Yarn to Go

by Betty Hechtman

  I lifted the lid on the top plastic container and looked inside. It was filled with red tote bags.

  “These are for Kris Garland. I’ll put the bin over here,” Gwen said, gesturing toward a corner where it would be out of the way. “Just tell her where it is when she gets here.” She slipped the top bin on the ground and I saw that it had a pull-out handle and wheels. When Gwen had positioned it, she came back to the other one and headed toward the gift shop.

  “I’m putting some yarn and supplies in the gift shop. We always do that during the retreats. Not just for the retreaters, either. It seems like the other guests see people working with yarn and suddenly they want to make something, too. We sell a lot of yarn here.”

  I followed behind her, and when she got into the gift shop, a corner had already been cleared for her wares. She set out a pile of what I now knew were skeins of yarn. They were ordinary looking and basic colors. At the end, she took out a handful of royal blue yarn that had other colors mixed in. The texture seemed to change, and I couldn’t help myself, I had to touch it. I was surprised at the softness and the name of the color. It was called Dr. Blue’s Wild Ride. Luckily the town council wasn’t into yarn or they’d have made her change the name to just “Blue.”

  “Crystal insisted I bring this yarn,” Gwen said, referring to her daughter. “She says we’ve got to move with the times and stock all the new weird yarn they’re coming out with. But give me a nice worsted-weight gray wool any day,” she said as she finished putting the last skein of Dr. Blue’s Wild Ride on the pile. Just before she left, she reminded me they’d be all ready for the yarn tasting.

  “Yarn what?” I said.

  “Don’t worry about what it is, Casey. We’ll handle everything. Just make sure you get all the retreaters to the store Saturday afternoon.” She pulled her empty bin toward the door and disappeared.

  “Are those muffins for us?” the young woman behind the gift shop counter asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Sorry, Louise,” I said, shaking my head. “They’re for my group.” I glanced at my watch nervously. I had come over early because I wasn’t sure exactly when the retreaters would arrive. I barely knew Louise, but she listened patiently as I told her about the yarn retreat situation.

  “I had to call them all and break the news about my aunt and then tell them I was taking her place. Well, that is all but the one who had no contact information.” I didn’t mention that I had secretly hoped they would all cancel when they heard. None of them had.

  Louise motioned toward the window, and I saw the Vista Del Mar van turn in to the driveway next to the Lodge.

  “That’s probably your people coming from the airport,” she said. I took a deep breath and headed into the great room.

  Three women were just coming through the door. All had some kind of bag with yarn sticking out of it. They were definitely mine. But who was who? I had made up a file with the incomplete schedule I’d found and the information sheet each of them had filled out. Joan had scribbled in a note at the top of each sheet. I tried reading them over to see if I could match the names with the faces in front of me.

  I guessed that the younger woman with the frizz of blond curls was Bree Meyers. The hint—she had on a gray hooded sweatshirt that said Serrania Elementary Woodland Hills. My aunt had written in “frazzled mom” on top of her sheet. Bree had her cell phone wedged between her ear and shoulder and seemed totally preoccupied with her conversation as she ran her suitcase over the foot of the older woman next to her without even looking up. She stopped when she got to me, and when I mouthed “Bree?” she smiled and nodded before continuing with her call.

  The woman with the run-over foot barely seemed to have noticed the accident. She had a distracted, unhappy expression. On top of the page for Olivia Golden my aunt had written “needs care.” The woman with the reddish hair framing an almond-shaped face seemed to fit that description. I smiled at her and held out my hand. “Olivia Golden?” It took a moment for her to come into focus. I expected her to smile and shake my hand, but she barely acknowledged me. The only positive was that I’d been correct again in determining who she was.

  I didn’t get a chance to try to figure out who the third woman was. I just caught a blur of her dark wavy hair and animated face as she rushed up to me and stuck out her hand. “Edie Spaghazzi. It’s like Spaghetti, only different. We all flew up from Burbank on the same plane.” She pulled back her offered hand and threw her arms around me. “What am I thinking, shaking hands? We yarn people are huggers. I’m so glad to be here. Thank you, thank you for not canceling the retreat. Your aunt would want you to go on.” She stopped long enough to take a breath and lower her gaze in respect. “It was so terrible what happened to her. She can never be replaced. You have big shoes to fill.” The moment for my aunt ended as Kevin St. John came out from behind the long dark wood registration counter.

  He took a step back as she rushed toward him.

  “It’s so good to see you again. It’s so wonderful to come back here. What a great place for a retreat. It’s like taking a step back in time, Kevin.” She waved her arm around the place before leaning in close to him and dropping her voice. “How’s the social life? Dating anyone?” She actually stopped and waited for an answer.

  He was obviously part of the old school where the customer was always right. Though I’m sure he didn’t like being called Kevin or being asked personal questions, he simply put on a smile, maybe just a little forced looking, and said how nice it was to have her as a guest again.

  Lucinda arrived as the hotel manager made his way back behind the massive counter that separated the business part of the room from the guest area. I think I heard something like a sigh of relief from him once he was back in his domain.

  “I’m here and ready for a great weekend,” my friend said as she stopped next to me. She made looking good seem so easy. The peg-legged black pants, pale coral scooped-neck top and black knit hoodie were perfect for the occasion. I was guessing it was all Eileen Fisher. Her tan leather suitcase had a Hartmann label. Even though her house was just a short drive away, she’d opted to stay on the premises. She knew if she stayed home, there would be one crisis after another with Tag or the restaurant and she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the long weekend.

  “Oh, I know who you are,” Edie said, grabbing Lucinda’s arm. “You own the restaurant, the one in the converted house. The Blue Door, right? Your food is so great. After the last retreat, we stopped at your place for dinner. Do you remember me?”

  Lucinda chuckled and rolled her eyes. Before she could say something, Edie burst in, “If anyone asks, I was alone, okay?” Edie dropped Lucinda’s arm like a brick when she looked through the window and saw a white SUV pulling into a parking slot. “It’s Kris,” she squealed. I wondered how she knew, but then I saw the decoration on the back window. The ball of yarn with the needles sticking out looked hand done. Underneath were the letters KWRBK. Before I could ask, Edie recited, “Kris Would Rather Be Knitting.” And then to make herself seem even more in the know, she announced that Kris had driven there from Santa Cruz.

  Edie was waiting by the door when the master teacher came in. “Kris, see, I came again. How could I miss one of your fabulous classes? I don’t think the rest of them know what a treat they have in store.” Edie waved her arm toward the rest of us but didn’t take her gaze off the curvy woman with highlighted shoulder-length brown hair. Just as I was admiring the way Kris had draped the cream-colored shawl over the olive green linen pants and robin’s egg blue long shirt, Edie hugged her and got her bracelet tangled in the shawl.

  No matter how glad Edie was to see her, I was more glad. Now that she was here, I could just let the master teacher take over. It had been particularly hard telling her about my aunt. She was especially fond of Joan and kept saying she wished she’d known sooner and regretted that she hadn’t realized something was wrong when Joan ha
dn’t answered her emails.

  “I’m sorry,” Edie said, carefully trying to untangle herself. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your trademark shawl.”

  Even though we’d met on the phone, I introduced myself to Kris. “We’re just waiting for a few more,” I said.

  She nodded and said, “I know.”

  Bree had finally hung up her phone and joined the group. “If it’s Emily Dotson, you can forget it. She backed out at the last minute,” Bree said before introducing herself to everyone. “We signed up together. We belong to the same knitting group. It’s called the Ewes.” She spelled it out and then made sure we understood it was a play on words. Bree took a big sigh and glanced around the small group. “This is the first time I’ve ever gone anywhere without my kids. It’s the first time I’ve gone anywhere alone.” When she got to the word alone, her voice cracked. “Emily and I were going to share a room—”

  “And you’ve never stayed by yourself in a hotel room,” I said, completing her thought. Her blond curls bobbed as she nodded her head.

  Edie threw Bree a dismissive glance. “Your kids will be fine and so will you. My kids are grown and on their own, but it was always nice to get away from them and my husband for a few days. Be glad for a room to yourself. The bathroom will be all yours.” Edie spoke to all of us. “You have no idea what a great weekend you are in for. I’ve been to two other of these Petit Retreats and they are the best.” She sucked her breath as if she’d just thought of something, and her eyebrows knit in concern. She grabbed my arm. “You ought to tell them not to go walking along the rocks by the water. It was too sad about Amanda.”

  “Who is Amanda?” I said, opening the folder. I could tell that Kevin St. John was listening from the other side of the counter. He seemed perturbed.

  Edie pushed the violet folder shut in my hands. “You won’t find anything about her in there. She didn’t sign up for this retreat. She couldn’t because she’s dead.”

  A collective gasp went through the group, and Edie continued, saying she just thought we all should be aware of the danger.

  “What exactly happened?” Olivia said.

  “I don’t know. I’d been home for almost a week after the last retreat when Joan called me and told me that Amanda had died, that she’d fallen off the cliff over by the lighthouse. Joan wanted me to talk to the cops.” Edie’s eyes grew sad as she said my aunt’s name. “She thought I might be able to help.”

  Olivia seemed impatient. “Why would you be able to help the police if you didn’t even know what happened?”

  “I might have been the last person to see her alive, “Edie said. “I hung around after the last retreat was over. I was, uh, meeting someone.” Edie stumbled over her words. “That doesn’t matter. I saw Amanda late that afternoon. She said she’d been over at Joan’s. I thought she was showing off that her relationship with Joan was more than just from the retreats.” Edie stopped for a beat and then plowed ahead. “Amanda wasn’t very friendly. She kind of blew me off when I tried to talk to her and said she was going to watch the sunset. The last time I saw her, she was heading for the beach,” Edie said.

  Kris seemed stunned. “I had no idea something happened to Amanda.” She directed her comment at Edie. “I wish you had more details.” Anxious to please Kris, Edie dredged up a tidbit about the dead woman and said she was found holding some yarn.

  I heard Lucinda clear her throat, and when I turned, I saw that she appeared uneasy. “I wasn’t going to bring it up,” Lucinda began. “I didn’t want the retreat to get off on the wrong foot, but since Edie brought it up—” She hesitated a moment, and I urged her to continue. Lucinda had gotten her information from the newspaper and also from the way information traveled around the small town: word of mouth. “Amanda Proctor was a computer programmer from Silicon Valley, and they thought she’d gone for a last chance to spend some time along the water before heading inland. It seems like she had walked down to a spot near the lighthouse to knit and watch the sunset. She must have gotten too close to the edge and slipped. There’s quite a drop there and rocks below.” Lucinda stopped talking and seemed to be measuring her words. “I think the lesson here is that you shouldn’t go walking alone.”

  Kris tried to step in and change the subject, but no one listened. Bree’s face had drained of color, and she said, “Oh my gosh, tell us the rest.” Lucinda looked to me again for approval, and I told her not to hold back.

  “If Amanda hadn’t been alone, someone could have called for help when she fell and maybe saved her. The waves had slammed her body between the rocks, and they didn’t find her for several days.”

  Kris stepped into the middle of the group this time and intervened. “It’s was very sad what happened, but let’s try to concentrate on something positive, like what a great weekend we’re going to have.”

  Bree still looked stunned. Her mouth had fallen open and her eyes were wide. “I’m not going anywhere near the water.”

  3

  THERE WAS STILL NO SIGN OF THE LAST THREE retreaters. Bree had moved over to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. She’d taken out her computer tablet and was hovering over the screen, talking. Concerned, I stepped behind her to see what was going on. These days you never knew if someone was nuts and talking to themselves or if they were talking on a cell phone. Okay, she wasn’t nuts. A little boy’s face took up almost the whole screen, and it was obvious she was video chatting. Bree appeared upset.

  “Maybe I should come home now,” she said. Now there were two boys in the picture, jumping up and down, but the video image was distorted and kept stopping the action, making them look like they were momentarily floating in the air.

  “Yes, Mommy, come home,” one little voice whined.

  “Daddy gave us dog food sandwiches for lunch.” The other boy stuck his face close to the screen and made faces for the camera.

  “Don’t listen to them. It was a joke. Everything is fine.” A nice-looking man with tousled dark hair had stepped into the picture and held the little boys off to the side.

  “But, but this place is kind of creepy and somebody died here,” Bree said, sounding strangely just like her own kids.

  “It’ll be fine, hon. Go on and have a good time,” the man said in an encouraging voice. He signed off, and I stepped away quickly, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.

  “You might as well get Bree, Olivia and Edie registered,” Kris said, snagging me.

  “I’m first.” Edie was in my face before Kris got the last word out. There was really nothing for me to do beyond escort her to the registration counter and move off to the side.

  I had never paid much attention to the area behind the counter before. Now when I looked I was surprised to see a wall of dark wood pigeonholes with room numbers below each. It went along with the old-time atmosphere of the place, as did the actual keys that Kevin St. John was handing out. No plastic cards like most hotels used these days.

  “Can I have two keys?” Edie said. Of course she didn’t leave it at that but went on to explain how she always liked to keep one in her pocket, just in case.

  The manager just nodded and turned back to take the second key off the hook below one of the pigeonholes. He offered her directions to the building that housed her room as he handed it to her.

  “Don’t be silly, Kevin,” she said. “I know this place like the back of my hand.” I expected him to dismiss her and go on to Olivia, who had followed us to the counter, but he continued to talk to Edie. I’m sure dropping his voice was deliberate, and I only heard bits and pieces, but he said something about wanting to talk to her over the weekend since she’d been a regular at the retreats. He wanted her input for something he had planned.

  “I’d love to help,” she said, breaking in before he finished. And she definitely didn’t drop her voice. “It would be a shame for the retreats to end. You should take them over. I can gi
ve you a lot of information.” She glanced over her shoulder in my direction. “I’m sure she means well, but she certainly isn’t like Joan.”

  As if I didn’t know that already.

  But there was no time to feel bad, because there was a commotion at the door as a man came in. He was clutching a briefcase to his chest and trying to pull his suitcase through the door as it banged against it. Was he one of our retreaters? It didn’t seem likely. He looked like the definition of Mr. Businessman with his neatly trimmed light brown hair and blazer over nice slacks along with slip-on shoes with tassels. The pale yellow dress shirt and striped tie finished the look.

  Apparently Kris didn’t agree with my assessment and went right up to him. “You must be Scott Lipton,” she said in a friendly voice. When she held out her hand, he shrank back and then glanced around furtively. His cell phone began to ring. He dropped the briefcase and let go of the suitcase as he dove in his pocket for it. As he answered, he started to walk toward an empty corner of the large lobbylike room. I caught the beginning of his conversation as he passed.

  “Yes, I landed. I know it’s lousy that they’re having the sales meeting on the weekend. No, no, you shouldn’t jump on a plane and come up here.” There was more conversation, and he kept smoothing his hair with his hand with short, nervous strokes. Finally he hung up, and when he approached the registration desk, I introduced myself.