Wound Up In Murder

by Betty Hechtman

  My eyes were almost jumping out of my head, they opened so wide in disbelief. She was lying. She’d told me they were getting a divorce. I wanted so badly to butt in and tell the lieutenant, but I knew all it would do was get me in trouble. Where he was concerned, a low profile was best.

  I couldn’t believe what she said next. She complained that they were ruining the illusion of the 1963 retreat, and if they were going to have police officers wandering around, the least they could do was wear uniforms from 1963 and hide their cars if they couldn’t get old ones.

  Lieutenant Borgnine looked at her at if she was crazy. His answer was a mere shake of the head before he walked away.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” Kevin St. John said to Sally. “It’s important to keep things as normal as possible.”

  As he said that, Jimmie Phelps began to unpack one of the boxes. He took out some cardboard pieces, and as he assembled them, I saw that it was a life-size cardboard cutout of him with a tray attached to the front. A prominent sign read, GET A BOOST WITH BOOST UP. Jimmie lined up rows of red-colored cans.

  “What are you doing?” Sally Winston demanded. “That Boost stuff wasn’t around in 1963. In those days there were only caffeine tablets. Now please take that down.”

  Jimmie Phelps looked at Kevin St. John. “Our agreement was I would stay here for the weekend and mingle, along with putting on a softball game, if Boost Up could be a sponsor.”

  Kevin St. John looked really uncomfortable. “Well, yes, I did say that . . .” Just then Bobbie Listorie chimed in, “And you said I could sell CDs.”

  “CDs?” Sally shrieked. “There were no CDs in 1963. It was all vinyl LPs. She grabbed one and examined the cover. “This isn’t even one of your old albums.”

  “You’ve got to move with the times.” He pointed out that the CD was all covers of ballads from the last ten years. She seemed upset and he looked to the manager. “The only reason I’m here is they’re having a private event at my usual place.” He did a couple of winks as if there was something wrong in mentioning the name of the posh resort where he was paid a retainer. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to say that he was paid a retainer to hang out and schmooze. “The point was to give the guests here a chance to take home a souvenir of the Bobbarino.” He threw a seductive look Sally’s way.

  “What’s going on? Are we having a meeting?” Dotty Night said, coming in with a box of DVDs. Her platinum hair was so bright, I thought it might glow in the dark. Sally took one look at what Dotty was carrying and got even more upset and fussed that DVDs weren’t around in 1963.

  “But these movies were,” Dotty said. She set down the selection of movies on the table alongside Bobbie Listorie’s CDs. She rechecked that the desk clerk would take care of the sales before she put out a gigantic brandy snifter and a small pad of paper. She stuck a printed note to the large glass that announced a drawing for a weekend at her inn in Carmel. Next to that she put up a small poster with a picture of the place and a stack of brochures. Sally Winston’s eyes were bugging out at everything on the table. “You didn’t think we were doing this just for the glory of it all, did you?”

  Sally stormed off as Dotty Night commented on how odd it was that Sally had such a slender shape but such thick ankles. Adding that somebody ought to tell her that wearing capri pants only drew attention to them.

  The three celebrity guests finished and then headed to the café saying they would be available to talk over old times with any of the guests.

  Kevin St. John was left standing by himself. I know it was childish, but I had gotten so much grief from him whenever there was a problem with my retreats, I couldn’t resist going over and gloating just a little. He had always tried to put me on the hot seat, and this time it was reserved for him.

  But I didn’t have to say a word. He knew why I was there. “Casey, there have just been a few snags in the Favorite Year retreat. But the sign of a true professional is that they can smooth things over. No matter what has happened so far, I’m sure by the end of the weekend, Norman Rathman will want to arrange to have their next retreat here.”

  Was he delusional?

  10

  Now that everything was set up, I was going to sneak across the street and take a nap and I was almost to my back door when Madeleine Delacorte drove up my driveway in her golf cart. As soon as she saw me, she steered next to me.

  “Casey, I went over to Vista Del Mar to see what was going on with the 1963 crowd and I heard someone died. Who is it? Are you going to investigate? This is so exciting. The town used to be so boring.” Then she patted the seat next to her. “Get in and you can tell me all about it.”

  I suggested she park the golf cart instead and we could talk inside, but she was insistent that we’d have more privacy this way. “There are ears everywhere,” she said, her eyes dancing. Again, I marveled at the change in her. No longer was she walking one step behind her sister carrying her handbag Queen Elizabeth style. It was as though she’d just peeled back a decade or so and was suddenly living with both hands.

  I wasn’t sure of her driving abilities and offered to take over the wheel, but she was insistent. I got in and we took off. Basically we drove on the narrow roadway that wound through the grounds of Vista Del Mar over and over while I told her everything I knew.

  So much for my naptime.

  “Thank heavens nothing happened to Bobbie Listorie. I can’t wait until Saturday night. I know he’s going to sing “It’s All in the Eyes.” And I’m so glad it wasn’t anybody connected to our retreat. It’s going to be such fun not knowing what’s in your bag and then making something with it,” she said, finally steering the golf cart in her designated parking spot. “They’re here. Our retreaters are here,” she said as a van rolled past us and pulled in front of the Lodge.

  By the time we’d walked over to the building, the van was unloading. I rushed ahead as the newcomers stood around getting their luggage. Madeleine kept right up with me as I went inside.

  The old TV was no longer playing The Jack LaLanne Show and the exercise crowd had dispersed, replaced by a small audience on folding chairs. They didn’t seem to mind, but the black-and-white picture seemed so strange and rather blurry to me. A vintage episode of American Bandstand was playing. I stopped to look at the teenagers dancing. I couldn’t believe the prim round-collared blouses and the pageboy hairstyles.

  The pool and table tennis tables were both in use at the back of the room. Someone was pinning a note to the message board back by the gift shop. And all of them were dressed in some version of the retro style. Seeing all those cat’s eye–shaped glasses was enough to make me do a double take.

  The early birds were hanging around the registration tables waiting for me. It was easy to pick them out. They were the only ones wearing contemporary clothes. The first thing I did was tell them about Diana Rathman’s death, explaining that it had nothing to do with us and assuring them there was no crazed killer on the loose, repeating what Lieutenant Borgnine had said about it being personal. They knew who she was from the scene she had made with Sammy. I didn’t mention anything about his string of silks being found at the murder scene.

  “We already heard about it,” Olivia Golden said. “I’m glad it wasn’t one of our people. And I’m glad that police lieutenant isn’t going to be grilling me this time.” She let out a sigh and I could see why. She’d been in the lieutenant’s crosshairs in the past. Then Olivia leaned in close and dropped her voice. “I don’t know if you’re doing your own investigation, but if you’re interested, I saw the victim having a pretty cozy conversation with him.” She used her elbow to indicate Jimmie Phelps. Olivia looked around us to see if anyone was within earshot. “I didn’t mean to, but I kind of overheard what they were saying. It seemed like they had some kind of history. Like she knew him from a while ago.”

  By now the arrivals for our retreat had checked i
n and gotten their room keys and were heading over to our tables. I knew I would never remember all of their names, even with name tags, so I sorted out who was who by identifying features. For example, one of the women had her hair in a funny topknot and another was holding her knitting, and whenever she stopped, her needles would start to move. I referred to her as the knitting fanatic. There seemed to always be at least one retreater who wore oversized T-shirts with either clever sayings or pictures of something near and dear to her. I noticed a woman in the group with an electric blue extra-sized shirt that had I Knit Therefore I Am emblazoned on the front in white letters.

  They were all pulling their suitcases and looking around the huge room with puzzled expressions. The TV playing the old show and all the people in vintage clothes must have made them feel like they were in the Twilight Zone. It would have made it seem even more so if the TV had actually been playing an episode of the eerie show.

  I’d have to explain.

  “It looks like we’re ready for business,” Olivia said, coming around to the back of the table. “I’ll take the first third of the alphabet,” she said.

  “I’ll take the middle,” Scott Lipton said. I was going to suggest I take the last part, but Bree Meyers grabbed the spot first.

  “And I’ll be on the lookout for anyone who seems a little lost,” she said, reminding me that her job was to help anyone who was having trouble coping as she had on her first retreat.

  “Isn’t that nice that they are all helping us,” Madeleine said before pulling up a chair and sitting down. I’m not sure what she considered her job to be. Observer maybe. I was left to be the greeter.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Lucinda Thornkill said as she joined our little group. She stowed her suitcase under the window that looked out on the wooden deck. She’d gotten stuck with the lunch setup at the Blue Door restaurant. “Tag acted like I was going a million miles away for a hundred years,” she said, referring to her husband.

  Madeleine listened from her spot. “Maybe that’s because it took you two so long to get together.” Lucinda seemed surprised at her comment, until Madeleine reminded her that the story of how they got together was on the back of the restaurant’s menu. “I love a happy ending.”

  My friend smiled as an answer. There was no reason to bust Madeleine’s romantic image and bring up Tag’s shortcomings and how she needed to get a break and come to the retreats.

  Lucinda pulled me aside and started talking about the case of the secret baby.

  With all that had happened, I had forgotten about the envelope of evidence. “That is so yesterday’s news,” I said to Lucinda. “Obviously you haven’t heard yet about the death here.”

  “Death? Who?”

  I pulled her farther away from the others and gave her the details and one more. I told her about Sammy’s silks being the murder weapon. I also told her how I’d found him drunk on my doorstep the night before, mumbling about something he’d done. “I left him sleeping it off in my guest house.”

  “Casey, we have a problem,” Olivia said, interrupting my conversation with Lucinda. A woman in pedal pushers and a T-shirt with her hair in pigtails was standing by the table.

  “She’d like to be part of our group, but she isn’t on the list.”

  “Scarlett Miller,” she said, putting out her hand. “I know I didn’t sign up in advance for your program, but I saw women with knitting stuff getting in line and I thought, that’s for me. It’s my husband who is really gung ho about this Favorite Year Club. I come along for the ride. I would much rather hang out with yarn people than try to pretend I’m in a time machine. So how about it? Can I join your group?”

  “Let’s let her in,” Madeleine said from her chair.

  “That’s what I was going to do,” I said, turning to Madeleine. “It’s fine. I brought extra bags just in case.” The bonus was the new member, Scarlett Miller, explained the 1963 retreat to everyone else in my group, saving me the trouble.

  Once the main group registered, there were only a few stragglers and I manned the table alone. They all went off to enjoy their free time until lunch. I think Madeleine would have hung out with me, but her sister, Cora, showed up.

  Cora was wearing a designer suit, pumps and loads of green eye shadow and was carrying her handbag Queen Elizabeth style. The funny thing was the suit was a classic style and fit right in with the 1963 people. She looked at her older sister with a horrified expression.

  “We’re supposed to go to the luncheon and meeting of the Women’s Club of the Natural History Museum to discuss the Monarch Butterfly Parade. That is not the proper attire.”

  Madeleine looked down at her jeans. They were hardly the washed-out, soft-with-age variety. Hers were rather formal looking, particularly with the belt and the tucked-in blue shirt. She looked like she was about to object, but Cora spoke first. “I was afraid you were wearing a getup like that and I brought a change of clothes.” She gestured toward the area behind the registration desk and said she’d left them in the private bathroom back there.

  Madeleine balked about going, but in the end gave in. “The meeting about the parade is really important. We’re discussing the Butterfly Queen,” she said to me.

  I understood. One of the things that made Cadbury by the Sea special was that thousands of monarch butterflies came every October and stayed until February, gathering in a grove of eucalyptus and Monterey pines. There was a strict no-touch-the-butterfly rule and anyone molesting a monarch could be fined $1000. The parade in October welcomed them back and was a major event for the town.

  “I’ll be back here for the first workshop,” Madeleine said, holding up her tote bag as her younger sister made unhappy sounds.

  The sun had decided to make an appearance. The whole interior of the Lodge seemed brighter with the blue sky outside. The change in weather didn’t seem to have affected Lieutenant Borgnine. He had his usual look of displeasure as he came out of the Cora and Madeleine Delacorte Café with Norman Rathman. It was the first time I’d seen the retreat leader since we’d all been in the Lodge in the middle of the night.

  His assistant, Sally Winston, had talked about him being in shock, but he didn’t look that way to me. Several of his people who had been watching the old shows on the TV saw him. Norman definitely had charisma, and two women floated over to him like he was a magnet. I only saw the body language, but I thought that was sometimes more telling than what was said. They looked like they were offering their sympathy about his wife. Then he gave each of them a full body hug. After that he seemed to ask them something and there was an animated conversation among the three while the lieutenant stood by with a dour expression.

  I wanted to send telepathic messages to the cop, reminding him that spouses were always first in line as suspects. Particularly when the death solved a problem for them, as in no longer needing to worry about a messy divorce.

  The lunch bell began to ring. This was the first official meal of my retreat, and I wanted to meet up with my group to explain how the meals were handled. The line had already begun to go inside the Sea Foam dining hall when I came outside. I was glad to see that Lucinda was toward the front of it.

  When I got inside the large open structure, she had already commandeered tables in the corner of the room near the large stone fireplace. What a difference having help with the retreat made. She had so much experience with the restaurant, it was second nature for her to arrange the seating and make everyone feel welcome. The early birds split up and each one of them hosted a table, which helped, too. I went around and greeted everyone before directing them to the food line in the back of the room.

  I was glad Dane had talked me into the breakfast sandwich because now I was too keyed up to eat.

  When lunch ended, we directed all of our people to the meeting room we’d be using the whole weekend. It was time for the first workshop and the first time Wanda and Cry
stal would be working together. Fingers crossed they would get along.

  Our meeting room took up the whole small building called The Pines. I had never used this one before and was glad to see it had the same inviting feeling as the others. There were windows looking out on the grounds and a cozy fireplace. Coffee and tea service had been set up on a counter that had a sink. I usually brought some cookies or baked goods to go along with the drinks, but with all that had gone on, I had simply forgotten. But there was always tomorrow.

  The group came in and found seats around the two long tables that paralleled each other. They all set their bags on the table and then waited. I didn’t say idly waited. Most of them had brought projects with them and used the time to work on them, so there was the soft clack of needles.

  Madeleine came rushing in and then stopped short when she realized we hadn’t started yet. She had changed back to the jeans from the stuffy outfit her sister had brought for the meeting. The only sign of it was the handbag she carried Queen Elizabeth style. Lucinda had figured out by now that Madeleine expected extra attention and pulled out a chair for her. I looked at my watch, nervously wondering where my workshop leaders were.

  I went to the front of the room and welcomed everyone again and spent a few minutes saying how happy I was that they were all there, hoping the two women would show up. I let out a major sigh of relief as I saw Wanda and Crystal through the window as they came up the walkway.

  They walked right to the front of the room next to me and I introduced them. “Wanda Krug has been knitting since she was a child,” I began. “She is also an accomplished spinner, handy with a crochet hook and a world-class golfer.” Wanda took a little bow with her head at the last statement and I heard a ripple of interest go through the group. I could see the group giving Crystal the once-over as I introduced her. The two women were like day and night. Wanda was the picture of conservative dress, and Crystal was like a rainbow of colors, heavy eye makeup and earrings and socks that didn’t match. Not that even I saw the socks, I just knew they were there. Wanda appeared like serious business, and Crystal looked like fun.