“But we can’t keep anyone out,” I said. “Mrs. Shedd would have a fit, and I don’t like the idea anyway.”
Sheila touched CeeCee’s arm in support. If anyone knew about feeling upset, it was Sheila.
“I know, dear,” CeeCee said in resignation. “That’s why I did my best to try to make Camille not want to join.”
“Good work,” Adele said with a snort, holding up her cell phone. “She’s already texting me, wanting to set up her lesson.”
“Oh dear,” CeeCee said with a worried expression. We all assured her it would be okay and we finally got down to serious crocheting. But by now, most of the time for the group was over. Sheila had to rush back to her job at the gym. CeeCee had a lunch engagement, and Dinah had to get to the college for her office hours.
Adele was the only one left at the table. She finished off a row on the blanket she was making. Her creations usually incorporated wildly vivid colors, but for this one she had chosen a soft butterscotch and snowy white and was following CeeCee’s pattern of stripes with a border.
As I rose to clear off the filet crochet piece, she said, “So, Pink, CeeCee really did leave it up to you to deal with that.” Then she kind of harrumphed as if she weren’t impressed.
Well, we were even there—I wasn’t too impressed with her, either. Especially her clothes. Since she’d started hanging out with Ali, her outfits had gotten several notches more ridiculous. Ali had the figure and style to pull off the miniskirts and odd combinations. Adele didn’t have either. Not that it stopped her. Today Adele wore a winter concoction with sheepskin boots that made her shuffle when she walked. She had tucked her black pants in and they puffed out, giving her a gaucho look. On top she had a short orange vest over a white tunic and about ten necklaces and a long yellow and black striped scarf. She’d added some highlights to her hair, but they were too regular and they made her hair look striped. Knowing Adele, I suspected it had been intentional.
I informed Adele I’d made some progress and told her about the diary entry and the astrological sign. “Though I still don’t have a clue who the things belong to.”
Adele held it up to examine it and then appeared way too pleased with herself.
“Maybe I should change my name to Adele Drew,” she said, flipping the hair off her shoulder. “I know how you can find out who made it.”
Okay, she had my attention and she knew it. She paused and kept looking at the piece, her self-satisfied smile widening.
“Are you going to tell me or are you just going to keep it to yourself?”
“I wish I had a drumroll or something,” Adele said, looking around as if some kind of musical flourish would appear. “It’s simple, Pink. See the aqua thread in this panel. It’s not your typical Super Craft Mart ball of yarn. I know because I made something out of it. There’s only one store around here that carries it—Yarnie’s. And they keep meticulous records.”
Adele began to gather up her things, putting them into her patent leather tote bag. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat. I have an important meeting in the children’s department.”
“Is it Koo Koo?” I called after her. She turned back and glared.
“His name is William,” she said with a hiss of annoyance.
Okay, his name really was William Bearly, but his nom de plume was Koo Koo the Clown. He wrote books about common childhood traumas from a clown’s point of view. He was also Adele’s boyfriend, but I suspected her important meeting was more about his upcoming event. Mrs. Shedd had started to let Adele handle the children’s authors programs. I’d seen the signage in the office. Apparently, this time, Koo Koo had taken to the skies. His current offering was Koo Koo Goes on a Plane Trip. I bet he had trouble getting his big red shoes through security.
I called a thank-you as she disappeared behind the soft blue bookcases that separated the kids’ area from the rest of the store. I finally had a real lead.
CHAPTER 5
YES, I FINALLY HAD A LEAD, BUT IT WOULD HAVE to wait, at least for a few hours because I needed to clean up from the Tarzana Hookers and reset things for the evening event. I set up rows of chairs and a table with books, and made sure the signs were out front promoting Who Are You Really, Fido? The copy said that the author Kimball Oaks would read from his book describing individual cases in which people had used DNA tests to find out their mixed-breed dogs’ heritage. According to Kimball, such information helped owners understand their dogs’ behavior better. We’d already committed to this author event and one other, but Mrs. Shedd had told me to put a moratorium on arranging any others until after the bookstore’s TV debut.
I expected it to be a simple evening. Kimball would read a case history, people would buy books, get them signed and leave.
Why did things never go off as expected?
Somewhere in the afternoon, I took a break, hoping to cruise by Yarnie’s and get a quick answer to who owned the bag of items. Then I hoped to make a chink in the list of things my mother had to have for her visit. The initial list she’d given me on the phone had been enhanced by numerous e-mails.
My cell phone rang on the way to the car.
“Hey, babe,” Barry’s deep voice said when I answered.
Finally, a phone call from him. A certain tension went out of my shoulders. It always seemed to come when I didn’t hear from him for a while. I mean when your job involves guns, suspects and criminal activity, it’s only natural for people who care about you to worry.
“Do I have a lot to tell you,” I said, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I unlocked the greenmobile. Barry said something but his voice was muffled, and then in the background I heard what sounded like someone making an announcement over a PA system.
“I just have a minute,” Barry said, apparently having not heard what I said. He seemed to be talking to someone else, and I could still hear other voices in the background.
“Where are you?”
“On a plane about to take off. They’re insisting I turn off my phone.” In a burst of words, he told me he had to go to Philadelphia to question a witness and that he was taking his son, Jeffrey, with him and was going to drop him off at his mother’s. Barry had been divorced for several years and his wife had just remarried. “I miss you,” he said quickly. “I’ll make it up when I get back.” And then there was silence.
It took a minute for it all to sink in, and as it did, I felt the tension come back into my shoulders. Being in a relationship with a homicide detective was certainly a challenge. And again I questioned if it was what I really wanted.
My husband Charlie had worked long hours in the public relations firm and he’d traveled frequently, but when we went out to dinner we never had to take separate cars in case he got a call in the middle of our meal because somebody had just found a dead body.
I started the car and drove to the address Adele had given me for Yarnie’s—a strip mall on the Tarzana-Encino border. I felt my anticipation level rise as I pulled into a parking spot. Barry was off on his case, and I was about to find out the solution to mine.
Dinah and I had always intended to check out the small yarn store but had never gotten around to it. I glanced ahead to the front window and noticed it was strangely dark. Hoping the store owner was just trying to save on electricity, I went to the door and pulled. It didn’t open. Then I noticed the colorful sign on the window.
Of all the times for the owner to close for three days so she could go to a wool seminar in Pismo Beach! I couldn’t hide my disappointment; I felt my mouth droop as I headed back to the car with the grocery sack stuck under my arm.
I plowed through part of the list for my mother and got the organic blackberry honey that had to come from Canterbury, New Zealand, and the organic meyer lemons, the cotton sheets and the natural detergent I had to wash the sheets in three times before putting them on the bed.
I had decided to put my parents in my room and had already begun cleaning the house and removing anything that might inspire neg
ative comments like “You don’t really use that kind of orange juice, do you?”
I dropped my purchases off at home, took care of Blondie and Cosmo and went back to the bookstore.
It was dusk when I arrived, and the bookstore looked welcoming, its warm lights shining through the windows and inviting customers in. Bob had a red eye ready for me and handed me some cookies to go with it. In a moment of humor, he had decided to make sugar cookies that looked like dog biscuits. Whatever they looked like, they tasted delicious and the strong coffee drink was a good chaser.
He set up a coffee-and-cookie stand right in the bookstore while I went to the event area. Kimball was already there taking some boxes out of a shopping bag and putting them on the table with the books.
I picked up one of the boxes and examined it.
“It’s a test kit for taking a DNA sample,” Kimball explained, along with the fact that he manufactured them and was offering them to the bookstore at a special rate.
I was going to object, but the crowd began to arrive. Obviously there had been some kind of misunderstanding. Who knew I needed to mention the event was for humans only? It seemed everyone in the crowd had a dog with them. And not all of the dogs were that glad to see each other. More than once I had to separate two snarling canines and send them along with their owners to opposite sides of the arrangement of chairs.
Kimball started the program, reading some sample stories from his book about how owners had found out the ancestry of their mixed-breed dogs. “And now I’ll show you how to take a sample. It’s the same as for people. We look for the DNA in saliva. With people you can even get a sample off a licked envelope or a paper cup. With dogs, we just take a swab.” He opened up one of the boxes and asked for a volunteer. A woman with a dog that looked like a basset hound-poodle mix brought her pet up to the front.
“You just take a little swab of the inside of the cheek,” Kimball said, lifting the side of the dog’s mouth. The dog took it well, and then Kimball showed there was a container and a mailer in the box.
“I want to do that for my Rocky,” a woman said, pointing to a brown short-haired dog that looked like he was laughing.
“Me, too,” said a man, who had a tiny white fluffy dog sitting on his lap.
They made a move toward the tests and were joined by a bunch of others. I had to step in and in a nice way make sure the kits were paid for before being opened. I helped Rayaad cashier and rushed back to the event area just as Kimball was instructing the owners to open the boxes and take out the swabs. What had looked easy when Kimball did it was anything but when the owners tried. And their dogs were far less willing than the bassoodle had been.
Suffice it to say, there were suddenly dogs everywhere with owners chasing them holding swabs. Somewhere in the confusion one of the dogs got hold of the sugar cookie dog biscuits. When I looked over to the snack stand, an empty plate with some sugar sprinkles was all that remained.
Still, on the positive side, Adele wasn’t there to tattle on me to Mrs. Shedd, and none of the dogs had accidents. Finally, after breaking down the chairs and vacuuming up the dog hair and cookie crumbs, I went home.
THREE DAYS LATER THE TARZANA HOOKERS MET again. The proprietor of Yarnie’s was due back today, and I planned to head over there after the meeting. I had been bringing the bag back and forth to the bookstore every day, hoping the owner might show up to claim her things, but there was no such luck.
“You haven’t found the owner yet?” Adele said, picking up the grocery sack. “I practically handed you the name. What happened?”
The group was sitting around the event table, and everyone looked up at Adele’s comments.
“Dear, I thought you would have taken care of it by now.” CeeCee seemed a little put out.
“You said I ought to wait for the owner to show up,” I said.
“Yes, dear, I did, but I thought you’d use some judgement and when they didn’t show up after a day or so—”
“Hey, Molly has been busy. Her parents are invading—I mean, coming to visit,” Dinah said. “Have you met her mother, Liza Aronson, formerly of the She La Las?”
“Your mother was in that group?” CeeCee said. “I just loved that song of theirs—‘My Man’ something.”
“ ‘My Man Dan,’ ” I said.
“It was their only hit, wasn’t it? It must be difficult to be a one-hit wonder.”
Before I could comment on being the daughter of a one-hit wonder, Adele stepped in.
“So, Pink, did you go to Yarnie’s or what?”
I saw Dinah curl her lip in annoyance. Best friend that she was, she was going to say something to Adele the way she had to CeeCee, but I was a big girl and could fight my own battles.
I quickly put up my hand to stop Adele. She had her mouth open, about to say more.
“Here’s the way it stands with the bag of stuff.” I turned toward CeeCee. “When nobody came by the next day, I realized I should try to locate the owner.” I glared at Adele. “And I went to the yarn store you said would recognize the thread, but it was closed for three days while the owner went to some yarn show. I am expecting it to reopen today.”
Ali Stewart was sitting next to Adele following the conversations as if it were a tennis match. Her head was swiveling back and forth so much I was sure she must be dizzy.
“Okay, what did I miss?” Ali said. Everyone started to tell her at once, but Dinah took charge and told her the chain of events that began with us finding the bag.
Adele had her chair right next to Ali’s, and I noticed they both were wearing pink tee shirts with a white thread crocheted embellishment around the neckline. Ali was a great addition to the group in many ways. She was an expert crocheter, she liked the idea of making things to give away, and she was always upbeat. The only problem was her sense of time. She always arrived late and left early. In fact, it often seemed she was just passing through the meetings.
Her hair looked as though some toddler had cut it with kid’s scissors. But that hacked-off effect seemed to be in style. I guessed the shoe polish black color was in, too. Somehow on her the style and color were fun and arty.
True to form, Ali checked her watch and got up, announcing she had to leave. “I have to help my mom with something.” She glanced around the group, making it clear she was speaking to all of us. “She runs a business out of the house. Don’t worry. I’ll have several blankets to bring in next time.” As Ali started to go, Adele appeared practically heartbroken.
“Well, dear, if you have to leave . . .” CeeCee said. “But we really like having you here.”
“I thought we would roll yarn together after the group.” Adele held up a hank of hot pink yarn that needed someone to hold it while she made it into a ball.
Ali apologized and left, and Eduardo took the yarn out of Adele’s hand and placed it over the end of the chair and started to wind the yarn into a ball.
“It’s not the same,” Adele said in a disappointed voice. “It’s a girlfriend kind of thing.”
I glanced toward Sheila to see how she’d reacted to the comment. Although she hadn’t said anything, she seemed uncomfortable with Ali. But then, Ali had displaced her as the youngest member in the group. The way CeeCee fussed over her didn’t help, either. Then there was the fact that Ali was always talking about her mother and father and how close they were. Sheila was alone in the world. The grandmother who’d raised her had died not too long ago and she had no other family. I sent a smile Sheila’s way to reassure her, but she’d already gone into stress mode and her stitches were turning into knots. Eduardo stopped winding Adele’s yarn and handed Sheila a smaller hook. He gave her a little pep talk, too, and she seemed to relax.
CeeCee glanced around the table and sighed with satisfaction. “I didn’t even realize until now who isn’t here. Camille didn’t come back,” she said.
“She hasn’t come back yet,” Adele said. CeeCee’s content expression vanished.
“Did she really have
you give her crochet lessons?”
Adele nodded, looking very pleased with herself. “You made it sound like she had to be a superaccomplished hooker to join us. Well, thanks to me, she’s almost there. I discovered I’m a wonderful teacher. All she needs is one more lesson.”
“Dear, don’t say that. Didn’t you hear what I said about her being a spy?”
“No,” Adele said curtly. “I just heard you try to throw her to the knitters.” Everyone at the table cringed, knowing any second Adele would launch into her crochet-versus-knitting rant. We all basically agreed with her, but we didn’t make a federal case out of it.
Adele did about five minutes on the wonders of crochet and then sat down, and we resumed as if nothing had happened.
By Hook or by Crook Page 5