By Hook or by Crook cm-3

by Betty Hechtman

  “Good thinking,” Dinah said. “It sounds like the kind of information a sister would have. By the way, I checked your box of marzipan yesterday and it was full of ants.”

  “Dead or alive?” I said feeling my stomach tense.

  “The little buggers were very much alive. Can I throw the package away now?”

  “Then I was right. The gift was just for shock value. Someone wanted to scare me off the case. I’m glad I didn’t show it to Detective Heather.” I paused for a moment picturing the ants having a field day on the red candy apples. “You better hang onto it for now. Put it in your garage.”

  CHAPTER 20

  VINCENT HAD SAID MATT WELLS ATE BREAKFAST at Le Grande Fromage every morning, but only after I’d left did I realize he hadn’t mentioned a time. I had gone over several possible ways to meet him but had finally decided it would be best to let him arrive first. Then I could casually come up to him.

  As a result, the next morning I found myself sitting in the parking lot that served the whole bank of stores, watching every car that drove in. The problem with my car, the greenmobile, was that it stood out. In my peripheral vision, I noticed a black Crown Victoria slide into the spot next to me. I slumped down lower in the seat, willing myself to become invisible. No such luck. There was a knock at the window.

  I turned the key so I could open the window. Barry leaned in. A whiff of his cologne blew in with the breeze. His shirt was crisp and he was cleanly shaven. I did my best to ignore how good he looked.

  “Loitering isn’t allowed,” he said, pointing to a sign on the wall of the building that warned cars could be towed for various reasons.

  I started to protest that I’d just gotten there, but he tossed it off with a dismissive shake of his head. “This is the second time I’ve been by. I know you’ve been sitting here for a while. What are you up to now?”

  I was going to make some excuse, but just then I saw a black Jaguar pull in and Matt Wells get out.

  “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting someone,” I said. Barry followed my gaze.

  “The dancer?” he said with a combination of surprise and irritation.

  A few minutes later I walked in the front door of Le Grande Fromage. I had taken my time shutting the window and getting out of the car to give Matt time to get inside the café. Barry had stood next to his car watching me. He started to say something several times but then finally got back in his car, muttering something about poor judgement.

  Inside the restaurant most of the tables were empty and Matt had taken one in the back corner. I had been thinking about how to start up a conversation with him. I couldn’t very well just sit down and start asking questions about Mary Beth. I needed an icebreaker, and nothing was coming to mind. I did okay when it came to climbing in windows and scoping out places, as I had done at the house in Catalina, but actually going up to someone and starting a conversation—let’s just say I didn’t have my mother’s gifts.

  I sucked in a big breath of air, forced my lips to curve upward and moved toward his table. He was looking at what appeared to be the layout for a newspaper ad.

  “Hi, you might not remember me.” I launched into who I was, how I’d taken a complimentary lesson a few days earlier and that I worked at the bookstore. Then I hit dead air. He looked at me, waiting for me to say more, and I looked at him, hoping he’d pick up the slack. Just when I thought I was going to have to slink out of there in embarrassment, inspiration struck. “I have a proposition,” I said quickly, pulling out a chair. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

  Matt regarded me with an amused smile, and I realized I had probably come on a bit too strong.

  The waitress brought him his fine herb omelette, warm baguette with sweet butter and fresh marmalade and a glass pot of French-press coffee. She handed me a menu, but I said I just wanted a café au lait with a shot of espresso.

  Matt pressed the plunger down in the coffeepot and poured the fresh brew in his cup. “What kind of proposition are we talking about?” There was just a hint of suggestiveness to his voice, and I cringed remembering the hair twirling from the other day.

  Between the sparkling gray eyes that seemed to carry a warm smile, the angular chin with the unshaven look and the lithe but definitely masculine build, he probably got lots of propositions from potential dance students.

  “A business proposition,” I said in what I hoped was a cool professional tone. “Having the dance studio closed and being connected to a murder probably hurt your business. I was thinking maybe we could work something out with a book event we have coming up.”

  Matt’s expression sharpened and he sat up. “That’s a great idea. What did you have in mind?”

  The ball was back in my court. I had to come up with something fast. “We’re having an author in who’s written a dance-related book. We could include a drawing for some lessons, maybe even a dance demonstration or something.”

  “I like it,” he said before I had a chance to finish. “The drawing for dance lessons is a great idea. And a little dance demonstration to remind everyone we’re open and down the street. Could we do something in the next couple of days? Other than you and your friend there hasn’t been any walk-in business, and we’ve had a lot of refund requests from current students. I know it must seem callous to be concerned with business under the circumstances, but we have to keep on going, don’t we?” he said.

  It was a rhetorical question, and he went back to pressing me for a date until I said I would check my calendar. I reached in my bag and when I pulled out my notebook, Mary Beth’s crochet work came out with it. I tried to snatch the plastic bag back, but Matt got it first.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded. He opened the bag, took out the crochet piece and laid it on the table, staring at it. I heard him swallow a few times. “Mary Beth made this. I’ve seen enough of her work to recognize it.” He ran his finger along the image of the Casino. “Catalina,” he muttered.

  “Do you know what all this means?” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. He moved his gaze over each image slowly, and I held my breath in anticipation. It turned out he only recognized the ones I’d already deciphered and had no idea what the rest of them were or what the whole piece might mean.

  “How did you get this? Did you know Mary Beth?”

  “Sort of,” I answered.

  “Then you must know she loved doing this kind of work. I could never understand why Lance hated it so much. He said watching the movement of the hook made him nervous.” Matt let out a sigh. “The habit of working on it only at Catalina was so ingrained that even when he died, she still didn’t keep any of her supplies or finished work at the Tarzana house.”

  The waitress returned with my coffee, and I regretted the interruption.

  “Did we come up with a day yet?” Matt said, pointing toward my notebook. I subtly tried to push it to the side while I picked up my coffee cup.

  “Does Roseanne crochet?” I said in an effort to turn the conversation toward the information I was after.

  Matt shook his head. “She’s too busy trying to run everything and everybody.” Finally I had my opportunity. I asked him if the sisters got along.

  “I thought you said you knew Mary Beth.”

  “I only knew her a little bit,” I said. He nodded and then started spilling information as though he was glad to have somebody to listen.

  Mostly he complained about how difficult Roseanne and Hal were. He said Mary Beth had gotten them the job managing the studio, given them lavish gifts and spoiled their children.

  “But it was never enough to please Roseanne. I don’t think Roseanne could ever get past being jealous that her sister had the money, status and everything else that went along with being Mrs. Lance Wells Jr.,” Matt said. He confirmed what Mason had said about Mary Beth working for a caterer. “She worked all the fancy parties. That’s where she met my cousin. He specialized in parties.”

  I mentioned they’d been mar
ried a long time. “They never had any children?”

  “I don’t think that was the plan. But Lance got the mumps shortly after they were married. I think finding himself sterile was just one more reason for him to drink. They talked about adopting once, but when it came down to it, he backed out.”

  He ate some of his food, and I waited, hoping he would go back to talking. Instead, he picked up the crochet piece and examined it again. “This reminds me of something I found in the office the other day.”

  “Is it like this with panels and pictures of things?” I asked. He glanced at the piece again and said it was similar.

  “I’d really like to see it,” I said.

  “Sure. I’ll bring it when we do the event. How is Thursday?”

  I pretended to check my notebook. It wasn’t really a calendar, but I knew Thursday was free. We’d finished all the scheduled events, and Mrs. Shedd had instructed me not to schedule any more until after the Making Amends taping. So, I agreed to Thursday and suggested maybe I could stop by sooner and have a look at the crochet piece he had mentioned.

  He shook his head. Had he picked up on my plan to cancel once I’d seen it? I drained the last of my coffee and got ready to leave. As an afterthought, I turned back.

  “I was trying to remember what Mary Beth’s favorite candy was. Do you remember?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Marzipan. Personally, I think it’s like eating a pillow, but she adored it.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “PINK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” ADELE ASKED, walking into the bookstore office.

  “I’m looking for a book about dancing by a local author,” I said as I typed key words into the computer.

  “I have one.” Adele went into the break room off the office. She came back holding a copy of Margaret and the Dancer. It looked well read.

  “Can I look at it?” I said, reaching for it.

  “Not unless you tell me why,” Adele said, not letting go. Sometimes I thought working in the children’s department brought out the child in her. I had decided not to mention the dance event to Mrs. Shedd, but there was no way to avoid telling Adele.

  Her face brightened when she heard the plan for the evening. “Pink, you’ve finally gotten a good idea.”

  I tried to be offhand in my remark about not mentioning the evening to Mrs. Shedd.

  “Why exactly is it that we’re having it then?” she persisted.

  Knowing it was probably a mistake, I told her about the crochet piece Matt had said he was going to bring me.

  “So it’s Nancy Jessica Drew Fletcher Marple in action again.” Adele paused for a moment. “You know, I’m taking Marple off of that. She was a knitter.”

  “Here’s another dance-related book,” I said, reading the computer screen. “It’s a diet book called Dance Your Way to Size Zero. That’s even better.”

  Unfortunately, Adele recognized a chip when she had one and basically said if I wanted her silence, I’d have to let her be partners with me on the evening. But this time I was actually glad for the help. It took us both until closing time to get everything set up. Grey Fairchild seemed a little confused about why it had taken us two years to call her about a book signing, but she was excited about doing it nonetheless.

  When I finally walked outside, I saw Mason standing in front of the bookstore.

  “Burning the midnight oil, aren’t you, sunshine?” He stepped toward me and hugged me hello. “I called your house and your father said you were working late.”

  Adele came out behind me and after locking the door, looked at Mason. “Pink, did you and the cop break up?”

  I hardly wanted to start discussing my personal life in the parking lot or with Adele, so I did what politicians do. I didn’t answer and instead I said good night to her. She harrumphed and then went to her car.

  “I thought I’d bring this to you here,” Mason said, holding out a shopping bag. “I told one of my associates about the blankets you’re making for traumatized children and she was so touched by it, she wanted to donate some yarn.”

  I took the bag and examined the skeins on top. They were the same kind of soft yarn we were using. I was impressed that he had paid that close attention when I’d been talking about the project. “You could have just dropped it off at my house.”

  “I’m more of an in-person sort of guy,” he said with a friendly smile. He brushed a strand of hair the wind had blown across my face. “So, tell me, has my status changed?”

  Adele zoomed past us in her Honda and with a warning beep to the traffic on the side street, zipped out of the parking lot. I knew Mason was wondering if he had moved from an occasional dinner companion into the boyfriend slot. I’d given up fighting the title as nothing else seemed any better.

  Since I wasn’t sure how to answer him, I did the politician thing with him, too, and simply didn’t say anything. But Mason was not one to let it go that easy. “Your mother liked me,” he said as though if he racked up enough points, he’d win the prize, which oddly enough, in this case, was me.

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t you know in the rules of relationships that is the kiss of death?”

  He chuckled softly. “If I’d known that, I would have worn my motorcycle jacket and told your mother she looked old enough to be your grandmother.”

  “Well, thanks for the yarn and going to all the trouble to get it to me.” I made a move toward my car, but he put his hand on my arm.

  “A bag of yarn ought to at least get me a cup of coffee.”

  “Why not? I’m just going home to rehearsal central. Time is getting short and they’re in overdrive.”

  “Great,” he said. We walked to my car and I put the yarn in the trunk. “We could go to Mulligan’s,” he said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the all-night coffee shop a few blocks down on Ventura. “Or my place. You probably don’t know this, but I grind my own beans.”

  “Mulligan’s would be fine.” I closed the trunk. Since it was a short distance, we decided to walk. We crossed Ventura and moved in the direction of the coffee shop. I glanced across the street. Most of the stores and restaurants were dark. Then I noticed something odd. When I looked toward the second floor, the lights appeared to be on at the Lance Wells Dance Studio. There was some kind of coating on the window so you couldn’t see in, but I could tell the interior was illuminated.

  Mason noticed me staring and followed my gaze. I explained it was the dance studio. “I wonder why the lights are on now?”

  Mason linked his arm through mine. “It’s after eleven. It’s probably just the cleaning crew. Don’t worry about it.” Then he changed the subject. “You probably missed the news since you were working. They did a little bit on me and Rome O’Brien leaving the courthouse.” He didn’t have to explain the case. Everyone knew about the actress’s DUI, leaving the scene of an accident, having an expired driver’s license and the cherry on the sundae: slapping the cop who arrested her.

  There was a tone of pride to Mason’s voice as he told the outcome of her trial. “Everybody was saying jail time for sure, and none of that serving eighty-three minutes and getting released, either. Once she slapped the cop, she kissed that option good-bye. They were talking months, but I got her off.”

  “But maybe she should have gone to jail,” I offered. “It sounds like she did everything to deserve it.”

  “That’s not for me to judge. My job is to present the best case for my clients,” Mason said. “And I did. And to make up for it I’m on the board of directors of every charity,” he added with a grin.

  While he was talking, I kept my eyes on the dance studio and suddenly I had an idea. “Can I get a rain check on the coffee?”

  “It’s the lawyer thing, isn’t it?” Even in the darkness I could see his expression had deflated. “I’m sorry I’m not a white knight like Greenberg. But just remember who you called when you thought you were going to be arrested.”

  I told him it wasn’t that. I had just remembered some
thing I had to do. As we retraced our steps, he saw me looking up at the dance studio window.

  “Does it have anything to do with that?”

  I tried not answering, but Mason didn’t go for it and continued cross-examining me.

  I finally took the fifth.

  “As your lawyer, I’m advising you not to do anything unlawful, and I’m suggesting a cup of coffee is a better option.” When I politely declined, Mason walked me back to my car.

  He told me to stay out of trouble—but if I got in any to be sure and call. Then he leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was an extremely persuasive argument not to go. I understood why he won most—but not all—of his cases. I didn’t change my mind.

  “I’m glad you’re not a prosecuter,” he said as I got in my car.

  CHAPTER 22

  “WHY DO YOU NEED A MOP?” DINAH SAID WHEN she sleepily answered the phone. “Another emergency at the bookstore?”

  “I have a plan. Are you in?” I asked.

  “Am I ever not? Where are you?” she said.

  When I told her I was parked in front of her house, she had the front door open before I got out of the car.

  She was wide awake by now. She pointed to the pile of essays she’d been grading on the couch. Apparently they had bored her to sleep.

  While I explained the plan, we raided her cleaning closet. A few minutes later we were heading out the door, each with a pail filled with a bottle of spray cleaner and rags, along with a mop and a story. We were dance-floor cleaner specialists.

  “What cleaning crew is going to turn down help?” I said as we started toward Ventura. Dinah’s house was just a couple of blocks away from the dance studio, so even with our supplies, we walked. “Besides, it’s not like there’s anything valuable they have to worry about up there except maybe some dance charts.”