“As long as you’re okay,” Samuel said when I’d finished giving him the details. He had taken his father’s death harder than his brother, and I knew he worried about something happening to me. With that settled, he and Morgan had exchanged awkward glances, and then he had left to go to his night job.
“I was going to have some lunch. Want to join me?” I asked, hoping my smile and cheerful voice would brighten her expression. She looked more melancholy than usual.
“That would be nice. What are you having?”
“When in doubt grilled cheese sandwiches always work,” I said, washing my hands and starting to take things out of the refrigerator. She agreed to eat with me, but only if she could make her own. I stepped aside as she extracted a package of no-fat American cheese product, which was as close to cheese as plastic was to cashmere. She had some bread, too. Sliced so thin, light shown through it. It was extremely low in calories and high in fiber thanks to the secret ingredient. The label called it by some fancy name like cellulose specialo, but I looked it up. It was basically wood fibers.
I used bakery egg bread and Muenster cheese. She made hers in the microwave, while I sizzled some butter in a frying pan, which filled the air with a delicious aroma. When I added the sandwich, it smelled even better.
When our sandwiches were ready, we sat at the little booth in the kitchen and I asked her how things were going.
“Not so good,” she said, taking a tiny bite of her sandwich. “I went on an audition for a music video this morning, and they said I didn’t look ethereal enough. That means five pounds too heavy.” She put down her sandwich as if it were its fault and drank some sparkling water.
“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that you’re already almost too ethereal,” I said. “The next audition will go better.”
She slumped and looked glum. I decided the best tactic was to let her know there were people who had worse problems. I told her about Sheila and how Drew Brooks had cheated her and she’d confronted him just before he got killed.
“And now she’s worried because her fingerprints are on the paperweight that hit him on the head, and she doesn’t even know that this police detective overheard her threatening him. I’m just hoping the detective doesn’t start treating Sheila like a suspect.”
“Wow,” Morgan said, sitting up. “I guess some people do have bigger problems. I bet I’ve seen her scarves at the Cottage Shoppe.” I asked her if she shopped there often and if she knew anything about the Brooks brothers.
“ ‘Brooks brothers,’ that’s funny,” she said. It was amazing how much better she looked when she smiled. She said she had liked the store better when their aunt owned it. “She had all kinds of unusual and wonderful things. Somebody had made a shadow box out of an old dance program from Swan Lake. It was autographed by Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev. Next to it was a dried pink rose with the stem still on and a pair of her white satin toe shoes. They were even autographed.” Morgan almost swooned. “But it was way too expensive for me. And I saw this fabulous hanky that had belonged to Lady Somebody. It was really beautiful but completely out of my price range. I love all the handcrafted items. Did you see the knit blankets in the soft heather tones?”
“They are beautiful,” I said. Since she liked the handcrafted things so well I thought maybe she’d like to learn how to make some and asked, “Would you like to join the crochet group?”
“That would be nice except I don’t know how to crochet,” she said. When I assured her someone would teach her, she said she’d come with me to the next meeting.
Morgan had become all animated, and I enjoyed having a daughter-age person to talk with. The only down moment came when I got a cookie for dessert and offered one to her. You would have thought I’d offered her a cockroach.
An hour later, with the dishwasher taking care of the cleanup, I left to meet CeeCee at the Super Craft Mart to buy the yarn for the hugs of comfort project. She was waiting by a display of craft books when I got there. She kept looking around as we walked back toward the yarn department, and I finally asked her what the problem was.
She glanced down an empty aisle. “You have no idea how it is now. Everybody is looking to catch you doing something embarrassing and stick it on the Internet. Now that I have a hit show, it’s even worse.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “I practically have to sleep in stage makeup. The other day somebody got a picture of me in my robe, getting the Sunday newspaper. My hair looked like I stuck my finger in an electric socket.”
I hadn’t seen the photo she was talking about, but I could just imagine it. I’d always kind of laughed at CeeCee’s obsession with stage makeup and posing herself just right if there were any paparazzi around, but I suddenly saw it in a different light. Her situation made me glad I was a nobody.
As soon as we got to the yarn department, she pointed out the worsted acrylic and said each shawl would take about six skeins. We both started counting skeins and eventually filled two carts with yarn.
“We’ll start them in the group, but then everybody is going to have to do a lot of the work on their own. I promised the shelter twenty shawls,” CeeCee said, wincing. “That’s how many women are at the shelter now. Then I said we would keep providing them, so when someone new came, they’d have one to give her.” CeeCee seemed upset. “I hope nobody lets me down.”
Was it my imagination or was she looking at me?
I mentioned that Morgan was joining the group, but had to add that she didn’t know how to crochet. At the end of the aisle I noticed shelves of what looked like balls of string.
“What’s this stuff?” I asked, pulling down one of the orbs of material.
“That’s what you use to make thread crochet, dear. Lacy bookmarks, doilies, that sort of thing.”
She took down one of the balls and showed it to me. “Number 10 is the most common kind. It’s also called bedspread weight. The higher the number, the finer the thread.” CeeCee took off a package of slender steel hooks. “These are the kind of hooks you use.”
Near where she’d found the hooks there was a display of pattern pamphlets. The pamphlet cover showed a linen tea towel with a delicate crocheted edging. Something about the design caught my attention. I kept starring, trying to place it. Then the answer came to me. “That looks kind of like what was hanging on Drew Brooks’s desk drawer,” I said, picking up the book and moving it around to see it from another angle.
“Something was hanging on a desk drawer?” CeeCee said, perplexed.
“Didn’t you see it? When we found him in the—”
“Remember, I didn’t go up there. Thank heavens. Hearing about it was enough. And then being kept in a parking lot to be questioned. That blond detective was giving me a bad vibe. She asked me if you knew the victim. She really doesn’t seem to like you.” CeeCee’s voice changed tone. “But she’s certainly a beautiful knitter. Did you see her bag?”
I did a double take. CeeCee complimenting a knitted project?
“I know. You think all I care about is crocheting. Personally, dear, working with a pair of needles leaves me cold, but I can appreciate other’s work, like that heathery knitted blanket at the Cottage Shoppe.”
“You mean the one hanging on the rocker?”
“Wasn’t it lovely? Of course, there were lots of lovely things. I was going to buy one of the needlepoint pillows. The one with irises. But I never got a chance.”
“Do you think I could do thread crochet?”
“Maybe, with some help.”
I asked CeeCee the obvious question—would she give me the help? A sly smile appeared on her face.
“I’ve been on this diet forever, and I’ve had enough with yarn pastries. I’d just about kill for something delicious.” I got her drift. I put a ball of the bedspread weight thread and a set of the steel hooks in a separate part of the cart.
“Sure, when I come I could bring over some bake goods.” I was about to suggest setting a time when I noticed so
me movement down the aisle, in front of the yarn by the pound section. Two women were looking at us and talking to each other. Looking wasn’t really the right word. It was more like they were studying us. I tried to ignore them, but it was as if I could physically feel their eyes on me. I looked down to make sure I didn’t have my pants on backward or toilet paper stuck to my shoe.
CeeCee picked up on my discomfort. “Don’t worry, dear. They’re not staring at you.” She glanced at them and kept talking to me. “In the old days when I was doing The CeeCee Collins Show, you never would have found me in a store like this.” She laughed at the absurdity of it. “I had assistants to buy my yarn. In those days, there was more privacy if you were a celebrity. Fans might approach and ask for an autograph, but they were polite and kept a certain distance. Now everybody wants to get a picture of you with spinach in your teeth or in the middle of some clothing malfunction.”
CeeCee was wearing garnet-colored velour pants and a high-necked white knit shirt. She seemed pretty safe from clothing malfunctions.
“Of course, since the new show, dear,” CeeCee continued, “I’ve been getting a lot more attention. I have a whole new generation of fans.” She acknowledged the women with a regal smile and a gesture that was something like a wave. Their eyes widened as they giggled and moved closer. When they reached us, one of them held out a skein of kelly green merino wool and asked for CeeCee to autograph the label. I thought it was kind of strange, but CeeCee didn’t seem to have a problem with it and just happened to have a permanent marker handy.
“You knit, then,” one of the women said to CeeCee after noting her cart full of yarn.
“No, dear. I crochet,” CeeCee answered in her sweet, high-pitched voice. There were no hysterics like Adele would have pulled. In her sugary voice, CeeCee just pointed out the virtues of crochet. The women listened with interest, and apparently she gave a convincing sales pitch because they rushed off to the display of hooks. Both came back with a package of assorted sizes and wanted CeeCee to sign those, too. When they left, CeeCee picked up our conversation as if nothing had happened. But then she was used to being stopped by strangers.
“You were saying you thought the piece of something hanging on the drawer meant something,” CeeCee said.
“Yes, but I don’t know what. And I’m worried about Sheila.” I told her how Detective Heather had overheard Sheila when she was saying that Drew Brooks was going to pay her what he owed her or else.
“Oh dear. And then her fingerprints being on the murder weapon . . . Do you think that detective is going to try to pin it on her?” CeeCee’s expression grew serious. “I feel terrible bringing this up, but did it ever occur to you that she might really have done it?”
“Maybe for a moment, but we’re talking about Sheila. Shy, nervous Sheila,” I said as we moved closer to the checkout counter.
“Of course, you must be right. She couldn’t have done it. I’m glad I didn’t go up there with the rest of you. Imagining that man with his face in the soup is bad enough. I’ve been in my share of detective dramas, but ‘the body’ always got up when the shot was done.”
CHAPTER 7
BY LATE AFTERNOON I WAS BACK AT THE BOOKSTORE. I inhaled the welcoming scent of paper, bookbinding and coffee as I walked in. It took two trips to bring in the bags of yarn. When I saw how many balls of yarn it took to make a shawl, I knew we had a lot of work ahead. After stowing the bags in the office, I turned my mind to the evening event and the preparations still to be made.
As I walked past the children’s area, I couldn’t miss the life-size cardboard cutout of Koo Koo the Clown. It had a display shelf holding a supply of the book Koo Koo Goes to the Dentist. The author’s real name was William Bearly, and this was the seventh in the Koo Koo series. Adele was clearing off cups from the small table. She’d gotten her wish and handled an author—in this case, an author dressed as a clown—all on her own, though most of her “handling” had probably entailed helping him walk through the crowd of toddlers so he wouldn’t trip on them with his huge red shoes, and then having to serve the juice and cookies. Adele didn’t particularly like children or their books, but this event was a step up from just reading them stories or running activities. The kids had all left, and Koo Koo was scarfing down the last of the cookies with several juice chasers.
I moved on to the event area without stopping and glanced out the big window. There wasn’t much action on Ventura, just two boys with backpacks playing with a hacky-sack ball as they walked toward the bus stop.
The sweet smell of something chocolate perfumed the air. Bob, our main barista, must have just taken out a batch of cookies in the café attached to the bookstore. What bookstore, or any kind of store, these days didn’t have some kind of food and drink service? Even the Cottage Shoppe had Kevin’s soup. Our angle was the smell of Bob’s cookies. They acted like a magnet pulling people into the café. Whenever we had an evening event, he always made sure he baked something extra aromatic.
I put a sign in the window facing out. There hadn’t been room for the full title. All I could fit was Potty Training. The full title was Potty Training: A Beginner’s Guide to Container Gardening. The author, Poppy Roeback, hosted an indoor gardening show on PBS and promised to demonstrate planting a patio salad garden. I expected a mess.
Adele came my way as Koo Koo flapped his way to the door. I was on the floor unrolling plastic around the bottom of the demonstration table. In anticipation of Poppy’s rather excited approach to handling dirt, I’d set up a separate table to hold copies of her book.
“How did it go?” I asked, holding on to the table and pulling myself off the floor.
“I don’t know, Pink; you be the judge. Let’s see, I sold all the copies of the book except for the ones on the display, which I’m pretty sure will move by tomorrow. Oh, and Koo Koo asked me out on a date. Have any of your authors ever asked you out?”
I started arranging books while I processed the information. Her success was a bit of a surprise, and I hated to admit that I felt a twinge of upset. What if Adele’s event did better than mine?
Adele stood a little taller with self-importance. “Oh, and Detective Gilmore called. Since I was the one who did CPR on the victim, she wanted to know what position he was in before I tried to save him.” Adele by nature had a loud voice, but as she recounted her first-aid efforts, she seemed to ramp it up even more, causing a couple at a nearby display to look up. “She thinks I’m an important witness. She asked a lot of questions about you and if you knew the victim, and of course, she wanted to know about Sheila.”
“Like what about Sheila?” I asked as I finished with the signing table.
“Like if she was prone to outbursts of anger and if I’d seen her the whole time we were in the store. I just told the truth. Pink, you’ll be happy to know I didn’t say anything to implicate you in the crime. All I said was that you were trying to help Sheila get the money owed her. She wanted to know if I’d seen Drew Brooks after Sheila went up to his office. I had to tell the truth. I didn’t see him. Did you?”
“Don’t tell me that now you think Sheila did it, too.” It was worrisome that our own group had doubts about Sheila’s innocence.
“I don’t think so, but she could have. Didn’t she say she was mad enough to have done it? Add that to the fact that she was upstairs alone with him and her fingerprints are on the murder weapon.” Adele had settled on the edge of the table and was fiddling with her skirt. Her outfit would be perfect to wear if she went out with Koo Koo. She reminded me of a snow cone. Her gauzy skirt had strips of yellow that morphed into orange, red and finally a grapey purple. She had teamed it with a lime green peasant blouse.
“That’s why I have to find out who really did it.” I said it under my breath, but Adele heard it anyway and rolled her eyes.
“Well, I guess Sheila can relax then, since Nancy Marple Holmes is on the case.”
Let Adele make her comments, I thought. I had, after all, already solve
d one murder.
“CeeCee and I got the yarn for the shawls,” I said. I guess I knew what I was doing. I’m not proud of it, but between her gloating about the book signing, and making fun of my investigative abilities, I wanted a little revenge annoyance. She went off like a firecracker. How could we have gone without her since she was at least cohead of the group?
Adele insisted on seeing what we’d gotten immediately. There wasn’t a choice but to follow her as she took off toward the office. Once there she started rummaging through the large white plastic bags. She just kind of grunted until she looked inside the small one that had the things I’d bought for myself. She pulled out the tiny hooks and ball of ecru thread.
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