Dead Men Don't Crochet

by Hechtman, Betty

“No. She made them all at home. She just brought them in so we could drool over them.”

  I mentioned that Patricia had joined the crochet group. Saying her name to Mrs. Shedd was like pushing the play button on a recording. Whenever I mentioned Patricia, Mrs. Shedd told the same story in the exact same words.

  “She’s a genius. She got the pinot noir stain out of that blouse I had made in Paris. I don’t know what I would have done without her. You know I had that dinner with the mayor that night. She saved the day. Saved the day.” Mrs. Shedd always said “saved the day” twice. Then she went into the part about how she was happy to host events for Patricia because she knew from experience that the things in her book worked. I smiled and nodded, acting as if I were hearing this story for the first time.

  “You must have known Ramona Brooks,” I said, trying to change the topic. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but it only made sense since Shedd & Royal was just down the street from the Cottage Shoppe.”

  “She was a lovely woman,” Mrs. Shedd said. “And she adored that store. It started out as just an antique and vintage store. She had a knack for finding unusual items at garage sales and flea markets. Then she would add a little polish, display them to their best advantage and get a nice price. She started taking in things on consignment because it was easier. But she was particular about what she’d take. It had to be unusual and something that would pull in a big price. It was only recently she also started taking handicraft items on consignment. But they had to be special, like those scarves you mentioned.”

  “Did you go in there much?” I asked, hoping Mrs. Shedd would keep talking. Who knew what information she might have that could come in handy?

  She laughed. “Too much for a while, and I have the stuff to prove it. Ramona was a good saleswoman. She always pointed out that everything was one of a kind and that if you didn’t buy it when you saw it, the next time it probably wouldn’t be there.”

  “I suppose she knew all about antiques and the values of things,” I said.

  “She definitely knew a lot about the things she sold, but when it came to the consignment things, she really went by what the seller claimed.” Mrs. Shedd ran her thumb along her coffee mug and appeared thoughtful. “I was really sorry when she died. She was a lovely woman, unlike her nephews.”

  Mrs. Shedd described how she’d stopped in the Cottage Shoppe shortly after Drew and Kevin had taken over. “I wanted to introduce myself and wish them good luck. I ended up walking in and out in almost the same move. The two men were having a yelling match in the living room. It seemed so out of place with such a genteel backdrop. I couldn’t hear who was saying what. One sounded viciously nasty and the other just seemed upset. I didn’t hear the details, and frankly I just wanted to get out of there.”

  “I’d bet money the really nasty one was Drew,” I said. “He told Sheila if she didn’t like what he was offering, she could take her scarves somewhere else. He knew there wasn’t another place like it around here doing consignment. Kevin seems more pleasant.” I shifted my weight. “Maybe you should tell that story to the police.”

  “I don’t want to get involved, and neither should you,” she cautioned. “You’re not a suspect, I assume, so the best thing you can do is keep a low profile.”

  I tried to look as though I agreed. Mrs. Shedd was my boss, after all. It was just about ten and time for the crochet group to begin. Needing her approval, I told her about our plan to make comforting shawls for the Women’s Haven. She liked the idea immediately and said to go ahead and get the yarn. As I walked toward the door, she casually said, “By the way, a local children’s author offered to come to story time. I told Adele to handle it. I hope you don’t feel I’ve stepped on your toes.”

  I just smiled and said I was sure it would be fine. As I passed the children’s department, I noticed the sign for story time had an extra sheet attached announcing in bright multicolor letters what Mrs. Shedd had just told me. Obviously, Adele had made the poster and whatever arrangements needed to be made.

  Why was I upset?

  THE CROCHET GROUP WAS ALREADY GATHERED around the event table when I got there. But when I saw Dinah wasn’t there, I began to worry. She hadn’t answered the message I’d left yesterday. Something was up that she really didn’t want to talk about. Everyone else was busy trading notes about the events of the day before and being questioned. While it appeared that life was going on, I think we all felt a little uneasy.

  I brought up the man I’d noticed both times we’d been at the Cottage Shoppe. “Did you tell Detective Heather about the bald guy with the Harrods shopping bag? I don’t recall seeing him in the parking lot,” I said to CeeCee.

  “Bald guy? I don’t recall seeing a bald guy anywhere,” CeeCee said. “Thank heavens I didn’t go upstairs with the rest of you. It must have been awful.” She turned toward me and made a strange segue. “Molly, I saw you on the news. Dear, when are you going to take my advice and get some of that makeup that doesn’t make you look so pasty? I always wear it when I think I might end up on camera.”

  I shrugged off her comment. Not only had I not been expecting to end up on the news, but in my book, if you’d just seen a dead person with his face in a bowl of tomato bisque soup, it would be weird if you didn’t look pasty.

  CeeCee didn’t seem to notice that I didn’t respond, and continued on. “Luckily, that Detective Gilmore helped me slip out through the alley so I didn’t have to deal with the press.” CeeCee took out some printed papers and handed them out. “Let’s move on to why we’re here. This is a pattern for a basic shawl. It’s easy enough even for a newbie like you,” she said to Patricia.

  “Well, you certainly must remember the bald guy,” I said to Sheila. She shook her head and looked over the instructions, listening as Adele suggested it would be best to use a worsted-weight yarn.

  I expected Adele to have something to add about Drew’s death, but she was uncharacteristically quiet. Was it my imagination or was Adele keeping a low profile? She’d said nothing about seeing or not seeing the bald guy or about anything else for that matter except her yarn suggestion. I had a feeling it had to do with the upcoming children’s author appearance and her concern that I might try to step on her authority.

  “Mrs. Shedd gave us the go-ahead on the Women’s Haven project,” I said as Dinah finally arrived and slid into a chair.

  “You remember the tall bald guy, don’t you?” I was relieved when she nodded. “We have to talk,” I said. Then I noticed there were a couple of children standing a little behind her chair.

  “Are they with you?” I asked, joking, but my smile faded when she nodded in agreement. I thought back to the background noise from a couple of nights ago and rethought my impression that Dinah had had a hot date. “Okay, then, who are they?”

  Dinah looked over at them and introduced Ashley-Angela and E. Conner to everyone, but she didn’t explain who they were. The both appeared to be about four years old, though the girl seemed more mature. Dinah looked at the table longingly but said she couldn’t stay. Then she took the shawl instructions and left. I mouthed “call me” as she walked away with the kids in tow.

  Once they had left we started discussing Drew Brooks again.

  “Oh, lets focus on something more positive,” Patricia said, making a slip knot with some yarn CeeCee had given her. She was still crocheting practice swatches. The rest of us took out our own projects.

  CeeCee was working on something round and white. I laughed when she said she was making a birthday cake. CeeCee didn’t bake them, but apparently she did crochet them. “Best of all, it has zero calories,” she said, sliding the directions across the table. Actually it was crocheted, then glued to cardboard. When finished it would have pink roses on top and Happy Birthday embroidered on it. It was another donation for the Not Exactly A Bake Sale.

  Sheila was quiet. She had been more involved with Drew Brooks than the rest of us and probably was still processing all that had happene
d. I wondered if she had noticed the scarf on the desk in his office. She seemed to be staring into space while her fingers worked the same royal blue yarn she used at our last meeting. Her stitches weren’t tight this time. If anything they were inconsistent, one loose, the next one tight, and the edges were completely uneven.

  “Sheila,” I said gently, pointing out how the side seemed to be getting bigger. Her gaze went down to her work and she almost jumped.

  “What am I doing?” she mumbled and began unraveling.

  “You probably have a lot on your mind,” I said, getting dirty looks from CeeCee and Adele, since they were usually the ones who gave her smaller hooks or comforted her.

  “You have no idea,” she said, putting the hook and yarn down.

  “Then why don’t you tell us, dear,” CeeCee said.

  “I think I might be in trouble,” she said softly. “My fingerprints are on the murder weapon.”

  Everyone’s head shot up. “Murder weapon?” we said in unison.

  Sheila explained that one of the gym members’ close relatives worked at the West Valley Division of the Los Angeles Police Department. “When she came in this morning, she told me she’d heard they thought Drew had been knocked out with a paperweight before he fell in the soup.”

  “So that’s what happened.” I told the group about seeing blood on the back of Drew’s head. “I saw a bunch of paperweights on the desk. How do you know your fingerprints were on the one that hit him?”

  Sheila let her breath out and sat back in her chair. “When I went up to see Drew about my money, I was really nervous. You know how I sometimes tap my fingers? Well, I was trying not to do that, so I picked up one of the paperweights. But before I could stop myself, I started tapping it. So, I put the first one down. It was very heavy and large. I picked up the next one, and then I was tapping again. You get the idea. I went through all of them.

  “I shouldn’t say this, but I was mad enough to do it. He just laughed at me when I asked for the correct amount. He said where else was I going to sell my scarves. The worst part is he was right. I could try to sell them online, but unless you see them and touch them, they don’t seem that unique.”

  “Nonsense, dear,” CeeCee said. “Your scarves are lovely and special. I’m sure you could sell them somewhere else.” CeeCee did a few stitches on the birthday cake. “So they think Drew died from a blow to his head?”

  “She said they won’t know for sure until the autopsy, but they think he drowned in the soup. Still it was getting hit with the paperweight that made him fall in the bowl.”

  There was a collective gasp in the group.

  “Oh my,” Patricia said. “It’s true a person can drown in just an inch or so of liquid.”

  Sheila stared at the table. “I don’t know if the rest of you noticed, but one of my scarves was on his desk.”

  “Does Detective Heather know about your fingerprints?” I asked, laying my hands over Sheila’s.

  “Maybe not, but she’s going to. After an officer questioned me, he asked if I’d let them take my fingerprints and a hair sample. I said sure when he explained it was so they could exclude my fingerprints when they were looking for the suspect. It’s just a matter of time before they match them up.” She looked up at me. “I’m scared.”

  And Sheila didn’t even know that Detective Heather had overheard her threaten Drew.

  CHAPTER 6

  THROUGHOUT THE REST OF THE MEETING THE crochet group did their best to reassure Sheila that nobody could possibly think she killed Drew Brooks. After everyone left, I took down the long table and set up rows of chairs and a demonstration table for the evening’s event. Then I left the bookstore and headed to Dinah’s house. I had decided not to wait any longer to find out what was going on with her. When I saw her car was in her driveway, I pulled up behind it.

  Dinah’s house was in an area called Walnut Acres, largely because at one time it had been a walnut farm. Just as there were orange trees in my backyard left from when the whole area had been an orange grove, there was a walnut tree in her front yard.

  I knocked on the door, and a moment later she opened it.

  “You can’t hang up or run off this time,” I said, trying to seen inside.

  She opened the door wider and motioned me in. “I’m sorry. I should have explained at the crochet meeting.” She looked worn out. Even her spikey salt-and-pepper hair seemed deflated.

  Like Dinah’s clothes, her house had an arty look with interesting color combinations. She had a deep purple couch with a chartreuse throw over the arm and colorful pillows. There was a wing chair with a floor lamp next to it and a side table that held a stack of books and her crocheting. However, the coffee table had been cleared of the usual items. I wondered at first, but when I heard the giggly voices from the other room, I realized she had kid-proofed the place.

  I glanced through to the added-on den. The walls were lined with bookcases, and there was a TV and a soft leather couch in a warm chestnut. A sliding glass door at the back of the room led to Dinah’s compact backyard, which she kept low maintenance by having a garden of native plants. I sat down on the couch, and she walked over to one of the bedrooms, looked in and then came back.

  “Okay, who are they and why are they staying with you?”

  “This is so embarrassing,” Dinah said, sitting on the arm of the couch. Being embarrassed was so unlike her. She was the gutsy one, the one not afraid to tell her students that when it came to her class she was queen and they followed her rules or they flunked. What could possibly make her embarrassed?

  The answer was simple, but one I never would have expected. “Jeremy showed up,” she said, referring to her ex-husband. “And he wasn’t alone. E. Conner and Ashley-Angela are fraternal twins and his children with the new Mrs.—or should I say the new ex-Mrs. Lyons.” The irresponsible with the more irresponsible. What a couple.

  “He’s been living up north. He lost his job just about the same time his wife took off, leaving him with the kids. He’s down here about a job.” Dinah shook her head obviously upset with herself. “I can’t believe I’m letting him stay here. . . . Well, he’s actually gone now. He went to San Diego about a job. I must need my head examined to have let him leave his kids here.”

  “Well, who am I to talk? Samuel’s girlfriend is staying with me, and I think she’s anorexic.”

  Dinah knew about Morgan but not her eating problem. She looked at me with understanding and hugged me. “I was afraid to tell you. I thought you’d think I was an idiot.”

  “Or softhearted.” I smiled at her. “Or softheaded. Maybe that’s what we both are. Whatever. I’m just glad to have my friend back.”

  Now that her secret was out in the open, Dinah relaxed. After checking on the kids again, she made us some tea, and I told her about what had happened at the crochet group.

  “Are you sure Sheila didn’t do it? I mean, she is full of surprises. Who would have guessed she’d make those beautiful scarves?”

  “She couldn’t have. Besides, if she was going to do it, why would she want all of us to be there?”

  “Unless it was one of those disorganized crimes,” Dinah said. I had told her a lot of the stuff I’d learned from The Average Joe’s Guide. There were crimes that were carefully planned, and there were some that were totally spontaneous, and then there were some that were planned but something went wrong. The ones that were unplanned or went askew were called disorganized crimes.

  “If you’re so sure she didn’t do it, who did?” Dinah said.

  “We know who had opportunity. Everybody who was there.”

  Dinah looked at her watch. “I have a class and I have to get the kids ready to go. Thank heavens Beasley Community College has child care.” She got up and walked me to the door. “I wonder how many people have a motive?”

  “If he cheated Sheila, he probably did the same to other people. So anyone who sold things on consignment could have had it in for him. The bald man was sure mad
at him. Kevin Brooks seems like a nice guy, but Mrs. Shedd overheard him and Drew in the middle of a bitter argument.” I thought back to the office. “And there’s something else. There was something white and lacy hanging off a drawer pull, as though something had caught on it and torn.”

  “I didn’t see that. Lacy like how?” Dinah said.

  I closed my eyes and conjured up the image. When I had been catching that last look at it, I had tried relating it to something familiar. What had I thought of? And then an image floated forward and grew clear. It reminded me of the doilies Adele had sewn on her skirt.

  DINAH WASN’T THE ONLY ONE WITH THINGS TO do. I had arranged to meet CeeCee later to buy the yarn for the shawls, but I stopped home for lunch first. Cosmo rushed toward the door as I came in, with Blondie in close pursuit. What a change. When I only had her, she sat in her chair all day unless it was walk time or I offered her some cheese.

  As I put my keys down on the counter, Morgan came out of her room and startled me. I’d gotten used to dog noises but not the sounds of another human. She came up and suddenly hugged me, wanting to make sure I was all right. I had told her about the murder the night before when my younger son Samuel stopped over during the break between his day job as a barista and his evening gig playing piano at a restaurant. He’d already gotten the basics about the incident from his brother.