I must admit I loved the praise. Since I was a self-taught baker, it made me feel more confident. Lucinda went off toward her room to get her tote bag of knitting supplies. A group had agreed to meet in the lodge to do their yarn work and get to know one another.
I walked through the Lodge both because it was a shortcut and because I wanted to see this group she was talking about. I was surprised to see that Olivia seemed to be the center of it. The two long tables had been pushed together and she’d set out a stack of directions for the squares, along with some of the yarn I’d gotten from Nicole’s.
Scott and his friend from the business group were sitting in a couple of the mission-style chairs, knitting. Several of the men in red polo shirts were stopped next to them, watching in amazement. I couldn’t hear the words, but the body language said it all. Scott and his friend were pitching the guys on the wonders of yarn work.
Bree was sitting with the woman I’d called the Ginger. The redheaded woman seemed upset, but Bree seemed to be reassuring her. How nice to have them all helping out.
Virgil Scarantino was standing in the corner near a large sign announcing his night walk. I checked the group gathered near him to see if any of them were from my group. The yoga people were easy to pick out. They were all in stretchy pants and barely wearing shoes. The matching polo shirts gave away the business retreaters. The only person I recognized from my group was Ronny Fiore. She seemed to be listening intently to what Virgil was saying as if she was expecting to be tested on it afterward.
I stepped closer to hear what was so interesting. He was in midsentence, but I quickly picked up that he was talking about the history of Vista Del Mar. I’d heard bits and pieces of it before, but was still curious about what he had to say.
My ears perked up when he began to talk about Edmund Delacorte. “He ran this place until his death.” He gestured around the great room and commented on how the place looked very much the same as it had in the old days. He went on about how much the Delacorte brother had loved the place and wanted it to stay just as it was. He’d intended for his son to follow in his footsteps. Then he veered off to talking about Monterey Bay and what a mess it had been thanks to the Delacorte family and their sardine cannery. “Edmund felt personally responsible and helped spearhead the movement that turned the bay around.”
I remembered how Cora had said Edmund would be happy with the “unplugged” idea. Now it made sense. I could tell Virgil was getting to the end of his talk by the rhythm of his speech, and moved in closer. There was a small round of applause when he finished and then the group began to make their way toward the doors for the actual hike. I snagged Virgil as he followed behind them.
“That was very interesting about Edmund Delacorte. I didn’t even know he existed a couple of days ago and now his name keeps coming up.” I mentioned our trip to the sheep ranch and Virgil commented on how it had been a favorite spot of the Delacorte brother’s. I didn’t mention what a hunk Edmund was, but as I was speaking I was picturing the photo of him on horseback as he leaned forward. His expression was what I think in model language was referred to as making love to the camera.
“Did you ever meet Edmund?” I asked. Virgil was well into his seventies, which made him close enough in age to the Delacorte brother that their paths could have crossed.
“I would say it was more a matter of knowing who he was.” Virgil chuckled. “We weren’t exactly in the same social strata. The Delacorte family has always been like our local royalty. Of course, I saw him at the bank.” Virgil reminded me that he’d been a banker before he retired.
“There was a time when he came in every Friday, dependable as a railroad clock. Just before I went to lunch, I’d let him into his safety-deposit box.”
I started to ask for more details, but he looked down at his pocket watch. “Showtime,” he said with a happy smile. “I like to think I’m as dependable as a railroad clock, too.”
* * *
Satisfied that my group was okay, I went across the street for a breather before I went to the Blue Door to begin baking. I had left a window open so Julius could come and go as he pleased. The fluffy black cat greeted me at the kitchen door when I came in.
He jumped up on the counter and rubbed against me. I gave him some pets and he began to purr loudly. It was nice to have someone welcome me home even if I was pretty sure he had an ulterior motive.
The bowl of Tasty Treats dry cat food I’d left for him looked untouched. Julius dropped to the floor and began to parade back and forth in front of the refrigerator.
I pointed to the bowl of cat food and encouraged him to at least try it. I even took out one of the pieces and tried to feed it to him. He turned away as if I were offering him poison.
In the end we had dinner together. I had a frozen version of enchiladas and he had stink fish. What can I say? I was putty in his paws.
I had noticed it was all quiet down the street. Another night Dane wasn’t hosting the karate group. I knew how he felt about those teens. Whatever was going on had to be really serious if he wasn’t letting them hang out in his garage.
All the information I’d gotten in the past couple of days was floating around in my brain. I considered knocking on Dane’s door. Hadn’t he said he was always available for cups of sugar or investigative advice? Was I out of my mind? Since I couldn’t talk to Dane, I called Frank.
“Feldstein, these calls from you seem to be turning into a regular event. What’s up now?” Frank said. He was doing the gruff-voice thing, but I wasn’t buying it. I heard the squeak of the recliner and pictured him straining to push it back farther as the chair protested. One of these days, he was going to push it too far. I always had this picture that somehow when it broke it would catapult him into space, but in reality it would probably drop him on the floor.
“It’s the woman who drank the insecticide in her coffee,” I said.
“The cops are still calling it suicide, huh, and you’re still not buying it?”
“You tell me,” I began. “First of all, why come to Vista Del Mar if she wanted to kill herself? She could have taken the coffee back to her shop and done the deed there.”
“Except, didn’t you say the insecticide came from some stuff her husband had in a shed on the grounds? Maybe that’s why she did it there. That’s where the poison was.”
I slumped at his answer. “Okay, that’s possible, but I still say someone isn’t going to put down a deposit on a trip they really want to take just before they kill themself.” Before Frank could say anything, I said it for him. “I know. She could have been so upset about putting down the deposit that it pushed her over the edge, but the travel agent said she seemed happy about planning the trip.”
“So then, Feldstein, let’s just assume it was murder. I kind of recall you said she was in some kind of trouble. Any news on that front?”
“The so-called suicide note said she was doing something bad,” I said.
“Right,” Frank said. “And I pointed out that even if it was written by the killer, it might be true.”
“Whatever it was, it’s over with, according to her husband,” I said.
I heard Frank let out a big hmmm. “So obviously he knows whatever she was up to. And—”
“He could have killed her to make it end,” I said, interrupting. I told Frank how well liked Will was. “There’s a lot of weird stuff going on,” I began. “I found some things hidden in a box of moldy clothes and it looked like her shop might have been broken into, but the only thing missing was a tray of jewelry made out of hair.”
“Jewelry made out of hair? What happened to diamonds and gold?” I heard Frank let out a chortle.
“Burton Fiore was looking at that stuff,” I said, suddenly remembering seeing him in Nicole’s shop.
“Who’s he?” Frank asked, sounding confused. It didn’t get any better when I mentioned that he was
engaged to Cora Delacorte and that his daughter was one of my retreaters. “Never mind,” I said, cutting myself off from explaining who everyone was. “The important thing is Burton Fiore came into Nicole’s shop while I was there. They seemed to be handling some kind of transaction,” I said.
Frank still sounded confused. “And what’s strange about a transaction going on in a store? Feldstein, nothing personal, but I think you might be losing it.”
“I didn’t explain it right. He gave her an envelope, but she didn’t give him anything in return.”
“I get where you’re going now, Feldstein. The envelope that Burton What’s His Name gave her could have had some cash in it. And if she didn’t give him anything in return then it could have been some kind of . . .” We both said “blackmail” at the same time.
“And that would explain how Nicole had the money for the trip to Bhutan,” I said.
“So maybe this Fiore guy gets tired of paying her or she ups the ante and he figures out a way to make that his final payment,” Frank said. “Why don’t you go down the street and tell that story to your cop friend,” Frank said. When I didn’t say anything, Frank continued, “What’s up, Feldstein, are you on the outs with him? It’s a fine line doing the flirting thing and then not letting it go anywhere. Maybe in the old days, but nowadays, I think they stop falling for it if no nookie follows.”
“Forget about him and nookie. It’s irrelevant,” I said. “There’s a major thing missing. Like any sort of proof. I never saw what was in the envelope.”
“Feldstein, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” There was a lot of background noise coming from his end. When I heard squeaking followed by footsteps, I figured he’d gotten up from his chair. “If you want my advice, I’d find out what she was blackmailing him about.” I heard a door open and Frank said hello to somebody. Before I could thank him, Frank said he had to go. I heard a woman’s voice in the background. Did she call him honey? Oh my God, Frank had a date.
I needed to get off the phone anyway. I was anxious to get going on the baking. Staying at the Blue Door till all hours and then distributing muffins around town while the town slept was much less appealing when I had to be back at Vista Del Mar early in the morning.
The restaurant was still open when I got there. Tag was doing the host thing and walking around the tables and checking on the last of the diners. I cringed when I noticed him rearrange the knife one of the patrons had set down on his plate. Lucinda would have had a fit if she’d seen it.
The chef looked up as I came into the kitchen with my bag of supplies for the muffins. He was pretty much done with cooking and was just cleaning up. He acknowledged me with a nod and reminded me that the kitchen was still his. We were both a bit territorial about the spot and I’m afraid we each viewed the other as an invader.
There was no way I could get started, so I sat at one of the empty tables and looked out at the street. I was trying to appear patient, but I was really antsy to get started. A couple was lingering over their dessert. Tag came over and sat down with me.
“Too bad you didn’t bring Lucinda with you,” he said with a hangdog expression. “I know she loves these yarn outings, but I hate it when she’s gone.” As he was saying it, he was absently rearranging the condiments in the center of the table so that they were in perfect alignment. “What was she doing when you left?” he said wistfully.
I thought it was sweet that he missed her so much already and she’d been gone only a few hours. He listened intently as I described her going off to find some knitters to hang out with.
Tag glanced toward the diners to see if they’d finished so he could collect the check and close the restaurant. I remembered that he’d seemed to know Burton Fiore. Why not see what I could find out about him?
Rather than building up to it, I just asked him directly what he knew about Cora’s fiancé.
“What exactly do you want to know?” Tag asked with a perplexed expression. I forgot who I was dealing with. Tag didn’t do well with anything that wasn’t specific.
“How about how you met him?” I said. I was hoping for something short, but instead Tag went into a monologue about how that was hard to define. He’d known who Burton Fiore was when he’d proposed to Cora, but never really talked to him. Their first conversation had been when Tag was picking up his cleaning at Cadbury Cleaners and there’d been a line and Burton was in front of him. They made some small talk first. “Since I’d witnessed his proposal at the restaurant, I offered him congratulations. Then I pointed out the similarities in our situations.”
It seemed Tag was going to leave it at that and I urged him to continue. “Burton seemed surprised by my comment and then he began to ask me questions.” Again Tag stopped.
“And?” I said, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice.
“I was trying to remember his exact wording. It was something like ‘It seems to have worked out for you. It’s amazing what a woman will agree to in the name of love, isn’t it?’ After that he said something about wanting to get it in writing. I was going to ask him to explain exactly what he meant, but he just picked up his cleaning and left. I hate it when people are vague like that.” My boss looked at me. “Why do you want to know about him?”
I made the mistake of bringing up the idea that Nicole Welton might have been blackmailing Burton. Tag’s expression turned serious. “You’re not investigating again. Please don’t get Lucinda involved. She gets caught up in the excitement and then I seem dull in comparison.”
I tried to be as noncommittal as possible, but Tag saw right through it and shook his head with disapproval. Luckily, the couple finally finished and left after paying their check.
The cook and Tag left and I had the place to myself and my thoughts.
17
“This is it,” I muttered under my breath as I crossed over to Vista Del Mar the next morning. I checked the sky for today’s version of cloudy. The clouds were spread thin and, instead of the opaque white, were tinged with gold. For the moment anyway. By the time I was walking up the driveway of Vista Del Mar, the warm color was already gone as the cloud layer thickened. So strange, all those cloudy skies and yet so little rain.
“Good morning,” I said to Jane as I walked into the café. I asked for an Americano, hoping it would get my eyes to open a little wider. By the time I’d finished baking and dropped off muffins everywhere, I was left with only a short time to sleep. I could almost hear my mother’s voice telling me that I had taken on too much and wasn’t that a surefire way for me to end up dropping everything.
“There you are,” Wanda Krug said as she marched into the café. The diminutive stand-in for Nicole seemed bristling with concern. “It’s lucky we’re meeting early. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I think Nicole left a lot of loose ends hanging.” She looked at me with reproach. “You put way too much faith in her.” She turned to Jane and ordered a black coffee and then added in that drill sergeant tone that she wanted it double cupped. I don’t think it was the request as much as the manner, but Jane froze for a second before pulling out a second cup.
Wanda had an intimidating manner and Jane’s hand shook as she handed over the drink. Wanda seemed like one of those people who always appeared middle-aged, even though I had the feeling that she was just a couple years older than me. Her clothing choice of a loose-fitting floral top over medium blue pants only enhanced the illusion.
“We can take our coffees with us,” Wanda said, moving toward the door. Jane ran out from behind the counter to put one of the plugs in, but Wanda waved her off. I, however, accepted one and appreciated that I made it all the way to the meeting room without scalding myself with hot coffee.
As soon as we went inside the small building, Wanda started clucking her tongue. “This is it? Where are all the supplies?”
I looked around the room and saw that a long table was set up and the fleece
s were stacked on it, with a sheet between each one. Someone had pulled the chairs from around the table and left them askew. I explained the tote bag with the drop spindles and the spinning wheels, and asked what else we needed. I knew I should be grateful that she’d stepped in, but she certainly wasn’t easy to be around. She’d already turned the tables and was acting like I was working for her and not doing a good job, either.
Wanda turned to me with her hand on her hip. “Didn’t Nicole explain the process? I would have thought she would have given you a list of what was needed.”
I explained that Nicole had said she would take care of everything. I wanted to kick myself for not having had her demonstrate the wool-to-yarn thing. Wanda didn’t seem to notice my upset and just made a lot of tsk-tsk sounds as she glanced around the room.
“I heard that you don’t think it was suicide,” Wanda said when she turned back to me. “What’s your reasoning?” she asked curtly. I didn’t really want to discuss it with her, since it was obvious by her tone she was ready to poke holes in my theory.
“Why don’t you just tell me what we need for the first workshop and I’ll see what I can do,” I said, skipping over her question completely.
Wanda didn’t seem to know how to handle having her question ignored. She sputtered for a moment and then acted like it was her idea. “It’s really better if we don’t get off track. First we’ll have them wash the wool,” she said. “We need buckets and hot water and some kind of soap. And we’ll need something to dry the wool on.”
“That sounds like something Will could help with,” I said. We walked outside and headed to his workshop on the edge of the grounds. Wanda kept trying to get ahead of me, but I made sure we walked together.
The small building looked like it was one of the original buildings, which made it over one hundred years old. Like the others, it had weathered wood shingles and mullion windows. The front had a double wood door which was open and I could see that Will was doing something at his workbench. He must have heard us walking, well, more likely Wanda grumbling, and looked up.
Silence of the Lamb's Wool (A Yarn Retreat Mystery) Page 14