Silence of the Lamb's Wool (A Yarn Retreat Mystery)

by Betty Hechtman

  “How many acres did you say this place is?” Burton directed his question to Kevin St. John. The manager muttered an answer under protest and turned his attention back to Cora. It didn’t stop Burton Fiore’s stream of questions. When he asked if Vista Del Mar offered twenty-four-hour room service, Kevin sputtered and I stifled a laugh. Room service?

  The manager mentioned the café, making sure he said the whole name.

  “We offer a full line of drinks, snacks and coffee drinks. It’s up to the guests to plan ahead if they’re going to be hungry after hours.”

  Undaunted, Cora’s husband-to-be walked over to an open area in front of the large window looking out on the wood deck. “Cora, this is the spot I was telling you about. It would be a perfect place to put in a bar.” Kevin St. John immediately dismissed the idea, saying it didn’t go along with the vibe of the place. “We have beer and wine in the Cora and Madeleine Delacorte Café. This isn’t a cocktail or whiskey shots sort of place.”

  Kevin’s usually placid face had taken on an annoyed expression. “This is a historic place, one of a kind. If guests are checking the thread count on the sheets and how plushy the towels are, this isn’t the place for them. There are plenty of resorts in Pebble Beach if they want luxury. People come here for the experience.”

  I waited for Cora to say something in favor of one of the men, but she merely smiled. Madeleine made a harrumph sound and wanted to know if the meeting was over yet.

  Cora’s navy blue Chanel-style jacket had gotten askew and Burton straightened it and gave her shoulder an affectionate touch. The older Delacorte sister leaned into his gesture and thanked him with a few bats of her eyelashes, saying how nice it was having someone to watch her back. Kevin St. John viewed the moment with distaste, probably figuring it was only going to get worse once they were married.

  The door opened from the deck side and a distinguished-looking man with silver hair came in with a quick stride. He was wearing cargo pants and a bomber-style leather jacket. I wondered if his face was naturally ruddy or if it was the cold air. He looked over the group with a friendly smile. “Virgil Scarantino at your service.” He did a mock bow and I instantly liked him. Kevin took it upon himself to introduce us, though the only ones Virgil hadn’t met before were Cora’s fiancé and me. He seemed as surprised as I’d been at Cora’s engagement news, but handled it better and just offered them his congratulations before he turned to me.

  “So you’re Casey Feldstein,” he said with a big smile. “I wondered who was behind all the muffins and the wonderful desserts at the Blue Door.” He went into detail about his favorites, which turned out to be the muffins he called “those rich chocolate ones.” My name for them was Heal the World with Chocolate. As for the Blue Door desserts, it was apple pie all the way as far as he was concerned. When he finished, I was almost blushing from all the praise.

  “Well, chief,” he said to Kevin St. John, “should I tell them my duties?” The manager nodded and gave Virgil the floor. “I’ve lived in Cadbury all my life and love this area. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to share what I know so I’ve volunteered to do some nature walks and star hikes.”

  Cora loved the idea and thought it was very much in the spirit of the place. Madeleine surprised us all by adding her approval. I hadn’t meant to get sucked into this dog and pony show for the Delacorte sisters and started to excuse myself until I saw that someone else had come in.

  Dr. Sammy? In a tuxedo, no less. Sammy Glickner, my former boyfriend, was tall with a hulky teddy bear–like build. In the tuxedo, he reminded me of a panda bear. He was all smiles as he crossed the space to the group in a few long strides. His eyes were glued to the manager, but then he saw me, his eyes widened as his face lit up.

  I knew we weren’t a couple—and it was all my doing—but it was certainly nice to have someone seem so glad to see me. “Case, what do you think?” His hands rolled down displaying his outfit, the way models on game shows displayed prizes. I still laughed at his calling me Case. Really? Did taking one letter off my name make it a nickname?

  Kevin St. John broke into the moment. “I thought it would be entertaining having table magic on the weekends in the dining hall.” The sisters both nodded their agreement. Virgil thought it sounded dandy, and Burton Fiore just muttered “Dining hall?” before excusing himself from the group, saying he had to make a call.

  The manager introduced Dr. Sammy to the group as the Amazing Dr. Sammy. I got the message that Kevin St. John was running all this by the Delacorte sisters for their approval rather than presenting it as a fait accompli. Sammy was there to audition for them.

  I felt instantly nervous for him and almost couldn’t watch, but Sammy started his patter without the slightest stumble and took out a deck of cards. He had sized up the situation and played to Cora, who was delighted with his little show. She even clapped at the end. Madeleine seemed to have forgotten her rush to leave and added her own applause.

  “The guests will love you,” Cora said, beaming a smile at Sammy. Madeleine nodded her agreement and Kevin St. John told Sammy the job was his, provided the first weekend went well.

  The only person not so sure about adding Sammy as a regular on the weekends was me. The retreats I put on were always on the weekend, which meant our lives would be intersecting when I was doing my best to keep some distance between us. So when the Amazing Dr. Sammy offered to do an encore to his audition, I extricated myself from the group. Cora and Madeleine were front and center and I heard them talking as I walked away.

  Cora spoke directly to Kevin St. John, saying, “You’re doing such a wonderful job with Vista Del Mar. I like all these changes. Edmund would so approve,” she added with a bright sound in her voice.

  Edmund?

  3

  “Hey, Casey, long time, no see,” Alison said as I sailed into the gift shop. I used to see her almost daily when the shop had a coffee wagon, where my muffins had been offered along with the coffee drinks and assorted other snacks. But once the café opened, the gift store had been rearranged and a display of T-shirts and fleece jackets with the Vista Del Mar insignia had taken over the spot where the coffee wagon used to sit. Two sides of the shop were almost all windows, which gave a good view of the grounds.

  As I greeted Alison, I looked through the window behind her and noticed Burton Fiore rejoining Cora and Madeleine. It was interesting watching him without hearing what he was saying. His gestures seemed a little over the top as he greeted the sisters.

  “I’m here about the yarn,” I said, turning my attention back inside. When I’d first made the arrangements for the retreat, I’d talked to Alison about carrying yarn and supplies for the retreaters, but also for the other guests of Vista Del Mar. It turned out that when other guests saw the retreat group working with yarn, it inspired them to do the same.

  “All taken care of.” Alison came from behind the counter and walked me over to an empty gondola that already had a sign that read YARN. There were empty baskets just waiting to be filled with colorful fibers, and containers for needles and hooks. “Someone from Cadbury Yarn is supposed to come by today.”

  I was a little disappointed, because I’d been hoping the yarn would already be there. But my early birds weren’t arriving until the afternoon anyway. “I’m stopping by Cadbury Yarn. I’ll double check with them.” Two men wearing matching red polo shirts came into the small store and began to look around. A moment later a woman in sandals and a pale green stretchy outfit walked in.

  I left Alison to her customers and was startled by the change in the main room of the Lodge when I exited the store. There were more people in the red polo shirts milling around near the registration counter. There seemed to be a lot of others who resembled the woman in stretchy clothes as well. Kevin St. John was in the midst of it all and I figured out these must be two retreat groups he’d made the arrangements for.

  I played my
own game of “let’s figure out what kind of retreat were they here for” as I got closer. The yoga mats were a giveaway for the people in stretchy clothes. There were a lot more of the red polo shirt crowd and they were a little harder to figure out. But after hearing a few bits of conversation, I got that they were from all over the country and were here for a managers’ retreat. I wondered if the business group had heard that their cell phones were useless and it was ixnay on the Wi-Fi.

  The morning was slipping away and I still had things to do before I got back here to greet my pre-retreaters. As I neared the café, the pungent smell of freshly ground coffee reminded me that I’d planned to stop there. I’d just get the coffee to go.

  There was a hum of voices as I walked into the corner room and I noticed that Jane was talking to someone standing at the counter. The room was almost the mirror image of the gift shop, with the same two walls of windows, making it feel like it was almost outside. I noted the sky had turned a brighter shade of white. As I got closer I heard something about a problem just before the man standing by the counter turned toward me. When I saw that it was Will Welton I completely understood. He was the caretaker of Vista Del Mar and problems were his business. In fact if there were no problems, he wouldn’t have a job.

  “Morning, Casey,” he said in a friendly voice. He was one of those people who seemed to always be upbeat. He even walked with a spring in his step. His longish blond hair was a little scruffy, but it made him look cute. He stepped aside so I could get right up to the counter, probably because the need for coffee showed in my eyes. Jane must have noticed it, too, because she was already reaching for one of the large white paper cups.

  “So, you’re back. What will it be? Cappuccino, latte or maybe just a straight cup of today’s brew?” Jane was trying to be sparkly, but it came across as unnatural. It was terrible, but whenever I said her name, it seemed to be preceded by plain in my mind. She had pale brown hair that hung to her shoulders and she never wore makeup. Her clothes were always neat, but like the light blue top she was wearing, they were best described as serviceable. I’d heard that she’d taken care of her ailing mother and probably had never had anyone to show her how to enhance her appearance. While I waited, Jane told the caretaker about my earlier visit.

  Will knew all about Vista Del Mar being unplugged. It was fine with him, as he was into the place being authentic. “And it will be a lot safer. I’ve seen guests walk right off the paved path without realizing it. They have their noses stuck in their screens instead of looking at all this.” We all looked out the window and agreed with one another that missing all this beauty was almost a crime.

  “I hope my retreat group takes it well,” I said. It was only one of the uncertainties I had about the upcoming weekend. It was a bigger group and an ambitious program. I said something to that effect and Will gave me a reassuring nod.

  “There’s nothing for you to worry about. Nicole is an expert and really looking forward to handling the fiber part.” He spoke another five minutes about his wife’s skills, bringing up that she had a master’s degree in textiles and was an accomplished spinner, weaver and knitter.

  “You don’t have to sell me. She’s the only reason I considered doing this retreat. It’s nice that you’re so proud of her.” I turned to Jane and asked for a cappuccino.

  “Isn’t Nicole supposed to give your early people a lesson tomorrow?” Jane asked, trying to be part of the conversation.

  “That’s absolutely right,” I said. “Right about this time.”

  “I really want to thank you for giving her this opportunity. She’s kind of gotten off track. This could be just what she needs,” Will said.

  A deliveryman came in wheeling a dolly full of boxes. He slipped them off the cart and asked Jane to sign for the delivery. While she signed, he looked on the counter at the empty container where my muffins had been.

  “Missed them again,” he said with regret. Jane told him the last one had just been sold and introduced me as the baker. He gave me an appreciative nod and said it always felt like his lucky day when he managed to score a muffin. I suggested he might have a better chance at one of his earlier stops, since I provided muffins for a number of places in town.

  “Will do,” he said with a smile. “One question. What kind are you baking for tomorrow?”

  I blushed at the compliment, but loved it all the same. Then I hesitated. Should I give the real name or the toned-down version the town council required? Out loud I said “blueberry,” but in my head I called them by my name, The Blues.

  The empty dolly made a squeaky racket as the delivery guy wheeled it out. “I better get back to work,” Will said, picking up his coffee, but Jane took it from him.

  “You’ll spill it all over yourself.” She snapped a white cap on the paper cup with the Vista Del Mar logo on it and picked up what looked like a long green cocktail pick. I was surprised when she dropped it into the opening in the cap. “It’s something new we just got. It acts as a plug so the coffee doesn’t splash out of the top.” I looked closer and saw it had VDM embossed on the top.

  “What’s the problem today?” I asked Will. “The antique plumbing acting up?”

  Will laughed. “It’s always acting up. You just have to know how to finesse it to work.” It seemed kind of odd. Will was barely twenty-five and yet he had such an affection for Vista Del Mar, most of which was over one hundred years old. He was an expert at replacing shingles and aging the replacements so you couldn’t tell the old from the new. He mixed his own formula for polishing the brass doorknobs, dictated to the housekeepers what kind of cleaners they should use that wouldn’t harm the old surfaces and he even made his own insecticide from a vintage recipe.

  “It’s the phone booths,” he said before explaining that he’d found three that had been in the back room of an old pharmacy in Capitola. He’d brought them over in his truck and they needed to be installed so the phones could be put in. “I think they’re going to be a nice touch from the past.” He thanked Jane for putting the plug in his cup and went off to his work.

  I said I had to go, too. Jane apologized for not having made my cappuccino and went to make it. She talked as she frothed the milk, saying she’d known Will for years, all the way back to high school. She insisted on giving my cappuccino the same lid treatment as Will’s drink. “Now you don’t have to worry about spilling any.”

  I intended to cross the main room of the Lodge without stopping, but Kevin St. John blocked my path. The pleasant demeanor he’d had when the sisters were there was now gone. “Three things,” he said curtly. “Please keep that cat of yours off the grounds. He nearly came inside.” I almost laughed. Obviously Kevin St. John knew less about cats than I did. What did he think I was going to do? Sit Julius down and tell him his boundaries? To keep the peace, I said I would do my best.

  “The second thing is, let’s not have any more bodies connected with your retreats. Let’s have the same number of people leave who arrive.” If Kevin’s expression hadn’t been so serious I would have thought this was a joke. First, wanting me to tell a cat what to do and now telling me to keep all my people alive. He couldn’t really believe I wanted anyone to die. I couldn’t wait to hear what number three was.

  “And the last thing is, you can’t have the sheep sheared on the premises.”

  “But, but,” I stuttered, “it’s the kickoff to the whole retreat. I’ve told all the retreaters.” Then I looked him in the eye. “You’ve known about this for weeks, haven’t you? Why are you telling me now?”

  “Oh, I must have forgotten,” he said in a feigned-concerned voice. “I hope it doesn’t cause you any problem.”

  How about taking away the whole first section of the retreat? I thought. It’s called Sheep to Shawl. Not Bunch of Wool to Shawl.

  4

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said to Lucinda Thornkill. “How can
I put on a retreat billed as Sheep to Shawl with no sheep?” Lucinda was probably my best friend as well as my employer. She was also going to be one of the retreaters. I had made a detour in my errands to tell her my news.

  I must have looked a little crazed when I walked into the Blue Door restaurant because as soon as Lucinda escorted a touristy-looking couple to a table in the window, she put her arm through mine and took me to the back room.

  The Blue Door restaurant was named for the color of its front door and was a converted house. Maybe calling it a converted cottage was more accurate. I was used to being there at night, when I had the place to myself, and was always a little surprised to see customers waiting in line.

  The back room must have once been a small sun porch. There was room for only four tables, all of which were currently empty. The decor was almost all white and the only spot of color was a red cushion on a bench at the table where Lucinda gestured for me to sit. The tablecloth caught on my knee as I slid in, causing it to scrunch up. I glanced around for Lucinda’s husband, Tag, knowing it was just the kind of thing to throw him into a tizzy. Tag was a little OCD and anything out of order threw him for a loop.

  Before I could do anything, Lucinda had leaned over and quickly smoothed out the tablecloth, then she chuckled. “Oh no, Tag fanaticism is rubbing off on me.” She cast an eye on the menu lying on the table next to us. “I really should change that.”