She sailed out of the room, and I waited for the dogs to return. When they came in, I fed them their dog food, though the way they were sniffing, they clearly hoped the deli trays were for them.
I followed the sound of voices to the living room. Lana and Bunny, the two other She La Las, were sitting on the couch next to my mother. Their husbands and my father came in from my former bedroom.
When all of them saw me, there was a lot of hugging and telling me how sorry they still were about Charlie and apologizing for not keeping in touch. Finally, we all headed into the kitchen. The three men got their food first and started to file out of the room.
“I hope you don’t mind, Molly, but I set up a table for us guys in the bedroom. There’s a basketball play-off game on.” My father squeezed my shoulder as he passed.
I glanced down the hall just as my son Samuel came out of the room that was my current bedroom. He was dragging a keyboard and a bunch of wires. “Hey, Mom,” he said when he saw me. “Grandma asked me to be the musical director.”
Samuel was a barista at a coffee shop by day and a musician by night. He sang and played all kinds of instruments, though it was either guitar or piano for most of his bar gigs. He went into the living room and started setting up his equipment.
I followed him back into the living room. The She La Las had put down their plates of food and were in the empty area in front of the fireplace. One of them started singing “My Man Dan” and the others joined in. It wasn’t like in the movies where suddenly it was like no time had passed and they were great. Actually, they were terrible. They weren’t even singing together. At least one of them forgot the words, and when they tried to do their signature dance steps they almost tripped over each other.
Even though I had just gotten home, I knew I had to get out of there. I grabbed the dog leashes and my cell phone, threw on a warm jacket and went out into the night. The dogs and I wandered around the block, but all too soon we were back at my house again. I looked through the big front window and saw the She La Las jumping around. I sat down on the stone porch. It was a little cold on the butt, but a lot quieter than inside.
When my cell phone rang I jumped in surprise. As I tried to open it, it slipped out of my hands and landed in the bushes. I frantically tried to retrieve it before it stopped ringing. Finally, I flipped it open.
“Hey, sunshine,” Mason said. “I got your message. Why do you want to know about Mary Beth Wells—” He paused a beat. “You’re not a suspect are you?”
“Not this time.” I started to tell him the whole story starting with the park, but he stopped me.
“You sound funny. Where are you?”
I told him about the She La Las taking over my house, and he chuckled when he heard I was on the porch.
“Have you eaten?” he said.
“There’s a ton of deli food, but no.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Information is always better over dinner.”
“But I have dogs with me,” I said.
He didn’t miss a beat. “No problem. I know just where to go. I’ll even bring mine.”
“You have a dog?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes. I’m a lawyer. I need to get unconditional love from someone.”
I considered whether I should tell my parents I was leaving, but there was so much going on inside, I doubted I’d be missed.
A few minutes later, Mason pulled his black Mercedes into my driveway and walked across the lawn.
“Don’t you look cute,” he said when he got closer. The black mutt and the strawberry blond terrier mix got up as they considered whether to bark at him. He ruffled both of their heads before they had a chance, and both dogs went into tail-wagging mode.
They looked even happier as we headed toward the car.
“Where’s your dog?” I said, checking the backseat before Cosmo and Blondie got in. Mason pointed to the front seat.
“I hope you don’t mind sharing.”
I didn’t see what he meant until I tried to sit in the passenger seat. A tiny short-haired white dog with black markings eyed me suspiciously.
“Meet Spike,” Mason said, introducing his toy fox terrier.
Cosmo and Blondie were sticking their noses through the space between the front seats trying to do what Mason said. Spike took one look at them and gave them a commanding bark. Both my dogs jumped back and sat down.
I lifted Spike up and got in. He started to bark at me, but I stared him in the eye and shook my head. “Not after the evening I’ve had.”
Leave it to Mason to know a restaurant where dogs were not only welcomed, they were catered to—as long as you sat on the patio. There were heat lamps and plastic siding that made it warm despite the chilly night. In no time, the dogs had bowls of water and dog snacks and we had menus.
As soon as we ordered, I tried to get down to the business of pumping Mason for information, but he stalled.
“So, where’s the detective?” he asked.
“On a case,” I said, trying to sound like it was no big deal. One of the reasons Mason was a good attorney was he saw through things—like my answer.
“Tough being left behind, isn’t it?” His dark eyes caught mine. He was still wearing his suit pants, but not the jacket. The opened collar of his cream dress shirt showed above the neck of his pullover sweater. The patio was warm enough that we’d both taken off our coats. “Look, I deal with homicide cops. I know the life.”
Mason was easy to talk to, and I eventually admitted I was having my doubts. He looked all too happy. Mason was divorced and had made it clear he wasn’t looking to get married again—something I could completely understand. I was really more interested in casual companionship, too. It was Barry who kept pushing for more.
“But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I need to know who Mary Beth Wells was,” I said just as the waiter arrived with dinner. Mason had ordered a platter of barbecued everything for us to share, and there was plenty to pass down to the dogs.
“Ah, playing detective again, are you? This is fun,” he said as we began eating. “I got your message just as I was leaving the office, so there was no time to check anything. All I can tell you is what I know offhand.”
Mason was on the board of directors of practically every charity there was. In his usual self-deprecating way, he always joked that he had to do something to make up for his profession. Since he was on all those boards, he was a regular on the circuit of dinners and events the charities put on. So, it turned out, were Mary Beth and Lance Wells Jr.
“They made a good-looking couple. She had honey blond hair and refined features. He had his father’s dark coloring and athletic build, but none of the dancing talent. Couple that with a little too much alcohol. Well, there were a few events when Mary Beth had to gracefully get him off the dance floor before he totally embarrassed himself.”
“What about the dance studios?”
“I don’t know much about them except that I think Matt Wells took over as the front guy when Lance Sr. died,” Mason said.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Sorry, I should have explained. Matt is Lance Sr.’s nephew. He’s on the charity-dinner circuit, too. Matt doesn’t have the star quality his uncle had, but he’s certainly competent to be the spokesperson for the dance studios.”
I told Mason again about the note and diary entry along with what I described as the crochet code map. “I’d like to find out what the secret was that she was about to reveal.” Mason was sympathetic when I told him I felt guilty somehow because I hadn’t figured out who the things belonged to sooner.
“Molly, I’m sure you couldn’t have done anything to change things.” He reached across and laid a hand on my arm. By now, the dogs were full of barbecue, and Spike, apparently used to being an only dog, was getting tired of having friends around. He jumped up on the bench, crawled under Mason’s arm and started to squirm, making it clear he wanted to go.
Mason had given m
e more information than I’d had, but not as much as I wanted. On the way home, I told him about the Casino Building being on the crochet piece but that I had no idea what it was supposed to mean.
“It sounds like she must have been very successful at keeping the secret a secret. Didn’t you say the diary entry was more than twenty years old?”
“You’re right.” I mentioned my coming trip to Catalina and said I hoped it would turn up something. He wished me luck and mentioned what a romantic spot it was.
“I’m going with the crochet group,” I said, rolling my eyes. “At least most of the crochet group.” I told him how CeeCee didn’t want our newest member to come. When I mentioned Camille’s name, Mason blinked in surprise.
“I wouldn’t have figured she’d join a handicraft group.” he said.
“Then you know her?” I asked.
“She’s Alexander Rhead’s daughter. Who doesn’t?”
When we got to my house, Mason, ever the gentleman, insisted on escorting me and the dogs to the door. Maybe it wasn’t all gentlemanliness. When we got to the porch and I started to say good-bye, he put his arms around me and kissed me. He’d kissed me before, but always more in the just-friends vein. This was a full-throttle, deep kiss. And much as I hated to admit it, it sent a shock wave down to my toes.
In the middle of it, the front door opened and my mother looked out saying something about having heard some noise.
“You must be Barry Greenberg,” she said, making no attempt to mask the fact she was checking him out. She invited him in and I started to make excuses, but he was all charm and introduced himself as he followed her inside. The She La Las were just packing up, and my mother told him all about their big audition.
I couldn’t believe what Mason said then or that my mother fell for it. He said it was hard to believe she was my mother. That she looked so young she could be my sister. I mean, isn’t that the oldest line there is? But she lapped it up anyway.
CHAPTER 10
“WHAT KIND OF BOAT IS IT AGAIN?” SHEILA asked from the backseat. I had borrowed my parents’ Explorer, and CeeCee, Dinah, Adele, Sheila and I were on our way to catch our ride to Catalina. The boats left from a small harbor in Long Beach. We’d found the one window in time just after rush hour and before midday when traffic was light, and we were practically zooming down the San Diego Freeway.
Just like Sheila, I, too, had never been to Catalina. And also like her I was very nervous about the boat. It was the whole boat thing that had kept me away all these years. I had a terrible feeling I would get horrendously seasick on the way over and not want to take the boat back and have to spend the rest of my life on Catalina Island. Okay, maybe my fear was a little over the top. But who says fears are rational?
My son Peter had been to the island a couple of times and had mentioned to me that helicopters flew there, too, but that sounded even worse.
Adele started talking about the steamship that used to go to Catalina and how that trip took two hours. “But that was back in the seventies. The boats they have now don’t seem to pitch so much, and it only takes an hour anyway,” she said, patting Sheila’s hand in reassurance.
Who was reassuring me? But then I hadn’t even disclosed my fears to Dinah. I hoped the fact that I was on a mission of good would somehow help. Maybe the fairies of the sea would make the ride smooth or just knock me out for the trip.
“You know, ladies,” CeeCee said, “this isn’t really the season. I hope the sea isn’t too rough.”
My stomach did a flip-flop at that. Then she went on talking about how all her trips there had been on her friends’ boats.
“Private boats go there?” Sheila asked with a little nervous squeak in her voice.
“My, yes. The harbor at Avalon is practically on the beach. But you’ll see when we get there,” CeeCee said. Then her cell phone rang and she made a big fuss about having to take the call and asking if we could all keep it down because she was sure it was her agent. “We’re in final negotiations about my new contract.” She held up crossed fingers and finally pressed the button to answer the call.
Arranging the day had taken some doing. Mrs. Shedd had been okay about me taking the day off. I had hoped she would object to Adele being out, too, but somehow Adele had pulled it off. Then I had realized the greenmobile was too small for all of us, so I had to convince my parents to trade cars for the day.
I’d asked my parents—well, my father—to take care of the dogs. When I’d mentioned it to my mother, she had looked as if I’d asked her to move the moon or rearrange the tides, instead of opening the door to the yard a few times and pouring some food in a couple of bowls.
When I pulled into the parking structure at the boat terminal, CeeCee lost her cell reception and got cut off midcall. She held the phone in her hand as if waiting for it to ring as we got out of the SUV and walked into the terminal building. The Catalina Express waiting room was beyond plain. Just a counter, some hard plastic seats, a small snack bar and a counter to arrange island tours, which was closed.
We picked up our tickets. Dinah looked over at me with concern.
“Are you all right? You look pale.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to say it was because suddenly the boat trip had become all too real. I decided the best way to deal was by looking out for Sheila, so I wrapped my arm in hers as we headed outside to the dock.
Since it was a weekday and February, only a trickle of people were waiting to board. The boat was kind of odd looking, but before I could comment, Adele stepped forward.
“Good. We got one of the catamarans,” she said, then continuing with one of her in-the-know speeches she went on to explain that only four of the Catalina Express fleet were catamarans and she personally thought they had the best ride. Whatever it was called, I thought it resembled a sled.
I didn’t say anything to Sheila about it and hoped she didn’t notice the boat looked as though it were on stilts. CeeCee seemed impatient with the whole procedure.
“I’m afraid I’m not used to all this business with tickets and bomb-sniffing dogs.” She adjusted her wide-brim straw hat as two hunky Coast Guard guys walked a German shepherd past us as we prepared to board. “There was none of this on my friends’ boats. We just sat on deck chairs and sipped margaritas.”
No more stalling. I took a deep breath and led the way. Since the temperature was a bit cold, CeeCee suggested we sit inside. We had our choice of seats and took one of the booths along the window.
The engine started and the boat backed out of the slip and then turned around. We slid under a bridge and past the huge, permanently docked Queen Mary. All the while it felt pretty much like riding in a car.
“This isn’t bad,” I said to no one in particular, but Adele answered anyway.
“Pink, we haven’t even left the harbor yet.”
I tensed all over again, and Sheila hid her face in my shoulder. The motor made a louder sound, and the boat began to move faster. We passed the giant clawlike things used for unloading the cargo ships from all over the world, and then suddenly there was nothing ahead but open water. Sheila held tighter. I readied myself for the first wave of queasiness. The boat at last began to rock as it picked up speed. I waited for that sick feeling to come . . . but to my surprise, it didn’t.
I realized I’d been holding my breath, and in a gush I let it out and began to breathe again. “It feels like we’re sailing over small hills,” I said, relief spreading over my body. I wasn’t going to have to stay in Catalina forever.
“They’re called swells,” Adele corrected
Whatever they were called, they were just fine. The color returned to Sheila’s face, and she finally let go of my arm.
I had brought the crochet piece with me, and I laid it out between us on the table. CeeCee pointed to what we now all acknowledged was the landmark Casino Building.
“You have to admit it really does look like a bath-powder box,” the actress said still trying to cover her erro
r.
Adele rolled her eyes. As usual, she had dressed over-the-top for the occasion, wearing white cutoff pants, a middy blouse with a heavy blue sweater and a white sailor’s cap. Even the crew on the boat snickered when they passed us.
CeeCee held up her cell phone as an excuse and then pushed out of her seat, moved to the middle section of the boat and took a seat with no one around.
Looking a little peaked, Sheila was pressed against the window and holding the chair handles with a white-knuckled grasp. The rocking of the boat was soft but unrelenting and seemed to have renewed her worry.
I thought it might help her get her mind off of the fact we were on a boat if we talked about Mary Beth.
“I had dinner with a friend who knew Mary Beth Wells,” I began. Dinah peered at me with a question in her eyes, and I mouthed, “Mason.” Her eyes opened wide, and it was clear she wanted more information, but that would have to wait until it was just the two of us. “Nothing he said about her seems to go with any of these motifs. She was married to the son of Lance Wells, the famous dancer-actor. She was connected to his dance studio, but her husband didn’t inherit any of his father’s talent. She and her husband went to all the entertainment-industry charity dinners.” I shrugged as I looked over the panels. “There’s nothing here that goes with any of that. We have the Casino Building, Sagittarius guy, a house, a sitting cat, a standing cat, the Arc de Triomphe, the weird circles, the vase of flowers, the wishing well—which we know is Mary Beth’s signature—and then the double-size panel with the rectangle. Since the very first panel is the Casino Building, does that mean that everything else refers to something on Catalina?”
By Hook or by Crook Page 9