat, then she took a seat across from us. I noticed she had a pad and pen and started to scribble some notes. She had long, blond hair and a smile that was a little too bright to be real. It looked like the kind of smile that was going to give her a headache if she didn’t let it fade soon.

  “What sort of event are you planning?” she said. When I said it was a birthday party, her smile deflated a little, but she assured me
they could do birthday parties. Her next question was how many guests I expected.

  Dinah played the silent partner and just nodded along with the conversation. I did the politician thing and didn’t answer her questions, but took the conversation where I wanted it to go. “I’d really like to use those servers who worked that wedding you put on a couple of weeks ago. They all looked the same, which I think is very professional.” I stopped as if I was considering something. “In fact, I want those exact servers.”

  Laurie Jean did a double take. “You’re putting on a birthday party for two hundred people?” she said. I noticed her manner changed, and she suddenly became more interested. Dinah was trying hard not to laugh. She knew we’d have maybe fifteen people at Lyla’s party.

  Laurie Jean immediately turned the subject away from the servers to the menu. I tried to gloss over the menu, saying I was more concerned with the look of the party and brought the subject back to the servers.

  “How many servers were there at that wedding?” I said.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “That’s why you hire a caterer. It’s much more important that you choose the type of party and the food. Once we take care of the paperwork, we can set up a tasting.”

  Dinah threw me a worried look as Laurie Jean produced a bunch of forms and mentioned the word deposit. This wasn’t working. I had hoped to be able to get what I wanted by talking, but it was time for plan B.

  “I wonder if I could use your restroom?” I said. I threw Dinah a nod, hoping she realized I needed her to stall. Laurie Jean graciously gestured toward the hall and said there was a restroom just before the kitchen.

  I walked into the hall slowly, checking to see that I was out of sight. I heard Dinah begin talking to Laurie Jean. My friend always came through, and I knew one way or another she’d keep the conversation going.

  I went across the hall to the small office, hoping to get a quick look around. Whatever records she had were probably in there. The first thing I noticed was the absence of a computer. I glanced over the desk, and there didn’t seem to be anything there resembling what I was looking for. A credenza sat against the wall and I noticed a row of plastic bins. When I looked closer, I saw that each had a label, presumably for some event. I also noticed that just about all of them had a line through them and the word Canceled written above. Wow, it really did look like her business had been killed. The one on the end said Fields/Kingsley. I noticed a handful of papers in it. I listened for a moment and the drone of conversation was still coming from across the hall. I’d just have a quick look through the bin.

  I’d already figured I would take a picture of the list with my phone and hope that Mason could read it. I began to thumb through the sheets. I was encouraged when they seemed to be checklists of supplies and such. I got a little too interested in examining the sheets as I went through them. I had no idea about all the stuff she’d had to bring. It made me think of Lyla’s party and stuff I hadn’t thought about, like a first aid kit. I was almost to the bottom of the bin. My phone screen had gone dark, and I got it back on and made sure it was set to camera. Just as I went back to the bin, I heard a rustle and then a voice.

  “What are you doing?” Laurie Jean yelled.

  CHAPTER 20

  LAURIE JEAN CAME RUNNING AFTER ME AS I MADE A move toward the door. I signaled Dinah to get going. Laurie Jean was faster and rushed ahead of me and blocked the exit. And then she burst into tears.

  “I finally thought I was getting a client,” she wailed, “and you’re just some snoop after information. What are you, reporters? P.I.’s?”

  Dinah and I traded guilty glances and I came clean. When she heard it was Mason who wanted the list of servers, her eyes went skyward, and then she got up. “You want to see a list of who worked the reception. I’ll show it to you.” She marched into the office and came back with the bin I’d been looking through. She dumped the container on the table and ruffled through the papers before pulling a clump of pages that seemed stuck together and covered in a brown ooze. She pushed it toward me.

  My first impulse was to go ewww. “Go ahead, look at it if you want. Good luck getting the pages apart.” Laurie Jean gave me a moment to pick up the clump of pages before she continued. “I pay the servers in cash as though it comes directly from the client,” she said. “I don’t keep records on them other than a handwritten list of who is supposed to work. They sign in as they come. I don’t know how it happened, but the sheet was on the table in the service area of the tent.” She pointed to the thing in my hand. “We think the brown stuff is balsamic vinegar glaze. Just before each tray of caprese appetizers went out, each one was given a squirt of the glaze. I don’t know how it ended up on the list. I don’t know who worked the wedding. All I know is that it was a disaster all the way around.”

  Laurie Jean began to cry again. “The cops think I put the glaze on the papers and that I’m trying to cover up who was there. Everybody is calling my business Calamity Caterers.” Dinah found a tissue in her bag and handed it to Laurie Jean, and I felt terrible for leading her on and sneaking around. It all ended with a group hug and me offering to try to get her the food gig for a future crochet party. I waited for her to calm down before we left.

  I called Mason when we got outside.

  “It’s okay, Sunshine. You did the best you could,” he said when I finished telling him the whole story. Then I heard a low chuckle. “Sunshine, you always surprise me.”

  * * *

  “I SHOULD HAVE ASKED LAURIE JEAN ABOUT THE shirt,” I said as Dinah and I headed down the street toward my car.

  “Do you want to go back?” my friend said, but I shook my head. I had to get to work, and I didn’t want to do anything to bring up the wedding again to Laurie Jean. “Are we talking about the shirt you found outside the reception?” Dinah asked. I started the car and pulled out into traffic.

  I said it was and reminded her of my discovery, which took longer than I’d expected because this time she had the same reaction Barry had and wondered why I was taking my shirt off in Mason’s yard.

  “That’s not the point,” I said. “I think the direction the collar was facing means the killer came out of the reception, dropped the bloody shirt, and then went back in as if nothing had happened.” Then something troubling occurred to me. “Except for one thing—what were they wearing? I’m sure if someone came in without a shirt, they would have been noticed.”

  “I bet they would have,” Dinah said with a giggle. We talked back and forth about it for a moment before my friend had an idea. “Didn’t you say you were giving a crochet lesson to Emerson. She was there and wore one of those white shirts. Maybe you can slip in some questions while you teach her the chain stitch.”

  I pulled into a parking spot behind the bookstore. Dinah got out of the car and rushed to hers so she could get back to Beasley Community College for her class. I moved at the same speed to the bookstore, suddenly realizing the time.

  Mrs. Shedd was glancing down at her watch when I skidded into the bookstore. Normally she didn’t keep tabs on my exact hours, because I always worked more hours than I got paid for. To me it was all about getting the job done. I saw that some of the Hookers were hanging out at the worktable. Before heading back there, I mentioned to Mrs. Shedd that Emerson and her daughter were coming for a pre-party crochet lesson. I also told her about Emerson’s idea for expanding the party. No surprise, my boss was thrilled.

  I didn’t get quite the same reaction from Adele. She was hunkered down in the children’s area, finishing up a sign about her upcoming story time event. Usually we just had a photograph of the author, but she’d added a picture of a cute little pig. “Pink, you should have checked with me before you agreed to the lesson. I could have had plans.”

  “Why the pig picture?” I said.

  “That’s Hamlet, the mini pig,” she said, shaking her head and rolling her e
yes as if it was a ridiculous question. She pointed to the title of the book, Pig Tales. “The tales are about him.” She brushed off some crumbs of rubber cement and set the sign on an easel in the entrance to her area.

  “So, are you going to help me with the crochet lesson or not?” I asked as I prepared to go to the yarn department.

  “You’re lucky I just finished putting up the sign and can help.” She joined me and we went across the store to the back area. Adele pulled out a plastic bin we kept stowed in one of the cabinets. It had a supply of different-size hooks and some odd balls of yarn. I was glad to see Rhoda and Elise were both at the worktable, even though it wasn’t a regular meeting time. Rhoda was finishing a brown scarf to send to a group that sent them off to soldiers. Elise shoved her project into her bag and pulled out a skein of black-and-white variegated yarn, saying she’d come up with a new vampire style. “Instead of exact stripes, this yarn creates the impression of stripes.”

  “The plans for the party have changed a bit,” I said before explaining the addition of the parents. I told Rhoda we’d need either two separate projects for the adults and kids, or one that would work for both groups, and I told Elise we’d need more kits.

  Elise said she had made up a list of items to put in the kits. She began to search through her bag for it. Ever since she’d started selling the health products, she’d replaced her cloth tote bag with a big thing on wheels. She began to empty its contents on the table. As she set a small shopping bag with a label on the table, she looked toward Adele. “I brought your reorder of the diet powder.” She pushed it to Adele, who seemed a little surprised.

  “Leonora was concerned you were going to run out,” Elise explained. At the sound of the name, Adele jumped, looking around as if the woman she was hoping would be her mother-in-law had suddenly appeared. At least she was dressed appropriately. Ever since Leonora had come for her visit, Adele had stayed with the plain look, even when the woman wasn’t present.