On the Hook

by Betty Hechtman

  I went into the kitchen, made a generous plate of the leftovers, and put it in the microwave to heat. Berry had followed me into the kitchen, and I told him to help himself to something to drink in the refrigerator.

  “So what are you working on these days?” I said casually as I pulled the plate out and carried it into the dining room. The table was littered with stuff my mother had moved off the coffee table before it had been pushed against the wall. The junior detective set my son Peter had given me as a birthday present was among the junk. Barry’s eye went to it as he set a can of soda on the table.

  “I should have known,” Barry said, looking up at me, “that there would be strings attached to the food. I know what you’re doing. How about we talk about something else? How are things with you and Mason?”

  Mason Fields was a hugely successful attorney with a lot of celebrity clients. We’d had a casual, no-strings sort of relationship at first, but I couldn’t leave well enough alone and had been upset that he’d never introduced me to his two daughters. In fact, I’d made it kind of a deal breaker. It turned out to be like opening Pandora’s box. I met the daughters and then his ex-wife, and then one of his daughters moved in with him while she went to law school, and then his ex was living there too, supposedly while she got her house remodeled. It went from not knowing his family to knowing way too much. Did I mention that the daughter who moved in didn’t like me and his ex-wife was campaigning for them to get back together?

  “If you have to know, I sort of broke up with him.” I didn’t go into any details or mention that the reason I’d broken up with Mason was because I was sure his wife had won the campaign and they were back together. I noticed Barry’s expression perk up. “And I’m so busy with work and all now, I don’t really have a lot of time.”

  “Married to your job?” he said with almost a smile. There wasn’t any one reason we’d broken up, but the fact that he was married to his job and kept insane hours was part of it.

  “Okay, you got me on that.”

  Barry seemed to be inhaling the food, and I wondered when he’d last eaten. I offered him seconds and he gratefully accepted.

  “When Jeffrey was living with me, I had to remember to keep food in the house, but now that he’s at his mother’s, it’s been breakfast sandwiches at the all-night doughnut shop.”

  I was thinking about asking him how he was doing on his own and then thought he might consider it too personal. But before I could finish debating with myself, he’d already begun talking about it. “It was hard adjusting when he came to live with me, and then there was all that stuff about wanting to be an actor that I didn’t understand. But now…” He let out a deep sigh. “What’s that saying about not realizing what you have until it’s gone?” He was staring down at the plate, poking a piece of broccoli with his chopstick.

  “But he’s coming back?” I said, concerned that he sounded so forlorn.

  “I hope so. His mother is doing a whole number supporting his acting ambitions and not even minding that he’s going by a single name—Columbia. And her new husband is being quite the involved stepdad.”

  It seemed that Barry suddenly caught himself and realized he was being too open about his feelings. He reached over and took the detective set and flipped off the lid. Then he turned to me with a grin. “And what is that you’ve been working on lately?”

  “Why are you asking?” Then I smiled. “I get it. You think it’s somehow connected with that scarf that may or may not be mine.”

  He answered with his blank cop face. I put on my thinking pose, and maybe it was a little over the top when I pulled the Deerslayer hat out of the box and put it on. “You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that you’re asking me about the scarf because it’s somehow connected to a crime.” I looked at him expectantly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  I had to be very careful here not to divulge anything, but my mind was racing. What if there was something valuable missing from the house and the owner was trying to track down who had been there?

  Barry wouldn’t talk, even when I offered him ice cream.

  “Thank you for the food,” he said as we finally walked to the front door. He looked back and our eyes met for a moment. He said, “You do realize this isn’t over?”

  * * *

  I didn’t really care if Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock got together anymore and just took out the DVD and turned off the player. The exchange with Barry had been upsetting. It wasn’t really the scarf or our mutual determination not to give away any information. It was simply realizing that seeing him had set up a tempest of feelings.

  Then I got annoyed all over again that he wouldn’t tell me why he had my scarf.

  The TV had gone to a replay of the news. A story had just ended and it went to a commercial. It was another of the cute ones that seemed so popular. This one featured Cauli Flower, the vegetable fairy. Just as she was wandering through a forest of broccoli—which she called little trees—Cosmo and Felix ran past, playing a late-night game of chase. Felix got his foot caught in the yarn I had been using, and when he ran out of the room, the yarn and my work went with him. I managed to grab him before he did too much damage.

  When I came back into the room, the news was back on and in the middle of a story. I looked at the screen and then did a double take when I saw a reporter standing in front of the house we’d looked at earlier that day. There was no mistaking the boxy shape of the house, the bricked area in front of it, the dark-red double doors with the lockbox, and, of course, the FOR SALE sign with Logan Belmont’s name on it.

  The reporter was saying, “Timothy Clark was well known for his role as Binkie MacPherson on Bradley V, P.I.” The live feed cut away to a tape of an even-featured man with a haughty expression wearing golf knickers and holding a cocktail glass as he spoke to his cousin Kiplington Bradley the Fifth about a case the ultra-wealthy amateur sleuth was working on. He delivered what was his punch line for the show: “Oh, no, not another kerfuffle. Shall I call the butler?” Since the show had been filmed in front of an audience, their laugher was heard in the background.

  The reporter came back on and said that Clark had been nominated for an Emmy but, when the show ended, had turned to helping others make their dreams come true through his acting coaching and workshops.

  “I got it; so it’s Timothy Clark’s house. So what’s the problem?” I said to the TV. Then something struck me that the reporter had said. It was just one word. He had said Timothy was known for the role of Binkie MacPherson. Was as in past tense. I felt a catch in my stomach. Did that mean Timothy was dead?

  And if he was, why was Barry investigating? I flipped to another station, hoping to find another replay of the news with more of the details. Channel 12 was in the middle of the story. The reporter said Timothy had been found by a real estate agent who had brought clients to see the house. The picture went to tape, and I immediately recognized Logan Belmont. He was pretty bland looking except for his odd hairline that made him look like he was wearing a hair hat.

  I was impressed by how in control of himself he seemed for someone who had just come across a dead person as he spoke to the TV reporter. “I had brought my clients downstairs, and when we got to the den, I saw Timothy from the back. It looked like he was just sitting there, and I was going to introduce my clients to him. I’d told them the house belonged to a celebrity, but having them actually see him in person would be even better. Or would have been. I brought them into the room with me and was about to introduce them when I noticed his head was slumped forward. I thought he was asleep or maybe drunk—there was a cocktail glass on the table next to him. When I got a good look at him—” Logan suddenly looked a little pale as he remembered the moment. “I hustled my clients out of the room and called the authorities.”

  The reporter returned to the screen. “The manner of death of the forty-four-year-old hasn’t yet been determined.”

  I sat back on the couch, stunned, as it all began to
sink in. I knew enough about investigations of dead bodies to realize that the manner of death could be natural, accidental, suicide, homicide, or undetermined. I was hoping it was the first one. Then the presence of my scarf wouldn’t mean much—not that I planned to acknowledge it was mine—and Barry would let it go. I shuddered to think what would happen if it was determined to be a homicide.

  Then I began to put two and two together. Logan had gone there right after we left. Did that mean Timothy Clark had been sitting there, dead, while I was admiring the view? I knew that Elise was probably nervous doing her first house showing, but how could she have missed that?

  If I could find out what Logan had seen, I might have a better idea if I was in trouble or not.

  I ignored the late hour and called Logan and Elise’s house. I was disappointed when not only did I get their voice mail, but the message said their mailbox was full so I couldn’t even leave word to call me.

  And then there was Adele. She had made a big fuss about not telling Eric about looking at a house, but Adele wasn’t very dependable about sticking with what she said. I thought she’d be more likely to keep it to herself if she knew the owner had been found dead. I tried her number, but I didn’t even get voice mail, just a message that Adele and Eric weren’t accepting calls at this time.

  I really wanted to talk to somebody about the situation. My natural instinct was to call my best friend, Dinah. Before, it had never been too late for either of us to call each other with news or problems, but lately I’d gotten to feeling funny about it. It was all because of the time that Commander had answered the phone. He’d given the phone to Dinah but had apparently commented afterward that the late call had worried him and sent his blood pressure up.

  I had no choice but to put everything off until the morning. Needless to say, I spent a fitful night trying to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  As soon as I arrived at Shedd & Royal the next morning, I went looking for Adele. When I didn’t find her in the children’s department, I got worried. Lara-Ann was setting up some books on a display table. “Have you seen Adele?” I asked, trying not to sound frantic.

  “She’s in the café. You seem upset. Is there anything I can help you with?” She added a pat to my arm for reassurance.

  “Thanks, but I need to speak to Adele.” I didn’t wait for a response but rushed back to the front of the bookstore and the café entrance. I spotted Adele immediately. Adele did not merely read to the kids at story time; she dressed in a costume that went along with the chosen book or theme. Based on her outfit today, I wasn’t sure what she had going on. She wore a long, spring-green crocheted tunic over green tights. A pair of wings made out of green chiffon with glitter accents were strapped to her back, and a tiny sparkly crown finished the look.

  She was standing at the counter having a conversation with Bob, our barista, and took a moment before she responded when I called her name. “Pink, I’m glad you’re here. Since you’re now the assistant manager, you need to tell Bob that my hibiscus punch is top priority. We’re having a fairy tea party at story time.”

  Now I understood the costume. Bob looked at me, and I gave him the nod to handle her request despite the line waiting for coffee drinks. I looped my arm in Adele’s and pulled her off to the side while he went to fill a pitcher and get cups. “Did you happen to watch the news last night?” I asked, and she rolled her eyes as if I had asked an absurd question.

  “It was Tuesday night,” she said, as if I was supposed to know what that meant. When I didn’t immediately respond, she threw me an exasperated look. “Everybody knows Tuesday night is our special evening. Mother Humphries goes to movie night at the senior center and Eric and I have what we call our cocoon time. No distraction, like phones or TV. It’s just us together.” She looked at me directly. “You should keep that in mind for the future. Maybe if you had done something like that, you wouldn’t be alone now.”

  I was used to Adele’s comments by now. They could seem barbed, but I think she believed she was handing out useful advice. I merely ignored what she said and got to the point.

  “I think you should know that the house you looked at yesterday belongs to Timothy Clark, and he was found dead—”

  “Wha-what,” she stuttered. “That was his house. That’s where he lives. Dead?” She seemed to choke on the words. I had never seen Adele behave quite this way before. “He can’t be.” Her face had gone white, and she seemed to be coming unglued. “He can’t be dead now. Just when—” Her eyes went skyward. “I can’t deal with story time. You’ll have to handle it.” She tore off the wings, pushed them on me, and fled the café.

  A moment later Bob came from behind the counter and glanced around. He saw the wings hanging off my arms. “I guess this goes to you now.” He handed me a tray with a pitcher of ruby-red liquid and a stack of tiny paper cups.

  There was no time to think about Adele’s reaction, as I could already see a bunch of small kids rushing toward the children’s department. So I strapped on the wings and went to join them.

  I knew that Adele had some kind of procedure for checking kids in and making sure the adults who had brought them didn’t come into the area with the carpet featuring cows jumping over the moon. I didn’t have time to find her checklist and allowed whatever kids were there to find seats. I didn’t have to worry about telling any adults not to come in, though, as they all rushed off, seeming happy to leave the kids in my care.

  “You aren’t Queen Adele,” a little girl in a pink dress said. Queen Adele?

  I made up some story that Queen Adele had been called away to take care of some important royal business and had left me in charge. “I’m Fairy Princess Molly,” I said, showing them my wings. And then I picked up the book Adele had left. I knew she was a far more dramatic reader than I was, but I got through the book and was handing out cups of fairy tea when I sensed an adult cross the threshold into the children’s department.

  “Sorry, no big people allowed until after the tea party,” I said, turning in the direction of the entrance. “Barry? What are you doing here?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  He had stopped just inside the line where the kids’ department started. I saw his gaze go to my wings, and for a moment, his mouth quivered as he restrained a smile. He was wearing a fresh suit and was clean-shaven, so after my house he must have actually gone home and called it a night.

  “I was looking for Adele,” he said. I finished serving the fairy tea and stepped closer to him.

  “She’s a little under the weather at the moment,” I said warily. “Maybe I can help. What did you want? Are you looking for a kids’ book?”

  He pulled the folder from under his arm and took the photo of the orange-colored scarf out. “I thought that since you couldn’t help me identify the owner of the scarf, maybe she might be able to help me. Maybe she would recognize the yarn and know who bought it.”

  “Sorry to burst your balloon, but she wouldn’t be able to help you identify the owner by the yarn.” I pointed toward the fringe that hung off the end. “It’s worsted weight and it looks to me to be an acrylic blend. It’s probably Lion Brand or Red Heart. They are both common brands and sold lots of places besides here.” I purposely left out the yarn used for the flowers.

  Barry didn’t seem happy with the answer. I decided to take a shot and see if I could get him to talk about Timothy Clark’s manner of death. “Why is it you’re so interested in who the scarf belongs to?” I asked, doing my own version of a cop face.

  “How is it that you know Timothy Clark?” Barry asked.

  I froze at the mention of the name and restrained myself from insisting too quickly that I didn’t know him, since I knew it would be a giveaway that I knew he was connected to the scarf.

  “You mean that actor who was in Bradley V, P.I.?” I asked, attempting to sound nonchalant. “Didn’t I hear that he died?” I picked up a spare cup of the fairy tea and held it out to him. “Have s
ome fairy tea.”

  Barry’s mouth tightened. “Molly, why don’t you make it easy on both of us and just admit that it’s your scarf? Then you can tell me what happened and we can work everything out.”

  Did he really think I was going to fall for that? I knew that was his standard way to try to get suspects to talk—the idea that if they spilled their guts, it was somehow going to help them. Sure, help them get charged with something. Then I backtracked in my mind. It’s the way he talks to suspects. He couldn’t think I was a suspect, could he?

  Frustrated that I continued to stonewall about the scarf, Barry left.

  I hung around the children’s area until all the kids had been picked up, but I had other things to do and couldn’t cover for Adele any longer. I had no idea where she’d gone or if she was even still in the bookstore. I looked around the main part of Shedd & Royal, hoping that I would see her coming across the bookstore with all the drama behind her. I hadn’t had much of chance to think about it, but it really was an overreaction, even for Adele.

  I saw Lara-Ann hand a customer a book in the travel section and then part company. Thank heavens we’d gotten more help. I waved her over.

  “I need you to take over the kids’ department for a while,” I said when she got within earshot. I stepped aside to allow her entry. I was surprised when her face clouded over.

  “I was just going to take an early lunch.” She glanced toward the big window that looked out on Ventura Boulevard. I wondered why she seemed so interested in the new topiary giraffe that the Tarzana Chamber of Commerce had recently placed outside the bookstore. Someone had decided that the various San Fernando Valley communities needed to have individual identities. Thanks to our Tarzan connection, we got topiaries of wild animals and street signs with monkeys hanging off of them.