“I’m not trying to sell you or anything, but if you buy it and have trouble, you can always come in here and I’ll help you.”
I brightened at the idea. Maybe it was the fuss with her mother, but I felt like we were kindred spirits.
“Sold,” I said when I’d finished with the strand and made a tiny swatch. I followed her as she went to the bin.
“You might be able to get by with three skeins for a scarf, but it’s probably better to get four.”
I looked at the price on the yarn and suggested I get three now and come back for a fourth if I needed it.
“I’m not trying to push yarn on you, but you want to make sure you have all the same dye lot.”
My look gave me away again, and she grabbed a couple of skeins of worsted-weight gray yarn. She showed me the label, and both were called pearl grey, but when she held them next to each other, they were different. One was definitely darker than the other. “Same color but different dye lot. You want all the yarn to have the same number, particularly in any of the hand-dyed yarns we have.” She pulled out two more skeins to show how different they were even though they were both lavender sunset.
“Got it,” I said, pulling out another skein of Dr. Blue’s Wild Ride.
Crystal showed me the right size needles to use. “I might already have this size,” I said. “My aunt left me all her knitting supplies.”
“If you want I’d be glad to help you figure out what size the needles you have are.”
I nodded, appreciative of the offer, and said when the retreat was over, I’d get in touch with her. She scribbled her number on the receipt she’d written up for the yarn.
“How’s the retreat going after what happened to Edie?” Crystal said in a low voice. She glanced in the direction of her mother. “Mom thought it was best we didn’t say anything about anything, just put on the tasting like nothing happened. I went along with it, but it seems kind of odd. Edie was a force of nature,” she said. “You know what she said about my earrings?” Crystal gestured toward the unmatched pair. “She said it was dangerous to throw off symmetry. Dangerous?” She put up her hands at the absurdity of the comment and then began to talk about what she’d heard on Channel 3 News. “Supposedly Cadbury PD is on the case and are close to naming a suspect.”
“Really?” I said and explained I’d been cut off from everything.
“Vista Del Mar will do that to you,” she said with a smile. “The supposed charm of the place is that it’s like the old days and you can step back from the modern world.”
I asked if they’d given any hint to who the suspect was, but she shrugged. “I’m not so sure how on top of things they are. They never found the driver in your aunt’s accident, and the whole thing with Amanda Proctor is just weird.”
I asked her why. “She came to the yarn tasting your aunt put on, and I talked to her. She was a smart woman. Too smart to be standing on the edge of cliff, knitting. I think either it was suicide or someone pushed her.”
Kris grabbed Crystal’s arm. “Sorry to interrupt, but some of the others are waiting to get their yarn cut.”
I don’t know why I felt so annoyed at Kris for interrupting. All she was doing was trying to handle things. The very thing I’d wanted her to do. Did that mean that I wanted the position of leader? I was shocked to realize that I thought I did. I cared that Bree was afraid to be alone. I truly wished Olivia would tell me why she seemed so unhappy. I wanted to help Scott admit to his wife he was a knitter, so he’d be free to follow his passion. And as for Melissa and Sissy, well, I didn’t really think there was much I could do besides separating them. I watched them as they tried out the different yarns, fussing the whole time. Finally, Gwen and Crystal went to the old-fashioned glass case that served as the checkout as we formed a line, holding our skeins and supplies.
“Hmm, a lot of you are buying the serendipity yarns,” the older woman said.
Crystal gave her mother a knowing nod. What Gwen did next surprised me. She patted her daughter on the shoulder. “You were right. This store needs your touch.”
“I hope you’ll come back when the kiosk is up,” Gwen said to Kris as she rang up her yarn. “I can’t wait to see it. Just imagine, it’s going to say Kris Garland’s Retreat in a Box.”
Kris blushed, but it was easy to see that she was very pleased at what Gwen had said. “The yarn company is doing a whole promotion with me, but even if they didn’t, I’d be sure to come back here.”
“Tell us how it works again,” Bree said.
“Let’s say Casey came in here looking for something to make,” Kris began. “She’d go up to the touch screen and answer some questions, and the software would not only figure out the perfect project for her, but generate a pattern and a supply list for the store.” Kris gestured toward Gwen. “The store personnel will put together the yarn, needles and other tools, along with instructional DVDs. All of it will be placed in a tote bag like the one you all got.” Kris smiled at the finish.
“So it will be just like our workshop,” Bree said.
“Not exactly. It’s going to be a little more standardized than your projects are.”
Lucinda put several skeins of a heathery dark gray wool on the counter so Gwen could ring them up. “I think this would make a great scarf for Tag. He’s always saying he’s cold.” She handed over her credit card and rolled her eyes. “Am I nuts? You know he’ll find some mistake I made in the knitting and never let me forget it.” She looked at Kris. “What would your computer come up with in a situation like that?”
“A woven scarf from the Pendleton shop,” Kris said with a sly laugh.
“I think I’m making the scarf for me,” Lucinda said.
When we’d all paid for our purchases and were heading for the door, Gwen came up to me. “I’m sorry Joan isn’t here. This was her idea, you know.” She patted my shoulder in a reassuring way. “She’d be so happy that you were continuing the tradition.” I wanted to tell her this was just a one-time thing, but she seemed so pleased that I’d stepped into my aunt’s shoes, I didn’t have the heart to tell her.
Afterward, Lucinda led us down the street to the Blue Door restaurant. Tag was busy supervising the setup for dinner, but Lucinda brought the group in anyway. She had everyone sit down and then waltzed in the kitchen and sweet-talked the cook until he made us afternoon tea. Tag looked like he was going to bust a gasket.
20
WHEN THE VAN LET US OFF BACK AT VISTA DEL MAR, there was free time until dinner. The group all went their own ways, anxious to try out the yarn they’d just bought. I wanted to talk to Lucinda about solving Edie’s murder, but she started jumping and trying to click her heels while saying, “Free again. I’m free again.” I didn’t want to ruin her buzz and didn’t stop her from going back to Sand and Sea with the others.
I went across to my place to think. Was Crystal right? Was Cadbury PD going to name a suspect? Who was it? Kris’s question about what to do with the information about Scott had ended up being rhetorical. She’d walked away before I had answered. And what did naming a suspect mean anyway? If anything it seemed like it would tip someone off it was a good time for them to take a trip to Brazil.
What did I have? It all seemed like a mishmash, and here it was almost Saturday night. The only thing I could think of was calling my old boss.
“Okay, Feldstein, what is it now?” Frank said. “You do know it’s Saturday and two hours later here. You might not have realized it, but I do have a social life.”
“Sorry to get in the way of your evening,” I said. He was right. I’d never thought of him having a social life, or a life outside the agency. When I’d come into the office and left it, he’d always been reclining in his office chair. I guess I thought he lived there.
I apologized again for the call and started telling him about running out of time and the yarn retreat ending and how I
didn’t know what to do next. I was just getting to being worried about the night’s activities when Frank cut in.
“Okay, Feldstein, I got it. Let’s cut to the chase. Give me your list of suspects.”
“Well, there’s Kevin St. John,” I said, and Frank made a groaning noise.
“Feldstein, the names mean nothing to me. You have to tell me who they are. How does this St. John guy fit into the big picture? Is he the husband? Remember, I told you that’s always where the cops start—and usually finish.”
I started to explain who Kevin St. John was, but Frank stopped me again. “What’s his motive, Feldstein?”
“I’m not sure what she said to him, but the dead woman managed to say the wrong thing to just about everybody. But there’s something else.” I told Frank how Kevin wanted all of my aunt’s paperwork about the retreats and that he wanted to put on the future retreats himself. “I’ve kind of been stalling about handing it over, and he might be worried that I’m going to keep putting on the retreats. What if he killed Edie, I mean the victim, to make me look bad as a retreat leader?”
“I see where you’re going, Feldstein. And he stuck those needles in her to make it look like it was one of your knit people. Could be.”
“About those needles,” I said, feeling uneasy. I told Frank that I was pretty sure the needles stuck in her had been taken from my aunt’s. “And there’s something else. They probably have my fingerprints on them.”
Frank chuckled. “Don’t sweat it, Feldstein. You’re not in the system. I know because I did a background check on you when you came to work for me. Just don’t do anything stupid like agree to give the cops your prints.” He paused before continuing. “And don’t give them a chance to lift your prints off of something.” He went on about how tricky cops could be, picking things out of the trash or grabbing a coffee cup in a restaurant.
I started to say I’d only talked to Lieutenant Borgnine the one time so far and I didn’t think there was anything he could take with my prints on it. Then a black thought crossed my mind. “Remember you suggested I flirt with a cop to get information?” I said. I told him how Dane had invited me over for breakfast.
“And probably some nookie, too,” Frank said.
“He doesn’t need any nookie from me. He turned his garage into an orgy room.”
“And . . .” Frank coaxed.
“I offered to put my bowl and juice glass in the sink, but he insisted I leave everything, that he’d clean up.”
“And you left your glass on the table, didn’t you? Not good, Feldstein. They’re probably matching those prints up as we speak.”
“Don’t say that, Frank. Dane, the cop, had today off. Maybe he hasn’t taken the glass in yet.”
“I’d sharpen up those flirting skills and make a quick trip back there. Just a hint, but if you see the glass, I recommend an accident. No prints on a smashed glass.”
I sat hugging the phone after we’d hung up. What if the suspect they were going to name was me? Not if I could help it.
I went outside and started down the street toward Dane’s. His red Ford 150 truck wasn’t in the driveway, and there was just a lone Honda parked at the curb. When I got to his driveway I walked up it with the idea of looking in the window. I had my fingers crossed that I’d see the glass in a plastic bag waiting to be taken in. I had stand on my tiptoes, and the light was low inside, so I pressed my face against the window, trying to see in.
Suddenly the light came on and a woman walked in the kitchen. The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing the pink sweat suit I’d seen the first time I’d been there.
She jumped a little when she saw me but wasn’t nearly as startled as I would have expected. She came to the back door and opened it.
“If you’re looking for Dane, he isn’t here,” she said in a nonchalant tone. I tried not to be too obvious as I looked her over. She had red hair. I mean, really red hair. Cherry red, which didn’t go well with the pink sweat suit. The heavy makeup didn’t go, either. When she turned I saw HOT in big white letters across her butt. So maybe sweat suit was the wrong term for it. What difference did it make, anyway? She was obviously part of his party crew or maybe his girlfriend. I guessed her name was Chloe because it was written in glitter across the front of her white knit shirt that barely covered her midriff.
“You must be new. The group isn’t here yet. If you want you can go ahead into the studio and get started on your own. I heard there are some new toys.”
Eww. I wanted to make it clear I wasn’t part of the party hardy crowd, but that really wasn’t the point now. I had to think fast. And maybe I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I should have. Frank had made me crazy about the orange juice glass, and all I could think of was finding it and breaking it.
“No thanks on the studio,” I said. “I think I left something here this morning. Maybe I could look for it?”
The woman looked me up and down. “You were here this morning?” she said with interest. “As in from last night?”
Uh-oh, I didn’t want to get caught up in some kind of jealous rage thing with her. “No, no. Nothing like that.” I didn’t wait for her permission and started looking around the kitchen. The table was clear and so was the sink. She was walking right behind me, firing questions that I didn’t want to answer. How well did I know Dane? Where did we meet? How come she’d never seen me before? I kept answering with shrugs, as I moved faster around the room toward the dishwasher. I didn’t dare look at her as I pulled it open and then pulled out the top rack. There were still some flecks of orange stuck to the two small glasses.
“What are you doing?” she said as I stared at them. I had no time to think. All I could remember was what Frank said about no prints on a broken glass as I grabbed both of them out of the dishwasher and threw them on the floor. I might have stamped on them before I ran for the door.
I ran all the way home and didn’t look back. Once I was inside I slumped in my one chair and began to laugh hysterically, thinking of the look on the woman’s face.
I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard a loud knock at my door.
21
I THOUGHT I’D MADE A CLEAN GETAWAY, BUT THE woman with Kool-Aid-colored hair must have followed me. Why? What was she, the official custodian of Dane’s dishes? Maybe if I didn’t answer the door, she’d give up and go away. There was another knock on the door, only now it sounded more like she’d pounded on it. Geez, all I did was break a couple of glasses. Frank had just gotten me so nuts about destroying the evidence, I wasn’t thinking straight. Right, it was Frank’s fault. There was another loud pound on the door. Okay, it wasn’t Frank’s fault. I had to take responsibility for my own actions.
At the third pounding, I figured she wasn’t giving up and went to the door. “Look, I’m sorry about the glasses. I’ll be glad to replace them,” I said through the closed door.
“Glasses? What are you talking about? Casey, open up.”
“Lucinda?” I said with surprise and relief as I pulled the door open wide.
“What’s going on?” she said, gazing at me with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” I said before spilling the whole story about the fingerprints and my effort to get rid of them. By the end of the story, she was laughing.
“I wish I could have seen her face when you smashed the glasses. So, the cop has a girlfriend. I’m not surprised. He’s pretty hot.”
“I think she’s just one of a group. She thought I was a new recruit for the orgy. She said I could go on into the studio and play with some of the toys.” We both said, “Ewww” together.
“I almost forgot what I came for,” my friend said. “Your parents are across the street.”
“What? But they’re in Chicago,” I said, wondering if I’d heard her right. What could my parents possibly be doing there? I’d broken down and told them I wa
s hosting the Petit Retreat, but why would they just show up? Lucinda had met them at Joan’s funeral and knew all about my relationship with my mother.
“And there’s a guy with them. Kind of tall and always smiling. Oh, and he kept making it look like a coin was coming out of Kevin St. John’s ear as your parents talked to him.”
“They were talking to Kevin St. John?” I said with a sinking feeling.
“The lord and manager of Vista Del Mar didn’t seem amused by the coin trick. The guy had short dark hair that reminded me of something.”
“The sugar on a gumdrop, maybe?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” she said. “He has that short hair that sort of sticks out all over.”
“It’s really a long crew cut,” I said.
“So then you know who he is,” Lucinda said.
“Yes, I know who he is. How about Dr. Sammy Glickner, my former boyfriend. The person my mother found for me and expected me to marry.” I gave Lucinda the short version of our relationship. Dr. Sammy, as he was called, was a urologist, but his real love was magic. The trouble was there just wasn’t any sizzle in our relationship. He was goofy and pretty funny most of the time, but what was that saying—all very nice, but not really good? He deserved somebody who would appreciate him. I had really done him a favor by breaking up with him. So why was he here?
“What are you going to do?” Lucinda said, noting that I seemed to be frozen in position.
“I’d like to just stay here and turn out the lights and pretend I’m not home,” I said, looking around at the interior of the guesthouse. “If I thought dealing with the woman with the cherry red hair was bad, it was nothing compared with dealing with my parents and Sammy.” I stopped and took a deep breath. “Whatever they’re here for, it can’t be good.”
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