Inherit the Wool

by Betty Hechtman

  “Let’s see if we can work straight through for an hour,” I said. Crystal arrived with their tote bags. She handed them out and said she was there to help if anyone needed it.

  Elizabeth took out the yarn and needles she’d gotten at the yarn shop. “Could you help me start this,” she said, holding up the pattern for some fingerless gloves.

  I knew that Crystal had said something about helping them start another project, but it was too soon. They needed to stay focused on the scarf or they’d never finish it over the weekend.

  “It would be better if you stuck with the scarf for now. I’ll be around on Sunday and then I’ll be happy to help any of you start something you got today.”

  Elizabeth’s face clouded slightly, but she put away her supplies and took out the big red needles with her work hanging off of one of them.

  “By Sunday, you’ll all have your own Razzle Dazzle.” Crystal had taken out the complete scarf she’d shown them at the first workshop and modeled it for them. Because of the big needles, the stitches were also very big and it was actually quite striking.

  Lucinda and I had the advantage of being more comfortable with knitting than the newbies. She was already way ahead of them and it didn’t take me long to catch up.

  Working with the needles wasn’t having the usual relaxing effect. If anything it was making me feel more antsy. Lucinda knew that I had to leave and why, but the rest of them didn’t. It was probably stupid not to let on that I had more than one occupation, but I still wanted them to think I was making it on the retreats alone. They all seemed to have their lives together. Elizabeth might not be married, but her one job was keeping her afloat. Courtney had it all, a family and working her way up at a law firm. Lauren had the life she wanted. Kids, foster kids, a job helping people, and I imagined an understanding husband.

  I put down my knitting and got up, thinking I could slip out. “Where are you going?” Elizabeth said in an accusing voice. “I thought the plan was we’d all work for an hour on our scarves.”

  “Nowhere,” I said, sitting back down. “I was just going to stretch.”

  • • •

  When the hour ended, they were all surprised and pleased at how much knitting they had to show for it.

  Lucinda knew what I was up to, and as Crystal gathered up the bags to take them back to our meeting room, she stood up. “Don’t forget the movie in Hummingbird Hall. They’re showing the original Star Wars.” Lucinda described how the place we’d been practicing our ball routine in would have been changed into a movie theater by now. “They have a cart making fresh popcorn and a candy counter.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Lauren said. “I’m in.”

  “I’ll go get the tote bag set up to leave for Blair,” I said. I implied that I would catch up with them later and no one objected when I headed to the door.

  I got to the meeting room with Crystal, and as she left the group’s bags, I picked up one I’d left as a spare. I dropped it off at the registration counter and then headed up the driveway feeling giddy with my freedom. Putting on a retreat for people I knew was a lot more intense than I’d expected. I rushed across the street and made a quick detour inside to make sure Julius had food and water. The phone was ringing and I saw by the screen it was my mother. I’d avoided several of her calls and knew if I didn’t answer this one, she’d call Sammy and stir things up, saying she was worried.

  I grabbed the handset and clicked it on. “Hello, Babs,” I said. She hated that I’d taken to calling her by her name rather than her position. I did it in an effort to make it appear we were on equal footing now.

  “Do you have to call me that?” she said, making a tsk sound.

  “It seems more appropriate than Mom or Mommy, now that we’re both adults,” I said, trying to not sound like a defiant child.

  “You never called me Mommy,” she said. “You always stuck to the more formal Mother.” She was lucky I didn’t call her Dr. Mother. Both my parents were doctors. She was a cardiologist and I liked to say she fixed broken hearts. My father was a pediatrician, and as you’d expect, he was the more easygoing of the two. It bothered my mother no end that I was juggling professions and wasn’t a professional anything—at least by her standards. To be a true professional in her eyes, I’d need to have a diploma to prove it. She’d been pushing me to go to cooking school in Paris or even to some detective academy—all on her dime.

  There’d been times when I considered taking her up on it, but then something always happened to make me want to stay doing what I was doing in Cadbury.

  “So, how is the weekend with your friends going?” she asked, getting right to the point. It was two hours later in Chicago and I pictured her in their apartment in the Hancock building with the view of Lake Michigan. Though by this hour it was too dark to see it. She would have changed out of whatever pantsuit she’d worn that day and was probably wearing her sleep clothes. The dangle earrings stayed on.

  It had been my aim all along to avoid her calls for the whole weekend. I didn’t want to have her ask about them because then I’d have to tell her how accomplished they all were and had husbands, families and professions, and have her bounce it back at me. And I certainly didn’t want to tell her that someone had died under my watch and that it was probably one of my friends who had killed her.

  But no matter what I called her, she was still in the same position and in no time got the whole story out of me.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “Not the story I expected to hear from you.”

  Now that it was all out there, I asked her about the air embolism. “A pulmonary embolism caused by air. I’ve heard about it but never encountered it. I do know it takes quite a bit of air. Whoever did it would have to have some knowledge,” she said.

  “Or know how to do research,” I said.

  “I take that to mean you’re investigating what happened.” There was a pause and I knew what was coming next and she didn’t disappoint. “Your application for the detective academy in Los Angeles is still open.”

  “Thanks but no thanks,” I said.

  “Have it your way,” she said, sounding disappointed, then her voice lifted. “What about Sammy?”

  “What do you mean, what about him?” I asked. I was just being difficult. I knew what she was trying to find out. She was hoping some miracle had happened and I’d changed my mind and we were back together. She’d begun asking about Sammy on a regular basis. It annoyed me, but it was better than what she used to say. She’d end our calls by reminding me that at my age, she’d been a mother, a doctor and a wife and that I wasn’t any of those things.

  I heard her making exasperated sounds and I relented. “Sammy’s fine and I’m still his assistant, but he’s looking for a replacement.” My mother laughed.

  “I’m sure he’s scouring the area,” she said facetiously. “I just hope you wise up before it’s too late.” I started to object and she continued. “I know, I know there’s no spark. But that fades over time anyway. Sammy’s a good man and that counts for a lot.”

  It was hard to argue with that. Sammy was definitely a good man, but only as a friend. Thankfully our call was coming to an end. Just before my mother signed off, she surprised me once again. “I shouldn’t encourage you, but whoever killed Vanessa probably was familiar with hypodermic needles. Are any of your group diabetic? Or has a drug problem? Just a thought.”

  Who would have thought my mother would actually offer something useful. I looked out the window laughing to myself to see if pigs were flying. It was an inside joke I had with myself every time she did something that totally surprised me. Not that I could have even seen an airborne porcine if there was one since it was dark.

  Julius had been watching the whole thing. When I hung up, he followed me to the door and looked up at me. I wasn’t sure if he had mischief in mind and was glad to see me go, or if he longed for my company and was sad that I was leaving. It was hard to read a cat’s expression. I filed what my mother ha
d said in the back of my mind and zipped off to downtown Cadbury in my yellow Mini Cooper.

  Even though it was Friday night things were beginning to quiet down. All of the stores were closed and the restaurants would soon join them. Cadbury wasn’t a late-night town. I pulled my car into one of the angled spots on Grand Street. The Blue Door had been a small residence at one time and was oddly situated so the side of the building actually faced the main street. A long porch ran along the front of the white shingled building and was where the blue-doored entrance was.

  The former living room and now main dining area was almost empty. The arrangement of tables could best be described as cozy, making it easy to see what everyone else was eating and overhear conversations. It had turned out to be a good thing for me because it had helped spread the word about my desserts to new diners. More than once I’d heard a regular customer rave about my desserts and suggest that it needed to be ordered early because the cake or pie was likely to run out.

  Tag was collecting the check from the last diners at a small table by the window. I felt a tug of regret when I saw the ice cream dishes on their table. But all things considered it was no surprise that I hadn’t been able to make the desserts the night before. One of the servers looked up from her job of setting up for the morning and offered me a greeting.

  The best I could do was a nod of my head since both my hands were taken up with shopping bags with muffin supplies. The chef was just exiting the kitchen as I walked in. He already had his backpack slung over his shoulder. I knew it contained his knives. That was the point—they were his knives. He really could have left them there. I wouldn’t have bothered them. He gave me a lift of his chin in acknowledgment as he passed. It bordered on surly. He had this territorial thing going about the kitchen and apparently viewed me as an intruder. I sort of felt the same way about him.

  Once I heard the door close and knew that he’d really left, I began to empty the bags and stake out my claim on the room. I’d wait until Tag and the server left to really begin. For now I just arranged things. I always made the desserts for the restaurant first and afterward mixed up the muffins.

  Tag came in just as I was finishing measuring the flour for the carrot cakes. His eye went right to the flour that had missed the measuring cup and had scattered on the counter. I could see he was fighting with himself to keep from coming over and wiping up the errant white powder. “The waitstaff have all taken off,” he said with his eye still on the flour. “Lucinda’s okay?” he asked.

  It had only been hours since he’d seen her. I thought it was sweet that he missed her. I assured him that she was fine and didn’t mention that she seemed to be enjoying her time away. He was still staring at the flour and finally I couldn’t take it anymore and wiped it up. He let out a sigh of relief and left. I finished measuring the ingredients and then I went into the other room to turn on the soft jazz I liked to listen to while I baked. I glanced around the main room and all seemed peaceful, but then I heard a noise. I wasn’t sure what it was or where it was coming from, but it instantly made me nervous. It wasn’t unusual for someone to show up to visit, though they always announced themselves right away. I looked around and had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching me. The windows that looked out on the street were too high up for any one who wasn’t a basketball player to see in. I looked at the front door. The top half was glass, and while I couldn’t see anyone, if anyone was watching that seemed most likely where they’d be. My way was to confront things instead of running away from them even if they were scary, so I grabbed a frying pan, just in case, and pulled open the front door.

  When I didn’t see anyone, I stepped out onto the porch and glanced around. As I did I thought I heard the soft sound of a door closing. I checked behind me and the front door of the restaurant was open as I’d left it. When I turned back around, I remembered the door at the very end of the porch that led directly to the kitchen. It was only used when tables were set out there and was surely locked.

  Convinced that I’d just been hearing things, I went back inside. I turned on the soft jazz and returned to the kitchen, replacing the frying pan. I began to pour the ingredients for the cakes in a bowl. There was no need for a mixer as the batter was hand-stirred. I enjoyed the peace of not having to listen to a motor, but I kept getting the feeling that someone was watching me. I knew that was probably hokum about being able to feel eyes on you, and besides there was no one there. Then I heard a rustling followed by something falling in the pantry. I took a moment to consider who might be watching me. Had the killer somehow figured out that I was investigating? It seemed unlikely. I knew I was stalling, nervous about what was behind that door.

  I reminded myself that I wasn’t one to run away from danger. I rearmed myself with the frying pan and pulled open the door, ready to do damage. At first I saw no one, then there was a rustle and I felt the air stir as someone passed behind me.

  I rushed out of the small room after whoever. I caught up with the figure when I entered the main room. I had my frying pan poised as I went to grab the hoodie on the figure in front of me. The hood of the sweatshirt came off.

  “Zak!” I said. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. He glanced around the empty restaurant.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first,” I said, holding my ground. He eyed the frying pan in my hand and then reached out and lowered it.

  “Maybe the others bought that life you described, but it didn’t sound like the person I remembered who was always in the middle of things. The retreat business seemed out of character and a little shaky. I figured you had something else going on. Then tonight it was pretty obvious you had someplace to go, so I arranged for an Uber so I could follow you. I saw you go into the restaurant, but when it closed and you didn’t come out, I figured whatever you were running was coming out of here. I found an unlocked door and hid to see what you were up to.” He looked at me with a quizzical expression. “What are you up to? Is it something to do with opioids? Gambling? Hookers?”

  I urged him to follow me back into the kitchen and hung the frying pan back on its hook. “How about none of the above. Sorry to disappoint you, but my secret business is baking,” I said and pointed out the bowl full of batter. “I didn’t want everyone to know that my life is really a patchwork quilt of professions. I make desserts for the restaurant and I bake muffins and deliver them to the assorted coffee spots in town. All of you seem to have found your callings and are making a life at it.”

  Zak leaned against the counter and scratched his head. In that moment he looked just like the boy I’d known in college who I’d shared that kiss in the rain with. “I doubt that the others’ lives are as great as you think. As for me, I’m living my dream of being a journalist, but I’m not where I want to be yet.” He let out a sigh. “I tried being an anchor in a small market, but sitting behind a desk reading copy somebody else wrote isn’t for me. I want to be out there where the news is happening, but with a regular beat.” His face lit with a wry smile. “Instead of being on call hoping for a hurricane to get an assignment. So, I’m trying to come up with stories to take to them,” he said. “That’s why this weekend interested me so much.” He looked at me directly. “And of course seeing all of you again.”

  His mention of the promised story piqued my curiosity. “Do you have any idea who your mystery benefactor for this weekend is?”

  He leaned against the counter and let out a sigh. “I’m pretty sure it was Vanessa. And the big story was probably something about the dealership.” He looked at the bowl of ingredients and urged me to go on with my work. “She got in touch with me a while ago. She had this idea of making commercials featuring me for the dealership. She thought I’d work for nothing because according to her it would make me a personality.” He winced. “And be the end of my news career. Actors can get away with it, but not newspeople. You don’t see Anderson Cooper doing an ad for Hank’s Tires.”

  “Was that
all she had in mind?” I asked, remembering that she’d mentioned something about looking for Number Three and wanting someone who had something going on their own. In other words, a trophy husband.

  “Oh, you mean was she trying to put a ring on my finger?” he joked. “I was definitely not here for that. I thought there might actually be something I could pitch to WNN about her dealership or I’d find something else.” He smiled at me. “Like you were running some kind of gambling operation out of a closed restaurant.”

  “Sorry, I’m not doing anything more exciting,” I said, matching his smile. “So then Vanessa never told you for sure that she was your benefactor.”

  “No. She seemed annoyed about something. But she did say she wanted to talk to me privately.” He shrugged. “And I guess that’s not going to happen.”

  I was hoping to see if he had any idea of what she wanted to talk about, but just then I heard a knock at the glass pane on the front door. Dane stopped by regularly and we’d come up with the special knock so I’d know it was him. He’d come by for his cookie bars.

  Zak appeared uneasy as he followed me to the door, and when Dane came in dressed in his uniform, Zak seemed even more uncomfortable. It was a bit of a standoff. Both Zak and Dane looked at each other as if they were intruders.

  I tried to smooth things over, but it didn’t go well. Things got worse when Sammy showed up a few minutes later, saying he thought we could talk about our act while I was baking. He and Dane were used to each other, but they both looked at Zak with daggers in their eyes.

  Zak seemed unconcerned with their reaction and was far more interested in finding out about the “act” Sammy was talking about.

  Dane rolled his eyes, while Sammy explained. “Case is my assistant. I’m the Amazing Doctor Sammy,” he said, holding out his hand. Zak still didn’t quite get it and then Sammy made a coin appear from Dane’s ear. “Amazing as in an amazing magician.” Sammy seemed pleased with himself.

  “So you put on retreats, bake and you’re a magician’s assistant?” Zak said with a smile. “Anything else?” He looked at me expectantly and I shook my head. “Not exactly material for an exposé,” he joked, “but as I thought, a lot more interesting than you made it sound.”