By Hook or by Crook

by Hechtman, Betty

  “And it’s going to stay that way. My mother already thinks I’m mentally unstable because of the mess in my crochet room. She’d probably try to call in some television shrink if she knew I got involved in solving murders. Anyway, it’s not the most important clue, so far. That was the wishing well, which was like Mary Beth’s signature, and Ashley-Angela is the one who turned the piece around.”

  Dinah’s perkiness fell. “I wonder how they’re doing? I hope Jeremy doesn’t just forget them somewhere. He’s so irresponsible.” Dinah poured some coffee and steamed milk in her mug and nibbled on her roll. “Let’s talk about Mary Beth. Thinking about the twins is upsetting.”

  “What is there to say? All we know is that she liked filet crochet, had a secret and was married to the son of a famous dancer-actor.”

  “And there’s a Lance Wells Dance Studio down the street,” Dinah said, sounding like her usual self again.

  “Let’s go there now,” I said, downing the last of my coffee. We finished up quickly and headed down the street.

  The Lance Wells Dance Studio was on the second floor of a building facing Ventura. A stairway between the clothing store and real estate office on the ground floor led the way up. A plaque near the bottom of the steps announced that both the dance studio and the corporate office were upstairs.

  When we got to the second floor, a paper sign on the inside of the glass door said the studio and offices were closed due to a death in the family.

  “So much for trying to find out about her here,” I said as we came back out down the stairs and headed up the street to Shedd & Royal.

  When we got to the bookstore, a painting crew was just finishing up.

  “It’s about the TV shot, isn’t it?” Dinah said, watching a guy in white coveralls carry out a ladder.

  “Mrs. Shedd might have gone a little overboard. She figures this is the bookstore’s chance to become a star, and she doesn’t want to leave it to the production people to fix it up.”

  “Still no idea who the subject is?” Dinah asked on our way back into the event area.

  “Nobody’s talking, so your guess is as good as mine.”

  Dinah helped me set up for the crochet group. Once we had the table and chairs in place, we put out our things. The paper grocery bag had gotten a little worse for wear given all the dragging around and now seemed ill-suited to carry something as important as the filet crochet panels and the notes that came with it. I had put each of the notes in its own plastic bag, and I’d wrapped the filet piece around a piece of cardboard and put it in another, larger plastic bag. Then I’d put all of it in a Gelson’s plastic grocery bag and tucked it in my tote. I had saved the original paper one just in case it turned out to be some kind of evidence.

  “Nice presentation,” Dinah said as I laid all the clear plastic bags on the table.

  “I thought since all this was left on the group’s table at the park sale, I ought to tell them what’s happened.”

  CeeCee and Sheila arrived next. CeeCee had brought some balls of bedspread-weight thread and an array of small steel hooks for the bookmarks. She regarded Sheila with concern.

  “Dear, I don’t know how you’re going to do this. If your stitches get too tight . . .” CeeCee shook her head rather than complete the sentence. Sheila had been known to turn her stitches into little fists. So far she’d always gotten them undone by changing to a smaller hook, but the steel one was so tiny to begin with, her only alternative would be to try to loosen any too-tight stitches with a pinhead.

  I was actually a little concerned for myself, too. When I’d played around with crochet thread at home, I’d spent most of the time picking up the silvery hook after it slipped out of my hand.

  Adele came over from the children’s department. She was wearing some kind of long, loose yellow tunic over black leggings. She’d pinned crocheted flowers in pinks and oranges and yellows all over the top and had finished the look with a crocheted headband pulled over her head like a crown. As she sat down she looked at my attire. “Pink, you’re such a dull dresser. Do you own anything besides khaki pants and white shirts and black somethings. You look like an ad for bland.”

  I was used to Adele’s barbs, and they usually rolled off my back. This time, though, she got to me because her comment echoed my mother’s exactly. I wondered if there was some truth in their remarks.

  Eduardo made a stir when he joined us, beaming a bright smile as he greeted everyone. He knew he was fabulously good-looking, but he never let it get in the way of being a really nice guy.

  “More blankets, ladies,” he said, pulling out two blankets of cream and beige stripes from his leather bag. “There was so much waiting on my last photo shoot, I had plenty of time to crochet.” He started to hand his creations to CeeCee, but she pushed the blankets to me.

  “She’s the one with police contact.” CeeCee took in my surprised expression and then continued. “I know I set it up originally, but I was thinking your boyfriend is a homicide detective and you know that Detective Gilmore. You can just give the finished ones to them.”

  “Speaking of homicide detectives,” I began. I pushed Mary Beth’s things toward the center of the table where everyone could see them. I had planned out the order in which to tell them everything, but I blew it by pointing out to CeeCee that it wasn’t really a bath-powder box after all.

  “You’re right, dear. Of course that’s the building on Catalina,” CeeCee said. She had taken the panel piece out and unwound it from around the cardboard. She held it up in both hands and stretched out her arms to get more of an overview. “But you have to admit the Casino Building is shaped like a bath-powder box.”

  “Casino?” Sheila said. “Is it one of those Indian casinos with bingo and slot machines?”

  “No, it’s not that kind of casino. It turns out the actual meaning of casino is something like ‘meeting place.’ The one on Catalina has the only movie theater, a ballroom, a small museum and nothing related to gambling. It’s the landmark building on the island.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been,” Sheila said. Against CeeCee’s orders, she was trying the thread and steel hook and was working very slowly.

  “You’d like it, dear,” CeeCee said. “It’s very relaxing and charming. Even though it’s just a short boat ride off the coast, it’s like another world.”

  “Avalon is my kind of town,” Adele announced. Then suddenly something registered with her. “Pink, why do you still have the stuff? Haven’t you gone to Yarnie yet?” Adele turned toward the others and repeated her cleverness at sending me to Yarnie’s. “I ask you, who is the real Sherlock Holmes here?”

  I held up my hand to stop her. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I shot Adele an annoyed glare and said I had gone to Yarnie’s. Then I told them who the things belonged to—emphasis on the past tense.

  “Mary Beth Wells?” CeeCee said, putting a hand to her heart. “Didn’t I hear on the news that she died? It belonged to her?”

  As I was explaining what happened when I’d tried taking the bag to Mary Beth, Adele interrupted. “Geez, Pink, you’re really attracted to dead bodies. You really are a—”

  “Don’t even say it.” I stopped Adele cold. “I am not a crime scene groupie.” Adele snickered because I’d just said what I’d tried to keep her from saying.

  “Of course you’re not,” CeeCee said, patting my hand. She turned to the others. “Molly isn’t some kind of thrill seeker. She was trying to get the woman’s handiwork back to her.” Then CeeCee gave the floor back to me, and everyone wanted to hear all the details. They were on the edge of their seats as I described walking into the house and seeing the body, and when I got to the part about running out of the gate and nearly slamming into the cop car, they all squealed. All except Adele, who just kept rolling her eyes.

  “I showed the bag of things to Detective Heather, but she acted like I was ridiculous for suggesting they belonged to Mary Beth. She said nothing on either of the
pieces of paper gave an indication they were from her, and she wouldn’t even listen to me when I tried to explain about the unusual thread. She said the death looked like it was from natural causes.”

  I noticed Sheila shrank back at the mention of Detective Heather’s name. She reached out and touched my hand in support.

  “Did she take you to the station and lock you in one of those interview rooms?” Sheila had been caught in Detective Heather’s sights when a local shopkeeper was killed. She was still getting over the shock.

  “No interview room or even a trip to the station. I think she was closer to laughing at me. Too bad I hadn’t noticed this.” I took the panel piece from CeeCee and laid it on the table the other way.

  “Oh,” Sheila said with a tremble in her voice. She touched the MB embedded in the roof of the wishing well. Suddenly Sheila sat back and looked pale. “There’s a member of the gym who has a relative who works at the West Valley Police Station. She came in this morning just before I left. I heard her talking to some friend.” Sheila’s eyes were big and round. “She was talking about someone named Wells and saying something about her being poisoned.”

  “I knew it,” I nearly shouted. “They must have done an autopsy. Did you hear what kind?”

  “What’s the difference?” CeeCee asked. “It obviously did the job. I played a murderess once in an episode of Keeley Crumpfort, ME. It was so against character, the director thought no one would be able to figure out it was me until the denouement. My character used poison to kill her husband. She, I mean, I fed him small amounts of it so he had a record of being sick, and then whammo, I gave him a double dose and he died.”

  “I bet that’s what happened with Mary Beth. Detective Heather said the maid mentioned Mary Beth had been sick,” I explained. A picture of Mary Beth’s bedroom flashed in my mind. “And I bet I know how they could have done it. There was a half-eaten package of marzipan apples on the bedside table.”

  CeeCee and Dinah both made faces, not about the poisoning, but rather about the marzipan. CeeCee said it tasted like gritty paste.

  “It was probably a woman who did it,” Eduardo said. “Poison is considered a woman’s weapon.” We all looked surprised at his comment. “I read a lot of true crime,” he said with a shrug.

  I laid my hand on the display of items. “Since these were left on our table, I feel it is my responsibility to finish what Mary Beth wanted to do, and since the first panel has an image of the Casino Building, I think the place to start is Catalina Island.”

  For a moment there was silence at the table. Then CeeCee spoke. “I could use an outing, and since I’m sure the package was left for me, I should go along. Count me in.”

  Sheila looked up. “I’ve always wanted to go there, but I don’t know . . .” I knew she was worried about the cost. She was chronically short of money. I told her I’d pay her boat fare and she could do something for me in return. I would have just paid it, but I knew Sheila had her pride.

  Dinah’s face lit up suddenly. “I forgot the kids have gone home. I’m free. Count me in.”

  Eduardo had to beg off because he was booked to do a talk show back east. “The idea is to turn me into more than just a face. I’m going to show my funny side.”

  “Good idea, Eduardo,” CeeCee said. “It’s always good to be multidimensional. Did I tell you I used to sing, too?”

  “We’re getting off topic,” I said. “So, all of you except Eduardo are coming to Catalina with me?” After some back-and-forth over when to go—everyone had something to rearrange—we finally agreed on a day later in the week.

  “I’m here to join the group.” At those words, we all looked up from our conversation to see Camille Rhead Katz holding a swatch of off-white yarn. CeeCee’s face fell so low I thought it would hit the floor, and I heard her groan under her breath. Camille’s swatch had rows of single and double crochet and then a pattern with double crochets and shell stitches. She dangled it in front of CeeCee. “See, now I can crochet.”

  CeeCee sputtered, but there was no legitimate objection she could make and she finally muttered a welcome to the group while sending an annoyed flash of her eyes in Adele’s direction.

  “Did I hear you talking about a trip to Catalina? Is the group meeting there?” she said in a friendly voice.

  CeeCee stepped in before anyone else could speak. “It’s a separate thing some of us are working on.”

  Camille looked a little miffed, though not enough to leave. She set her bag on the table. It was made of black fabric covered with a pattern of small red hearts, each of which bore the initials VT. I had seen a lot of similar bags lately and initially thought they were one of those cosmetic-counter giveaways. Adele had been the one to set me straight. They were the latest bag from the Vladimir Tucci collection, and they cost a fortune.

  Her crochet supplies were equally elegant. She pulled out a full set of hand-carved wood hooks in a padded roll and a set made out of plastic that featured little lights on the curved part. Next came a clear plastic case that held scissors shaped like a crane, stitch holders, a measuring tape, a space pen and a tiny notebook. She glanced Adele’s way. “Did I get the right stuff?” Adele nodded.

  Camille noticed Mary Beth’s filet panels on the table. “Why do I keep seeing this?” She surveyed the group for an answer.

  I opened my mouth to explain but caught sight of CeeCee giving me one of her cease-and-desist stares, and I closed it without saying a word. I got CeeCee’s drift. She couldn’t keep Camille out of the crochet group, but that didn’t mean she was really one of us.

  Just then Ali rushed up to the table and skidded to a stop. She was out of breath, and between heavy gasps she apologized numerous times. CeeCee’s face softened. She liked Ali. She and her late husband had never had children, but I think she regretted it now. Ali was the kind of girl she would have loved as a daughter, except maybe for her problem with time management.

  “That bag is wonderful,” CeeCee said as Ali set down her purse.

  “You like it?” the young woman said with a grin. “Some people think it looks a little odd. It’s improvisational crochet. I put on music, take out a bunch of hooks and bits of yarn, beads and charms and go crazy.” I ran my hand over the texture. It went from smooth to bumpy and had beads and charms crocheted right into it. “The best thing is you can’t make a mistake; it’s whatever you feel like.”

  Ali looked at the panel piece, too. She didn’t ask any questions; she simply stared at it for a long time, almost as if she were trying to remember something.

  “Ladies—and gentleman,” a male voice said. We all looked up, and there was Bob holding a plate of cookie bars. “I’d like to get your opinion on whether these have enough chocolate in them.” He went to CeeCee first. He knew all about her sweet tooth and valued her opinion. CeeCee glanced toward Camille while she was looking away. I could almost see CeeCee’s mouth watering, but I knew she didn’t want any stories of her gorging herself on sweets getting back to Camille’s husband, particularly now when they were negotiating her contract.

  “Not today,” CeeCee said. Bob quickly recovered from his surprise and moved on to Camille. She practically laughed at the offer and took out a pack of diet cookies—little meringues with a tiny dot of chocolate.

  “Maybe Bob’s the one CeeCee’s show is doing,” Dinah said, nudging me.

  I supposed anything was possible.

  CHAPTER 9

  NOT KNOWING VERY MUCH ABOUT MARY BETH Wells was a definite disadvantage in figuring out her secret and who killed her. I wanted to know more about her before we went to Catalina. There was one person I thought of immediately. He knew everybody and as long as there was no attorney-client privilege involved, would probably share his information.

  Mason Fields was a big-bucks attorney with a reputation for keeping naughty celebrities out of jail. We had what I’d call a flirty friendship going. Before I left the bookstore, I called his office and left a detailed message. Then I headed home
.

  The curb in front of my house was parked up when I got home, so I walked through the backyard savoring the last few minutes of peace as I prepared myself for the onslaught.

  Cosmo and Blondie were waiting by the kitchen door and took off into the yard when I opened it. The lights were on in the kitchen, and the deli delivery guy was just bringing in some trays. My mother didn’t cook, but she knew how to order. By the time the delivery guy was finished, there was a tray of meats and cheeses, along with a selection of salads, fresh bread, condiments and cheesecake.

  It wasn’t his first trip here. Apparently my parents hadn’t found a Santa Fe deli to measure up to their favorite west Valley haunt. They were like shipwrecked sailors when it came to deli food and had been ordering every night since they arrived. This was a bigger order, which implied more people.

  “Help yourself, honey,” my mother said. “There’s plenty of everything.”