“Why are we doing this again?” Dinah asked. I kept glancing around, noticing that the street seemed very parked up. Everyone around here had a garage and a driveway; there were usually almost no cars on the street at night.
“If I can get a look at the crochet piece that Matt Wells talked about, then I can cancel dance night at the bookstore—even though it does sound like a good idea. But it’s so last-minute, and Mrs. Shedd particularly mentioned that we shouldn’t schedule anything before the bookstore’s TV debut.”
Figuring the cleaning crew would come in through the back entrance, we went up the stairs from the parking lot side. There, a glass door opened into a hallway that ran between the corporate offices and the dance studio. I pushed on the door, and my heart rate sped up a few notches when it opened. Dinah clutched my arm with her free hand while hanging onto the mop and pail with her other.
Just as I was about to walk in, a man stepped out of the corner, blocking us. He was about thirty, built like a fireplug and wore an ill-fitting dark suit. He finished off the look with buzz-cut hair and a sour expression.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
The shock of seeing someone so menacing made my voice disappear into my throat. I choked out, “Cleaning crew,” and feebly held up my pail.
“Nobody told me anything about a cleaning crew,” he said in a deep gruff voice. He looked us over a few times. I was just waiting for him to toss us out, which he looked like he could do with ease. When he shook his head with something that looked like regret, I prepared for the worst.
“It must be tough times for you, huh?” he said as he checked us out again. “A couple of old babes like you working two jobs.”
At first I didn’t know what he was talking about, but then I looked down at my outfit and over at Dinah’s. Our clothes weren’t exactly cleaning-crew wear. All I’d thought about were some props, not wardrobe. I had on my usual khaki pants and a black sweater over a white shirt. Dinah wore black slacks, a turtleneck and a corduroy blazer with a burnt orange scarf swirled around her neck. Her earrings almost brushed her shoulders.
Since he seemed sympathetic, I nodded with a wistful touch of sadness. “I just left my other job. And now this. It’s been a long day. . . .” All of which was actually true. I had a hard time with outright lies, but I could live with omissions.
He glanced down the hall as if considering whether he should confer with someone else. “If you have to ask somebody to get an okay, could you do it?” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. “We really need to get going on this so we can get in a little sleep before we have to go to our day jobs.” Dinah poked me sharply. Yeah, I was taking a chance, but I was betting that offering him the option would make him not take it. And I was right.
A moment later, he shrugged and gestured for us to go on in. “You two remind me of my aunts. Just stick to the offices, okay?”
“That works for me,” I said as we started down the hall. I could feel his eyes on my back as I reached for a door handle and prayed it didn’t lead to a closet.
“Whew.” I sighed when I saw the inside of an office. Dinah came in and shut the door behind us.
“We better move quickly before he changes his mind,” I said. The walls were lined with photos. Some were of Lance Wells Sr. in various movie roles. There was one of him cutting the ribbon on the Lance Wells Dance Studio we were standing in. Then there were photos of other dance studios with captions indicating their location: Dallas, Chicago, Buffalo, among others.
A large desk dominated the room, but there was an emptiness about it. The desktop was too neat, the chair pushed in with finality. There were photos on the front, including a wedding photo of Mary Beth and Lance Jr. She looked as though she’d just won a prize; he looked a little drunk. Another photo showed Mary Beth and Matt laughing and poised to dance on the round porch at the house in Catalina. Obviously, this was Mary Beth’s desk, and probably Lance Jr.’s before that and Lance Sr. before that.
Recalling the need for speed, I quickly began opening drawers. In a bottom drawer I found several balls of number 10 thread in white and ecru, along with some size 7 steel hooks. There was a partially completed chart on a piece of graph paper. Attached to it was the cutout of a photocopy of a photograph.
“That’s how she did it all,” I said, reminding Dinah of all the filet pictures on the wall in the Catalina house. “She took a photo and blew up the size on a copy machine, then drew around it on the graph paper, and then she had a chart of meshes and open spaces to do the filet crochet.” I looked at the black-and-white image in the copy. It was a little girl with pigtails. “I wonder who she is.” I held it out so Dinah could see.
We were so intent on examining the copy, we didn’t hear a door open.
“What are you doing here?” an angry male voice demanded.
When I turned I was looking directly into Hal Klinger’s face. Gone was the benignly dull demeanor he’d had at our first meeting. He stood taller now and had a much more domineering expression.
I hadn’t noticed the other door before. It was ajar behind him and led directly to the studio. Something was going on in there, but he was blocking my view. I could hear the hum of conversation and a whirring noise and then silence, followed by a clank. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like dancing.
At that moment the security guard, still looking like a fireplug in a suit, pushed the door open wider as he came in behind Hal—and I finally saw what was going on. The whirring was the sound of cards being shuffled, and the clank came from poker chips being anted up. I couldn’t see how many tables there were, but they all seemed full. A row of people lined the wall. Were they all waiting for their turn to play?
“You have a poker room here?” I said, noticing a snack bar as well.
“None of your business,” Hal said, snapping the door shut. He looked at the open drawer with the contents on the desk. “I should call the cops and report a robbery in progress.”
I heard Dinah gasp, and I grabbed her hand, squeezing it in reassurance. The fireplug started explaining our cleaning-crew story until Hal told him to zip it.
I looked Hal right in his beady eyes and said, “I don’t think you want to call the cops.” I pointed over his shoulder. “Which do you think they would be more interested in—two women with small balls of crochet thread or an illegal card room?”
Dinah was leaning against the desk, no doubt recovering from the adrenaline rush all this had caused, and I felt her nudge me. When I looked she was giving me a thumbs-up.
Hal snorted, clearly not happy with the situation. “Okay, suppose we call it even. I let you go and you keep your mouths shut or my friend in the suit, Grant, will pay you a visit.”
It sounded like a good deal to me.
Grant put a beefy hand around my arm and Dinah’s. He almost lifted us off the ground as he dragged us down the hall. With a shove we were out the door, and I heard the click of a lock. The cool darkness of the parking lot was a relief. Despite my bravado, I’d been barely breathing; I took a deep swallow of air.
“Hey, we forgot the pails and mops,” Dinah said, finally regaining her voice. We looked at each other and shook our heads. We weren’t going back. Instead, we walked the distance to Dinah’s house in record time and collapsed on her couch.
“What was that?” Dinah said.
“Good question.” I leaned back and tried to sort things out. Pieces began to come together and I sat upright. “What if Mary Beth didn’t mean the building on Catalina, but the word casino. Maybe she found out about Hal’s side operation. I bet Roseanne doesn’t know, or Matt. It’s Hal’s own little cash cow.” I had taken out my little notebook and wrote down casino = card room?
“And Hal killed her to keep her quiet and his business going,” Dinah said.
“It’s certainly a motive. Too bad I didn’t ask Hal if he knew what Mary Beth’s favorite candy was.”
Dinah laughed. “That would have been a tough segue.”
CHAPTER 23
I HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO GO AHEAD WITH DANCE night at the bookstore if I wanted to see the crochet piece Matt Wells had. I hoped it was worth the trouble. Mrs. Shedd was in the dark about the plan. Adele still hadn’t told on me. She liked the idea of the dance theme too much.
As I got ready to leave for the bookstore, the She La Las rushed into my current bedroom to get into their costumes. They even had a professional makeup artist to do their faces. They were running a full dress rehearsal for my son Peter. Even though his area at William Morris was television and he had nothing to do with personal appearances, my mother wanted his input anyway.
There was a vibe of excitement. My father had rented a small spotlight and arranged some chairs for the miniaudience—the other two husbands were coming, too. Samuel was dressed in a vintage tux and had a keyboard and some electronic device that he’d programmed to sound like a whole band.
Of course, my mother had ordered in food and pleaded with me to make my California Noodle Pudding. This struck me as a funny turn of events: a mother asking her daughter to make her favorite food. I had complied and it was on the counter in all its buttery noodly richness. Noodle pudding is supposed to be a side dish, but I thought it was great for breakfast or by itself as a meal. With all the eggs, butter and sour cream it was kind of rich, but I liked to think the cottage cheese kind of diluted it. I called my version California Noodle Pudding. Along with the standard ingredients, I added almonds and apricot bits. I don’t know why they called it pudding, anyway. It was nothing like that chocolate or vanilla creamy stuff.
I had also taken care of the dogs and shut them in the crochet room with my fingers crossed. Dogs didn’t play with yarn, did they? It was either that or take the chance they’d trip up the She La Las during their famous dance number.
As I was about to go out the kitchen door, the doorbell rang. My father answered and I heard voices. I recognized Peter’s voice and went to say a quick hello. He wasn’t alone.
Mason smiled and waved, and I did a double take. I’d never seen him dressed in anything other than gorgeous suits or elegant casual wear. Not tonight. He was all bad boy, wearing an old beat-up motorcycle jacket over beat-up jeans. He had on boots with spurs and was carrying a helmet. He pointed outside with a naughty grin.
A huge motorcycle was parked at the curb.
I would have loved to stay to see what was going to happen, but I had to go.
ADELE HAD GOTTEN BACK TO THE BOOKSTORE before me and she’d been busy.
“What’s all this?” I said as I walked toward the event area.
“You have no sense of pizzaz,” Adele groaned. “I just gave the place a little dance-party vibe.” Bunches of balloons were tied to bookcases. Bob was setting up a table with punch and cookies for sale. The lights had been turned down, and battery-operated candles surrounded the event area. “Pink, couldn’t you have dressed up a little?”
Adele certainly had. I didn’t know where she’d gotten her ideas from, and I didn’t really want to think about it. She had on a long, purple-sequined dress and a purple turban-style hat emblazoned with a sequined A. Her face looked like a porcelain doll’s or a Kabuki mask. Her foundation was thick and almost white, and she had on false eyelashes and bright red lipstick applied to give her a Betty Boop bow-shaped mouth.
At that moment the diet book author came through, looking around at the setup. “What’s all this?” she asked in a not too pleasant voice.
“We’ve made it into a dance evening,” Adele said before I could speak.
“No, no,” Grey Fairchild said, standing by the punch and cookie table. “That doesn’t go with my diet plan.” She was tall and thin as a capital I, and there was a stiffness about her that made me wonder what her dancing ability was like.
Trouble already. Everybody was trying to run the show, but I was the one responsible. However, I thought it might all be academic since the event was so last-minute, I didn’t know if many people would show. For once I didn’t really care. I wanted the evening to be over with quickly and without disaster. And more than that, I wanted the crochet piece Matt was bringing.
To my surprise people began to come in, including Camille. “I lost my pattern for the bookmark,” she said as she approached me. “Do you have a copy?” She glanced around the bookstore. “What’s going on?”
I pointed to the sign explaining dance night and said I’d find a copy for her. When I came back, I noticed she’d worked her way over to the event area.
Then Ali came in with an older woman. Both had coffee from the café, and as usual Ali looked like an advertisement for the wonders of crochet. I loved her crocheted flower wrist corsage. Ali stopped me and introduced me to the woman, her mother. I mentioned what a wonderful addition to the crochet group Ali was, and they decided to stay.
“Are you going to start soon?” Camille said, stopping me. “This is so much fun. I love the way you decorated the bookstore. Too bad my husband didn’t come.”
I was getting concerned that Matt hadn’t arrived, but I knew we had to begin. To buy time I went to the event area and made an announcement about the drawing for dance lessons. The bowl we used for Halloween candy stood waiting with scraps of paper and pencils next to it.
People were still rushing to get in their chances when I introduced Grey and her dance charts. Finally, just as she got ready to start, Matt Wells came in the entrance.
Adele was handling the music and had put on an up-tempo CD. Moving to the beat, Grey began to jump around the chart, demonstrating her diet dance. Matt made his way through the crowd to me. I glanced down and saw that he was empty-handed.
“The crochet piece?” I said, trying to keep the upset out of my voice.
He swept his arm toward the front. “I left it in an envelope with the cashier. You can get it back to me when you’re finished looking at it. There’s no rush. I don’t think anybody but you is interested in all her crochet work.”
Unfortunately, once people began to notice Matt, they seemed less interested in Grey and her dance chart. Matt had inherited his uncle’s charisma along with his dance skills, and it was almost as if there were a spotlight on him.
Grey finally picked up her chart and moved to the side, allowing Matt to take over the center spot. She appeared a bit testy when she saw the response he got. The audience applauded; Camille gave him a little wave.
“It’s wonderful to see you’re all so interested in dance. There is nothing quite so romantic as couples in perfect step to slow music,” he said. Adele put on his music, which was a classic waltz. He did his pitch about the dance studio as he began to move to the music.
“The Lance Wells Dance Studio has developed the perfect teaching method. At our studio, no one has two left feet.” He reached out for a partner to demonstrate with. I could see Adele waving her arm, but he took my hand.
The shock must have shown on my face. No matter what he said about nobody having two left feet, I was going to prove him wrong. Hadn’t he seen me get my complimentary lesson?
He began counting in my ear and urged me to do the same and just let go and follow his lead. Did he know what he was getting into? Did he really want bruised toes?
I won’t take any of the credit. It was all him and I still don’t know how he did it, but all of a sudden I was dancing with nary a stomped toe in sight. He whirled me—as much as you can whirl in a pair of no-wrinkle khaki slacks—around the event area and then twirled me out at the end. Everyone clapped and I curtseyed.
“More demonstrations, more dancing,” several people called out.
Matt used the opportunity to mention the special they were running on lessons and that they were located just down the street. So far no one had brought up Mary Beth, so the mood stayed light. Then Matt described the free lessons the winner of the drawing would get.
“Are you going to teach?” Camille said, stepping forward from the crowd.
He diplomatically said something about it depending on his s
chedule before he reached in the bowl and picked the winner. A woman in the back jumped up, a jubilant expression on her face, while everyone else slumped in disappointment.
There was a rustle in the crowd as two people pushed their way through it. Roseanne got to the front, her face squeezed into an angry pose. “Have you given away the free lessons yet?” she demanded. Hal was a few steps behind. He had gone back to his semiwimpy manner, but he locked eyes with me and for a moment changed into the man I’d seen the other night.
Roseanne didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re not authorized to give away free lessons or special deals. I’m the owner now. You have to get my okay first.”
A gasp went through the group.
Matt tried to keep his voice low. He said something about that statement being premature and lawyers working things out. Then he turned toward the winner and said for her not to worry, she’d get her lessons. Roseanne started to object, but Matt countered that until things were settled he was in charge. Roseanne didn’t seem to care that she was making a scene, and the positive mood of the evening was going downhill fast. Nobody likes to be in the middle of an argument. I stepped in and suggested that Matt do a first dance with the winner and as an aside told them to save their conversation until they were in a private place.
Matt threw a dismissive glance Roseanne’s way and took my suggestion. Roseanne stood there for a moment, fuming, then grabbed Hal’s hand and pushed through the crowd toward the exit. I was curious about the argument and followed, barely aware that the crowd had started to dance.
It wasn’t hard to get Roseanne to talk. All I had to do was ask for her side of the story.
“It only makes sense. My sister Mary Beth inherited her husband’s portion of the estate and I’m her only family. Matt keeps saying Mary Beth was in the process of changing things so he’d have a bigger share of the business, but I don’t believe it. I am not going to be pushed aside anymore. Matt has always made a point that he’s an owner and we’re just employees. He has always told us what to do and how to do it. He needs to show me some respect now.”
By Hook or by Crook cm-3 Page 18