A group of the 1963 people were gathered around a long table having a discussion. I noticed copies of a book called The Group, which I assumed was connected with the year they were spotlighting. The café was crowded with customers looking for espresso drinks.
The amber-colored glass lampshades gave off a friendly glow around the seating area. And the chandeliers hanging from the open-beamed ceiling were reflected in the dark wood floor.
Scott had already staked out another long table and chairs for the knitters. A smaller table was set up for a game of cards next to it. Since it was unoccupied, I set the food container on it. Scott was standing up waiting for people to join him. I thought I’d work the room and see if anyone was interested in doing some yarn craft.
I was surprised to see Norman Rathman standing with Sally Winston in the midst of a small group of people. I was curious about the conversation and pretended to be interested in a copy of Look magazine on the table next to the couch.
“We’re all so sorry for what happened,” a woman in a full skirt said. “But we’re glad to have you back with us.”
Norman reacted by touching the woman on the arm and thanking her. I noticed that he had a way of looking at her as if she was very important to him. It was definitely part of his charm. It was interesting that while I was sure he was wearing clothing in the appropriate style from 1963, the off-white cable-knit sweater over khaki slacks were a lot more attractive than some of the old shirts the other men were wearing. “Sitting in my room didn’t help. And to be treated like the prime suspect at a time like this was just terrible.” The group all murmured sympathy and he put his hand up. “It’s okay now. That police lieutenant is looking elsewhere.”
“Really?” a man in a plaid sport shirt said. “What happened to change things?’
Norman shook his head, apparently referring to the ineptitude of the cops. “They finally thought to show me the scarf that was used to . . .” His voice grew strained with emotion. I had a hard time buying that it was genuine. There had been nothing but hostility between him and his wife when I’d seen them together. I knew their marriage was breaking up, but not who wanted out. Was he putting on an act now?
The group had drifted toward the front of the room as they talked. Was Norman going to finish the thought or leave it hanging? I moved with them, wanting to hear what he was going to do. In an effort to hide that I was eavesdropping, I pretended to be very interested in the displays the three celebrities had put up near the registration counter. Jimmie Phelps had the most professional one, but then the energy drink company was sponsoring his being there. I was pretty sure that meant they were paying him. It seemed like it was a success as the supply of energy drinks had dwindled. I pretended to flip through the CDs that Bobbie Listorie was offering. There were a few old ones, but the largest number of copies seemed to be of something he’d done recently. The title read, Bobbie Listorie, My Life in Song. There was an attractive photo of him on the cover straddling a chair and looking straight into the camera. Dotty Night had a small display of DVDs, but most of the space was given over to photographs of her inn, along with postcards with all the information. The picture made it look charming, like an inn out of a fairy tale. It wasn’t anything like Vista Del Mar and looked like the perfect place for a romantic weekend.
Norman knew how to draw out a story. In all the time I’d been looking at the stuff for sale, he still hadn’t come out and said anything more about the “scarf.” Instead he’d talked about how bad he felt for missing out on so much of the day’s activities and how upsetting it was dealing with an inept police department at a time like this.
Finally one of the people standing around him realized he’d never finished the thought and asked him what they’d found out about the scarf.
Sally Winston was standing quite close to the leader of the retreat, though not touching him. She kept bending her angular face toward the group as though she was anxious to join in the conversation, but somehow was restraining herself, and let Norman Rathman speak.
“What they found out from me was it wasn’t a scarf at all. It was that long colorful thing. It looked kind of like hankies sewed together.” He seemed to be getting frustrated that they didn’t understand. “It was the magician’s whatchamacallit. The thing Diana pulled from his sleeve when she ruined his trick.”
The group sucked in their collective breath and a titter of conversation broke out. “So, they have a new suspect,” the man in the plaid shirt said, nodding with comprehension.
“I hope they put out an all-points bulletin or whatever it’s called for him and leave me alone. The situation is difficult enough for me without being worried I’m going to be handcuffed and arrested,” Norman said. The others began to discuss what motive Sammy would have had and how they thought the crime had been committed.
Well, there went the grace period of the cops not knowing the silk streamer was Sammy’s. Now they’d be on the hunt for him.
“Let’s try to focus on something more positive,” Sally said, interrupting them. “We still have a whole long weekend of events planned.” Her face grew animated and she pointed toward the double doors of the Lodge that led out onto the wood deck and the grounds beyond. “There’s going to be a campfire and folk song sing-a-long in a few minutes at the fire pit. And after that we’re screening From Russia with Love,” she said, quickly adding it had a little more meat to it than the Dotty Night movie being shown the next night. The assembled group started to make their way toward the exit, but Norman and Sally stayed put.
I did, too, curious to see how they changed when they were alone. She gave him a sympathetic look and reached out to touch his arm, but stopped herself. She turned to check out the area and her eyes stopped on me. I quickly averted my gaze from her face to look at the floor and noted for the first time that she really did have remarkably thick ankles for someone with such a willowy build. I started to edge away and just heard the tail end of their conversation.
“You should join the others,” Norman said. “People might get the wrong idea.”
I realized the same thing could apply to me, only the wrong idea would have been a little different—namely that I was spying on them, which of course, I was. I needed to attend to my people quickly so I could get across the street. The table had filled in my absence and there was no reason to try to recruit any more guests. I noticed a little perspiration on Scott’s forehead as he sat at the end of the table with his first student. I stood next to them, hoping I wasn’t too late to offer him moral support.
“Toby is a friend of mine,” Scarlett said. I had so focused on Scott I hadn’t noticed her sitting next to his student. Scarlett handled the introductions and Scott took the opportunity to wipe his brow. The rest of the people at the table were already knitting and looking at the sheets Olivia had given out with directions for the squares. Lucinda was with them and glanced up and made a move as if she was going to change seats, but I shook my head.
“It looks like everything is under control here,” I said after watching for a few minutes. I went to retrieve the container of food I’d left on the next table, but Scott’s head shot up. He looked panicked, and while he didn’t say the words, I got that he wanted me to stay.
I could empathize. Yes, I knew how to knit now, but the thought of trying to teach someone sent me into a cold sweat. The woman seemed to be having trouble learning how to cast on and he tried to patiently show her again. There was no question having Scarlett watching them and chattering away was making it harder for him.
Instead of picking up the cardboard food container, I sat down and motioned for Scarlett to join me, saying there was more space. She picked up her square in progress and sat down next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Scott had given me a thank-you nod.
“This is much better,” she said. “More room to get comfy.” She started to work a stitch.
“No marti
ni bar tonight,” I said, glancing around at all the activity going on in the room.
“That’s was just for last night,” Scarlett said. She finished the stitch and looked up.
“So then you were there?” I figured as long as I was keeping her out of Scott’s way, I might as well see what I could find out. I was hoping it would be something to help Sammy with an alibi.
Scarlett had indeed been there. Her husband, Jason, who she pointed out was coming across the room with his guitar for the folk singing, had served as the bartender.
“Did Diana join in the drinking?”
Scarlett thought for a moment. Now that she’d taken her hair out of the pigtails and teased it into a bouffant-style reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy, she looked her age, which I now guessed was in her fifties, around the same age as Diana. “I hadn’t thought about that. She wasn’t in here.” I saw Scarlett’s gaze go to the windows on the side of the building that looked toward a boardwalk that led through the dunes to the beach. “I was walking out there when I saw her.” Scarlett strained to remember. “And she was with someone. I remember now thinking that it was a man but I couldn’t make out who he was. They hadn’t gotten to the boardwalk. They had stopped in the grassy area with the trees.” I knew just where she was describing. It was on the other side of the roadway that led past the Lodge and was called the grass circle. It was one of the few spaces that had almost a lawn. She got frustrated. “Since I didn’t know what was going to happen to her, I didn’t pay that close attention.”
“Do you think it was the magician?” I asked, almost afraid of her answer. I didn’t see any reason to bring up my relationship with him.
She shrugged as she said, “I don’t know if it was him. Now that I think of it, I didn’t see Diana’s face, either. I knew it was her because her earrings and clothes had all those reflective decorations and they caught the light.” Across the table, Scott tried showing Toby another way to cast on and she was having more success. “I’m sure Diana must have seen me going by, but she didn’t say anything. I suppose that was why I didn’t greet her. To be honest, I was trying to keep my distance from her. I heard that Diana was going through some midlife thing and reevaluating her life. Thinking about the road not taken.” She looked at me intently. “It’s probably hard for you to understand, you’re still so young. And free.” She sounded a little wistful. Should I tell her the truth, that according to my mother, my life was splattered all over like a Jackson Pollock painting and that having all those choices of direction were not necessarily a good thing. No, let her keep the fantasy.
Scarlett didn’t seem to notice that I didn’t respond to her comment and she went on talking.
“I hadn’t really thought about it until now, but since my husband more or less works for Norman, I didn’t want to get in the middle of anything with his wife.” She was still holding her knitting needles and the beginnings of a square. Scarlett’s eyebrows creased with concern. “Do me a favor. Don’t mention what I saw or what I just said to anyone, particularly that lieutenant. I don’t want to get caught up in the investigation.” Abruptly, she wound the yarn around her needles and got up to go.
I had no problem agreeing to that.
13
Once Scott got Toby past casting on and working on her first row of knit stitches, I figured it had to be okay to leave. I grabbed the food container and stood up, anxious to go.
Lucinda caught up with me. She knew there was something wrong without me saying it. I really appreciated having a friend like that. It didn’t matter that there was a difference in our ages or that she was my boss as far as baking desserts was concerned. We could read each other’s moods.
“What is it?’ she asked. Despite what I’d thought about not wanting to involve Lucinda in the Sammy situation, I told her all of what I’d heard.
“I was hoping that Scarlett might have been able to give Sammy some kind of alibi, but seeing some unidentified man with Diana near the walkway to the beach only looks worse for him.”
“Oh, dear,” she said. “That’s not good.” She looked at the box in my hand. “You’re taking that to him?”
I told her about feeding him the burnt toast and she laughed. She was about to let me go, but then snagged my arm. “I suppose this isn’t a good time for this, but I thought of a way we could find out the identity of the secret baby. Since you don’t know when the baby was born and only the possible initials of the mother, checking public records is impossible. But how about this? We could make a list of the people we know who could be the love child, like Maggie from the Coffee Shop, Crystal Smith’s mother and Wanda Krug’s mother, then we try to eliminate them.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good plan,” I said. “It’s like trying to find the needle in a haystack by taking away one piece of hay at a time.”
“But maybe in the course of talking to them, something else will come up that will point us in the right direction.”
Her suggestion about finding the heir had momentarily distracted me, but I suddenly remembered the food container in my hand. “I’m putting it on the shelf for now. Sammy’s troubles are a little more immediate.”
“Let me know if I can do anything,” Lucinda said. “You can always knock on my door. No matter how late.” I gave her a one-armed hug and thanked her and said I would check on the group again in a little while.
I rushed out the door on the driveway side of the Lodge and walked right into Lieutenant Borgnine. I excused myself and started to pull away.
“Ms. Feldstein, I was hoping to find you,” he said in an all too pleasant tone. When had he ever been happy to see me? “I know Dr. Samuel Glickner is a friend of yours. Do you know where he is? There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with him.”
Did he really think I would fall for that? I didn’t want to give anything away by my behavior. The secret was to act as difficult as I usually did. My first thought was just to say a curt no and be on my way. But that would be going too much the other way.
“What do you want to discuss with him?” I asked, forcing my eyes into what I hoped looked like a wide-open innocent expression and not a crazed psycho look. Without a mirror I wasn’t sure. I don’t think it mattered anyway because now that it was dark outside, my face was in shadow, as was his. The light coming through the window of the Lodge barely illuminated the round shape of his head and the lighter parts of his stubbly hair.
I almost smiled when I heard him making his usual grumbly noises and he began to rub his neck. “Can’t you just give me a simple yes or no answer?”
“Okay, then, no,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I made a move to leave.
“What’s that?” he said, noticing the to-go box of food.
“My leftover dinner. I’m just going to drop it off.” I pointed off in the direction of my place.
“Really,” he said with interest. Not missing a beat, he continued, “You know, it’s pretty dark out here and we did have one person strangled. It would be terrible if something happened to you. I would feel better if I saw that you got across the street safely.”
Boy, was he laying it on thick. He was clearly up to something. I tried to talk him out of it, but it was like trying to get rid of a piece of tape stuck to your shoe. No matter what I did, he was still there.
We walked across the street in silence and went up my driveway. I kept my eyes averted from the guest house and headed directly to my back door.
“Okay, you did your duty. I’m home safe and secure.” I paused at the back door, but he didn’t move.
“If you’re just going to drop it off and come back across the street, I’ll wait for you and walk you back.”
I put the key in the lock and opened the kitchen door and he followed me inside. I flipped on the light and went to put the box in the refrigerator. Poor Sammy wasn’t going to get his dinner after all.
I got ready
to turn around and leave, but my escort glanced around the kitchen and toward the hall. “This is a nice place. What do you have—two bedrooms?”
“Something like that,” I said, taking a step toward the door.
“Mind if I look around? I’m curious about the design of these places on the edge of town.”
Aha, so that was what he was up to. I was sure it had less to do with architecture and more to do with finding Sammy. But I had nothing to hide in the house but my unmade bed and the need to vacuum up the cat hair, so I shrugged and told him to be my guest. I’m afraid I was too easy about letting him do it, which he took to mean that Sammy wasn’t hiding in my house. He stepped into the hall and glanced around quickly before announcing that he’d seen enough.
Julius heard me come in and walked into the kitchen. He did a figure eight greeting around my legs and then seemed to notice we had company. What did the black cat do? He plunked himself down in the space between me and Lieutenant Borgnine. Though I could only see the back of Julius’s head, the way he was thumping his tail made me think he was giving the lieutenant a hostile stare with his yellow eyes.
Maybe it was because I had never had a cat before, but I’d always had a stereotypical view of them as sort of background pets. Doing things like lounging on the back of a sofa and ignoring what was going on in their human’s life. I thought they were very into themselves. It had never occurred to me that they would be protective of the people they lived with, but Julius was certainly giving off that vibe. Though I wondered what exactly he would do—shred the lieutenant’s pant leg?
Whatever Julius was doing, he’d made the lieutenant nervous because I saw him give the cat a wary glance. “If you’re ready,” the cop said. He was careful to walk around Julius as he went to the door.
Wound Up In Murder Page 11